Free Servant of the Empire by Raymond E. Feist, Janny Wurts

the guards had simply dropped him into a convenient needra trough. The beating and subsequent soaking had dampened his spirit only slightly. The amusement in his eyes had changed to anger barely held in check. His defiance disturbed Mara. Lujan had often crossed the line of good manners with his playful banter, but never had a socially inferior man dared to look at her in such an openly condemnatory fashion. Suddenly sorry she had not called for a more modest house robe, Mara nevertheless refused to summon her maid, lest she grant significance to the stare of a barbarian slave. Rather than feel embarrassment before the outworlder, she matched his gaze with her own.
    The guards were uncertain what to do with the wretch they had half dragged into their Lady’s presence. Still gripping the huge man tightly, they offered ineffectual bows. The more senior of the warriors broke the silence with ill-concealed diffidence. ‘Lady, what is your wish? A barbarian in your presence would perhaps be more seemly on his knees.’
    Mara noticed the guards as if for the first time, and the water pooling on her waxed floor. There was blood mixed in the puddles.
    ‘Let him stand, if he wishes.’ She clapped for her servants, and sent the first one to answer off at a run to fetch towels.
    The house slave reappeared with a pile of scented bath towels. He entered the study, bowed, and only belatedly realized that his Lady’s request had been made on behalf of the scruffy barbarian who stood pinioned in the hands of the guards.
    ‘Well,’ snapped Mara, at her servant’s hesitation, ‘dry the brute off before he ruins the floor.’
    ‘Your will, Mistress,’ the slave murmured from a position of prostration. He arose and began to daub the reddenedskin between the barbarian’s shoulder blades, this being the highest place he could reach.
    Mara assessed the huge slave in a relatively calm moment, then came to a decision. ‘Leave us,’ she commanded her guards. They released the barbarian, bowed, and let themselves out through the screen to the corridor.
    The barbarian rubbed his wrists where the guards’ grip had restricted circulation. The slave attempting to dry him seemed an irritation, and after a glance at Mara, the outworlder reached out, took a clean towel from the pile, and finished the task himself. His hair stood up in spikes when he finished, and the slave looked in dismay at the pile of blood-soiled, damp towels heaped about the barbarian’s feet.
    ‘Give those to my washing maids,’ Mara said. She motioned for the redhead to select a cushion and be seated.
    Mara studied the barbarian’s face; the gaze he returned was as penetrating as her own. Suddenly she felt out of her depth. Something about this man disturbed her. The reason struck her: she still considered him a man! Slaves were
livestock
, not people. Why did this one cause her to feel … uncertain? Her practice in the role of Ruling Lady allowed her to assume the mask of command. She felt challenged to discover why this barbarian made her forget his station. She forced her voice to calm. ‘I was hasty, perhaps.’ As the house slave scooped up the towels and hastened away, she added, ‘It would appear, upon examination of the matter, that I ordered you beaten unfairly.’
    Taken aback, but covering it well, the redhead selected a cushion and gingerly sat down. The scar left on his cheek by the overseer at the slave market did not detract from his appearance; rather, the flaw gave heightened contrast to his handsome features, and his heavy beard was a novelty not seen in Tsurani freemen, who shaved as a matter of tradition.
    ‘Slave,’ commanded Mara, ‘I wish to know more of the land you come from.’
    ‘I have a name,’ said the redhead in his deep-throated voice, which now was bristling with antagonism. ‘I am Kevin, from the City of Zun.’
    Mara replied with irritation, ‘You might have been counted human once, upon your world, but now you are a slave.