A submissives journey

Talena retired behind the silk partition, and I built up the fire in the center of the tent, not wishing to retire as yet. I could not forget the figure on the throne, he of the black helmet, and I thought perhaps that he had noticed me and had reacted. It had been, perhaps, my imagination. I sat on the tenth carpet, poking at the small fire in the cooking hole. I could hear from a tent nearby the sound of a flute, some soft drums, and the rhythmic jangle of some tiny cymbals.

As I mused, Talena stepped forth from behind the silk curtain. I had thought she had retired. Instead, she stood before me in the diaphanous, scarlet dancing silks of Gor. She had rouged her lips. My head swam at the sudden intoxicating scent of a wild perfume. Her olive ankles bore dancing bangles with tiny bells. Attached to the thumb and index finger of each hand were tiny finger cymbals. She bent her knees ever so slightly and raised her arms gracefully above her head. There was a sudden bright clash of the finger cymbals, and, to the music of the nearby tent, Talena, daughter of the Ubar of Ar, began to dance for me.

As she moved slowly before me, she asked softly, "Do I please you, Master?" There had been no scorn, no irony in her voice.

"Yes," I said, not thinking to repudiate the title by which she had addressed me.

She paused for a moment and walked lightly to the side of the tent. She seemed to hesitate for an instant, then quickly gathered up the slave whip and a leading chain. She placed them firmly in my hands and knelt on the tent carpet before me, her eyes filled with a strange light, her knees not in the position of a Tower Slave but of a Pleasure Slave.

"If you wish," she said, "I will dance the Whip Dance for you, or the Chain Dance."

I threw the whip and chain to the wall of the tent. "No," I said angrily. I would not have Talena dance those cruel dances of Gor, which so humbled a woman.

"Then I shall show you a love dance," she said happily, "a dance I learned in the Walled Gardens of Ar."

"I should like that," I said, and, as I watched, Talena performed Ar's strangely beautiful dance of passion.

She danced before me for several minutes, her scarlet dancing silks flashing in the firelight, her bare feet, with their belled ankles, striking softly on the carpet. With a last flash of the finger cymbals, she fell to the carpet before me, her breath hot and quick, her eyes blazing with desire. I was at her side, and she was in my arms. Her heart beat wildly against my breast. She looked into my eyes, her lips trembling, the words stumbling but audible.

"Call for the iron," she said. "Brand me, Master."

"No, Talena," I said, kissing her mouth. "No."

"I want to be owned," she whimpered. "I want to belong to you, fully, completely, in every way. I want your brand, Tarl of Bristol, don't you understand? I want to be your branded slave."

Outlaw of Gor

Something of the nature of the institution of capture, and the Gorean's attitude toward it becomes clear when it is understood that one of the young tarnsman's first missions is often the capture of a slave for his personal quarters. When he brings home his captive, bound naked across the saddle of his tarn, he gives her over, rejoicing, to his sisters, to be bathed, perfumed and clothed in the brief slave livery of Gor.

That night, at a great feast, he displays the captive, now suitably attired by his sisters in the diaphanous, scarlet dancing silks of Gor. Bells have been strapped to he ankles, and she is bound in slave bracelets. Proudly, he presents her to his parents, his friends and warrior comrades.

Then, to the festive music of flutes and drums, the girl kneels. The young man approaches her, bearing a slave collar, its engraving proclaiming his name and city. The music grows more intense, mounting to an overpowering, barbaric crescendo, which stops suddenly, abruptly. The room is silent, absolutely silent, except for the decisive click of the collar lock.

It is a sound the girl will never forget.

As soon as the lock closes, there is a great shout, congratulating, saluting the young man. He returns to his place among the tables that line the low-ceilinged chamber, hung with glowing brass lamps. He sits in the midst of his family, his closest well-wishers, his sword comrades, cross-legged on the floor in the Gorean fashion behind the long, low wooden table, laden with food, which stands at the head of the room.

Now all eyes are on the girl.

The restraining slave bracelets are removed. She rises. Her feet are bare on the thick, ornately wrought rug that carpets the chamber. There is a slight sound from the bells strapped to her ankles. She is angry, defiant. Though she is clad only in the almost transparent scarlet dancing silks of Gor, her back is straight, her head high. She is determined not to be tamed, not to submit, and her proud carriage bespeaks this fact. The spectators seem amused. She glares at them. Angrily she looks from face to face. There is no one she knows, or could know, because she has been taken from a hostile city, she is a woman of the enemy. Fists clenched, she stands in the center of the room, all eyes upon her, beautiful in the light of the hanging lamps.

She faces the young man, wearing his collar.

"You will never tame me!" she cries.

Her outburst provokes laughter, skeptical observations, some good-natured hooting.

"I will tame you at my pleasure," replies the young man, and signals to the musicians.

The music begins again. Perhaps the girl hesitates. There is a slave whip on the wall. Then, to the barbaric, intoxicating music of the flute and drums, she dances for her captor, the bells on her ankles marking each of her movements, the movements of a girl stolen from her home, who must now live to please the bold stranger whose binding fiber she had felt, whose collar she wore.

At the end of her dance, she is given a cup of wine, but she may not drink. She approaches the young man and kneels before him, her knees in the dictated position of the Pleasure Slave, and, head down, she proffers the wine to him. He drinks. There is another general shout of commendation and well wishing, and the feast begins, for none before the young man may touch food on such occasions. From that moment on, the young man's sisters never again serve him, for that is the girl's task. She is his slave.

As she serves him again and again throughout the long feast, she steals glances at him, and sees that he is even more handsome than she had thought. Of his courage and strength she had already had ample evidence. As he eats and drinks with gusto on this occasion of his triumph, she regards him furtively, with a strange mixture of fear and pleasure. "Only such a man," she tells herself, "could tame me."

Perhaps it should only be added that the Gorean master, though often strict, is seldom cruel. The girl knows, if she pleases him, her lot will be an easy one. She will almost never encounter sadism or wanton cruelty, for the psychological environment that tends to breed these diseases is largely absent from Gor. This does not mean that she will not expect to be beaten if she disobeys, or fails to please her master. On the other hand, it is not too unusual a set of compartments on Gor where the master, in effect, willingly wears the collar, and his lovely slave, by the practice of the delightful wiles of her sex, with scandalous success wheedles her way triumphantly from the satisfaction of one whim to the next.

I wondered if the girl approaching was beautiful.

I smiled to myself.

Paradoxically, the Gorean, who seems to think so little of women in some respects, celebrates them extravagantly in others. The Gorean is keenly susceptible to beauty; it gladdens his heart, and his songs and art are often paeans to its glory. Gorean women, whether slave or free, know that their simple presence brings joy to men, and I cannot but think that this pleases them.

I decided, if worst came to worst, that I could always go to a simple Paga Tavern where, if those of Tharna resembled those of Ko-ro-ba and Ar, one might, curled in a rug behind the low tables, unobtrusively spend the night for the price of a pot of Paga, a strong, fermented drink brewed from the yellow grains of Gor's staple crop, Sa-Tarna, or Life- Daughter. The expression is related to Sa-Tassna, the expression for meat, or for food in general, which means Life-Mother. Paga is a corruption of Pagar-Sa-Tarna, which means Pleasure of the Life-Daughter. It was customary to find diversions other than Paga in the Paga Taverns as well, but in grey Tharna the cymbals, drums and flutes of the musicians, the clashing of bangles on the ankles of dancing girls would be unfamiliar sounds.

From behind three or four of the low tables, to the left of the counter, a band of sweating musicians sat happily cross-legged on the rug, somehow producing from those unlikely pipes and strings and drums and disks and wires the ever intriguing, wild, enchanting - beautiful - barbaric melodies of Gor.

I wondered at this for the Caste of Musicians had been, like the Caste of Poets, exiled from Tharna. Theirs, like the Caste of Poets, had been a caste regarded by the sober masks of Tharna as not belonging in a city of serious and dedicated folk, for music, like Paga and song, can set men's hearts aflame and when men's hearts are aflame it is not easy to know where the flame may spread.
...
When I had entered the music had briefly stopped but now Kron clapped his hands twice and the musicians turned to their instruments.
...
Kron clapped his hands again and to my surprise there was a sudden sound of bells and four terrified girls, obviously chosen for their beauty and grace, stood before our table clad only in the scarlet dancing silks of Gor. They threw back their heads and lifted their arms and to the barbaric decadence set by the musicians danced before us.

Lara, to my surprise, watched them with delight.

"Where in Tharna," I asked, "did you find Pleasure Slaves?" I had noted that the throats of the girls were encircled by silver collars.

Andreas, who was stuffing a piece of bread in his mouth, responded, his words a cheery mumble. "Beneath every silver mask," he averred sententiously, "there is a potential Pleasure Slave."

"Andreas!" cried Linna, and she made as if to slap him for his insolence, but he quieted her with a kiss, and she playfully began to nibble at the bread clenched between his teeth.

"Are these truly silver masks of Tharna?" I asked Kron, skeptically.

"Yes," said he. "Good, aren't they?"

"How did they learn this?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It is instinctive in a woman," he said. "But they are untrained of course."
...
When Kron had tired of watching the dancers he clapped his hands twice and with a discordant jangle of their ankle bells they fled from the room.

Priest-Kings of Gor

The contests at the fairs, however, I am pleased to say, offer nothing more dangerous than wrestling, with no holds to the death permitted. Most of the contests involve such things as racing, feats of strength, and skill with bow and spear. Other contests of interest pit choruses and poets and players of various cities against one another in the several theaters of the fair. I had a friend once, Andreas of the desert city of Tor, of the Caste of Poets, who had once sung at the fair and won a cap filled with gold. And perhaps it is hardly necessary to add that the streets of the fair abound with jugglers, puppeteers, musicians and acrobats who, far from the theaters, compete in their ancient fashions for the copper tarn disks of the broiling, turbulent crowds.

Many are the objects for sale at the fair. I passed among wines and textiles and raw wool, silks, and brocades, copperware and glazed pottery, carpets and tapestries, lumber, furs, hides, salt, arms and arrows, saddles and harness, rings and bracelets and necklaces, belts and sandals, lamps and oils, medicines and meats and grains, animals such as the fierce tarns, Gor's winged mounts, and tharlarions, her domesticated lizards, and long chains of miserable slaves, both male and female.

Nomads of Gor

Kamchak strode among the wagons, toward the sound, and I followed him closely. Many others, too, rushed to the sound, and we were jostled by armed warriors, scarred and fierce; by boys with unscarred faces, carrying the pointed sticks used often for goading the wagon bosk; by leather-clad women hurrying from the cooking pots; by wild, half-clothed children; even by enslaved Kajir-clad beauties of Turia; even the girl was there who wore but bells and collar, struggling under her burden, long dried strips of bosk meat, as wide as beams, she too hurrying to see what might be the meaning of the drum and horn, of the shouting Tuchuks.

We suddenly emerged into the center of what seemed to be a wide, grassy street among the wagons, a wide lane, open and level, an avenue in that city of Harigga, or Bosk Wagons. The street was lined by throngs of Tuchuks and slaves.

Among them, too, were soothsayers and haruspexes, and singers and musicians, and, here and there, small peddlers and merchants, of various cities, for such are occasionally permitted by the Tuchuks, who crave their wares, to approach the wagons. Each of these, I was later to learn, wore on his forearm a tiny brand, in the form of spreading bosk horns, which guaranteed his passage, at certain seasons, across the plains of the Wagon Peoples. The difficulty, of course is in first obtaining the brand. If, in the case of a singer, the song is rejected, or in the case of a merchant, his merchandise is rejected, he is slain out of hand. This acceptance brand, of course, carries with it a certain stain of ignominy, suggesting that those who approach the wagons do as slaves.

Saphrar conveyed my wishes to the scandalized Feast Steward, and he, with a glare in my direction, sent two young slaves scampering off to scour the kitchens of Turia for a slice of bosk meat.

I looked to one side and saw Kamchak scraping another plate clean, holding it to his mouth, sliding and shoving the carefully structured design of viands into his mouth.

I glanced at Saphrar, who was now leaning on his yellow cushions, in his silken pleasure robes, white and gold, the colors of the Caste of Merchants. Saphrar, eyes closed, was nibbling on a tiny thing, still quivering, which had been impaled on a colored stick.

I turned away and watched a fire swallower perform to the leaping melodies of the musicians.

"Do not object that we are entertained in the house of Saphrar of the Merchants," Kamchak had said, "for in Turia power lies with such men."

I was very pleased to enter Turia, for I have always been excited by a new city. I found Turia to match my expectations. She was luxurious. Her shops were filled with rare, intriguing paraphernalia. I smelled perfumes that I had never smelled before. More than once we encountered a line of musicians dancing single file down the center of the street, playing on their flutes and drums, perhaps on their way to a feast. I was pleased to see again, though often done in silk, the splendid varieties of caste colors of the typical Gorean city, to hear once more the cries of peddlers that I knew so well, the cake sellers, the hawkers of vegetables, the wine vendor bending under a double verrskin of his vintage. We did not attract as much attention as I had thought we would, and I gathered that every spring, at least, visitors from the Wagon Peoples must come to the city. Many people scarcely glanced at us, in spite of the fact that we were theoretically blood foes. I suppose that life in high-walled Turia, for most of its citizens, went on from day to day in its usual patterns oblivious of the usually distant Wagon Peoples. The city had never fallen, and had not been under siege in more than a century. The average citizen worried about the Wagon Peoples, customarily, only when he was outside the walls. Then, of course, he worried a great deal, and, I grant him, wisely.

