I, too, glanced at her. She was not trained. She did not know slave dance. Her movements were those of a virgin, a white-silk girl. She had not yet been taught slave helplessness. No man yet, in his arms, had taught her the exquisite, transforming degradations of the utilized slave, the wrenching surrender spasms, enforced upon her by his will, of the conquered bondwoman, experiences which, once she has had them, she is never willing to give up, experiences which she comes to need, experiences for which she will do anything, experiences which, whether she wishes it or not, put her at and keep her at, the mercy of men.
"She is clumsy," said Samos. He was irritated. I saw he did not wish, really, to have her killed. A man laughed at her, as she tried to dance before him. "Her throat will be caught within the Ahn," laughed another man. Another man turned away from her, when she approached him, to have his goblet of paga filled by a luscious, half-naked, collared slave.
"Clumsy, clumsy," said Samos. "I thought she might have the makings, somehow, of a pleasure slave."
"She is trying," I said.
"She does not have what it takes," said Samos.
"Her body is richly curved," I said. "That suggests an abundance of female hormones, and that, in turn, suggests the potentialities, the capacities for love, the sensibilities, the dispositions of the pleasure slave."
"She is not acceptable," said Samos. "She is inadequate."
"She is trying desperately to please," I said.
"But she is not succeeding," he said.
"She has a lovely body," I said. "Perhaps someone could buy her for a pittance, for a pot girl."
"She is not adequate," said Samos. "I will have to have her destroyed."
"Dance, you stupid slave," hissed one. "Do you not know you are a slave? Do you not know you are owned?"
A wild look, one of sudden, fearful insight, came over the face of the dancer. She had not thought, specifically, objectively, it seemed, about this aspect of matters. But, of course, she was owned. She was now property. She could now be bought and sold, like a tarsk, at the pleasure of masters.
"Dance, fool!" cried one of the slave girls to the former Lady Rowena of Lydius.
"See the free woman!" laughed one of the slaves. "It is the sleen for her," said another.
"Please men!" cried another. "What do you think you are for?"
She who had been the Lady Rowena fell sobbing to her knees, helpless on the tiles, covering her face with her hands. The music stopped.
"With your permission," I said to Samos. I rose to my feet and went to the girl, now prone, red eyed, on the tiles. I crouched down beside her. I turned her over, handling her with authority, as a slave is handled. She looked up at me. Never before, doubtless, had she been handled like this.
"Her face is beautiful," I said, "her body is curvaceous, her limbs are fair. It seems she should bring a good price." She gasped, appraised as a female.
