The slave girl had now stepped back two or three more paces, edging away. She was frightened.
"Stay!" I said to her, sharply. She cowered.
She was very beautiful in the bit of slave silk. I noted the bells locked on her left ankle. She was slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed. Her eyes were wide. She had exciting legs, well revealed by the slave-height of her brief silk.
"What do you want for her?" I asked Samos.
He shrugged. "Four pieces of gold," he said.
"I will buy her," I said. I placed four pieces of gold in Samos' hand.

She looked at me, terrified.

One of the guards had fetched Rim a tunic, and he drew it on his body. He belted the broad belt, with its large buckle. He shook his shaggy black hair.
He looked at the girl.
She looked at me, her eyes pleading.
My eyes were hard, and Gorean. She shook her head, trembling.
I gestured with my head toward Rim. "You are his," I told her.

"No! No!" she cried, and threw herself to my feet, weeping, her head to my sandals. "Please, Master! Please, Master!"

Book 8 page 15

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