Kamchak now turned to watch Aphris of Turia.

The girl now approached us, behind the tables, and Saphrar leaped to his feet and bowed low to her. "Honored Aphris of Turia, whom I love as my own daughter," he said.

The girl inclined her head to him, "Honored Saphrar?" she said.

Saphrar gestured to two of the camisk-clad girls in the room, who brought cushions and a silken mat and placed them between Saphrar and Kamchak.

Aphris nodded her head to the feast steward and he sent the acrobats running and tumbling from the room and the musicians began to play soft, honeyed melodies. The guests at the banquet returned to their conversation and repast. Aphris looked about her.

She lifted her head, and I could see the lovely line of her nose beneath the veil of white silk trimmed with gold. She sniffed twice. Then she clapped her little gloved hands two times and the feast steward rushed to her side.

The girl turned to Saphrar. "Perhaps the barbarians would care to be entertained," she suggested.

I was puzzled at this, for throughout much of the evening there had been entertainment, the jugglers, the acrobats, the fellow who swallowed fire to music, the magician, the man with the dancing sleen.

Saphrar was looking down. He was angry. "Perhaps," he said. I supposed Saphrar was still irritated at Kamchak's refusal to give up, or arrange the transfer, of the golden sphere. I did not clearly understand Kamchak's motivations in this matter less, of course, he knew the true nature of the golden sphere, in which case, naturally, he would recognize it as priceless. I gathered he did not understand its true value, with some seriousness earlier in the evening only that, apparently, he wanted more than Saphrar was offering, even though that might be Aphris of Turia herself.

Aphris now turned to me. She gestured to the ladies at the tables, with their escorts. "Are the women of Turia not beautiful?" she asked.

"Indeed," I admitted, for there were none present who were not, in their own ways, beautiful.

She laughed, for some reason.

"In my city," I said, "free women would not permit themselves to be seen unveiled before strangers."

The girl laughed merrily once more and turned to Kamchak. "What think you, my colorful bit of bosk dung?'' she asked.

Kamchak shrugged. "It is well known," he said, "the women of Turia are shameless."

"I think not," snapped the angry Aphris of Turia, her eyes flashing above the golden border of her white silken veil.

"I see them," said Kamchak, spreading his hands to both sides, grinning.

Seeing that he had apparently discussed its exchange "I think not," said the girl. Kamchak looked puzzled.

Then, to my surprise, the girl clapped her hands sharply twice and the women about the table stood, and together, from both sides, moved swiftly to stand before us between the tables. The drums and flutes of the musicians sounded, and to my amazement the first girl, with a sudden, graceful swirl of her body lifted away her robes and flung them high over the heads of the guests to cries of delight. She stood facing us, beautiful, knees flexed, breathing deeply, arms lifted over her head, ready for the dance. Each of the women I had thought free did the same, until each stood before us, a collared slave girl clad only the diaphanous, scarlet dancing silks of Gor. To the barbaric music they danced. Kamchak was angry.

"Did you truly think," asked Aphris of Turia arrogantly, "that a Tuchuk would be permitted to look upon the face of a free woman of Turia?"

Kamchak's fists were clenched on the table, for no Tuchuk likes to be fooled.

Kamras was laughing loudly and even Saphrar was giggling among the yellow cushions.

No Tuchuk, I knew, cares to be the butt of a joke, especially a Turian joke.

But Kamchak said nothing.

Then he took his goblet of Paga and drained it, watching the girls swaying to the caress of Turian melodies.

The girl looked at him gratefully and she, with the others, rose to her feet and to the astounding barbarity of the music performed the savage love dances of the Kassars, the Paravaci, the Kataii, the Tuchuks.

They were magnificent.

One girl, the leader of the dancers, she who had spoken to Kamchak, was a Tuchuk girl, and was particularly startling, vital, uncontrollable, wild.

It was then clear to me why the Turian men so hungered for the wenches of the Wagon Peoples.

At the height of one of her dances, called the Dance of the Tuchuk Slave Girl, Kamchak turned to Aphris of Turia, who was watching the dance, eyes bright, as astounded as I at the savage spectacle. "I will see to it," said Kamchak, "when you are my slave, that you are taught that dance."

On long lines of tharlarion I could see warriors of Turia approaching in procession the Plains of a Thousand Stakes. The morning sun flashed from their helmets, their long tharlarion lances, the metal embossments on their oval shields, unlike the rounded shields of most Gorean cities. I could hear, like the throbbing of a heart, the beating of the two tharlarion drums that set the cadence of the march. Beside the tharlarion walked other men-at-arms, and even citizens of Turia, and more vendors and musicians, come to see the games.

To one side, across a clearing from the fire, a bit in the background, was a group of nine musicians. They were not as yet playing, though one of them was absently tapping a rhythm on a small hand drum, the kaska; two others, with stringed instruments, were tuning them, putting their ears to the instruments. One of the instruments was an eight-stringed czehar, rather like a large flat oblong box; it is held across the lap when sitting cross-legged and is played with a horn pick; the other was the kalika, a six-stringed instrument; it, like the czehar, is flat-bridged and its strings are adjusted by means of small wooden cranks; on the other hand, it less resembles a low, flat box and suggests affinities to the banjo or guitar, though the sound box is hemispheric and the neck rather long; it, too, of course, like the czehar, is plucked; I have never seen a bowed instrument on Gor; also, I might mention, I have never on Gor seen any written music; I do not know if a notation exists; melodies are passed on from father to son, from master to apprentice. There was another kalika player, as well, but he was sitting there holding his instrument, watching the slave girls in the audience. The three flutists were polishing their instruments and talking together; it was shop talk I gathered, because one or the other would stop to illustrate some remark by a passage on his flute, and then one of the others would attempt to correct or improve on what he had done; occasionally their discussion grew heated. There was also a second drummer, also with a kaska, and another fellow, a younger one, who sat very seriously before what appeared to me to be a pile of objects; among them was a notched stick, played by sliding a polished tem-wood stick across its surface; cymbals of various sorts; what was obviously a tambourine; and several other instruments of a percussion variety, bits of metal on wires, gourds filled with pebbles, slave bells mounted on hand rings, and such. These various things, from time to time, would be used not only by himself but by others in the group, probably the second kaska player and the third flutist.

Among Gorean musicians, incidentally, czehar players have the most prestige; there was only one in this group, I noted, and he was their leader; next follow the flutists and then the players of the kalika; the players of the drums come next; and the farthest fellow down the list is the man who keeps the bag of miscellaneous instruments, playing them and parceling them out to others as needed. Lastly it might be mentioned, thinking it is of some interest, musicians on Gor are never enslaved; they may, of course, be exiled, tortured, slain and such; it is said, perhaps truly, that he who makes music must, like the tarn and the Vosk gull, be free.

But this matter was dismissed from my mind by the performance which was about to begin. Aphris was watching intently, her lips parted. Kamchak's eyes were gleaming. Even Elizabeth had lifted her head now from my shoulder and was rising on her knees a bit for a clearer view. The figure of the woman, swathed in black, heavily veiled, descended the steps of the slave wagon. Once at the foot of the stairs she stopped and stood for a long moment. Then the musicians began, the hand-drums first, a rhythm of heartbeat and flight.

To the music, beautifully, it seemed the frightened figure ran first here and then there, occasionally avoiding imaginary objects or throwing up her arms, ran as though through the crowds of a burning city alone, yet somehow suggesting the presence about her of hunted others. Now, in the background, scarcely to be seen, was the figure of a warrior in scarlet cape. He, too, in his way, though hardly seeming to move, approached, and it seemed that wherever the girl might flee there was found the warrior. And then at last his hand was upon her shoulder and she threw hack her and lifted her hands and it seemed her entire hotly was wretchedness and despair. He turned the figure to hen and, with both hands, brushed away hood and veil. There was a cry of delight from the crowd.

The girl's face was fixed in the dancer's stylized moan of terror, but she was beautiful. I had seen her before, of course, as had Kamchak, but it was startling still to see her thus in the firelight her hair was long and silken black, her eyes dark, the color of her skin tarnish.

She seemed to plead with the warrior but he did not move. She seemed to writhe in misery and try to escape his grip but she did not.

Then he removed his hands from her shoulders and, as the crowd cried out, she sank in abject misery at his feet and performed the ceremony of submission, kneeling, lowering the head and lifting and extending the arms, wrists crossed. The warrior then turned from her and held out one hand. Someone from the darkness threw him, coiled, the chain and collar.

He gestured for the woman to rise and she did so and stood before him, head lowered.

He pushed up her head and then, with a click that could be heard throughout the enclosure, closed the collar a Turian collar about her throat. The chain to which the collar was attached was a good deal longer than that of the Sirik, containing perhaps twenty feet of length.

Then, to the music, the girl seemed to twist and turn and move away from him, as he played out the chain, until she stood wretched some twenty feet from him at the chain's length. She did not move then for a moment, but stood crouched down, her hands on the chain.

I saw that Aphris and Elizabeth were watching fascinated. Kamchak, too, would not take his eyes from the woman. The music had stopped.

Then with a suddenness that almost made me jump and the crowd cry out with delight-the music began again but this time as a barbaric cry of rebellion and rage and the wench from Port Kar was suddenly a chained she-larl biting and tearing at the chain and she had cast her black robes from her and stood savage revealed in diaphanous, swirling yellow Pleasure Silk. There was now a frenzy and hatred in the dance, a fury even to the baring of teeth and snarling. She turned within the collar, as the Turian collar is designed to permit. She circled the warrior like a captive moon to his imprisoning scarlet sun, always at the length of the chain. Then he would take up a fist of chain, drawing her each time inches closer. At times he would permit her to draw back again, but never to the full length of the chain, and each time he permitted her to withdraw, it was less than the last.

The dance consists of several phases, depending on the general orbit allowed the girl by the chain. Certain of these phases are very slow, in which there is almost no movement, save perhaps the turning of a head or the movement of a hand; others ate defiant and swift; some are graceful and pleading; some stately, some simple; some proud, some piteous; but each time, as the common thread, she is drawn closer to the caped warrior. At last his fist was within the Turian collar itself and he drew the girl, piteous and exhausted, to his lips, subduing her with his kiss, and then her arms were about his neck and unresisting, obedient, her head to his chest, she was lifted lightly in his arms and carried from the firelight. Kamchak and I, and others, threw coins of gold into the sand near the fire.

Directed by Tuchuks we soon made our way to the throne room of Phanius Turmus, where, to my surprise, a banquet was in progress. At one end of the room, on the throne of the Ubar, a purple robe thrown over his black leather, sat dour Kamchak of the Tuchuks, his shield and lance leaning against the throne, an unsheathed quiva on the right arm of the throne. At the low tables, perhaps brought from various places in the palace, there sat many Tuchuk officers, and even some men without rank. With them, now freed of collars, were exuberant Tuchuk girls bedecked in the robes of free women. All were laughing and drinking. Only Kamchak seemed solemn. Near him, in places of honor, at a long, low table, above the bowls of yellow and red salt, on each side, sat many of the high men of Turia, clad in their finest robes, their hair oiled, scented and combed for the banquet. I saw among them Kamras, Champion of Turia, and another, on Kamchak's right hand, a heavy, swollen, despondent man, who could only have been Phanius Turmus himself. Behind them stood Tuchuk guards, quivas in their right hands. At a sign from Kamchak, as the men well knew, their throats would be immediately cut.

Kamchak turned to them. "Eat," he said.

Before them had been placed large golden dishes heaped with delicacies prepared by the kitchens of the Ubar, tall precious goblets filled with Turian wines, the small bowls of spices and sugars with their stirring spoons at hand.

The tables were served by naked Turian girls, from the highest families of the city.

There were musicians present and they, to the best of their ability under the circumstances, attempted to provide music for the feast.

Sometimes one of the serving girls would be seized by an ankle or arm and dragged screaming to the cushions among the tables, much to the amusement of the men and the Tuchuk girls.

"Eat," ordered Kamchak.

Assassin of Gor

At a Paga Tavern, one near the great gate, cheap and crowded, dingy and smelling, a place frequented by strangers and small Merchants, the Assassin took the girl by the arm and thrust her within. Those in the tavern looked up from the low tables. There were three Musicians against one wall. They stopped playing. The slave girls in Pleasure Silk turned and stood stock still, the Paga flasks cradled one. their right forearms. Not even the bells locked to their left ankles made a sound. Not a paga bowl was lifted nor a hand moved. The men looked at the Assassin, who regarded them, one by one. Men turned white under that gaze. Some fled from the tables, lest, unknown to themselves, it be they for whom this man wore the mark of the black dagger.
...
From where she knelt she could see the low-hanging tharlarion oil lamps of the main portion of the Paga tavern, the men, the girls in silk who, in a moment, belled, would move among them, replenishing the paga. In the center of the tables, under a hanging lamp, there was a square area, recessed, filled with sand, in which men might fight or girls dance. Beyond the area of the sand and the many tables there was a high wall, some twenty feet or so high, in which there were four levels, each containing seven small curtained alcoves, the entrances to which were circular, with a diameter of about twenty-four inches. Seven narrow ladders, each about eight inches in width, fixed into the wall, gave access to these alcoves.
...
Putting the bowl down he wiped his mouth on his forearm and looked at the Musicians. "Play," he said.

