"They cannot be picked," said Sucha. "They are sleeve locks. The sleeve prevents the direct entry of a wire or pick. Too, within the sleeve there is a plug, a rounded, metal cone, which must be unscrewed before the key can be inserted. A wire or pick could not turn the cone."

"Is there anything," I asked, "in the kennels which might serve as a stout wire or long pick, one of suitable length to even try?"

"No," said Sucha.

I held the bars, dismally.

"You are an imprisoned slave," said Sucha. "Come along."

With one last look at the heavy bars and locks I turned to follow her. She led me to the small room we had passed earlier. It was a preparation room for slave girls. In it were mirrors. In them I saw a lovely dark-haired girl, naked, in a Turian collar, myself, followed by a beautiful woman, dark-haired, in a wisp of yellow silk, carrying a whip.

Sucha indicated one of five small, sunken baths, and oils and towels.

She showed me the use of the oils and towels.

"You are an ignorant girl," she said. "You do not even know how to take a bath."

I blushed.

My hair then I washed, and dried, and combed and brushed, taking from it the dust of the road leading to Stones of Turmus, and the sweat of the afternoon and early evening.

"I am hungry," I said.

"Sit on the tiles," she said.

I did so. I sat naked on the tiles.

She threw a linkage of rings and bells to the tiles beside me. "Bell yourself," she said.

"They lock," I said.

"Bell yourself," she said.

I extended my left ankle and, carefully, aligned the four rings. The rings were linked vertically at five places by tiny metal fastenings; each ring, opened, hinged, terminated on one end with a bolt and on the other with a tiny lock; I slipped the small bolts into the four tiny locks; there were four tiny snaps; the rings, linked together, fitted snugly; each ring bore five slave bells.

I looked at the bells. They were locked upon me.

I dared not move my foot, for fear I might cry out for a man.

"Can you dance naked?" asked Sucha.

"I do not know the dances of a slave girl," I whispered. "I cannot dance."

"Do you know the arrangements of pleasure silks?" she asked.

"No, Mistress," I said, putting down my head.

"Do you know the cosmetics and perfumes of a slave girl, and their application?" she asked.

"No, Mistress," I said.

"The jewelries?" she asked.

"No, Mistress," I said.

"Do you know the giving of exquisite pleasures to a man?" she asked.

"I know very little, Mistress," I said. I was afraid to move my ankle, for the bells.

"Are you trained at all?" she asked.

"I know very little, Mistress," I said. "A slave, Eta," I said, "in her kindness, once taught me simple things, that I might not be completely displeasing and would not be too often whipped."

"Who was your last master?" asked Sucha.

"Tup Ladletender," I said, "a peddler."

"Before that?"

"Thurnus of Tabuk's Ford, of the Peasants," I said.

"Before that!" she said.

"Clitus Vitellius, of Ar, of the Warriors," I said.

"Good," said Sucha.

"But I was owned only briefly by him," I said.

"Before that?" she asked.

"Two warriors," I said. "I did not know who they were, only that I was theirs." Sucha did not question this. Often a girl does not find out who a master is. She might be caught in the afternoon, enslaved in the evening and sold in the morning.

"Before that?" asked Sucha.

"I was free," I said.

Sucha looked at me, and laughed. "You?" she queried.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

Sucha laughed. I blushed, hotly. I gathered that the collar looked natural upon me.

"You know little or nothing of the arts of the female slave," said Sucha. "You seem to know nothing of the movements and glances, the positions, attitudes and postures, the expressions, of a slave girl, let alone the techniques, crafts and subtleties that may determine whether or not men permit you to live."

I looked at her, frightened.

"But you are pretty," she said. "Men are more lenient with a pretty girl. There is hope for you."

"Thank you, Mistress," I whispered.

"Why have you not moved your left ankle?" asked Sucha.

"The bells," I whispered.

"What of them?" asked Sucha.

"They shame me," I said. "They make me feel so much a slave."

"Excellent," said Sucha. Then she snapped, "Rise, Slave Girl!"

I leaped to my feet with a jangle of bells. I was a belled slave.

"Walk to one end of the room and back," said Sucha.

"Please, no Mistress!" I begged. She lifted the whip. I did as she commanded. When I again stood before her she, to my dismay, touched me.

I turned my head away, biting my lip in shame.

"Excellent," she said. "A mere jangle of slave bells and you are ready for the arms of a man."

"Please, Mistress," I begged.

"You are a hot little slut," she said. "Kneel before the mirror."

I did so.

"There are one hundred and eleven basic shades of slave lipstick," said Sucha. "Much depends on the mood of the master."

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

Later many of the other girls joined us in the room of preparation, for they must serve, as I, in the repast of the evening. It is common in a Gorean fortress, if it is not under siege, for the evening to be a time of pleasure for the men.

"In five Ehn," cried a man from outside, "you must be in the hall of the feast."

The girls cried out nervously, making last minute additions or adjustments to their jewelries and silks. Some intently applied cosmetics. Two nearly fought over a small disk of eye shadow, but the whip of Sucha, lowered between them, divided them. Sulda seemed radiant, returned from the couch of Hak Haran. She applied lipstick. The girls smoothed their silks.

I looked at the incredibly lovely girl in the mirror, she bedecked in a rope of red silk, made-up, perfumed vulnerable, soft, with armlets and bracelets, golden beads intertwined in the Turian collar.

"She is beautiful," I whispered. Sucha had much helped me.

"Rather pretty for a peddler's girl," smiled Sucha.

"I am afraid," I said.

"Do not be afraid," said Sucha.

"What are my duties?" I asked.

"Exquisite beauty and absolute obedience," said Sucha.

I looked at the girl in the mirror. I remembered the words of Thurnus. "You belong at the feet of men," he had said. I looked at the girl in the mirror. Her ankle was belled. She was beautiful. She was a collared, silked, perfumed slave. She was very beautiful. I had no doubt she belonged at the feet of men. She was a slave girl. She was I.

"Exquisite beauty and absolute obedience," said Sucha.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

I heard the pounding of a metal bar on the inner gate leading to the quarters of the slave girls.

The girls were frightened. Even Sucha seemed frightened. "Hurry," she cried. "Hurry!"

We fled from the room of preparation, to the inner gates. Soon I, and the others, had been ushered through the two gates, and I, with them, found myself beyond the gates, barefoot on the carpeting, between the vases at the ornate walls, being hurried to the pleasure of masters.