You vain little she-tarsk

“Ah,” he said, “you vain little she-tarsk, you want to know if that is much money, do you not? You want to know how much you brought, really, on the block, as a stripped slave. You want to form an estimate as to your value. You want to know what you are worth. You are curious to know what you might bring in an open market.”
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said. I quickly put down my head.
“First,” he said, “you must understand that women are cheap. It has to do with the wars. Because of the many dislocations, and the famine in parts of the country, many women have had to sell themselves into slavery. Too, thousands of females from Torcadino alone, over the recent months, in virtue of one coup or another, have been put into the market. Too, mercenaries and raiders abound. Slavers grow more bold, even in larger cities. Crowding, and the influx of refugees, too, in such cities as Ar, refugees who are often beautiful and defenseless, and easily taken, have contributed to the depression of the market.”
“I see, Master,” I said.
“But you would still be curious as to your comparative value,” he speculated.
“Yes, Master,” I said looking up.
“Even under normal conditions,” he said, “a silver tarsk would be a very high price to pay for a semitrained girl.”
“Ah,” I said softly, mostly to myself. I was very pleased. I, semitrained, and a barbarian, had gone for more than twice that price!
I did have value!
“Let me put it in another way,” he said, “in one that may be even more meaningful to you.”
“Yes, Master?” I said.
“That was the highest price paid for a female that night,” he said.

Dancer of Gor, p. 239

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