The three Musicians bent to their instruments, and, in a moment, there were again the sounds of a paga tavern, the sounds of talk, of barbaric music, of pouring paga, the clink of bowls, the rustle of bells on the ankles of slave girls.

Now that the sport was done some Musicians filed in, taking up positions to one side. There was a czehar player, two players of the kalika, four flutists and a pair of kaska drummers.

The meal was served by slave girls in white tunics, each wearing a white-enameled collar. These would be girls in training, some of them perhaps White Silk Girls, being accustomed to the routines and techniques of serving at table.
...
The Musicians had now begun to play. I-have always enjoyed the melodies of Gor, though they tend on the whole to a certain wild, barbaric quality. Elizabeth, I knew, would have enjoyed them as well. I smiled to myself. Poor Elizabeth, I thought. She would be hungry tonight and in the morning would have to go to the feed troughs in the quarters of the female staff slaves, probably for water and a porridge of grain and vegetables. When I had left the compartment, Ho-Tu preceding me down the hall, I had turned and blown her a kiss. She had been quite angry, kneeling there bound hand and foot, fastened to the slave ring by chain and collar, while I trotted off to have dinner with the master of the house. She would probably be quite difficult to get on with in the morning, which time it would be, I supposed, before I would return to the compartment. It is not pleasant to be bound all night. Indeed, such is a common and severe punishment for female slaves on Gor. It is less common to bind a girl during the day because then there is much work to be done. I resolved that most of my problems in this matter might be solved if I simply refused to release Elizabeth until she had given her word, which she takes quite seriously, to be at least civil.

But Elizabeth, rightly or wrongly, was banished from my mind for the moment because I heard, from a side door, the rustle of slave bells, and was pleased to note that seven girls hurried in, using the short, running steps of the slave girl, arms to the side, palms out, head to the left, eyes averted, and knelt between the tables, before the men, head down in the position of Pleasure Slaves.
...
Now the girls in white tunics began to serve the strong beverages of Gor, and the festivities of the evening began. The Musicians began to play, and the girls in Pleasure Silk, hands over their heads, lifted themselves slowly to the melody, their bodies responding to it as though to the touch of a man.

"These girls are not much good yet," said Ho-Tu. "They are only in the fourth month of their training. It is good for them to get the practice, hearing and seeing men respond to them. That is the way to learn what truly pleases men. In the end, I say, it is men who teach women to dance."

I myself would have spoken more highly of the girls than had Ho-Tu, who was perhaps overly negative in his evaluation, but it was true that there were differences between these girls and more experienced girls. The true dancing girl, who has a great aptitude for such matters, and years of experience, is a marvel to behold, for she seems always different, subtle and surprising. Some of these girls, interestingly, are not even particularly beautiful, though in the dance they become so. I expect a great deal has to do with the girl's sensitivity to her audience, with her experience in playing to, and interacting with, different audiences, teasing and delighting them in different ways, making them think they will be disappointed, or that she is poor, and then suddenly, by contrast, startling them, astonishing them and driving them wild with the madness of their desire for her. Such a girl, after a dance, may snatch up dozens of gold pieces from the sand, putting them in her silk, scurrying back to her master.

Suddenly the girls stopped dancing, and the Musicians stopped playing; even those at the table stopped laughing and talking. There was a long, incredibly weird, horrifying scream, coming from far away, and yet seeming to penetrate the very stones of the hall where we enjoyed ourselves.

"Play," ordered Ho-Tu, to the Musicians.

Obediently the music began again, and again the girls moved to the music, though I could see they did so poorly now, and were frightened.

As at many of the larger markets, there are Musicians near the block, and a girl is given enough time to present herself well. At the minor blocks in the small houses, or even the minor blocks in the Curulean, sales are conducted with a swiftness and dispatch that gives the girl little time to interest and impress buyers, with the result that even a very fine girl, to her indignation and shame, may be sold for only an average price to an average buyer, who may use her for little more than, as it is said, kettle and mat. This type of thing is at its worst when large numbers of girls must be sold, as when a city has fallen. Then, stripped, chained by the throat, in a long chain of girls, each separated from the other by about ten feet, secured not even by the dignity of a collar but only by a loop of the communal chain bolted or padlocked about her neck, each is dragged up the steps of the minor block, bid upon while a one-Ehn sand clock is turned, sold for the highest bid that comes forth in one Ehn, and then dragged down the steps on the other side, making room for the next girl.

Beyond the glass I looked into what seemed to be a Pleasure Garden, lit by energy bulbs radiant in its lofty ceiling. There were various hues of grass, some secluded pools, some small trees, a number of fountains and curving walks. I heard the music of a lute from somewhere. Then I stepped back for I noted, coming along one of the curving walks, two lovely girls, clad in white, their hair bound back with white silk; they were quite young; perhaps less than eighteen.

There were various matches in the pit of sand that evening. There was a contest of sheathed hook knife, one of whips and another of spiked gauntlets. One of the slave girls spilled wine and was fastened to a slave ring, stripped and beaten. Later the Musicians played and a girl I had not seen before, whom I was told was from Cos, performed the collar dance, and creditably. Cernus, as before, was lost in his game with Caprus, this time lingering at the board even long after Paga and full-strength Ka-la-na were served.

I observed Phyllis Robertson performing the belt dance, on love furs spread between the tables, under the eyes of the Warriors of Cernus and the members of his staff. Beside me Ho-Tu was shoveling porridge into his mouth with a horn spoon. The music was wild, a melody of the delta of the Vosk. The belt dance is a dance developed and made famous by Port Kar dancing girls. Cernus, as usual, was engaged in a game with Caprus, and had eyes only for the board.
...
Ho-Tu pointed with his spoon at Phyllis. "She is not bad," he said.

The belt dance is performed with a Warrior. She now writhed on the furs at his feet, moving as though being struck with a whip. A white silken cord had been knotted about her waist; in this cord was thrust a narrow rectangle of white silk, perhaps about two feet long. About her throat, close-fitting and snug, there was a white-enameled collar, a lock collar. She no longer wore the band of steel on her left ankle.

"Excellent," said Ho-Tu, putting aside his spoon.

Phyllis Robertson now lay on her back, and then her side, and then turned and rolled, drawing up her legs, putting her hands before her face, as though fending blows, her face a mask of pain, of fear.

The music became more wild.

The dance receives its name from the fact that the girl's head is not supposed to rise above the Warrior's belt, but only purists concern themselves with such niceties; wherever the dance is performed, however, it is imperative that the girl never rise to her feet.

The music now became a moan of surrender, and the girl was on her knees, her head down, her hands on the ankle of the Warrior, his sandal lost in the unbound darkness of her hair, her lips to his foot.

"Sura is doing a good job with her," said Ho-Tu.

I agreed.

In the next phases of the dance the girl knows herself the Warrior's, and endeavors to please him, but he is difficult to move, and her efforts, with the music, become ever more frenzied and desperate.
...
The belt dance was now moving to its climatic and I turned to watch Phyllis Robertson.

"Capture of Home Stone," I heard Cernus say to Caprus, who spread his hands helplessly, acknowledging defeat.

Under the torchlight Phyllis Robertson was now on her knees, the Warrior at her side, holding her behind the small of the back. Her head went farther back, as her hands moved on the arms of the Warrior, as though once to press him away, and then again to draw him closer, and her head then touched the furs, her body a cruel, helpless bow in his hands, and then, her head down, it seemed she struggled and her body straightened itself until she lay, save for her head and heels, on his hands clasped behind her back, her arms extended over her head to the fur behind her. At this point, with a clash of cymbals, both dancers remained immobile. Then, after this instant of silence under the torches, the music struck the final note, with a mighty and jarring clash of cymbals, and the Warrior had lowered her to the furs and her lips, arms about his neck, sought his with eagerness. Then, both dancers broke apart and the male stepped back, and Phyllis now stood, alone on the furs, sweating, breathing deeply, head down.

I noted Sura standing somewhat behind the tables. She would not eat with the staff, of course, for she was slave. I did not know how long she had been standing there.

Cernus had watched the ending of the dance, his game having been finished. He glanced to Ho-Tu, who nodded affirmatively to him.

"Give her a pastry," said Cernus.

One of the men at the tables threw a pastry to Phyllis, which she caught. She stood there for an instant, the pastry clutched in her hands, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears, then she turned and fled from the room.

Ho-Tu turned to Sura. "She is coming along nicely," he said.

Sura's training room lay directly off her private compartment, which might have been that of a free woman, save that the heavy door locked only on the outside and, at the eighteenth bar, it became her cell.

The training room was floored with wood, laid diagonally across beams for additional strength; one twelve-foot area of the room was a shallow pit of sand; against one wall were various chests of raiment, cosmetics and retention devices, for girls must be trained to wear chains gracefully; certain dances are performed in them, and so on. To one side there was a set of mats for Musicians, who almost invariably were present at the sessions, for even the exercises of the girls, which were carefully selected and frequently performed, are done to music; against one wall were several bars, also used in exercise, not unlike a training room in ballet except that there were four parallel bars fastened in the wall, which are used in a variety of exercises. Near the chests of raiment and such were several folded mats and sets of love furs. One entire side of the room, the left, facing the front, was a mirror. This mirror was, as might be expected, a one-way mirror. Various members of the House might observe the training without being noted from behind this glass. I used it sometimes myself, but at other times, sometimes alone, sometimes with others, would enter the room and sit near the back. Sura encouraged males to observe, wanting the girls to sense their presence and interest. And, though I do not think I would have told Elizabeth, her performances with men clearly present, and she knowing it, were almost invariably superior to those in which she did not know herself observed.

I myself was curious to know what was occurring, but I did not leave the table. I had made it a practice normally to eat beside Ho-Tu, to come to the table with him and leave with him, and Ho-Tu was not yet ready to leave. He had finished his gruel but he was sitting there listening to a slave girl, sitting on furs between the tables, playing a kalika. Several of the guards and staff had left the tables, retiring. Even the girls at the wall had been unchained and returned, after the evening's sport, to their cells. Phyllis and Virginia, and Elizabeth, had long since left the hall. Ho-Tu was fond of the music of the kalika, a six-stringed, plucked instrument, with a hemispheric sound box and long neck. Sura, I knew, played the instrument. Elizabeth, Virginia and Phyllis had been shown its rudiments, as well as something about the lyre, but they had not been expected to become proficient, nor were they given the time to become so; if their master, at a later date, after their sale, wished his girls to possess these particular attributes, which are seldom involved in the training of slave girls, he himself could pay for their instruction; the time of the girls, I noted, was rather fully occupied, without spending hours a day on music. The slave girl sitting on the furs, for the kalika is played either sitting or standing, bent over her instrument, her hair falling over the neck of it, lost in her music, a gentle, slow melody, rather sad. I had heard it sung some two years ago by the bargemen on the Cartius, a tributary of the Vosk, far to the south and west of Ar. Ho-Tu's eyes were closed. The horn spoon lay to the side of the empty gruel bowl. The girl had begun to hum the melody now, and Ho-Tu, almost inaudibly, but I could hear him, hummed it as well.

A number of Musicians now filed out from the door at the foot of the block and took their places about it, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Those with string instruments began to tune them; there was a czehar player, the group's leader, some kalika players, some flutists, players of the kaska, small drums, and others. Each of these, in his way, prepared himself for the evening, sketching out melodies or sound patterns, lost with himself.

A girl, wild, clad only in a brief tunic of gray toweling, as though fleeing, ran to the surface of the block, weeping, circling it, her hands outstretched to the crowd; this was done to the music of the Musicians; she turned this way and that, acting the frantic role of the fleeing slave girl. In a moment or two, behind her, a powerful man in a short blue and yellow tunic, the auctioneer, carrying a slender slave goad, almost a wand, climbed to the surface of the block; seeing him the girl turned to flee, and having nowhere to go, fell to her knees weeping at the center of the block, where the bit of toweling was torn from her and she leaped to her feet laughing, her hands wide to the crowd, to their shouts of amusement and encouragement.

Then the auctioneer briefly and expertly displayed the girl, with deft touches of the wand-like slave goad, and began, simultaneously, to raise the first block calls. "Verbina, she is," called he, "who so fears a man that she would flee him, at the risk of death and torture, White Silk and never before owned, yet certified ready for the chain of a master who would use her as she so richly deserves!" The crowd roared with amusement, enjoying the sport of the auctioneer. The first bid was some four gold pieces, which was good, and suggested that the night might go well. Prices of girls vary considerably with her caste, the supply of her general type and the trends of the market. A girl in the Curulean is seldom sold for less than two gold pieces. This is largely, doubtless, because the Curulean refuses to accept women for sale who are not genuinely attractive. In a rather brief amount of time Verbina was auctioned to a young Warrior for seven gold pieces. An extremely good price, under relatively normal market conditions, for a truly beautiful woman of High Caste tends to be about thirty pieces of gold, though some go as high as forty, and fifty is not unknown; these prices, for women of low caste, may be approximately halved.

The Musicians took up their instruments and, together, as three slaves, women who would be owned by men, the girls danced.

