could have him
under my foot or upon my sword. Such authorities recommend breaking the
kantharos into shards on the face, marking the target above the bridge of the
nose with the rim. This can be even more dangerous with a metal goblet. Many
civilians, I believe, do not know why certain warriors, by habit, request their
paga in metal goblets when dining in public houses. They regard it, I suppose,
as an eccentricity. I heard him make another sound of contempt, and then he
strode away, toward another table. He was still alive. I wondered what was in
the pouch.
I took another sip of paga.
The fellow, I noted, had taken one of the larger tables, a double table, for
himself. To be sure, the paga room was not crowded. He and I were the only
customers at this hour. I had taken a small table near the wall. The small table
does not encourage the approach of strangers. Its location, too, was not an
accident. It permits one to survey the entire room, including the entrance, and,
too, to have the wall at one’s back.
He smote twice on the surface of his table. It leapt under his blows.
“Waitress!” he called. “Waitress!”
I heard the swinging of the kitchen door and a sound of chain. The Lady Temione
came forth. I would have to admit that she was pretty, in the half light, in her
chains. She had apparently cleaned herself, or had been cleaned, perhaps having
her head and upper body thrust into a washing tub. There was no sign now, at any
rate, of the porridge in her hair, or about her face, neck, shoulders and
breasts. She cast an angry look at me. I was still nursing the paga. I even had
some bread left.
She hurried to the newcomer.
It seemed for a moment she was going to request his order on her feet, almost as
though in defiance, but then, looking back at me, she suddenly knelt and
performed obeisance and then knelt back on her heels, in a waitress’s proper
deference, to receive the orders of the keeper’s customer.
(pg.78) I took another sip of paga. She would, of course, have to return to my
table, eventually, to bring the check. Perhaps that was why she chose to observe
the waitress’s proper forms. To be sure, the waitresses in Gorean paga rooms,
and such, are usually slaves. Still, it did not seem inappropriate that she,
too, should perform suitable service at table. She was, after all, a debtor
slut. Perhaps she thought I might beat her, or have her beaten, if she omitted
these courtesies. Particularly after I had taken the time to explain them to
her. In this, of course, she was correct.
The fellow was looking at her, narrowly, in the half light. She shrank back
under his gaze. Then he rose to his feet and went to crouch near her. He touched
her about the neck. Then, literally, moving her about, his hands on her knees,
he examined her thighs. Then, standing, he pulled her half to her feet, by the
upper arms.
“Where is your collar?” he demanded. “Where is your brand?”
“I’m free!” she wept.
He then shook her, angrily, like a doll. Her head jerked back and forth. I was
afraid, for a moment, that her neck might break.
“Where is your collar, your brand?” he cried.
“I’m free!” she wept. “I’m free!”
“Bring me a woman!” he cried toward the kitchen, still holding her helplessly
before me. “Bring me a woman!”
“What is wrong?” asked a fellow, looking out from the kitchen, probably the
night cook.
“Where is the keeper!” cried the fellow.
“He has retired,” said the fellow.
“This thing is free!” cried the fellow, giving the Lady Temione another shake.
“How dare you send it to my table! I do not want it! Send me a female! Send me a
woman!” He then hurled the Lady Temione from him and, with a rattle of chains,
she struck the floor. There, terrified, feet from him, she lay on her belly. I
was amused to see her lift herself slightly, surely not even aware of what she
was doing, a natural female appeasement behavior in
under my foot or upon my sword. Such authorities recommend breaking the
kantharos into shards on the face, marking the target above the bridge of the
nose with the rim. This can be even more dangerous with a metal goblet. Many
civilians, I believe, do not know why certain warriors, by habit, request their
paga in metal goblets when dining in public houses. They regard it, I suppose,
as an eccentricity. I heard him make another sound of contempt, and then he
strode away, toward another table. He was still alive. I wondered what was in
the pouch.
I took another sip of paga.
The fellow, I noted, had taken one of the larger tables, a double table, for
himself. To be sure, the paga room was not crowded. He and I were the only
customers at this hour. I had taken a small table near the wall. The small table
does not encourage the approach of strangers. Its location, too, was not an
accident. It permits one to survey the entire room, including the entrance, and,
too, to have the wall at one’s back.
He smote twice on the surface of his table. It leapt under his blows.
“Waitress!” he called. “Waitress!”
I heard the swinging of the kitchen door and a sound of chain. The Lady Temione
came forth. I would have to admit that she was pretty, in the half light, in her
chains. She had apparently cleaned herself, or had been cleaned, perhaps having
her head and upper body thrust into a washing tub. There was no sign now, at any
rate, of the porridge in her hair, or about her face, neck, shoulders and
breasts. She cast an angry look at me. I was still nursing the paga. I even had
some bread left.
She hurried to the newcomer.
It seemed for a moment she was going to request his order on her feet, almost as
though in defiance, but then, looking back at me, she suddenly knelt and
performed obeisance and then knelt back on her heels, in a waitress’s proper
deference, to receive the orders of the keeper’s customer.
(pg.78) I took another sip of paga. She would, of course, have to return to my
table, eventually, to bring the check. Perhaps that was why she chose to observe
the waitress’s proper forms. To be sure, the waitresses in Gorean paga rooms,
and such, are usually slaves. Still, it did not seem inappropriate that she,
too, should perform suitable service at table. She was, after all, a debtor
slut. Perhaps she thought I might beat her, or have her beaten, if she omitted
these courtesies. Particularly after I had taken the time to explain them to
her. In this, of course, she was correct.
The fellow was looking at her, narrowly, in the half light. She shrank back
under his gaze. Then he rose to his feet and went to crouch near her. He touched
her about the neck. Then, literally, moving her about, his hands on her knees,
he examined her thighs. Then, standing, he pulled her half to her feet, by the
upper arms.
“Where is your collar?” he demanded. “Where is your brand?”
“I’m free!” she wept.
He then shook her, angrily, like a doll. Her head jerked back and forth. I was
afraid, for a moment, that her neck might break.
“Where is your collar, your brand?” he cried.
“I’m free!” she wept. “I’m free!”
“Bring me a woman!” he cried toward the kitchen, still holding her helplessly
before me. “Bring me a woman!”
“What is wrong?” asked a fellow, looking out from the kitchen, probably the
night cook.
“Where is the keeper!” cried the fellow.
“He has retired,” said the fellow.
“This thing is free!” cried the fellow, giving the Lady Temione another shake.
“How dare you send it to my table! I do not want it! Send me a female! Send me a
woman!” He then hurled the Lady Temione from him and, with a rattle of chains,
she struck the floor. There, terrified, feet from him, she lay on her belly. I
was amused to see her lift herself slightly, surely not even aware of what she
was doing, a natural female appeasement behavior in
Similar Books
