“You do not deserve to be a powerful man,” she chides. “Instead you will become a whore here.”
“What!?” You demand. “You dare make such a threat against me? You have no such power, whore-keeper.”
The brothel madam smiles wryly.
“Jalila!” she calls. “Come out here, darling.”
A petitie, nervous-looking slave-girl emerges from behind gossamer curtains, eyes fixed on the floor at her feet.
“Yes, mistress?” she asks softly.
“What is your name, my sweet?”
“It is Jalila, mistress.”
“And what was your name last week?”
The girl looks petrified.
“It’s all right, you can tell him,” she says.
“J…Jamaal,” answers the slave-girl. “I was an adventurer named Jamaal.”
“And what sort of person are you now, Jalila? Are you an adventurer? A warrior? A man of any sort? Answer me, Jalila, are you any of these things?”
“No, mistress. I am a… a whore, mistress.”
The brothel-keeper turns back to you with a smile.
“As you can see, John Lemere,” she says, “I am quite capable of doing what I say. You may go, Jalila.”
“But!” she continues. “I am not an unfair woman. Perhaps I am wrong about you. Perhaps your character is strong, and you made but a temporary lapse in judgment. This is unlikely, I think, but I will allow for the possibility. So I will give you a chance, John Lemere. Should you attempt to flee, or to attack me, or to in any way refuse my challenge, I will know you are not true man and will adjust your form accordingly.”
“However,” she says, “If you should stay, and accept my judgment, I will give you a chance. If you indeed deserve to be even the basest sort of man, you may prove it. Simply best any one of my girls in a simple game of strategy, and you may leave here unmolested, as though nothing ever happened. On the other hand, should you—a man of wealth and experience—be bested by a mere whore, then I shall correct the obvious injustice in your states and you shall take her place in my brothel.”
“Do you accept, John Lemere? Or will you, like poor, stupid Jamaal, prove yourself twice a coward?”