In the crowd men cried out with pleasure; I heard even gasps from women, perhaps amazingly, startled that their sex was capable of such beauty; the eyes of some of the women shone with ill-concealed admiration and excitement; I could mark the quickness of their breath in their veils; the eyes of others seemed terrified, and, shrinking, they looked from the block about themselves, suddenly fearing the men with whom they shared the tiers; I heard the tearing of a veil and heard a girl scream and turned to see her lips being raped by the kiss of a Warrior, and then she was yielding to him; the crowd went wild; here and there there was the cry of a woman in the throng who was seized by those near her; one girl tried to flee and was dragged screaming by the ankle to the foot of a tier; another woman, with her own hands, tore away her veil and seized in her hands the head of a man near her, pressing her lips to his, and in a moment, she lay, robes torn, in his arms, weeping, crying with pleasure.

Four dances the girls danced while the crowd screamed and roared, and then, at an instant, their dances ended, they stood suddenly motionless, splendid, animal, magnificent, inciting

Then they, breathing deeply, stained with sweat, stepped back on the block, and the auctioneer stepped forward.

He did not even call for a bid.

"Five hundred gold pieces!" called the rich man of Ar.
...
The auctioneer signaled to the Musicians again and once more, to the shouts of the crowd, while he held open his hand, not yet closing it, taking bids, the girls performed the last moments of Ar's dance of the newly collared slave girl, who dances her joy at the thought that she will soon be in the arms of a strong master. When the dance ended the three girls, slaves, knelt in the position of submission, back on their heels, arms extended, heads lowered, wrists crossed as though for binding; Elizabeth knelt facing the crowd and, perpendicular to her, on her left and right knelt Virginia and Phyllis, a vulnerable, submitted flower of slave girls.

The auctioneer waited for some minutes for the acclaim of the crowd to subside. The last bid he had received had been an astounding fifteen hundred pieces of gold. To my knowledge never in the Curulean had a set of three girls brought such a price. The investment of Cernus had been, it seemed, a good one.

Never had I seen the customarily impassive Slaver so elated as on this night, following the sales in the Curulean. The feast was set late in the hall of Cernus and the wine and paga flowed freely. The girls chained at the wall for the amusement of his guards clutched drunkenly, ecstatically, at those who used them. Guards stumbled about with goblets in their hands. The Warriors of Cernus sang at the tables. Roasted tarsks on long spits were borne to the tables on the shoulders of nude slave girls. Girls still in training, unclothed as well, served wine this night of feasting. Musicians wildly, drunkenly, picked and pounded at their instruments.

There were now no Taurentians in the Central Cylinder. The Taurentians had been disbanded, disgraced and exiled from the city. Only the day before their purple cloaks and helmets had been taken from them before the great gate; their swords had been broken and they had been conducted by common Warriors, to the music of flute girls, a pasang beyond the walls of Ar, and ordered from her environs Saphronicus, their Captain, with other high officers, including Seremides of Tyros, who had replaced Maximus Hegesius Quintilius as leader of the forces of Ar, now lay chained in the dungeons of the Central Cylinder. The palace guard was now made up of Warriors who had been of the party of Marlenus.

Raiders of Gor

It is often lonely on the rence islands, and festival comes but once a year.

The bantering of the young people in the morning, and the display of the girls in the evening, for in effect in the movements of the dance every woman is nude, have both, I expect, institutional roles to play in the life of the rence growers, significant roles analogous to the roles of dating, display, and courtship in the more civilized environments of my native world, Earth.

It marks the end of a childhood when a girl is first sent to the circle.

Suddenly, before me, hands over her head, swaying to the music, I saw the dark-haired, lithe girl, she with such marvelous, slender legs in the brief rence skirt; her ankles were so close together that they might have been chained; and then she put her wrists together back to back over her head, palms out, as though she wore slave bracelets.

Then she said, "Slave", and spit in my face, whirling away.

I wondered if it might be she who was my mistress.

Then another girl, the tall, blond girl, she who had held the coil of marsh vine, stood before me, moving with excruciating slowness, as though the music could be reflected only from moment to moment, in her breathing, in the beating of her heart.

"Perhaps it is I", she said, "who am your mistress."

She, like the other, spit then in my face and turned away, now moving fully, enveloped in the music's flame.

One after another of the girls so danced before me, and about me, taunting me, laughing at their power, then spitting upon me and turning away.

The rencers laughed and shouted, clapping, cheering the girls on in the dance.

But most of the time I was ignored, as much as the pole to which I was bound.

Mostly these girls, saving for a moment or two to humiliate me, danced their beauty for the young men of the circle, that they might be desired, that they might be much sought.

After a time I saw one girl leave the circle, her head back, hair flowing down her back, breathing deeply and scarcely was she through the joined circles of the rencers, but a young man followed her, joining her some yards beyond the circle. They stood facing one another in the darkness for an Ehn or two, and then I saw him, gently, she not protesting, drop his net over her, and then, by this net, she not protesting, he led her away. Together they disappeared in the darkness, going over one of the raft bridges to another island, one far from the firelight, the crowd, the noise, the dance.

Then, after some Ehn I saw another girl leave the circle of the dance, and she, too, was joined beyond the firelight by a young man and she, too, felt a net dropped over her, and she, too, was led away, his willing prize to the secrecy of his hut.

The dance grew more frenzied.

The girls whirled and writhed, and the crowd clapped and shouted, and the music grew ever more wild, barbaric, and fantastic.

And suddenly Telima danced before me.

I cried out, so startled was I by her beauty.

It seemed to me that she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and before me, only slave, she danced her insolence and scorn. Her hands were over her head and, as she danced, she smiled, regarding me. She cut me with her beauty more painfully, more cruelly, than might have the knives of a torturer. It was her scorn, her contempt for me she danced. In me she aroused agonies of desire but in her eyes I read that I was but the object of her amusement and contempt.

And then she unbound me.

"Go to the hut," she said.

I stood there at the pole.

Torrents of barbaric music swept about us, and there was the clapping and shouting, and the turning, and the twisting and swirling of rence girls, the passion of the dance burning in their bodies.

"Yes," she said. "I own you."

She spat up into my face.

"Go to the hut," she said.

I stumbled from the pole, making my way through the buffeting circles of dancers, through the laughing circles of rencers, shouting and clapping their hands, and made my way to Telima's hut.

Clitus, after returning to our quarters, had left and returned with four musicians, bleary-eyed, routed from their mats well past the Twentieth Hour, but, lured by the jingling of a pair of silver tarsks, ready to play for us, past the dawn if need be. We soon had them drunk as well and though it did not improve their playing, I was pleased to see them join with us in our festivities, helping us to make our feast.

I turned to the musicians. "Do you know," I asked, "the Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave Girl?"

"Port Kar's?" asked the leader of the musicians.

"Yes," I said.

"Of course," said he.

I had purchased more than marking and collars at the smithy.

"On your feet," boomed Thurnock to Thura, and she leaped frightened to her feet, standing ankle deep in the thick pile rug.

At the gesture from Clitus, Ula, too, leaped to her feet.

I put ankle rings on Midice, and then slave bracelets. And tore from her the bit of silk she wore. She looked at me with terror.

I lifted her to her feet, and stood before her.

"Play," I told the musicians.

The Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave Girl has many variations, in the different cities of Gor, but the common theme is that the girl dances her joy that she will soon lie in the arms of a strong master.

The musicians began to play, and to the clapping and cries of Thurnock and Clitus, Thura and Ula danced before them.

"Dance," said I to Midice.

In terror the dark-haired girl, lithe, tears in her eyes, she so marvelously legged, lifted her wrists.

Now again Midice danced, her ankles in delicious proximity and wrists lifted again together back to back above her head, palms out. But this time her ankles were not as though chained, nor her wrists as though braceleted; rather they were truly chained and braceleted; she wore the linked ankle rings, the three-linked slave bracelets of a Gorean master; and I did not thing she would now conclude her dance by spitting upon me and whirling away.

She trembled. "Find me pleasing," she begged.

"Do not afflict her so," said Telima to me.

"Go to the kitchen," said I, "Kettle Slave."

Telima turned and, in the stained tunic of re-cloth, left the room, as she had been commanded.

The music grew more wild.

"Where now," I demanded of Midice, "is your insolence, your contempt!"

"Be kind!" she cried. "Be kind to Midice!"

The music grew even more wild.

And then Ula, boldly before Clitus, tore from her own body the silk she wore and danced, her arms extended to him.

He leaped to his feet and carried her from the room.

I laughed.

Then Thura, to my amazement, though a rence girl, dancing, revealed herself similarly to the great Thurnock, he only of the peasants, and he, with a great laugh, swept her from her feet and carried her from the room.

"Do I dance for life?" begged Midice.

I drew the Gorean blade. "Yes," I said, "you do."

And she danced superbly for me, every fiber of her beautiful body straining to please me, her eyes, each instant, pleading, trying to read in mine her fate. At last, when she could dance no more, she fell at my feet, and put her head to my sandals.

"Find me pleasing," she begged. "Find me pleasing, my Master!"

I had had my sport.

I sheathed the blade.

"Light the lamp of love," I said.

She looked up at me, gratefully, but saw then my eyes. Her test was not yet done.

Trembling she fumbled with the flint and steel, to strike sparks into the moss bowl, whence by means of a Ka-la-na shaving the lamp might be lit.

I myself threw down, in one corner, near a slave ring, the Furs of Love.

The musicians, one by one, each with a silver tarsk, stole from the room.

With twelve ships I began to approach the treasure fleet from the southeast.

Although I had had the masts, with their yards, taken down and lashed to the decks, and the sail stored below, I had the flutists and drummers, not uncommon on the ram-ships of Thassa, strike up a martial air.

Then, rather bravely, the music drifting over the water, or oars at only half of maximum beat, we moved across the gleaming waters toward the large fleet.

Since the ram-ships of the enemy had not yet struck their masts, it would be only a matter of moments before we were sighted.
...
I listened for a while, chuckling, to the brave tunes being put forth by my flutists and drummers.

Then, when I saw the perimeter ships of the treasure felt swinging about toward me, I motioned for the musicians to discontinue their performance.

When they were silent, I could hear the flutes and drums from the enemy ships.

I called down to the oar-master to rest oars.

I wanted it to appear that I was suddenly undecided as to whether or not to attack, as though I was confused, startled.

I signaled my trumpeter to transmit the command "Rest oars." The same message was run up the halyard to the height of the stern castle.

Over the faint music coming from the distant ships, now approaching, I could hear her war trumpets and, with the glass, observe her flags. Whereas I did not know exactly the codes employed by the treasure fleet, I had little doubt that our hesitation was being signaled about the fleet, and then I heard other trumpets, and saw the round ships drawing apart, and tarn ships streaking between them, fanning out in our direction.

It was crowded with tables of my retainers, feasting.

To one side musicians played.

There was a clear space before my great table, in which, from time to time, during the evening, entertainments had been provided, simple things, which even I had upon occasion found amusing, fire eaters and sword-swallowers, jugglers and acrobats, and magicians, and slaves, riding on one another�s shoulders, striking at one another with inflated tarsk bladders tied to poles.

The man had been blinded, it was said, by Sullius Maximus, who believed that blinding improved the quality of a singer's songs. Sullius Maximus, who himself dabbled in poetry, and poisons, was a man of high culture, and his opinions in such matters were greatly respected. At any rate, whatever be the truth in these matters, the singer, in his darkness, was now alone with his songs. He had only them.

I looked upon him.

He wore the robes of his caste, the singers, and it was not known what city was his own. Many of the singers wander from place to place, selling their songs for bread and love. I had known, long ago, a singer, whose name was Andreas of Tor.

We could hear the torches crackle now, and the singer touched his lyre.

I sing the siege of Ar of gleaming Ar.
I sing the spears and wall of Ar
of Glorious Ar.
In the long years past of the siege of the city
the siege of Ar
of her spires and towers
of undaunted Ar
Glorious Ar
I sing.

I did not care to hear his song. I looked down into the paga goblet. The singer continued.

I sing of dark-haired Talena
of the rage of Marlenus
Ubar of Ar
Glorious Ar.

I did not wish to hear this song. It infuriated me to see that the others in that room sat rapt, bestowing on the singer such attention for such trifles, the meaningless noises of a blind man's mouth.

And of he I sing
whose hair was like a larl from the sun
of he who came once to the walls of Ar
Glorious Ar
he called Tarl of Bristol.

I glanced to Telima, who stood beside my great chair. Her eyes were moist, drinking in the song.
...
And, as the torches burned lower in the wall racks, the singer continued to sing, and sang of gray Pa-Kur, Master of the Assassins, leader of the hordes that fell on Ar after the theft of her Home Stone; and he sang, too, of banners and black helmets, of upraised standards, of the sun flashing on the lifted blades of spears, of high siege towers and deeds, of catapults of Ka-la-na and tem-wood, of the thunder of war tharlarion and the beating of drums and the roars of trumpets, the clash of arms and the cries of men; and he sang, too, of the love of men for their city, and, foolishly, knowing so little of men, he sang, too, the bravery of men, and their loyalties and their courage; and he sang then, too, of duels; of duels fought even on the walls of Ar herself, even at the great gate; and of tarnsmen locked in duels to the death over the spires of Ar; and of yet another duel, one fought on the height of Ar's cylinder of justice, between Pa-Kur, and he, in the song, called Tarl of Bristol.

"Why does my Ubar weep?" asked Telima.

"Be silent, Slave," said I. Angrily I brushed her hand from my shoulder. She drew back her hand swiftly, as though she had not known it had lain there.

