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Authors: John Norman
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freshening his
stock, and such. He might wish, casually, merely to try out new slaves, perhaps
ridding himself of one to acquire another, who may have caught his eye. Perhaps
he wants to keep a flow of slaves in his house, lest he grow too attached to
one, always a danger. Too, of course, economic considerations sometimes become
paramount, these sometimes dictating the selling off of chattels, whose value,
of course, unlike that of a free woman, constitutes a source of possible income.
Indeed, there are many reasons for the buying and selling of slaves, as there
are for other forms of properties.
I continued to watch the female, the sign about her neck, dance. No, I said to
myself, it would not do to bring her into peril. Then I chastised myself for
weakness. One would not (pg. 46) wish to purchase her, of course, because she
might constitute an encumbrance. Still, she was attractive. Even as I considered
the matter she received a sign from a fellow, her master, I suppose, and she
tore open her silk, and danced even more plaintively before one fellow and then
another. She seemed frightened. I suspected she had been warned as to what might
befall her if she should prove unsuccessful in securing a buyer. I saw her
glance at her master. His gaze was stern, unpitying. She danced in terror.
“Ahh,” said Marcus. “Look!”
He was indicating the slim blonde, she with the chained wrists, whose dance
before her master seemed clearly placatory in nature. She had perhaps begged to
be permitted to appear before him in the dancing circle, that she might attempt
to please him. he had perhaps acquiesced. I recalled he had thrust her into the
circle, perhaps in this generously according her, though perhaps with some
impatience, and misgivings, this chance to make amends for some perhaps
unintentional, minuscule transgression. Perhaps his paga had not been heated to
the right temperature. Women look well in collars.
“See?” asked Marcus.
I wondered how long he could hold out.
“I can do that, Master,” sobbed Phoebe, trying to stand very still.
The blonde was now on her knees, extending her arms to her master, piteously,
all this with the music in her arms, her shoulders, her head and hair, her
belly.
“Aii!” said Marcus.
Her master seized her from the circle then and hurried her from the light, her
head down, held by the hair, at his left hip. This is a common leading position
for female slaves being conducted short distances. As the master holds her hair
in the left hand, it leaves his right hand, commonly the sword hand, free.
Another woman was thrust into the circle.
I thought the blonde had very successfully managed to divert her master’s wrath,
assuming that was what she was up to. The only whip she need fear now, muchly,
at any rate, would seem to be the “whip of the furs.” To be sure, she might be
given a stroke or two, if only to remind her that she was a slave.
“Look,” said Marcus, interested.
I saw that the girl with the sign about her neck had taken a leaf from the book
of the blonde, and cunningly, too. She, too, was now on her knees, advertising
her charms, attesting mutely to the joys and delicacies that would be attendant
upon her (pg. 47) ownership. I saw her owner look at her, startled. She, of
course, did not now see him. I gathered he had never seen her in just this
fashion or way before, her silk parted, writhing on her knees, kissing, lifting
her hands, her head moving, her hair flung about. “I will buy her!” called a
fellow. “How much do you want?” inquired another, eagerly. Her master rushed
into the circle. “Close your silk, lascivious slut!” he ordered her. Swiftly she
clutched the silk about her, startled, confused, kneeling small before him. He
looked about, angrily. He jerked her by one arm to her feet. She struggled to
keep her silk closed with the other hand. “She is not for sale!” he said. He
then drew her rapidly from
stock, and such. He might wish, casually, merely to try out new slaves, perhaps
ridding himself of one to acquire another, who may have caught his eye. Perhaps
he wants to keep a flow of slaves in his house, lest he grow too attached to
one, always a danger. Too, of course, economic considerations sometimes become
paramount, these sometimes dictating the selling off of chattels, whose value,
of course, unlike that of a free woman, constitutes a source of possible income.
Indeed, there are many reasons for the buying and selling of slaves, as there
are for other forms of properties.
I continued to watch the female, the sign about her neck, dance. No, I said to
myself, it would not do to bring her into peril. Then I chastised myself for
weakness. One would not (pg. 46) wish to purchase her, of course, because she
might constitute an encumbrance. Still, she was attractive. Even as I considered
the matter she received a sign from a fellow, her master, I suppose, and she
tore open her silk, and danced even more plaintively before one fellow and then
another. She seemed frightened. I suspected she had been warned as to what might
befall her if she should prove unsuccessful in securing a buyer. I saw her
glance at her master. His gaze was stern, unpitying. She danced in terror.
“Ahh,” said Marcus. “Look!”
He was indicating the slim blonde, she with the chained wrists, whose dance
before her master seemed clearly placatory in nature. She had perhaps begged to
be permitted to appear before him in the dancing circle, that she might attempt
to please him. he had perhaps acquiesced. I recalled he had thrust her into the
circle, perhaps in this generously according her, though perhaps with some
impatience, and misgivings, this chance to make amends for some perhaps
unintentional, minuscule transgression. Perhaps his paga had not been heated to
the right temperature. Women look well in collars.
“See?” asked Marcus.
I wondered how long he could hold out.
“I can do that, Master,” sobbed Phoebe, trying to stand very still.
The blonde was now on her knees, extending her arms to her master, piteously,
all this with the music in her arms, her shoulders, her head and hair, her
belly.
“Aii!” said Marcus.
Her master seized her from the circle then and hurried her from the light, her
head down, held by the hair, at his left hip. This is a common leading position
for female slaves being conducted short distances. As the master holds her hair
in the left hand, it leaves his right hand, commonly the sword hand, free.
Another woman was thrust into the circle.
I thought the blonde had very successfully managed to divert her master’s wrath,
assuming that was what she was up to. The only whip she need fear now, muchly,
at any rate, would seem to be the “whip of the furs.” To be sure, she might be
given a stroke or two, if only to remind her that she was a slave.
“Look,” said Marcus, interested.
I saw that the girl with the sign about her neck had taken a leaf from the book
of the blonde, and cunningly, too. She, too, was now on her knees, advertising
her charms, attesting mutely to the joys and delicacies that would be attendant
upon her (pg. 47) ownership. I saw her owner look at her, startled. She, of
course, did not now see him. I gathered he had never seen her in just this
fashion or way before, her silk parted, writhing on her knees, kissing, lifting
her hands, her head moving, her hair flung about. “I will buy her!” called a
fellow. “How much do you want?” inquired another, eagerly. Her master rushed
into the circle. “Close your silk, lascivious slut!” he ordered her. Swiftly she
clutched the silk about her, startled, confused, kneeling small before him. He
looked about, angrily. He jerked her by one arm to her feet. She struggled to
keep her silk closed with the other hand. “She is not for sale!” he said. He
then drew her rapidly from
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