She looked up, smiling, but a little frightened.

I thought I had probably been too indulgent with her. She was, after all, a free woman, and how often would a slave have such as she in her charge? "Stand, Tuta," I said, suddenly, sharply, "and put your wrists behind your back, and lift your chin. You are to be braceleted and leashed."

"Janice," said the free woman, the Lady Constanzia of Besnit, now disguised as Tuta, a slave.

"Yes," I said.

"I would not, as the sort of slave I am supposed to be, be kneeling thus, would I?"

We were kneeling on the broad steps leading to the upper terraces.

Her knees were widely spread, as those of a pleasure slave.

"No." I said, "as you are presumably not to be understood as a pleasure slave."

She closed her knees, it seemed to me, reluctantly.

"But," I said, "any slave might kneel so, for example, as a placatory gesture, to avert a master's wrath, to interest a man, to plead with him that he might have mercy upon her, and give attention to her needs, and such."

"I see," she said.

"But it is only in the pleasure slave," I said, "that the position is commonly required."

"I understand," she said.

"Failure to kneel properly, for one such as I," I said, "is cause for discipline."

"Discipline?"

"The whip, or such," I said, "whatever the master pleases."

"I see," she whispered.

"Straighten your back," I said. "Lift your head." She did so.

"You inspect your handiwork?" she inquired.

"Yes," I said.

"I am more exposed than most slaves," she said, "am I not?"

"Less so than those who are kept naked," I said. I regarded her. I had knotted the brown rag low on her hips, so that their lovely flare might be the better noted.

"Is the halter too tight?" I asked.

"I do not object," she said.

This halter, improvised from a brown rag, like the skirt, was, in its simplicity and raggedness, as I have suggested, believable as, and suitable for, a slave halter. Too, if there were any doubts as to the matter, they surely would have been dispelled by the manner in which it was on her, by the height, tightness, and insolence with which it confined her, leaving little of the delights of her lineaments to speculation, the knots jerked tight with casual authority. Would she be clad as a slave? Then let her know how slaves might be clad, for the interest and delectation of men, we at the mercy of those delicious, masterful beasts.

"Am I attractive?" she asked.

"I would think so," I said.

"Do you think men might be interested in me?"

"Certainly," I said.

"Enough to pay good money for me?"

"Of course."

"Am I beautiful?" she asked.

"Yes, beautiful," I said.

"Am I truly beautiful?"

"Yes," I said, "you are truly beautiful. And you are also vain. Quite vain."

"But slaves are permitted vanity, are they not?" she inquired.

"Perhaps," I said. "But you are not a slave."

"Perhaps you are mistaken," she said. She smiled.

How irritating a free woman can be!

I looked away.

"I am clothed as a low slave, am I not?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You enjoyed devising these garments, and putting me in them, didn't you?" she asked.

I turned, to look back upon her.

"Yes," I said, "free woman."

"A slave's vengeance on us?" she laughed.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Was I supposed to be dismayed, to be scandalized and shamed?" she asked.

"Perhaps," I said. "Were you?"

"No," she said.

"But when we came to the exit, at the height of the tunnels, you hung back," I said. "You were terrified.

You feared to be drawn, as you are, into the light."

"Yes," she said. "I was afraid then!"

"Do you wish to return to the cell?" I had asked her.

"No!" she had wept.

"You will then, free woman," I had said to her, "emerge into the light, and as you are!"

I had then, she braceleted and helpless on the leash, unable to resist, drawn her forth, out into the light.

Then she had stood there, just outside the opening to the tunnel, "slave clad," her head lifted, her eyes closed against the light, in the full light of the sun. She had seemed suddenly rapturous. It had been done.

She stood there, outside of the tunnels. Her bared feet were on the warm stones. The light of the sun fell full upon her, illuminating and warming her.

It was hot and bright on her muchly exposed body.

"I will show you the bazaar," I had said.

"These garments make me attractive, don't they?" she asked.

"You are attractive anyway," I said, "and would never be more so than if you were naked in your collar."

"But they do, too, make me attractive, in their way, do they not?" she asked.

"As all suitable slave garments," I said, "they stimulate and provoke interest."

"Yes!" she said.

"They conceal and hint," I said, "but, as slave garments, they are not permitted to deceive or falsify."

"I understand the distinction perfectly," she said.

"Even the relative modesty of a common slave tunic," I said, "tends to be stimulatory."

"Doubtless," she said.

"I have haltered your b.r.e.a.s.t.s high," I said, "the better to emphasize the line of your body, and the better to show you as one subject to bonds, but it is clear, from the way in which this is done, that deception is not involved. For example, it is quite clear what would be the case were they free to be gazed upon without interference, the halter having been, say, cut away. Too, the line in question is one of several quite natural ones. It would be similarly well revealed if your wrists were fastened to an overhead chain or if you were thrown on your back, head down, half over a couch."

"I see," she said.

"You would doubtless look delightful in a variety of slave garments," I said. "I think you would look quite fetching, for example, in a common slave tunic, sleeveless, brief and such."

"Yes," she said. "Let us come again and again to the surface. And garb me variously!"

"Perhaps," I said.

"But never forget," she said, "as you have garbed me now!"

"You do not object?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I love it!"

"Perhaps," I said, somewhat maliciously, "the next time, if the pit master permits us a repet.i.tion of this adventure, I will march you through the streets as a bare-breasted slave, permitted only a string and slave strip."

She suddenly squirmed and jerked at the slave bracelets confining her hands behind her back. "Surely, Janice," she cried, "you would not!"

I laughed.

"You are teasing me!" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Tell me more of slave garments!" she begged.

"Are you rested?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"We must be on our way," I said.

"Please!" she said.

"There are many varieties of slave garments," I said, "which have their various purposes and utilities, such as display of the slave, the mockery or humiliation of the slave, the a.s.surance of her instant availability, punishment garments, confinement garments, and such."

"It is an entire world," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"But the important thing, really, about slave garments," I said, "whether they are the richest of gowns, with perhaps a slit in them through which a thigh must be revealed, or the tiniest of strings and slave strips, is that they are just that, slave garments.

It is their meaning, primarily, which renders them provocative, that they are slave garments, that she who wears them is slave."

"Yes!" she said. "That is it!"

"We must be on our way," I said.

"I have seen some slaves in the streets naked," she said.

"Yes," I said. "We are subject to that."

"If I were a slave," she said, "I could be put in the street that way, couldn't I?"

"Of course," I said.

"You are so vulnerable," she said.