The singer had now finished his song.

"Singer," called I to him, "is there truly a man such as Tarl of Bristol?"

The singer turned his head to me, puzzled. "I do not know," he said. "Perhaps it is only a song."

I laughed.
...
When again I sat down I said to the serving slaves, "Feast the singer well," and then I turned to Luma, slave and accountant of my house, braceleted and chained at the end of the long table, and said to her, "Tomorrow, the singer, before he is sent on his way, is to be given a cap of gold."

"Yes Master," said the girl.

"Thank you, Captain!" cried the singer.

My retainers cried out with pleasure at my generosity, many of them striking their left shoulders with their right fists in Gorean applause.

"You may dance, Slave," I told her.

It was to be the dance of the six thongs.

She slipped the silk from her and knelt before the great table and chair, between the other tables, dropping her head. She wore five pieces of metal, her collar and locked rings on her wrists and ankles. Slave bells were attached to the collar and the rings. She lifted her head, and regarded me. The musicians, to one side, began to play. Six of my men, each with a length of binding fiber, approached her. She held her arms down, and a bit to the sides. The ends of six lengths of binding fiber, like slave snares, were fastened on her, one for each wrist and ankle, and two about her waist; the men, then, each holding the free end of a length of fiber, stood about her, some six or eight feet from her, three on a side. She was thus imprisoned among them, each holding a thong that bound her.

I glanced to Thura. I recalled that she had been caught in capture loops on the rence island, to unlike the two now about Sandra's waist. Thura was watching with eagerness.

So, too, were all.

Sandra then, luxuriously, catlike, like a woman awakening, stretched her arms.

There was laughter.

It was as though she did not know herself bound.

When she went to draw her arms back to her body there was just the briefest instant in which she could not do so, and she frowned looked annoyed, puzzled, and then was permitted to move as she wished.

I laughed.

She was superb.

Then, still kneeling, she raised her hand, head back, insolently to her hair, to remove from it one of the ornate pins, its head carved from the horn of a kailiauk, that bound it.

Again a thong, this time that on her right wrist, prohibited, but only for an instant, the movement, but inches from her hair.

She frowned. There was laughter.

At last, sometimes immediately permitted, sometimes not, she had removed the pins from her hair. Her hair was beautiful, rich, long and black. As she knelt, it fell back to her ankles.

Then, with her hands, she lifted the hair again back over her head, and then, suddenly, her hands, by the thongs were pulled apart and her hair fell again loose and rich over her body.

Now, angrily, struggling, she fought to lift her hair, again but the thongs, holding apart her hands, did not permit her to do so. She fought them. The thongs would permit her only to wear her hair loosely.

Then, as though in terror and fury, as though she now first understood herself in the snares of a slave, she leaped to her feet, fighting, to the music, the thongs.

The dancing girls of Port Kar, I told myself, are the best on all Gor.

Dark and golden, shimmering, crying out, stamping, she danced, her thonged beauty incandescent in the light of the torches and frenzy of the slave bells.

She turned and twisted and leaped, and sometimes seemed almost free, but was always, by the dark thongs, held complete prisoner. Sometimes she would rush upon one man or another, but the others would not permit her to reach him, keeping her always beautiful female slave snared in her web of thongs. She writhed and cried out, trying to force the thongs from her body, but could not do so.

At last, bit by bit, as her fear and terror mounted, the men, fist by fist, took up the slack in the thongs that tethered her, until suddenly, they swiftly bound her hand and foot and lifted her over their heads, captured female slave, displaying her bound arched body to the tables.

There were cries of pleasure from the tables, and much striking of the right fist on the left shoulder.

She had been truly superb.

Then the men carried her before my table and held her bound before me. "A slave," said one.

"Yes," cried the girl, "slave!"

The music finished with a clash.

The applause and cries were wild and loud.

Captive of Gor

After we had eaten we continued on our way, climbing the wooden streets, tied together by the neck beside the wagons. Once we passed a paga tavern, and, inside, belled and jeweled, otherwise unclothed. I saw a girl dancing on a square of sand between the tables. She danced slowly, exquisitely, to the music of primitive instruments. I was stunned. Then there was a jerk at my neck, on the binding fiber, and the guard prodded me ahead with the butt of his spear. Never had I seen so sensuous a woman. About noon we arrived at a slave compound north of Laura. There are several such. Targo had rented space in one compound, adjoining others. Our compound shared a common wall of bars with another, that of Haakon of Skjern, whom Targo had traveled north to do business with. The compounds are formed of windowless log dormitories, floored with stone on which straw is spread; the dormitory then opens by one small door, about a yard high, into the barred exercise yard. This yard resembles a large cage. Its walls are bars, and its roof, too. The roof bars are supported at places in the yard by iron stanchions. There had been rain recently in Laura and the yard was muddy, but I found it more pleasant than the stuffy interior of the dormitory. We were not permitted our camisks in the compound, perhaps because of the mud in the yard.

Sometimes I was irritated by the instructor, herself a slave, when she would commend me. "See," she would say to the other girls. "That is how it is done! That is how the body of a slave girl moves!" but I wanted to learn, that I might use my skills to enhance my fortunes on Gor. As a warrior applies himself to the arts of his weapons, so I applied myself to the arts of the female slave, which I was. I became sleek and more beautiful from the diet and the exercises. I learned things of which I had not dreamed. Our training, because it was limited to a few short weeks, did not include many of the elements that are normally included in a full training. I remained ignorant of Gorean cooking and the cleaning of Gorean garments. I learned nothing of musical instruments. I remained ignorant even of the arrangements of small rugs, decorations and flowers, things that any Gorean girl, slave or free, it likely to know. But I was taught to dance, and to give pleasure, and to stand, and move, and sit and turn, and lift my head and lower it, and kneel, and rise. Interestingly, and sometimes not altogether to my pleasure, I found the training becoming effective. In the early evening of the day on which our nose rings had been affixed I was returning to my cage, after having run an errand for Targo in the pens. I was one of his favorites, and he often used me for his errands.

We heard music in the distance, trumpets, drums and cymbals. We looked at one another, scarcely able to restrain ourselves.

"Move to one side and stop," said a voice outside, one who spoke with authority.

Our wagon pulled over to one side of the broad avenue, Ko-ro-ba's Street of the Field gate.

We felt crowds surge about the wagon. The music was coming closer.

There was much shouting.

"It is the catch of Marlenus!" cried a man.

My heart leapt.

I turned about, kneeling, twisting the ankle chain, and dug with my fingers under the edge of the rain canvas.

The drums, the cymbals, the trumpets, were now quite close.

I lifted up an edge of the canvas and peeped through.

A hunt master, astride a monstrous tharlarion, holding a wand, tufted with panther hair, preceded the retinue. He wore over his head, half covering his face, a hood formed of the skin of the head of a forest panther. About his neck there were twined necklaces of claws. Across his back there was strapped a quiver of arrows. A bow, unstrung, was fastened at his saddle. He was dressed in skins, mostly those of sleen and forest panthers.

Behind him came musicians, with their trumpets, and cymbals and drums. They, too, wore skins, and the heads of forest panthers.

(pg. 210) Then, on carts, drawn by small, horned tharlarion, there came cages, and poles of trophies. In certain of the cages, of heavy, peeled branches lashed together, there snarled and hissed forest sleen, in others there raged the dreadful tawny, barred panthers of the northern forests. From the poles there hung the skins and heads of many beasts, mostly panthers and sleen. In one cage, restlessly lifting its swaying head, there coiled a great, banded hith, Gor�s most feared serpentine constrictor. It was native only to certain areas of the forest. Marlenus� hunting must have ranged widely. Here and there, among the wagons, leashed, clad in short woolen skirts, heavy bands of iron hammered about their throats, under the guard of huntsmen, cowled in the heads of forest panthers, walked male slaves, male outlaws captured by Marlenus and his hunters in the forest. They had long, shaggy black hair. Some carried heavy baskets of fruits and nuts on their shoulders, or strings of gourds; others bore wicker hampers of flowers, or carried brightly plumaged forest birds; tied by string to their wrists.

The other girls, too, watched excitedly, all of them coming to my side of the wagon, wedging among us, lifting up the rain canvas, peeping out.

"Aren't the male slaves exciting," said one of the girls.

"Shameless!" I scorned her.

"Perhaps you will be hooded and mated with one," she hissed back.

I struck her. I was angry. It had not occurred to me, but what she said was true. If it should please my master, I could, of course, be mated, as easily as a bosk or a domestic sleen.

"Look at the huntsmen!" breathed Lana, her eyes bright, her lips parted.

Just at that moment one of the cowled huntsmen, a large, swarthy fellow, looked our way and saw us peeping out. He grinned.

"I wish such a man would hunt me," said Lana.

"I, too," said the Lady Rena, excited.

I was startled that she had spoken so. Then I recalled that she, too, was only a female slave. The Lady Rena of (pg. 211) Lydius, like the rest of us, was only a naked girl, a slave, chained in a wagon, destined for the touch of a master.

I rejoiced that I did not have their weaknesses.

I peeped again through the tiny opening between the canvas and the wooded side of the wagon.

More carts were going by, and more huntsmen and slaves. How proud and fine seemed the huntsmen, with their animals and slaves. How grandly they walked. How fearful they appeared, in skins, cowled in the heads of forest panthers, with their hunting spears. They did not bear burdens. They led or drove those that did, inferior, collared, skirted men, slaves. How straight walked the huntsmen, how broad their backs, how straight their gaze and high their head, how large their hands, how keen their gaze! There were masters! They had made slaves even of men! What would a mere woman be in their hands?
...
Then we heard more music from outside, as more musicians, near the end of the retinue, approached.
...
I pressed closer to the opening, looking out. More carts of sleen and panthers, with huntsmen and slaves, were passing.

Then I heard the snap of the whip again.

The crowd gave another shout.

"Look!" cried Inge.

And then we saw it.

A cart was passing, flanked by huntsmen and slaves, bearing their burdens of gourds, flowers, nuts and fruits. On the cart, horizontally, parallel to the axles, there was a high pole, lashed together at the point of their crossings. It was a trophy pole, with its stanchions, peeled, formed of straight branches, like the other trophy poles, from which had hung the skins of slain animal. Only standing below this pole, alone on the cart, her skins knotted about her neck, her wrists bound behind her back, her hair fastened over the pole, holding her in place, was a beautiful panther girl, stripped, her weapons, broken, lying at her feet. I recognized her as one of the girl's of Verna's band.

I cried out with pleasure.

It was the first of five carts. On each, similarly, wrists bound behind her back, stripped, her hair bound cruelly over a trophy pole, stood a panther girl, each more beautiful than the last.

I heard the blare of the trumpets, the clash of the cymbals, the pounding of the drums. The men shouted. Women cursed, and screamed their hatred of the panther girls. Children cried out and pelted them with pebbles. Slave girls in the crowd rushed forward to surge about the carts, to poke at them with sticks, strike them with switches and spit upon them. Panther girls were hated. I, too, wished I could rush out and strike them and spit upon them. From time to (pg. 214) time, guards, huntsmen, with whips, would leap to the cart and crack their whips, terrifying the slave girls, who knew that sound well, back from the carts, that they might pass, but then the slaves would gather again, and rush about the following cart, only to be in turn driven back again. Standing outside the range of the whip they would then spit, and curse and scream their hatred of the panther girls.

"Slaves are so cruel," said Ute.

Cart by cart passed.

"Look!" cried Inge.

We now heard the snap of whips again, but this time the leather blades fell upon the naked backs of girls.

"Look!" cried Lana, pleased.

A huntsmen came now, holding in his hand five long leather straps, dragging behind him five panther girls. Their wrists were bound before their bodies, lashed tightly. The same strap that lashed their wrists, I saw, served, too, as their leash, that held in the huntsman's grip. Like the girls bound by the hair to the trophy poles, on the carts, these were stripped, their skins knotted about their necks.

Behind them there walked another huntsman, with a lash. He would occasionally strike them, hurrying them forward.

I saw the lash fall across the back of the blond girl, she who had held my leash in the forest, who had been so cruel to me. I heard her cry out, and saw her stumble forward, bound, in pain. I laughed.

Behind this first group of five girls there came a second group, it, too, with its huntsman holding the leashes, dragging his beautiful captives, and another following behind, occasionally lashing them forward.

How pleased I was. There had been fifteen girls, five on the carts, and two of the tethered groups! All of Verna's band had fallen captive!

There now came a great shout, and I squeezed even further forward in the wagon, to peep out.

Then the crown became suddenly quiet.

One last cart approached. I could hear its wheels on the stones before I could see it.

It was Verna.

(pg. 215) Beautiful, barbaric Verna!

Nothing, save her weapons, had been taken from her. She still wore her brief skins, and about her neck and on her arms, were barbaric ornaments of gold.

But she was caged.

Her cage, mounted on the cart, was not of branches, but of steel. It was a circular cage, between some six and seven feet in height, flat-bottomed, with a domed top. Its diameter was no more than a yard.

And she was chained.

Her wrists were manacled behind her body, and a chain led from her confined wrists to a heavy ring set in the bottom of her cage.

Her head was in the air.

She was manacled as heavily as might have been a man. This infuriated me. Slave bracelets would hold her, as they would any women!

How arrogant and beautiful she seemed!

How I hated her!

