"The wall weakens a pasang east of the platform," said another man's voice.

"Strengthen it," she said.

"Logs are now few," he said.

"Use stone," she said.

"It will be done," said the voice of the man who had spoken.

I lay on a wooden floor, of heavy, rough boards. I shook my head.

I felt the roughness of the boards with my shoulder. I was stripped to the waist. I wore loose trousers of fur, tied about my waist, and fur boots. My hands were manacled behind my back.

"This is the new one?" asked the girl's voice.

"It is he," said a man's voice.

"Arouse him," she said.

I was dragged to my knees and struck with the butts of spears.

I shook my head, and regarded her.

"You are Tarl Cabot," she said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"What men could not do," she said, "I have done. I have taken you."

"There were some men in Lydius," I said.

"They were in my fee!" she said. "Thus, it is I who have taken you."

"Of course," I said.

"We have been watching for you," she said. "We were warned that you might be foolish enough to venture northward."

I said nothing.

"You are a strong, sensuous brute," she said. "Is it true that you are so dangerous?"

I saw no point in responding to her.

"Your acquisition," she said, "will earn me a promotion with my superiors."

"Who might they be?" I asked.

"Ones who are not Priest-Kings," she smiled. She went to a table. I saw belongings of mine upon the table, doubtless fetched from Lydius.

"It was clear quite early," she said, "that you were no common ruffian from the docks of Lydius." She sifted golden tarn disks through her fingers. She drew forth the blade from the sheath. "I am told," said she, "this is a finely tempered blade, keen, subtly balanced, the weapon of one who is of the warriors.

"Perhaps," I said.

She unwrapped from its fur the carving, in bluish stone, of the head of a beast. "What is this?" she asked.

"Do you not know?" I asked.

"The head of a beast," she said.

"That is true," I said.

She placed it back in the fur. It seemed clear to me that she did not understand its import. Kurii, like Priest-Kings, often work through men, concealing themselves from those who would serve them. Samos, for example, had little inkling of the nature of Priest-Kings.

"You are a woman," I said.

I regarded her. She wore trousers and a jacket of whitish fur, of the sea sleen; the jacket had a hood, thrown back, rimmed with lart fur, on which human breath does not freeze. Her boots were of the fur of sea sleen, trimmed, too, with lart fur. The jacket was held about her waist, closely, by a narrow belt, black, and shining, with a golden catch. To this belt, on two small straps, hung a dagger sheath; the handle of the weapon was ornamented with reds and yellow swirls. Over her shoulder, across her body, was a second belt, from which hung, at her right hip, a pouch and, on a ring, a slave whip, its blades folded, and four coils of narrow, rawhide rope.

"You are perceptive," she said.

"And one who is perhaps beautiful," I said. Surely her face was beautiful. It was one which, like that of Constance, was very feminine and delicate. It did not comport well with what I took to be the harshness of her charge in the north. Her complexion was very fair; her eyes were softly blue; her hair, fallen about her shoulders, revealed by the thrown-back hood, was a soft, lush auburn in color.

"What do you mean 'one who is perhaps beautiful'?" she asked.

"The furs obscure my vision," I said. "Why do you not remove them?"

She strode toward me, angrily, and struck me across the mouth with her small hand.

She could not hit me hard, for she was too weak. I did not think she weighed more than one hundred and twenty Earth pounds. She was about five feet five inches in height.

I laughed. "I suppose you would bring something in the neighborhood of a silver tarsk in the market," I said.

She struck me again, and again. And then desisted, in fury.

"I will make you regret your insolence," she said.

"Do you know the dances of a Gorean slave girl?" I asked.

"Beast!" she screamed.

"You are of Earth," I said. "Your accent is not Gorean." I looked at her. "American, aren't you?" I asked her, in English.

"Yes," she hissed, in English.

"That explains," I said, "why you are unfamiliar with the dances of the Gorean slave girl."

She looked at me in fury.

"But you might be taught," I said.

She pulled the whip from her belt in a rage and hysterically, holding it with both hands, began to strike me with it. It was not pleasant, but she did not have the strength to make the blows tell. I had been whipped by men. Finally, angrily, she stepped back.

"You are too weak to hurt me," I said. "But I am not too weak to hurt you."

"I will have you whipped by my men," she said.

I shrugged.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Sidney," she said.

"What is your first name?" I asked.

"That is my first name," she said, not pleasantly. "I am Sidney Anderson."

"'Sidney'," I said, "is a man's name."

"Some women have it," she said. "My parents gave it to me."

"Doubtless they wanted a boy," I said. Then I added, "They were fools."

"Do you think so," she asked.

"Certainly," I said, "both sexes are utterly splendid. One is fortunate to have either. Women are rich, and subtle and marvelous."

"I did not think you respected women," she said.

"I do not," I said.

"I do not understand," she said.

"The man who respects a woman does not know what else to do with her," I said. "I meant only to indicate that women are inordinately precious and desirable."

"We look well in collars," she said, acidly.

"You belong in collars," I said, "at the feet of men."

She turned away, angrily. I could not see her face.

"Are you still attempting to be the boy your parents wished?" I asked.

She spun about, in fury.

"In such a task," I said, "you will never be successful."

"You will be lengthily and sufficiently beaten," she said.

I looked away, at the room. It was high, and of wood, and with an arched roof. There was a dais at one end, on which, in a rough-hewn curule chair, she had sat. There was a rug of sleen skin beneath the chair, and another before the dais. A table was to one side, on which were some of my things. There was a hearth to one side, in which wood burned.

I turned my attention back to the auburn-haired girl.

"Are you well paid?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Do you understand the nature of the cause in which you work?" I asked.

"Of course," she said. "I labor in the cause of Sidney Anderson."

"You are a true mercenary," I smiled.

"Yes," she said, proudly, "I am a mercenary." She looked at me. "Do you think a woman cannot be a mercenary?"

"No," I said, "I see no reason why a woman cannot be a mercenary."

She came over to me and touched me on the cheek with the whip.

"I will put you to work on the wall," she said.

"What wall?" I asked.

"You will see," she said.

"Are you a virgin?" I asked.

She struck me across the face with the whip. "Yes," she said.

"I shall be the first to have you," I told her.

She struck me again, savagely. "Be silent!" she said.

"Surely you are curious about your sexuality," I said.

"Do not use that word before me!" she said.

"It is obvious," I said. "Consider how closely you have fastened the belt on your furs. That is done, even if only unconsciously, to draw attention to your figure, accenting and emphasizing it."

"No!" she said.

"Have you never considered," I asked, watching her, "what it would be like to be naked on a slave block, being sold to men, what it would be like to be a nude slave, owned, at the command of a master?"

"No! No! No!" she cried.

"You have seen slaves," I said. "Surely you are curious what it would be like to be one."

"No!" she screamed.

The intensity of her responses had conveyed to me the in-formation in which I was interested.