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confined. Occasionally, too, some chains dangled down from the low ceiling.
    â€œThis one is a beauty,” said a voice.
    â€œOf course, I was a beauty,” I thought. “Doubtless they had seldom seen a woman so beautiful!”
    I lifted my head, arrogantly.
    â€œBut it was mine to withhold, or bestow, as I might,” I thought. “It would open doors for me. It was my device, fortune, and weapon. Men, the smitten fools, strove to please me. It could be exploited, to my advantage. I had often done so, as a matter of routine and practice, in minor matters, biding my time, awaiting the special opportunity, which must eventually appear, the wealthiest, most handsome, most charming suitor. I could auction it off, when it pleased me, so to speak, to the highest bidder. When one has beauty, what more is needed?”
    But I knelt on a cement floor, barefoot, clad only in a nightgown, my hands fastened behind me!
    â€œMarvelous,” said one of the men.
    â€œOf course!” I thought.
    â€œWhat is your name?” asked one of the men.
    â€œWhatever Masters please,” said Paula.
    The men were not regarding me! They had gathered about Paula, plain, shy Paula!
    â€œTwo, silver,” said one of the men.
    â€œOn a first sale?” asked another.
    â€œWhy not?” said the first.
    â€œWhat of the other one?” asked a fellow, looking toward me.
    â€œCopper tarsks,” said a man.
    â€œShe is not bad,” said another.
    â€œShe may do,” said another, “once she has been taught her collar.”
    I wanted to cry out with indignation, and rage, but I dared not speak. We had been warned to silence. These men were of the sort a woman knows she must obey.
    At that time I did not realize that I would, indeed, and soon, be taught my collar, indeed, would be well taught my collar.
    â€œShe is the one Kurik said was a bitch,” said one of the men.
    â€œWhat is a ‘bitch’?” asked another of the men, who seemed to have some sort of accent.
    He was answered by a phrase I did not understand, as it seemed to be in a language I did not recognize.
    â€œOh,” said the one who had asked the question, seemingly satisfied.
    â€œAre you a bitch?” asked the fellow who had answered the first fellow’s question.
    â€œNo!” I said.
    â€œLying is not permitted to one such as you,” he said.
    â€œI do not think I am a bitch,” I said. “I hope I am not a bitch.”
    I recalled that the fellow who had appeared unexpectedly in the office, that warm afternoon, near closing time, when the shades were drawn against the light and heat, had dared to use that expression of me. How rude, how insulting! And then I recalled, further, uneasily, that he informed me that a whip could take that out of a woman.
    â€œIs it true,” asked the fellow with the accent, “that when Kurik appeared before you, you did not immediately fall to your knees?”
    â€œYes,” I whispered.
    â€œDo not be concerned,” said one of the men. “She is a stupid, spoiled woman of Earth. She did not know any better.”
    â€œShe must learn quickly,” said the fellow with the accent.
    â€œShe will,” he was assured.
    â€œMore amusingly,” said another, “she struck Kurik.”
    â€œSurely not,” said the fellow with the accent.
    â€œI wish I had seen it,” said another.
    â€œAnd her hand was not cut off?” asked the man with the accent.
    â€œShe thought herself a free woman,” said a man.
    â€œMistakenly,” said the man with an accent.
    â€œTrue,” said another. “One can look at her, and see that she is a slave. Regard her face, and lineaments.”
    â€œShe knew no better,” said a man. “Let her keep both hands. She will then be better able to please a master in the thousand modalities of the kajira.”
    â€œLet us chain and lash her now,” said the man with the