"Please, no, Masters!" I called over my shoulder.

"Deceitful, deceptive, well-curved, lying slave!" screamed the free woman.

"Forgive me, Mistress!" I wept.

"See her ears!" suddenly cried the free woman. "They are pierced!"

The torchlight, doubtless, had reflected from the tiny objects, dropletlike, with their steel pins, which were fastened in my ear lobes. The tiny pins, studlike, had snapped into small disks on the other side. I did not think that these things were intended to be so much ornaments in themselves as devices by means of which to guarantee that the penetrant channels wrought in my body by the worker's needle could not, even in the healing of the flesh, close. They must remain open, held open by the tiny posts about which the wounds would heal, which posts could later be removed, their work done. And thus it was that portions of my body were made such that they would be ready later, at a master's convenience, should he so desire, for the affixing of ornamentation Even so, of course, the devices made it rather clear that my ears were pierced, as they were.

"Beat her!" screamed the free woman.

"Please, no, Mistress!" I begged.

Then I turned back, blinking against the light, for I felt myself, in the net, by means of ropes, being lowered, and being drawn toward the wall.

I did not want to be beaten!

The net neared the wall. The light was very bright.

"Close your eyes," said the woman with the torch.

I closed my eyes, gratefully, against the light. But, too, of course, I was frightened. The light hurt my eyes. But, too, I wanted to see. But, of course, I had no choice. I had been commanded.

I must obey. I am a slave.

I felt the net drawn over the low wall and then I was on the walkway, supine in the net, behind the wall. I could sense the torch, reddish, through my closed eyelids. Its radiated warmth was welcome. I lay on the stones. I heard a sniffing and a shuffling, a grunt. I shuddered, my eyes closed. I felt the toils of the net being drawn aside.

"Let us see what the object looks like," said a slurring voice, scarcely human in sound. "Oh, it is a pretty object."

I felt something large, almost pawlike, brush back my hair. I felt my head turned, from left to right, and back.

"Its ears are pierced," said the slurring voice.

"Yes," said the woman.

They had apparently now determined by actual inspection, at close range, that my ears were indeed pierced, that the objects in view were not otherwise affixed, held in place by, say, clips, or tiny plates, tightened with tiny screws.

"A pierced-ear girl," slurred the voice.

"Yes," said the woman.

"You are a pierced-ear girl," said the voice.

"Yes, Master," I whispered, my eyes closed.

"You are so low?" it asked.

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

"You may open your eyes," said the woman.

I opened my eyes, blinking against the light. I could see her fairly well, standing over me, the torch lifted.

She was a brunette, and indeed shapely, and beautiful. She wore a ta-teera, a slave rag. On her neck was a collar. It was narrow, and close-fitting, like mine; this is the sort of collar found most frequently on this world's numerous kajirae, most of us wear it. I could not well see the features of the large, s.h.a.ggy head which hung over me, as the light was behind it. I knew it could speak. But I did not know if it were human or not. I was sure, whatever it was, it was free. It was the woman behind it, in the collar, the torch lifted, who was slave.

"Untie her ankles," said the voice, and the thing straightened itself a little.

The woman placed the torch in a holder on the nearby wall, near the exit of the pa.s.sage.

She then crouched down, near my feet. The large, bent thing stood before the torch. I could see only the misshapen shadow, like something between a boulder and an animal.

"You need not look upon his face," she whispered to me, "unless commanded to do so."

"Mistress?" I asked.

"He does not care to have his face gazed upon," she said.

"Is he a beast in the service of the pit master?" I asked.

"He is the pit master," she whispered. "All here who are slave are as though his. In the pits his word is law for us. He is to be obeyed with perfection in all things, instantly, unquestioningly, with no appeal. He is here, in this place, as master."

"Master," I whispered, frightened.

"Yes," she said. "That is the power he has here, total power over us, in all ways, the power of the master! We are his, fully, to do with as he pleases."

"The state is my master," I whispered.

