She was now collared. She was now a slave. She was now mine.

She looked up at me, frightened. "I am yours," she whispered.

"Yes," I said.

"Please strike me once more," she said, "that I may this time feel the blow as a slave."

I said nothing.

"I want to feel your whip, as your slave," she said.

"Very well," I said. I then, by the hair and an arm, drew her again to her hands and knees. I again then stood behind her but this time I did not strike her immediately, but let her wait, as a slave, that she might anticipate the blow, and grow apprehensive of it, and not know precisely when it would fall. Then the blades hissed suddenly down upon her and again she cried out, sobbing, flung to the grass, which she clutched with her fingers. "You punish me," she said. "You can do with me as you please. I am your slave! I am yours!"

I looked down upon her. She was not unattractive. I had not planned to take a slave with me from Samnium, but I did not truly object to doing so. She could cook for me, and serve me, and keep me warm in the furs. It was late in Se'Kara. I would find her a useful convenience, a lovely one. Every man needs such a convenience. Then, when I wished, I could give her away, or dispose of her in some market.

"Do you think you were struck hard?" I asked.

"I do not know, Master," she said.

"You were not," I informed her.

"Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened, sensing what might have been done to her but had not been. To be sure, I had struck her harder than the first time, for she was now a slave, and slaves, of course, are whipped differently from free women, but I had not, truly, struck her with great force.

"Can men strike harder than that?" she asked.

"Do not be absurd," I said. "I struck you with only a tiny fraction of the force that an average fellow, if he wished, might bring to such a task. Too, I struck you only once, and in only one area, one less sensitive to pain than many others."