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"There are tens of other pools to replenish!" Again the whip cracked, and the line, with a rattle of heavy chains, took up its now-emptied jars, and turned about. Ellen had not been recognized in the pool, she was sure, neither by Portus Canio nor Fel Doron, nor by the subcaptain and Tersius Major, the attentions of the latter pair being focused generally on Portus Canio and Fel Doron, whom, she supposed, they had come out to discomfit, witnessing them in their humiliation and captivity, perhaps one last time before they, Portus Canio and Fel Doron, patriots or insurgents, might be taken to Brundisium, and from thence transported to Tyros or Cos, there to be subjected to doubtless unenviable fates. "It is time to emerge from the pool, to apply the oils!" called the attendant, and Ellen, in her turn, with the others, clambered from the pool, and went to the spread towels and vials, and pebbles. Beasts "wine, Master?" inquired Ellen, and, as the goblet was lifted to her, the man sitting cross-legged on the ground, in converse with others, he not even glancing at her, she filled the goblet. "wine, girl!" called another, and Ellen hurried to him, threading her way amongst the men, the fires and torches, and replenished his goblet. She carried the wine in a red-figured pitcher, refilled by dipping as needed, and frequently, from a large vat of red ka-la-na on a wooden stand. The music of czehars, flutes, and kalikas, from scattered bands of musicians, swirled throughout the gigantic festival camp, spread over pasangs. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter )