“Bring more of this wine,” said Kors and slipped the bottle under the slave’s nose so that he could see it, “do you understand? Answer me!”
The slave nodded his head, falling at Kors’ feet.
“Don't lie here, do you understand me?” Kors raised his voice.
“I don’t think he can answer you,” Arel observed, watching this scene, “most of the slaves are mute.”
“Mute?”
“Uh-huh,” Arel sat down at the table and, taking his knife in his hand, cut off a piece of meat, began to chew lazily.
“Go, do it!” Ordered Kors to the slave and sat down at the table to Arel. “I seem to be hungry,” he smiled, “why is there such a small sight in his mask?”
“The slave only looks down,” Arel shrugged his shoulders indifferently, he took a big sip from the glass and Kors thought it was not in vain that he ordered more wine.
The servant was not long in coming.
“Strip!” Kors ordered him. “Take off your clothes.”
And Prince Arel almost choked on another piece, bursting with laughter:
“Kors, are you nuts? Why do you need him?”