And so, too, must have the other slave girls in the crowd, with their switches and sticks.

"Hit her!" I screamed through the canvas.

"Be quiet!" cried Ute, in horror.

"Hit her!" screamed Lana.

The crowd of slave girls swarmed forward toward the cart with their sticks and switches, some of them even leaping upon it, spitting, and striking and poking through the bars of the high narrow cage.

I saw that the domed top of Verna's cage was set with a ring, so that the cage might be, if one wished, hung from the branch of a tree, or suspended from a pole, for public viewing. Doubtless Marlenus had given orders that she be exhibited in various cities and villages on the route to Ar, his prize, that she might thus, this beautiful captive, an outlaw girl well known on Gor, considerably redound to his prestige and glory. I supposed that she would not be enslaved until she reached Ar. Then, I supposed, she would be publicly enslaved, and perhaps by the hand of Marlenus himself.

(pg. 216) The slave girls swarmed about the cage, poking, and striking with their switches, and spitting and cursing. Their abuse was endured by Verna. It seemed she chose to ignore them. This infuriated them and they redoubled their efforts. Verna now flinched with pain, and her body was cut and marked, but still she would not lower her head, nor did she deign to speak to, or recognize in any way, her foes.

Then there was a roar of anger from the crowd and, to my fury, men began to leap, too, to the cart, but to hurl the slave girls from the cage. And huntsmen, too, angrily, now leaped to the cart, striking about them with their whips. The slave girls screamed, and fled from the cart. Men seized them, and disarmed them of their sticks and switches, and them threw the girls to the stones at their feet, where they cowered, at the sandals of free men, and then the men ordered them from the street. The girls leapt up and, weeping, terrified, fled away, humiliated, chastened slaves.

I was angry. I wished that I might have had a stick or switch. How I would have beaten Verna! I was not afraid of her! I would have beaten her well, as she deserved!

How I hated Verna!

Her cart was now moving away, drawn by the small, horned tharlarion.

In her cage, manacled, Verna still stood proudly. Her head was still in the air, her body straight, her gaze level and fixed. She gave no sign that she had noticed either those who had so rudely assailed her, or those who had protected her from them. How arrogant and superior she seemed!

How I hated her, and hated her!

A spear butt struck at the wood of the wagon, near where we peeped out. We drew back, frightened. The canvas was then tied down again. We were alone with ourselves again, closed in the wagon.

We heard the drums, the trumpets and clashing cymbals growing fainter, down the street, as the retinue continued on its way.

Rask clapped his hands once, and four musicians, who had been waiting outside, entered the tent. And took a place to one side. Two had small drums, one a flute, the other a stringed instrument.

Rask clapped his hands twice, sharply. And the black-haired, green-eyed, olive-skinned slave girl stood before him. "Put her in slave bells," said Rask, to one of the musicians. The musician fastened leather cuffs, mounted each with three rows of bells, on her wrists and ankles.

The music of those of the caste of musicians was heady, like the wine.

There was shouting and laughing, the pleasurable moaning and crying out of girls used beyond the rim of firelight.

There was much feasting, and drinking.

One the sand, before the warriors, belled, in scarlet silk, the girl, Talena, danced.

"Dance, Slave," said Rask of Treve.

I leaped to my feet, my hands held over my head. The musicians again began to play.

And Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, of Earth, a Gorean slave girl, danced before primitive warriors.

The music was raw, melodious, deeply sensual.

I suddenly saw, scarcely comprehending, the awe in their eyes. They were silent, their fierce eyes bright. I saw their hands tighten, the shoulders lean forward.

I danced.

Well had I been trained in the pens of Ko-ro-ba. Not for nothing had it been I and Lana who had been among the most superb of the slave females then in the pens.

In the firelight, in the sand, before warriors, I danced. My feet, belled, struck in the sand. The perfume was wild about me, swift in the brightness and the shadows. On my lips I wore slave rouge. I danced.

I could see the eyes of the men, the movements of their bodies.

(pg. 328) I realized, suddenly, in the dance, that I had power in my beauty, incredible power, power to strike men and stun them, to astonish them in the firelight, to make them, if I wished, mad with the wanting of me.

"She is superb!" I heard whisper.

I danced toward him, he who had said this, and he leaped toward me, but two of his fellows seized him, holding him back. I danced back, my hands held to him, as though I had been torn from him.

"Aiii!" he cried.

There were shouts of pleasure.

I saw the girls watching too, their eyes wide, too, with pleasure.

I threw back my head and the bells flashed at my ankles and wrists, and in my body the music, in its bright flames, burned.

I would make them mad with the wanting of me!

I would do so.

Something deep and female within me emerged, something I had never felt before. I would torture them! I did have power. I would make them suffer!

I was white silk!

It was safe to dance before them as I pleased.

And so Elinor Brinton danced to torment them.

They cried out with anguish and pleasure. How pleased I was in my power!

As the music changed so, too, did the dancer, and she became as one with the music, a frightened girl, new to the collar, a timid girl, delicate and submissive, a lonely slave, yearning for her master, a drunken wench, rejecting her slavery, a proud girl, determined to be defiant, a raw, red-silk slave, mad with the need for a master's touch.

And, too, as I danced, I would sometimes dance toward a warrior, sometimes as though begging him his glance, sometimes as though seeking his protection in my plight, sometimes as though I could not help myself, but was drawn to him, helplessly, in the vulnerability of the female slave, sometimes, when I chose, to deliberately, overtly and cruelly, (pg. 329) taunt him with my beauty, my desirability, and my inaccessibility.

More than one cried out with rage and reached toward me, or shook his fist at me, but I laughed, and danced back away from him.

Then, as the music struck towards its swirling peaks I unaccountably, boldly, for no reason I understood, faced Rask of Treve, and before him, my master, I danced. His eyes were expressionless. He sipped his wine. I danced my hatred for him, to make him mad with the desire of me, which desire I could then frustrate, which desire I could then, in my strength, for I was not as other women, for I did not have their weaknesses, fail to fulfill! I could hurt him, and I would! He had captured me! He had enslaved me! He had lashed and branded me! He had put me in the slave box! I despised him. I hated him. I would make him suffer! How desperately, in my dance, I tried to arouse him! Yet his eyes remained expressionless. And, from time to time, observing me through narrowed lids, he would sip his wine. And then I knew my body was dancing something to him that I could not understand, that I feared. It was strange. It was as though my body would, in its own right, speak to him, as though it were trying, on some level I could not comprehend, to communicate to him. And then again I was as I was before, and could dance my contempt and hatred for him. He seemed amused. I was furious.

When the music finished, I fell to my knees, insolently, before him, my head to the ground.

There were many shouts of acclaim, and pleasure, from the men, and even from the girls, who struck their left shoulders with the palms of their hands.

Hunters of Gor

The music of the musicians was quite good. I reached to my pouch, to take from it a golden tarn and throw it to them.

We heard the beating of a drum and the playing of flutes.

"What is going on?" I asked a fellow, of the metal workers.

"It is a judicial enslavement," he said.

With Rim and Thurnock, moving in the crowd, I craned for a look.

I saw first the girl, stumbling. She was already stripped. Her hands were tied behind her back. Something, pushing her from behind, had been fastened on her neck. Behind her came a flat-topped wagon, of some four feet in height. It was moved by eight tunicked, collared slave girls, two to each wheel, pushing at the wheels. It was guided by a man walking behind it, by means of a lever extending back, under the wagon, from the front axle. Flanking the wagon, on both sides, were musicians, with their drums and flutes. Behind the wagon, in the white robes, trimmed with gold and purple, of merchant magistrates, came five men. I recognized them as judges.

A pole extended from the front of the wagon, some eight or nine feet. There was, at its termination, a semicircular leather cushion, with a short chain. The girl's neck had been forced back against the cushion, and then the chain had been fastened, securing her, standing, in place. As the wagon moved forward, she was, thus, forced to walk before it. The pole, projecting out from the wagon, isolated her, keeping her from other human beings.

The music became louder.

I suddenly recognized the girl. It was she who had cut my purse earlier in the day, the sensuous little wench, whose ear had been notched. I gather that she had not had such good fortune later in the day. I well knew what the punishment was for a Gorean female, following her second conviction for theft.

On the flat-topped wagon, fastened to one side on a metal plate, already white with heat, was a brazier, from which protruded the handles of two irons. Also mounted on the wagon was a branding rack, of the sort popular in Tyros. It was, I conjectured, another instance of the cultural minglings which characterized the port of Lydius.

The wagon stopped on the broad street, before the wharves, where the crowd could gather about.

A judge climbed, on wooden stairs at the back of the wagon, to its surface. The other judges stood below him, on the street.
...
The judges, I noted, had left. The musicians, those who had played the drums and flutes, escorting the judges and the prisoner, had also left.

The slave girls who had drawn the wagon, stood about, watching the crowd.

"Twenty-two copper pieces," called a metal worker.

Players, incidentally, are free to travel where they wish on the surface of Gor, no matter what might be their city. By custom, they, like musicians, and like singers, there are few courts at which they are not welcome.

He would be branded, and taken to the coast as slave, for transportation to Tyros, island of his enemies. He would march in their triumph, branded, naked, chained to the back of a tharlarion wagon, amid blossoms cast by white-silk maidens dancing beside him. There would be jeering throngs. Then, with music and ceremony, he would be presented before them as he had marched, naked and in the chains of a slave, Sarus, leader of the men of Tyros in the forest, his captor, would them give him to the council. He would then be pronounced, by the council, slave of Tyros.. he might then be given a name more fitting a slave then Marlenus. He would then be disposed of as they saw fit. It would be a fit end for Marlenus, Ubar of Ar.

Marauders of Gor

The litany and responses of the congregation were now completed and the initiates, some twenty within the rail, began to sing in archaic Gorean. I could make out little of the wording. There was an accompaniment by sistrums. Portions of the hymn were taken up by four delicate boys standing outside the white rail on a raised platform. Their heads were shaved and they wore robes resembling those of the initiates. Choirs of such boys often sang in the great temples. They were young male slaves, purchased by initiates, castrated by civil authorities and, in the monasteries, trained in song. I supposed, to one versed in music, their soprano voices were very beautiful, Here in the far north, of course, in Kassau, to have any such boys, properly trained in the archaic hymns, indicated some wealth. I did not think such singers existed even in Lydius. The High Initiate of Kassau obviously was a man of expensive tastes.

We had fed well in the hall of Svein Blue Tooth. During the meal, for Svein was a rich man, there had been acrobats, and jugglers and minstrels. There had been much laughter when one of the acrobats had fallen into the long fire, to leap scrambling from it, rolling in the dirt. Two other men, to settle a grievance, had had a tug of war, a bosk hide stretched between them, across the long fire. When one had been pulled into the fire the other had thrown the hide over him and stomped upon him. Before the fellow in the fire could free himself he had been much burned. This elicited much laughter from the tables. The jugglers had a difficult time, too, for their eyes on the cups and plates they were juggling, they were not infrequently tripped, to the hilarity of the crowd. More than one minstrel, too, was driven from the hall, the target of barrages of bones and plates.

The Forkbeard was, at one point, so furious at the ineptness of the musicians, that he informed me of his own intention to regale the tables with song. He was extremely proud of his singing voice. I prevailed upon him to desist. "You are a guest," I told him, "it would not be seemly for you, by your talents, to shame the entertainers, and thereby perhaps reflect upon the honor of your host, who doubtless has provided the best he can." "True," admitted the Forkbeard. I breathed more easily. Had Ivar Forkbeard broken into song I would have given little for our chances.

Male thralls turned the spits over the long fire; female thralls, bond-maids, served the tables. The girls, though collared in the manner of Torvaldsland, and serving men, were fully clothed. Their kirtles of white wool, smudged and stained with grease, fell to their ankles; they hurried about; they were barefoot; their arms, too, were bare; their hair was tied with strings behind their heads, to keep it free from sparks; their faces were, on the whole, dirty, smudged with dirt and grease; they were worked hard; Bera, I noted, kept much of an eye upon them; one girl, seized by a warrior, her waist held, his other hand sliding upward from her ankle beneath the single garment permitted her, the long, stained woolen kirtle, making her cry out with pleasure, dared to thrust her lips eagerly, furtively, to his; but she was seen by Bera; orders were given; by male thralls she was bound and, weeping, thrust to the kitchen, there to be stripped and beaten; I presumed that if Bera were not present the feast might have taken a different turn; her frigid, cold presence was, doubtless, not much welcomed by the men. But she was the woman of Svein Blue Tooth. I supposed, in time, normally, she would retire, doubtless taking Svein Blue Tooth with her. It would be then that the men might thrust back the tables and hand the bond-maids about. No Jarl I knew can hold men in his hall unless there are ample women for them. I felt sorry for Svein Blue Tooth. This night, however, it seemed Bera had no intention of retiring early. I suspected this might have accounted somewhat for the ugliness of the men with the entertainers, not that the men of Torvaldsland, under any circumstances, constitute an easily pleased audience. Generally only Kaissa and the songs of skalds can hold their attention for long hours, that and stories told at the tables.

After the entertainers had been driven from the hall and much food had been eaten, Svein Blue Tooth, who had showed much patience, said to Ivar Forkbeard, "It is my understanding that you believe yourself to have that wherewith your deed's wergild might be met.