"Here," said she, "he is as the state."

I trembled.

"This is his world," she said, "the pits, the darkness. He has power here not only over such as we, but over the prisoners, as well."

"Prisoners?" I asked.

"Of course," she said. "And thus is order kept in this place."

"Is he human?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"What are you saying there?" asked the slurring voice, almost like that of a beast.

"Nothing, Master," she said.

"Nothing?" asked he.

"It is only the meaningless drivel of a slave," she averred.

"What have you said to her?" asked he.

"Only little things," she said. "She may desire to live."

"Are you untying her ankles?" asked he.

"I bend to my task, Master," she said.

She knelt by my ankles bending forward. Her small fingers struggled with the knots. They would not be easy to undo. They had been jerked tight by a man.

"Wait," said he.

"Master?" she asked.

"Does she appear to you sensitive, extremely feminine, even high strung?"

I looked up at the slave, startled.

"Yes, Master," responded the slave, after a moment, thoughtfully.

"Are her ankles still tightly bound?" he asked.

"Alas, yes, Master," said the slave, frightened.

"Desist in your efforts to free her, for the moment," said he.

"Yes, Master," said the slave.

"You are a newcomer to our world, are you not?" it asked.

"Is she not of the Peasants?" called the free woman from her cage, angrily, suspended over the dark waters.

But none paid her attention.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"But you have learned to call men 'Master'?"

"Yes, Master," I said.

"This world is very different from yours, is it not?" he asked. "Yes, Master," I said.

"But you are learning to fit in, are you not?" he asked.

"Yes, Master!" I said.

"And you belong in a world such as this, do you not?" he asked.

"I fear so, Master," I whispered. It made no sound. "Yes, Master," I said.

"And as what you are?"

"Yes, Master," I said. It was true.

"Your ankles are tightly tied, are they not?" he asked.

I moved them, a tiny bit. How helpless I was! How tight the cords were!

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Before her ankles are untied," he said, "let her look upon my face."

"Yes, Master," said the slave at my ankles.

I half reared up, my hands bound behind me.

"Courage," whispered the slave rising to her feet. She went to the torch behind the beastlike figure and removed it from the holder. He approached me, his face in darkness. I moved back a little. I could feel the toils of the net beneath me. How terrifying to be a slave! How helpless we are! His face was now close to mine. The woman then brought the torch forward, so that it was, lifted, a little behind me, near the wall. In this fashion were the features of the pit master illuminated.

I screamed, and tried to scramble back, bound as I was. His hand, on a bound ankle, drew me forward, over the net, on the stones. I twisted and thrashed for a moment, and then, in misery, in disbelief, looking up, past the torch, toward the recesses of the ceiling, lay still. I felt his heavy, pawlike hand. It moved about. I shuddered. "She has smooth skin," he said. He then put a hand to my hair and, by my hair, drew me up, sitting, before him.

In my hair his hand was tight. I did not complain. A slave is not a free woman. She does not expect to be handled gently. I did not wish to be cuffed. I kept my eyes closed, desperately. He drew my head forward, closer to his. I could feel the heat of his breath on my face.

I sobbed. I gasped. Burning tears forced themselves from between my tightly pressed eyelids. "Open your eyes," it said. I could tell that it was not pleased. His hand was now cruelly tight in my hair. I was well held.

My ankles fought the cords on them. My hands were tied behind my back.

I could not press him away, or even try to do so. I could not leap up. I could not run. He tightened his grip yet more on my hair and, instantly, sobbing, I ceased to struggle. I held as still as I could. The least movement would have caused me excruciating agony.

"Courage!" whispered the female slave.

"Must a command be repeated?" he inquired.

"No, Master!" I whispered.

I then opened my eyes and now, for the first time, confirming the horror of my earlier, briefest glimpse, looked fully upon the features of the pit master.

It was in the power of this thing that I was!

A convulsive shudder overcame me.

I lost consciousness.

THIRTEEN