I soon learned the truth of my suspicion. The ship, whose name and origin I never learned, was indeed a slaving ship. They were carrying a cargo of exotic slaves, mostly young women destined for high priced brothels. They also had a group of more ordinary slaves whose work it was to man the oars when speed was needed. One of these had died, and it was to kidnap a replacement that they had come to shore. There was some debate after catching me whether I should be chained with the exotics to preserve my good looks for market, or made to work. But as none of the slavers wanted to venture to shore a second time and catch a more suitable rower, it was decided that I should row.

I won’t go into all the horrible details of that journey, suffice it to say the conditions were dreadful. Even though the overseer was instructed to be light on his whip with me, since they didn’t want me badly scarred, I was still horribly mistreated. The other slaves had it worse than I, for my fellow oarsmen were whipped unmercifully for the least imagined fault. We never left our benches, but were expected to eat, sleep, and perform our bodily functions where we were. The crew occasionally sluiced us down, and that combined with the sea breeze was the only thing that kept the stink from being strong enough to suffocate us. But I sometimes think the other slaves, chained in the dark holds and never getting so much as a breath of fresh air, were even worse off.

I spent the first weeks of the journey in agony. I had never performed any kind of physical labor. My arms and back ached, my hands blistered and bled, and my skin burned in the sun. Finally I began to adjust at least a little bit to the harsh life, but just when I finally had at least a few moments without pain, I did something stupid. The slavers had been too lazy to bother getting shackles fitted to me. They simply locked me into the chains my deceased predecessor had left behind. He must have been a large man, because they were huge. During the first weeks I was too exhausted to even think about escape, and I was watched constantly, but as I adjusted and the crew grew used to my presence I began to make plans. I noted the loose ankle chain and I began to work it off during the brief moments when I was unobserved. I ended up taking a bit of skin off with it, but I was desperate. At last my feet were free. Without taking any thought, I got up and ran. Or rather tried to run. I’d been chained in a sitting position at my bench so long that my legs cramped. We were within sight of land that day, and perhaps if I had been able to run I might have made it over the side and swum to shore. But as it was I had no hope. One of the slavers saw my abortive dash and raised his crossbow. I was hobbling along, trying to reach the railing and jump over. The slaver took careful aim and shot me. When I heard the whirr of the crossbow bolt I thought I was dead. Instead the bolt slammed into my calf. The slaver, knowing my value, had wanted to keep me alive.

The bolt was roughly pulled from my leg and a crude bandage applied. Then I was returned to my spot and new chains were brought. As they locked me in I felt my last chance at freedom melting away, but I was in so much pain I hardly cared. The wound itself was bad enough and the rough treatment had aggravated it, so it was hardly surprising that it became infected. I spent the remainder of the trip in a pain-filled haze, hardly aware of the world around me. I rowed with little strength and with no thought. My mind was wandering, almost totally unaware of my surroundings.

At last we reached port. I was tied to the end of a line of slaves, mostly the female exotics who had spent the whole of the trip in the miserable hole of the hold. I stumbled and limped as we made our way from the docks to the market square.

I knew what was coming, and I just wanted it to be over with.

We were lined up along with a crowd of other slaves. Potential buyers wandered along the lines inspecting their future purchases. The slavers pointed out the good points of their wares, the buyers pointed out the flaws, trying to drive the price down. There was a great deal of exclamation over me. The slavers that had brought me enthusiastically billed me as an exotic cat-boy from some far land. I was poked and prodded. My eyes, teeth, and ears were much exclaimed over. My bandaged leg was also often pointed out, but the slaver always retorted that any two-bit healer could fix that for a few pence.

At last the buyers had seen their fill and the auction began. The lines of slaves shrunk as one by one the waiting crowd of buyers bid on what they wanted. The more common sorts of slaves went first. Laborers, untrained slaves, and children all went, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in lots. Then came the rare and exotic slaves. One by one the female slaves that had come with me were sold off. I tried not to look at the people buying them. I didn’t want to know what happened to them. It was easy enough to block the world out, as I was still feeling feverish. My leg ached horribly and I was light-headed. The whole world seemed out of focus. Then it was my turn. Abruptly everything seemed all too clear, though at the same time I felt as if everything was happening at a great distance. I could see each person in the thinning crowd of buyers. At first there were quite a few bidding on me. Gradually as the price rose the bidders dwindled until only three were left. Realizing that one of these people would soon have absolute control over my fate, I assessed the possibilities.

There was a large balding man. He had bid on quite a few of the female slaves as well as some of the prettier males. I didn’t like the look of him at all. I took a moment to wish fervently that he would not win this particular auction. A middle-aged lady too was bidding. I thought she was a better prospect than that horrible man, but not much better. From the look on her face I figured her intentions weren’t any more wholesome than his. Inwardly I cursed my feline features as I had so often before, but now for an entirely different reason. I didn’t want to be some old lady’s, or worse, some old man’s exotic pleasure slave! I turned my attention to the third bidder. He too was a middle-aged man, but there was nothing of the oily effeminate quality that the other man had. In fact he reminded me of my father. He was tall, black-haired, and distinguished-looking, and to make the resemblance even stronger, he was dressed in mage's robes and carried a staff of dark wood. I knew, intellectually, that he would be nothing like my father. And as far as that goes, since Dad and I never really got along, I wouldn't have wanted him to be. But considering my other options, I decided I'd rather he won this auction.