
The woman struggled in the grip of the guards. She stamped her foot again. "Tell these boorish ruffians to unhand me!" she demanded.
I, too, now, looked up.
her eyes flashed at Samos, over her veil. Then they looked angrily at me, too. "Now!" she demanded.
Samos nodded to the guards, scarcely moving his head.
"That is better!" she said, jerking angrily away from the guards, as though she might have freed herself, had she chosen to do so. She angrily smoothed down her long, silken, capelike sleeves. I caught a glimpse of her sweetly rounded forearm and small wrist. She wore white gloves.
"This is an outrage!" she said. Se wore tiny, golden slippers. Her robes of concealment, silken and flowing, shimmered in the torchlight. She adjusted the draping of the garment, an almost inadvertent, unconscious movement, a natural vanity.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "I demand my immediate freedom!"
One of the slave girls, one kneeling a few feet away, before us and to our right, at a table, one of those who was naked, save for her collar, laughed. Then she turned white with fear. She had laughed at a free woman. Samos turned to a guard and pointed at the offending slave. "Fifteen lashes," he said. The girl shook her head in misery. She whimpered with terror. These would be lashes, she knew, with a Gorean slave whip. It is an efficient instrument for disciplining women.
