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Tarnsman of Gor :: Норман Джон
Страница: 82 из 145She bit her lower lip, and, if Kazrak had not been present, would undoubtedly have roundly informed me of her displeasure.
"Did you expect to be dressed as a free woman?" I snapped.
She glared at me, knowing that she must play her role, at least in the presence of Kazrak. She tossed her head haughtily. "Of course not," she said, adding ironically, "Master." Her back straight as a tarp-goad, she disappeared behind the silk hanging. A moment later the torn rag of blue silk flew out from behind the hanging.
A moment or two after, Talena stepped forth for our inspection, brazen and insolent. She wore the diagonally striped slave livery of Gor, as had Sana — that briefly skirted, simple, sleeveless garment.
She turned before us.
"Do I please you?" she asked.
It was obvious she did. Talena was a most beautiful girl.
"Kneel," I said, drawing out the collar.
Talena blanched, but, as Kazrak chuckled, she knelt before me, her fists clenched.
"Read it," I ordered.
Talena looked at the engraved collar and shook with rage.
"Read it," I said. "Out loud."
She read the simple legend aloud: "I AM THE PROPERTY OF TARL OF BRISTOL."
I snapped the slender steel collar on her throat, placing the key in my pouch.
"Shall I call for the iron?" asked Kazrak.
"No," begged Talena, now, for the first time, frightened.
"I shall not brand her today," I said, keeping a straight face.
"By the Priest-Kings," laughed Kazrak, "I believe you care for the shetharlarion."
"Leave us, Warrior," I said.
Kazrak laughed again, winked at me, and backed with mock ceremony from the tent.
Talena sprang to her feet, her two fists flying for my face. I caught her wrists.
"How dare you?" she raged. "Take this thing off," she commanded.
She struggled fiercely, futilely. When in sheer frustration she stopped squirming, I released her. She pulled at the circle of steel on her throat. "Remove this degrading object," she commanded, "now!" She faced me, her mouth trembling with rage. "The daughter of the Ubar of Ar wears no man's collar."
"The daughter of the Ubar of Ar," I said, "wears the collar of Tarl of Bristol."
There was a long pause.
"I suppose," she said, attempting to save face, "it would perhaps be appropriate for a tarnsman to place his collar on the captive daughter of a rich merchant."
"Or the daughter of a goat keeper," I added.
Her eyes snapped. "Yes, perhaps," she said. "Very well. I concede the reasonableness of your plan." Then she held out her small hand imperiously.
"Did you expect to be dressed as a free woman?" I snapped.
She glared at me, knowing that she must play her role, at least in the presence of Kazrak. She tossed her head haughtily. "Of course not," she said, adding ironically, "Master." Her back straight as a tarp-goad, she disappeared behind the silk hanging. A moment later the torn rag of blue silk flew out from behind the hanging.
A moment or two after, Talena stepped forth for our inspection, brazen and insolent. She wore the diagonally striped slave livery of Gor, as had Sana — that briefly skirted, simple, sleeveless garment.
She turned before us.
"Do I please you?" she asked.
It was obvious she did. Talena was a most beautiful girl.
"Kneel," I said, drawing out the collar.
Talena blanched, but, as Kazrak chuckled, she knelt before me, her fists clenched.
"Read it," I ordered.
Talena looked at the engraved collar and shook with rage.
"Read it," I said. "Out loud."
She read the simple legend aloud: "I AM THE PROPERTY OF TARL OF BRISTOL."
I snapped the slender steel collar on her throat, placing the key in my pouch.
"Shall I call for the iron?" asked Kazrak.
"No," begged Talena, now, for the first time, frightened.
"I shall not brand her today," I said, keeping a straight face.
"By the Priest-Kings," laughed Kazrak, "I believe you care for the shetharlarion."
"Leave us, Warrior," I said.
Kazrak laughed again, winked at me, and backed with mock ceremony from the tent.
Talena sprang to her feet, her two fists flying for my face. I caught her wrists.
"How dare you?" she raged. "Take this thing off," she commanded.
She struggled fiercely, futilely. When in sheer frustration she stopped squirming, I released her. She pulled at the circle of steel on her throat. "Remove this degrading object," she commanded, "now!" She faced me, her mouth trembling with rage. "The daughter of the Ubar of Ar wears no man's collar."
"The daughter of the Ubar of Ar," I said, "wears the collar of Tarl of Bristol."
There was a long pause.
"I suppose," she said, attempting to save face, "it would perhaps be appropriate for a tarnsman to place his collar on the captive daughter of a rich merchant."
"Or the daughter of a goat keeper," I added.
Her eyes snapped. "Yes, perhaps," she said. "Very well. I concede the reasonableness of your plan." Then she held out her small hand imperiously.