“You are only another slave,” said Samos.

“I am the daughter of Marlenus of Ar,” she said proudly.

“in the forest,” I said, “it is my understanding that you sued for freedom, begging in a missive that your father purchase you.”

“Yes,” she said. “I did.”

“Are you aware,” I asked, “that against you, on his sword and on the medallion of Ar, Marlenus swore the oath of disownment?”

“I do not believe it.” She said.

“You are no longer his daughter” I said. “You are now without caste, without Homestone, without family.”

“You lie!” she screamed.

“Kneel to the whip!” said Samos.

Piteously she knelt, a slave girl. Her wrists were crossed under her, as though bound, her head was to the floor, the bow of her back was exposed.

She shuddered. I had little doubt but what this slave knew well, and much feared, the disciplining kiss of the Gorean slave lash.

Samos’ sword was in his hand, thrust under the collar of her garment, ready to thrust in and lift, parting the garment, causing the robes to fall to either side, about her then naked body.

“Do not punish her,” I told Samos.

Samos looked at me, irritably. The slave had not been pleasing.

“To his sandal, Salve,” said Samos.

I felt Talena’s lips press to my sandal. “Forgive me, Master” she whispered.

“Rise,” I said.

She rose to her feet, and stepped back. I could see that she feared Samos.

“You were disowned,” I told her. “ Your status now, whether you know this or not, is less than that ofthe meanest peasant wench, secure in her caste rights.”