"She is extremely pretty," I said.
"She knows something of slave dance," said a fellow, licking his lips.
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes," he said.
"Tuka, Tuka, Tuka!" called more men.
The fellow, Teiber, looked down at his slave, who looked up at him, and quickly, timidly, kissed at his thigh. How much she was his, I thought.
"Tuka, to the circle!" called a fellow.
"She is a dancer," said a man.
"She is extraordinary," said another.
"Put Tuka in the circle!" called a fellow.
"Tuka, Tyka!" called another.
Teiber snapped his fingers once, sharply, and the slave leaped to her feet, standing erect, her head down, turned to the right, her hands at her sides, the palms facing backward. She might have been in a paga tavern, preparing to enter upon the sand or floor. I considered Teiber's Tuka. She had an excellent figure for slave dance.
"Clear the circle!" called a fellow. The other dancers hurried to the side, to sit and kneel, and watch. I considered the slave. She was beautiful, and well curved. Teiber gestured to the circle.
"Ahh!" said men.
"She moves like a dancer," I said.
"She is a dancer," said a fellow. I considered the girl. She now stood in the circle, relaxed, yet supple and vital, her wrists, back to back, over her head, her knees flexed.
"She is a bred passion slave," I said, "with papers and a lineage going back a thousand years."
"No," said a man.
"Where did he pick her up?" I asked, "At the Curulean?"
"I do not know," said a fellow.
I supposed she was perhaps a capture. I did not know if a fellow such as this Teiber, who did not seem of the merchants or rich, could have afforded a slave of such obvious value. A fellow, for example, who cannot afford a certain kailla might be able to capture it, and then, once he has his rope on its neck, and manages to make away with it, it is his mount.
"Aii!" cried a fellow.
"Aii!" said I too. Dancing was the slave!
"She is surely a bred passion slave," I said. "Surely the blood line of such an animal go back a thousand years!"