Tribesmen of Gor

The girl wore Gorean dancing silk. It hung low upon her bared hips, and fell to her ankles. It was scarlet, diaphanous. A front corner of the silk was taken behind her and thrust loose and draped, into the rolled silk knotted about her hips; loosely, draped, into the rolled silk at her right hip. Low on her hips she wore a belt of small denomination, threaded, overlapping golden coins. A veil concealed her muchly from us, it thrust into the strap of the coined halter at her left shoulder, and into the coined belt at her right hip. On her arms she wore numerous armlets and bracelets. On the thumb and first finger of both her left and right hand were golden finger cymbals. On her throat was a collar.

I took another piece of larma fruit. "I gather," I said, "you have information?"

"Yes," said Samos. He clapped his hands. Immediately the girl stood beautifully, alert, before us, her arms high, wrists outward. The musicians, to one side, stirred, readying themselves. Their leader was a czehar player.
...
He looked at the girl. He clapped his hands, sharply.

There was a clear note of the finger cymbals, sharp, deliberate, bright, and the slave girl danced before us.

I regarded the coins threaded, overlapping, on her belt and halter. They took the firelight beautifully. They glinted, but were of small worth. One dresses such a woman in cheap coins; she is slave. Her hand moved to the veil at her right hip. Her head was turned away, as though unwilling and reluctant, yet knowing she must obey.
...
The dancer was now moving slowly to the music.

"She is so sensual," whispered the blondish girl, in horror.

I turned to watch the dancer. She danced well. At the moment she writhed upon the "slave pole," it fixing her in place. There is no actual pole, of course, but sometimes it is difficult to believe there is not. The girl imagines that a pole, slender, supple, swaying, transfixes her body, holding her helplessly. About this imaginary pole, it constituting a hypothetical center of gravity, she moves, undulating, swaying, sometimes yielding to it in ecstasy, sometimes fighting it, it always holding her in perfect place, its captive. The control achieved by the use of the "slave pole" is remarkable. An incredible, voluptuous tension is almost immediately generated, visible in the dancer's body, and kinetically felt by those who watch. I heard men at the table cry out with pleasure. The dancer's hands were at her thighs. She regarded them, angrily, and still she moved. Her shoulders lifted and fell; her hands touched her breasts and shoulders; her head was back, and then again she glared at the men, angrily. Her arms were high, very high. Her hips moved, swaying. Then, the music suddenly silent, she was absolutely still. Her left hand was at her thigh; her right high above her head; her eyes were on her hip; frozen into a hip sway; then there was again a bright, clear flash of the finger cymbals, and the music began again, and again she moved, helpless on the pole. Men threw coins at her feet.
...
The dancer moaned, crying out, as though in agony. Still she remained impaled upon the slave pole, its prisoner.

"The Gorean master," I told the blondish girl, "commands sensuality in his female slaves."

She stared at the dancer, her eyes wide with misery. The hips of the dancer now moved; seemingly in isolation from the rest of her body, though her wrists and hands, ever so slightly, moved to the music.

"You cannot even move like that now," I told the blondish girl. "Yet muscles can be trained. You will be taught to move like a woman, not a puppet of wood." I grinned down at her. "You will be taught to be sensual."

Samos, with a snap of his fingers, freed the dancer from the slave pole. She moved turning, toward us. Before us loosening her veil at the right hip, she danced. Then she took it from her left shoulder, where it had been tucked beneath the strap of her halter. With the veil loose, covering her, holding it in her hands, she danced before us. Then she regarded us, dark-eyed, over the veil; it turned about her body; then, to the misery of the blondish girl, she wafted the silk about her, enmeshing her in its gossamer softness. I saw the parted lip, the eyes wide with horror, of the kneeling, harnessed girl through the light, yellow veil; then the dancer had drawn it away from her, and, turning, was again in the center of the floor.
...
The belled left ankle of the dancer moved in a small circle on the mosaicked floor, to the ringing of the bells, and the counterpoint of the finger cymbals.

Men lifted their cups to Samos as we reentered the hall. We acknowledged their greetings.
...
The dancer whirled near us then enveloped me in her veil. Within the secrecy of the veil, binding us together, she moved her body slowly before me, lips parted, moaning. I took her in my arms. Her head was back, her eyes closed. I pressed my lips to hers, and with my teeth cut her lip. She, and I, together, tasted the blood and rouge of her subjugation. She drew back slightly, blood at the side of her mouth. Fist by fist, my hand on the back of her small, delicious neck, preventing her from escaping, I slowly removed her veil from her, then threw it aside. Then with my right hand, the Tuchuk quiva in it, while still holding her with my left, as she continued to move to the music, I, behind her back, cut the halter she wore from her. I then thrust her from me, before the tables, that she might better please the guests of Samos, first slaver of Port Kar. She looked at me reproachfully, but, seeing my eyes, turned frightened to the men, hands over her head, to please them. Never in all this, of course, had she lost the music in her body. The men cried out, pleased with her beauty.

All eyes were on the dark-haired dancer, the skirt of diaphanous scarlet dancing silk low upon her hips. Her hands moved as though she might be, starved with desire, picking flowers from a wall in a garden. One saw almost the vines from which she plucked them, and how she held them to her lips, and, at times, seemed to press herself against the wall which confined her. Then she turned and, as though alone, danced her need before the men.

I idly observed the dancer. Her eyes were on me. It seemed, in her hands, she held ripe fruits for me, lush larma, fresh picked. Her wrists were close together, as though confined by the links of slave bracelets. She touched the imaginary larma to her body, caressing her swaying beauty with it, and then, eyes piteous, held her hands forth, as though begging me to accept the lush fruit. Men at the table clapped their hands on the wood, and looked at me. Others smote their left shoulders. I smiled. On Gor, the female slave, desiring her master, yet sometimes fearing to speak to him, frightened that she may be struck has recourse upon occasion to certain devices, the meaning of which is generally established and culturally well understood. I shall mention two such devices. There is, first, the bondage knot. Most Gorean slave girls have long hair. The bondage knot is a simple looped knot tied in the girl's hair and worn at the side of her right cheek or before her right shoulder. The girl approaches the master naked and kneels; the bondage knot soft, curled, fallen at the side of her right cheek or before her right shoulder. Another device, common in Port Kar, is for the girl to kneel before the master and put her head down and lift her arms, offering him fruit, usually a larma, or a yellow Gorean peach, ripe and fresh. These devices, incidentally, may be used even by a slave girl who hates her master but whose body, trained to love, cannot endure the absence of the masculine caress. Such girls, even with hatred, may offer the larma, furious with themselves, yet helpless, the captive of their slave needs, forced to beg on their knees for the touch of a harsh master, who revels in the, sport of their plight; does he satisfy them; if it is his will, yes; if it is not his will, no. They are slaves.

The girl now knelt before me, her body obedient still, trembling, throbbing, to the melodious, sensual command of the music.

I looked into the cupped hands, held toward me. They might have been linked in slave bracelets. They might have held lush larma. I reached across the table and took her in my arms and dragged her, turning her, and threw her on her back on the table before me. I lifted her to me, and thrust my lips to her, crushing her slave lips beneath mine. Her eyes shone. I held her from me. She lifted her lips to mine. I did not permit her to touch me. I jerked her to her feet and, half turning her, ripping her silk from her, hurled her to the map floor, where she half lay, half crouched one leg beneath her, looking at me, stripped save for her collar, the brand, the armlets, bells, the anklets, with fury. "Please us more," I told her. Her eyes blazed. "And do not rise from the floor, Slave," I told her. The music, which had stopped, began again.

She turned furiously, yet gracefully, extending a leg, touching an ankle, moving her hands up her leg, looking at me over her shoulder, and then rolled, and writhed, as though beneath the lash of masters.

"You discipline her well," said Samos, smiling.

I grinned.

The girl now, on her belly, yet subtly to the music, crawled toward us, lifted her hand piteously to us.

I heard a cry of dismay, of protest, from the horrified, once Miss Blake-Allen.

Samos regarded her. He was not pleased. "Free her legs of the harness," said Samos to one of the guards.

The guard took the straps which had bound her ankles together, and, untying them, slipped them through the metal ring, glinting, sewn into the back of the leather collar of the harness, worn over the simple curved collar of iron which marked her, even should she be clothed, and her brand not visible, as slave. The straps had run from the back of the collar to her ankles, holding her in a kneeling position. Her legs were now free. The ankle straps then, sewn to the sides of the collar, and now circled about the collar and crossing in back, and now run through the ring on the front of the collar, served as leash. The harness is designed to provide a large number of ties. The girl, her legs freed, looked at Samos with horror. But he was no longer regarding her.

The dancer now lay on her back and the music was visible in her breathing, and in small movements of her head, and hands. Her hands were small and lovely.

She lay on the map floor, her head turned toward us. She was covered with sweat.

I snapped my fingers and her legs turned under her, and she was kneeling, head back, dark hair on the tiles. Her bands moved, delicate, lovely. Slowly, if permitted, she would rise to an erect kneeling position; her hands, as she lifted herself, extended toward us. Four times said I "No," each time my command forcing her head back, her body bent, to the floor, and such time again, to the music, she lifted her body to an erect kneeling position. The last position of her body to rise was her beautiful head. The collar was at her throat. Her dark eyes, smoldering, vulnerable, reproachful, regarded me. Still did the move to the music, which had not yet released her.

With a gesture I permitted her to rise to her feet. "Dance your beauty, Slave," I told her, "to the guests of Samos."

Angrily the girl, man by man, slowly, meaningfully, danced her beauty to each guest. They struck the tables, and cried out. More than one reached to clutch her but each time, swiftly, she moved back.
...
The dancer turned from the tables and, hands high over her head, approached me. She swayed to the music before me. "You commanded me to dance my beauty for the guests of Samos," said she, "Master. You, too, are such a guest."

I looked upon her, narrow lidded, as she strove to please me.

Then she moaned and turned away, and, as the music swirled to its maddened, frenzied climax, she spun, whirling, in a jangle of bells and clashing barbaric ornaments before the guests of Samos. Then, as the music suddenly stopped, she fell to the floor helpless, vulnerable, a female slave. Her body, under the torchlight, shone with a sheen of sweat. She gasped for breath; her body was beautiful, her breasts lifting and falling, as she drank deeply of the air. Her lips were parted. Now that her dance was finished she could scarcely move. We had not been gentle with her. She looked up at me and lifted her hand. It was at my feet she lay.

I gestured her to her knees, head down. She obeyed. Her hair fell to the map floor. It touched the portion of the map which, together Samos and I had been contemplating. I regarded the lettering, in Gorean script.

"The secret is there," said Samos, pointing to the map, "in the Tahari."

Delicately, timidly the dancer reached out, with her two hands, to touch my ankle. She looked at me, agonized.

I signaled to the guards. She cried out with misery as she was dragged by the ankle across the door and thrown over two of the small tables.

I would let others warm her.

The men cried out with pleasure.

Her final yieldings I would force from her later, when it pleased me.

She who had once been Miss Priscilla Blake-Allen, a free Earth girl prior to her enslavement, struggled to her feet, her eyes wide with horror, trying to struggle backward but the guards' hands on her arms, she now only a nameless slave, for her master had not yet given her a name, held her in place.

She looked at her master, Samos of Port Kar. He gave a sign. She screamed.

She fought the harness.

She too was thrown across the tables.

"She does not know how to dance," I said. Then, to the girl, in English, I said, "You are not yet ready to dance for the pleasure of men." She shrank back. "Of course not," she said, in English. But I could see that, in spite of her anger, her denial, her eyes had been excited, curious. Doubtless she had, from time to time, wondered what it would be like, a collared slave girl, to dance naked in the sand, in the light of the campfire, laboring vulnerably under whip-threat to please Gorean warriors. It would be a long time, I thought, before the cool, white-skinned Alyena would beg, "Dance me! Dance me for the pleasure of men!"

"She is barbarian," said I to the captain. "She speaks little Gorean. I told her she was not yet ready to dance for the pleasure of men."

"A pity," said he. In Gorean female dance the girl is expected, often, to satisfy, fully, whatever passions she succeeds in arousing in her audience. She is not permitted merely to excite, and flee away: when, at the conclusion of the swirling music, she flings herself to the floor at the mercy of free men, her dance is but half finished; she has yet to pay the price of her beauty.

Before us, on the smooth, scarlet, inlaid floor, stood the girl. Her body was relaxed, but, nonetheless, held beautifully. She was looking away. She seemed bored, a bit insolent.

Low on her hips she wore, on a belt of rolled cloth, yellow dancing silk, in Turian drape, the thighs bare, the front right corner of the skirt thrust behind her to the left, the back left lower corner of the skirt thrust into the rolled belt at her right hip. She was barefoot; there were golden bangles, many of them, on her ankles, more on her left ankle. She wore a yellow-silk halter, hooked high, to accentuate the line of her beauty. She wore a gold, locked collar, and, looped about her neck, many light chains and pendants; on her wrists were many bracelets, on her upper arms, both left and right, were armlets, tight, there being again more on the left arm. She shook her head, her hair was loose.

"Prepare to please a free man," I told the girl.

She was blond, blue-eyed, light-skinned.

She bent her knees, weight on her heels, lifted her hands, high over her head, wrists close together, back to back, on her thumbs and fingers, poised, tiny cymbals.

