said.
“Do not feel sorry for them,” she said. “They have the switch and whip.”
“How deprived, and lonely they must be,” I said, “in their pride and misery.”
“They envy us our collars, and our joy,” she said.
“I fear so,” I said.
“Have you been mastered?” she asked.
“I am a slave,” I said. “Any man can master me.”
“But perhaps you hope for a given master?” she asked.
“Oh, yes!” I breathed. “But why do you ask?”
“You are well chained,” she observed.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Think,” she said. “You have not only been put naked in a high-security stockade, but chained, by the neck, and hand and foot. You are held to the wall, and you cannot even bring your hands together before your body or bring your legs together. Surely you are aware of your vulnerability, and how you might be caressed with impunity.”
“Yes,” I said, frightened.
“What do you think the point of all this is,” she asked, “the meaning of such a chaining?”
“I think,” I said, “to instruct me.”
“How so?” she asked.
“To convince me of the futility of escape,” I said.
“Perhaps,” she said. “What else?”
“That I may better know myself a slave?” I said.
“Doubtless,” she said. “And, too, does your utter helplessness and complete vulnerability not arouse you?”
I dared not respond.
“But there is more meaning here,” she said, “than you understand, and perhaps more than he who chained you understands.”
“I do not understand, at all,” I said.
“There is no slave in this stockade,” she said, “who is not lovely, who would not be an excellent buy, who would not be a prize to remove from an auction block, and yet you are the only one who is chained.”
“Perhaps they fear I will try to escape,” I said.
“By leaping naked over the palings?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“If that were all,” she said, “a single ankle chain would do. It would hold you in place very nicely, in utter helplessness, while you await the convenience of masters.”
“I cannot understand you,” I said.
“What sorts of things are secured?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Prizes, treasures, valuables,” she said.
“It seems so,” I said.
“And what is secured with great care,” she asked, “with heaviness and authority, even immoderately?”
“I do not know,” I said.
“Something which is important to one,” she said, “something one does not wish to risk losing, something which one wants, something which one desires, something which one refuses to give up, something which one is determined to possess.”
“Surely not!” I said.
Chapter Fifty-One
“We leave in the early morning,” said Tyrtaios, angrily.
“I understand,” I said.
“Surely you understand the importance of the secret cargo we boarded some nights ago, and disguised in the hold,” he said.
“I understand it is important,” I said, “but I do not understand why it is important, or how it is important.”
“Worlds may hang on its delivery at the World’s End,” he said.
“It seems unlikely to me,” I said, “that the ship, mighty as it may be, will reach the World’s End, if such a place exists. What is such a ship, even so stout and strong, in the merciless grip of Thassa?”
“Doubtless it will be grievously tested,” said Tyrtaios.
“Consider the season,” I said.
“Do you fear to sail with her?” asked Tyrtaios.
“Of course,” I said, “as might any rational individual, understanding what is involved, but I am prepared to do so.”
“You know the risks,” said Tyrtaios.
“Of course,” I said.
“And there are more,” said Tyrtaios.
“I understand,” I said.
“Much may be risked where much is to be gained,” said Tyrtaios.
“I understand,” I said.
“Would you not wish untold wealth, the command of fleets and armies, your choice of women?” he asked. “Do you not want a ubarate, or ubarates? Perhaps you might be given Cos or Tyros, Ar or Turia, a dozen cities?”
“I find this hard to believe,” I said.
Angrily, he drew from his wallet a double tarn of gold, and hurled it against my jacket, where I caught it, and regarded it, incredulously. Many Goreans have never seen such a coin, and some doubt that it exists. “It is yours,” he said, “and it is nothing. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I said.
“I and my principal are displeased with you,” he said.
“How so?” I asked.
“Few know of this, the secret cargo, and those who do are important, so important that they must be relied upon, or eliminated. And you, like an enamored fool, rush into the forest on the track of a meaningless chit, even a barbarian.”
“I thought it would be a pleasant diversion,” I said.
“Seek your diversions less distant,” said Tyrtaios.
“I accompanied Axel of Argentum,”