"She wears the Dina," said the auctioneer, indicating to the crowd my brand, the slave flower. "Would you not like to own this pretty little Dina? Do you have a Dina among your girls?" He twisted my head, held by the hair, from side to side, "And her ears, noble sirs," said he, "are pierced!" This had been done in the pens of the house of Publius, four days earlier. The puncture in my left ear lobe, from the wire of Rask of Treve's silver leaf, his booty claim, was now matched perfectly by a similar penetration of my right ear lobe. I might now be put in earrings. I was now a lowly pierced-ear girl.

"Five tarsks," called a man, a gross, fat man, swathed in robes, sitting in a middle tier to my right. He sipped from a cup.

I shuddered. I could not well see the faces of most of the buyers. It was I, not they, who was well illuminated by the torches.

"Stand straight, suck in your belly, turn your hip out," said the auctioneer to me, under his breath. I complied. My back still burned from his whip. "Note," said the auctioneer, indicating me with his coiled whip, "the turn of her ankle, the sweetness of her thighs, the tightness of her belly, the pleasure of her figure, the delicacy of her throat, awaiting your collar, the delicacy, sensitivity and beauty of her features." He looked to the crowd. "Would you not like her in your compartments?" he inquired. "Would you not like her m a tunic and collar of your choice, on her knees before you? Would you not like the owning of every inch of her, she your slave, yours to command, hers to obey? Would you not like her serving you, responding swiftly and perfectly in all things to the least whim of your will?"

"Six tarsks," called a man.

"Six tarsks," repeated the auctioneer. "Walk, little Dina," said he to me. "And well."

Tears sprang into my eyes; my body burned red with shame.

But I walked, and well. I feared his whip. Men cried out with pleasure at the displayed girl upon the block.

"Note the fluidity and grace of her movements," said the auctioneer, "the sweetness of her figure, the straightness of her back, the proud carriage of her head. For a few copper tarsks you can own her!"

A tear ran down my face, over my left cheek.

"Walk well, little Dina," cautioned the auctioneer. "Yes, Master," I said. I walked, back and forth, turning, red with shame before the buyers.

"Stand proudly, little Dina," said the auctioneer. I stopped, and stood on the block, my head high.

"Buy her and put her to work for you," challenged the auctioneer. "Conceive of her naked in your collar, on her knees, shackled, scrubbing the tiles of your compartments. Consider her cleaning and washing and sewing for you. Consider her shopping for you and cooking! Consider her entertaining and waiting upon your guests! Consider her waiting in the furs for you!"

"Ten tarsks," said a man.

"Ten tarsks," said the auctioneer.

"Eleven," said another man, from the left.

"Eleven," said the auctioneer.

I looked out upon the crowd, the men and women. There must have been some four hundred in the amphitheater. Vendors moved about, among them, proffering light foods and beverages. I lightly fingered the chain and sales disk at my throat. I saw a man buy a roll of meat, wrapped about a sauce. He began to eat, looking at me. Our eyes met. I looked away. Some men conversed among themselves, not noticing me. I hated them! I did not wish to be looked upon, but they did not look upon me!

"Examine this beauty," said the auctioneer, indicating me with his whip. "Consider the perfection of her block measurements. 22 horts, 16 horts, 22 horts!" he cried, jabbing me with the whip.

"Fourteen copper tarsks," called a man.

"Fourteen!" cried the auctioneer. "But can the house let this little beauty slip its collar for a mere fourteen tarsks? Say, no, Noble Sirs!"

"Fifteen," said a man.

"Fifteen," said the auctioneer. I knew I had been sold by Rask of Treve to a slaver for fifteen copper tarsks. The slaver who had purchased me had sold me to the house of Publius for twenty copper tarsks. The auctioneer doubtless knew this; doubtless it was entered on my records.

The auctioneer looked at me. "Girl," said he to me, softly, menacingly, "you will, whether sold or not, spend this night in our pens. Is that clearly understood?"

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

He was not satisfied with the bids. If I did not go for a price which satisfied the house I would spend the night under Gorean slave discipline.

I would doubtless be richly whipped.

"On your belly, little Dina," he said. "Let us interest the buyers."

"Yes, Master," I said.

I fell upon my belly at his feet, awaiting his commands. I looked up, terrified, afraid that he might strike me with the whip. I lay there for a long moment. He did not strike me. The crowd was amused at my terror. "You will be prompt, obedient and beautiful, 128," said the auctioneer to me, softly. "Yes, Master," I said. Then, suddenly, snapping the whip, he said, harshly, "On your back, one knee lifted, the other leg extended, hands over your head, wrists close, as though confined in slave bracelets." I complied. Then he began to put me rapidly through the paces of the exhibited female slave; he held me in each position for the sweet instant that well revealed me, tantalizingly, in that attitude or posture, and then barked forth a new command, to a new position or attitude; the sequence of these moves was not an accident; each move followed easily, sometimes by a roll or turn, from the preceding position; shrewd rhythm and flow, calculated and sensual, physically melodious, characterized the performance humiliatingly inflicted upon me; I must submit to the choreography of slave display; I, who had been Judy Thornton, a girl of Earth, was put through Gorean slave paces; then I lay on my belly at his feet, as I had begun; I was trembling; I was covered with sweat; my hair was loose about my head and eyes; I felt the auctioneer's foot upon my body; I put my head to the block.

"What am I bid?" he called.

"Eighteen tarsks," called a man.

"Eighteen," said the auctioneer. "Nineteen? Do I hear nineteen?"

"Nineteen," called a man.

My tears stained the block. I felt its sawdust with my finger tips. Its sawdust, too, adhered to my body, held by the sweat.

The leather of the auctioneer's whip, loosely coiled, was near my back.

I looked up. There were women in the crowd. Why did they not rise up and cry out in protest at the indignity inflicted upon their sister?

But they looked upon me impassively. I was only a slave.

"Twenty," called a man.

"Twenty," said the auctioneer. He removed his foot from my body and tapped me on the back with the whip. "Kneel," he said.

I knelt on the block, near its front, miserable, in the position of the pleasure slave, the light chain and sales disk on my throat.

"I have a bid of twenty copper tarsks for this lovely little beauty," said the auctioneer. "Do I hear a bid of more?" He looked out, over the crowd.

I knelt very still. I knew the house had paid twenty tarsks for me.

"Twenty-one," called a man.

"Twenty-one," said the auctioneer.

I breathed more easily. The profit was small, but it had been turned upon me.

I was very conscious of the sales disk at my throat; it was on a looped, close-fitting chain; I could not remove the chain; it was locked.

Twenty-one tarsks had been bid upon me.

I would not be a loss to the house of Publius.

It costs only a pittance to maintain and train a girl in the barred, straw-strewn pens of a slaver's house. What is the cost of gruel and a whip?

"I have heard a bid of twenty-one tarsks," called the auctioneer. "Do I hear a bid for more?"

The crowd was silent.

I was suddenly frightened. What if the house were not satisfied with the profit they had turned? Surely it was not much. I hoped they would be satisfied. I had done my best to obey the auctioneer. I did not wish to be whipped.