I nodded to the musicians. The music began. There was a bright flash of the tiny finger cymbals and Alyena danced for us.
...
He lifted his eyes to Alyena. Her body seemed barely to move, yet it danced, as though against her will. It seemed she tried to hold herself immobile, as though fighting her own body, but yet that it forced her to dance, betraying her as a slave girl to the gaze of masters. Her eyes were shut, her teeth clenched on her lip, her face agonized; her arms were above her head, her fists clenched, and yet, seemingly in isolation, seemingly against her resolve, her body moved, forcing her to be beautiful before men. A fantastic intensity is achieved by this dancer's artifice. It was not lost on Suleiman, or Ibn Saran.
...
In her dance, Alyena turned. I smiled. Beneath the small of her back, on the left side, I could see, through the yellow silk, that the bruise had not yet healed. She had received it on the caravan march; four days earlier, before the bruise had been inflicted on her, we had been joined by the officers and escort sent forth from Nine Wells. She had received it at a watering place. She had been carrying a large bag of churned verr milk on her head. It had been given to her by an agile, broad-shouldered, handsome young nomad. I had seen it and, in my opinion, she had asked for it. She, with her burden, had walked past him, near him, and as a slave girl. He had leaped to his feet and, swift, with fingers like pliers, had administered a sharp, jocular bit of instruction to the bold wench. Her yelp resounded for a radius of a quarter of a pasang about the watering hole, startling even the verr and kaiila. She dropped the churned verr milk, the bag's seams fortunately for her not splitting, and spun to face him, but he was towering over her, not four inches from her. "You walk well, Slave Girl," he told her. She staggered backward, frightened, stumbling, until she was backed against the backward-leaning trunk of a flahdah tree. She looked up at him. "You're a pretty little slave girl," he said. "I would not mind owning you." She turned her head away. "Oh!" she cried. His hand was on her body, and she, writhing, weeping, with her heels, pushing herself, back scraping on the bark, climbed almost a foot up the slanting trunk, before he, through her veil, truth of her, the deepest truth of her, which no longer may she conceal."
...
Ibn Saran, watching the yellow-silked, collared slave dance, sipped his hot, black wine.

I saw that he was interested in the beauty.

She bent down, her leg extended and, moving it, flexing it, slowly, to the music, from her knee to the thigh, caressed it. Alyena was good, because, in her belly, though she still did not know it, burned slave fire.

Sometimes she would look at us, her audience. Her eyes said to us, I dance as a slave girl, but I am not truly a slave girl. I am not tamed. I can never be tamed. No man can tame me.
...
Alyena, in dancing, sensed the power of Ibn Saran. It is not difficult for a female dancer, lightly clad, displaying her beauty, to detect where among those who watch her lies power. I am not sure precisely how this is done. Doubtless, to some extent, it has to do with richness of raiment. But even more, I suspect, it has to do with the way in which they hold their bodies, their assurance, their eyes, as they, as though owning her, observe her. A woman finds herself looked upon very differently by a man who has power and one who does not. Instinctively, of course, to be looked upon by a man with power thrills a woman. They desire, desperately, to please him. This is particularly true of a slave girl, whose femaleness is most shamelessly and brazenly bared. Ibn Saran, languid, observed the dancer. His face betrayed no emotion. He sipped his hot black wine.

Alyena threw herself to the floor before him, moving to the music. I supposed she saw in him her "rich man," who would guarantee her a life in which she might be protected from the labors of the free woman of the Tahari, the pounding of grain with the heavy pestle, the weaving of cloth, the churning of milk in skin bags, the carrying of water, the herding of animals with sticks in the blistering heat. I saw her turn, and twist, and writhe, and move, and, on her belly, hold out her hand to him.
...
At a languid gesture from Ibn Saran, Alyena lifted herself from the scarlet tiles, gracefully turning from her side to her knees, and then, head back, hair to the floor, slowly, inch by melodic protesting inch, arms before her body, lifted herself to a kneeling position, erect, the last bit of her to rise being her head, with a swirl of her blond, loose hair. Then, looking to Ibn Saran, suddenly she bent forward, as though impulsively, as though she could not help herself, and, hands on the tiles, head down, kissed the tiles at his feet, before his slippers. She looked up at him. I gathered she wanted to be bought by him. He was her "rich man." He lifted his finger for her to rise. Her right leg thrust forth, brazenly, and then, from her kneeling position, slowly, hands above her head, moving, high, she rose swaying to her feet.

"May I strip your slave?" inquired Ibn Saran.

"Of course," I said.

He nodded to the girl. To the music she unhooked her slave halter of yellow silk and, as though contemptuously, discarded it. I saw she was excited to see his interest in her. Only too obviously was she interested in him making a purchase of her. The churning of milk and the pounding of grain were not for lovely Alyena. That was for ugly girls and free women. She was too desirable, too, beautiful, to be set to such labors.
...
Alyena, now, slowly, disengaged the dancing silk from her hips, yet held it, moving it on and about her body, by her hands, taunting the reclining, languid, heavy-lidded Ibn Saran, to whom she knew, at his slightest gesture, she must bare herself.

He regarded her veil work; she was skillful; he was a connoisseur of slave girls.
...
At a signal from Ibn Saran, Alyena drew the veil about her body, and around it, and, with one small hand, threw it aside. She stood boldly before him, arms lifted, head to the side, right leg flexed. The veil, floating, wafted away, a dozen feet from her, and gently, ever so gently, settled to the tiles. Then, to the new melodic line, she danced.
...
Alyena now to a swirl of music spun before us, swept helpless with it, bangles clashing, to its climax.

Then she stopped, marvelously, motionlessly, as the music was silent, her head back, her arms high, her body covered with sweat, and then, to the last swirl of the barbaric melody, fell to the floor at the feet of Ibn Saran. I noted the light hair on her forearms. She gasped for breath.

Ibn Saran, magnanimously, gestured that she might rise, and she did so, standing before him, head high, breathing deeply.
...
Alyena stood on the scarlet tiles, head back, sweating, breathing heavily, nude save for her ornaments and collar, the bangles about her ankles and wrists, the armlets, the several chains and pendants looped about her neck. She brushed back her hair with her right hand.

Her lessons, which had been intensive, once we had arrived at the Oasis of Nine Wells, had cost little, and had, in my opinion, much increased her value, doubling or tripling it. The modest cost of the lessons had been, in my opinion, an excellent investment. My property had now increased, considerably, in value. But most credit, surely, had to go to the girl herself. With fantastic diligence had she applied herself to her lessons, and practices. Even so small a thing as the motion of the wrist she had practiced for hours.

Her teacher was a cafe slave girl, Seleenya, rented from her master; her musicians were a flutist, hired early, and, later, a kaska player, to accompany him.

Once I saw her, naked, covered with sweat and bangles, in the sand.

"Have you had to beat her often?" I asked Seleenya.

"No," said the slave girl. "I have never seen a girl so eager," she said.

"Play," said I to the musicians.

They played, until I, by lifting a finger, silenced them. At the same time, too, Alyena froze in the sand, her right hand high, left hand low, at her hip, her head bent to the left, eyes intent on the fingers of her left hand, as though curious to see if they would dare to touch her thigh; then she broke the pose, and threw back her head, breathing deeply. There was sand on her ankles and feet; perspiration ran down her body. "Does your girl please you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "And doubtless, too," I said, "a young nomad would be pleased."

She tossed her head, and sniffed. "I have no longer an interest in such as he," said she. She looked down, and bit her lip. "I know, Master," she said. "You will do with me exactly what you please, but I would bring a higher price, surely, if I were sold to a rich man." She knelt in the sand before me, in her sweat and bangles; she looked up, blue-eyed. "Please, Master," she said, "sell me to a rich man."

I motioned her to her feet. I signaled the musicians. She danced.

I observed her. I thought it not unlikely this slave might stir the interest of a man of means.

"Perhaps," I said. I was thinking I might sell her to Suleiman.

I watched her move.

"I have never seen a girl take so readily, so swiftly, so naturally to the dances of a slave," said Seleenya.

"She is a natural slave," I told Seleenya.

"In your arms," said Seleenya, looking up at me, "might not any woman find herself a natural slave?"

"Go to the alcove," I told her. I was renting her.

"Yes, Master," she whispered, gathering her silk about her and hurrying to the alcove.

"Continue your practices." I told Alyena.

"The fact that I can dance as a slave," said Alyena, moving before me, "does not mean that I am a slave."

I smiled, and tumid away from her, going to the alcove.

"I am not tamed," cried Alyena. "No man can tame me!"

I turned. "Kneel," said I. "Say 'I am tamed.' "

Immediately she knelt. "I am tamed," she said. She smiled.

It was the rebellion of compliance.

"Resume your practices," I told her.

The musicians began again, and again the girl danced. It was superb. And it was incredible. She did not yet know she was a true slave. What a little fool she was.

I watched her move.

She smiled at me, disdainfully. I considered her blond hair, now wild about her head as, suddenly, she entered into a series of spins. Her gaze focused to the last moment on a spot across the room from her, and then, suddenly, on each spin, her head snapped about, and she again found the focus. Then she finished the spins, and froze, hands over her head, body held high, stomach in, right leg flexed and extended, toes only touching the floor. Then she was again in basic position. Her white skin, in itself, in the Tahari, would bring a good price. Blond hair and blue eyes, too, in this region, made her a rare specimen. But beyond these trivialities, though of considerable commercial import, was the fact that she was beautiful, both in face and figure. Her figure, though not full, was completely female, beautifully proportioned, and sweetly slung.

She was, in Earth measurements, I would guess, some five feet four inches in height. Her face was incredibly delicate, and her lips. Her face was extremely sensitive, and feminine. It was a face on which emotion could be easily read. Her lip was swift to tremble, her eyes swift to moisten, filling with bright tears. Her feelings were easily hurt, a valuable property in a slave girl. Too, she could not control her feelings, another excellent property in a slave girl. Her feelings, vulnerable, deep, exploitable, in her expressions and on her face, betrayed her, exposing her to men, and their amusement, as helplessly as her stripped beauty. They made her more easily controlled, more a slave. I had once seen her handwriting. It, too, was extremely feminine. I watched her dance. Too, in her belly, perhaps most important of all, burned slave fire. She would do quite well. She would bring a high price. Only a rich man, I speculated, would be able to afford her.

It had been a stroke of brilliance, or of fortune, I surmised, to have brought the wench south. I had little doubt she would prove valuable.

"Master!" called Seleenya, the cafe slave girl, the rented girl, softly, from the alcove. She stood behind the beaded curtain. She had slipped off her silk. "Please, Master!" she wept. I saw through the strings of hanging beads the collar on her throat.

I went to her.

Behind me, as I thrust apart the beads, I heard the pounding of the drum, the kaska, the silence, then the sound, as the flutist, his hands on her body, to the sound of the drum, instructed the girl in the line-length and intensity of one of the varieties of pre-abandonment pelvic thrusts.

"Less," he said. "Less. There must be more control, more precision. You are being forced to do this, but you are holding back. You are angry. This must show in your face."

Slave Girl of Gor

The girl in the sand was quite good. It was still early in the evening, the sixteenth hour. She scarcely moved, swaying, ankles close, arms over her head, wrists back to back, palms turned out. Yet she subtly danced, controlled by the music of a single flute. Some men watched her. We had five dancers at the Belled Collar. I thought all were fine. The best would perform later in the evening. Four performed a day, and one would rest. I could not dance. There was only one musician at the side of the sand. Others would join him later. Their leader was Andronicus, who played the czehar.

It was well after the nineteenth hour, and again I was upon the floor.

The tavern was crowded. The music swirled loudly. Our finest dancer, Helen, a slim, blond Earth girl, tantalized the customers of Busebius in her silver chains. She wore the same collar as I. There was no escape for her, or for me. Our brands, our collars, the society, guaranteed it. If we escaped one master we would but fall to another. We were slaves.

"Come to the alcove," he said. I placed the tray I carried on a rack. The fight continued below. I was pulled by the leather thong on my left wrist toward an alcove in the wall of the level of the high balcony. There was shouting below. Several had now joined the fight. I heard the musicians begin to play, on Aurelion�s orders, to attempt to pacify the crowd, to distract it. A dancer, I supposed, had been sent to the center of the floor. Usually such fights are stopped by the separation of the combatants and the awarding to each of a girl for the night. I supposed Lyrazina would be given to one, and an even more exquisite beauty to the other, thus contenting both. But if this strategy was to be successful, it did not seem to be yet successful. I heard glass break below.

Beasts of Gor

One might note also, in passing, that slaves are not permitted to play Kaissa. It is for free individuals. In most cities it is regarded, incidentally, as a criminal offense to enslave one of the caste of players. A similar decree, in most cities, stands against the enslavement of one who is of the caste of musicians.

Explorers of Gor

I then gave my attention to the dancer, a sweetly hipped black girl in yellow beads.

She was skillful and, I suspected, from the use of the hands and beads, had been trained in Ianda, a merchant island north of Anango. Certain figures are formed with the hands and heads which have symbolic meaning, much of which was lost upon me, as I was not familiar with the conventions involved. Some, however, I had seen before, and had been explained to me. One was that of the free woman, another of the whip, another of the yielding, collared slave. Another was that of the thieving slave girl, and another that of the girl summoned, terrified, before the master. Each of these, with the music and followed by its dance expression, was very well done. Women are beautiful and they make fantastic dancers. One of the figures done was that of a girl, a slave, who encounters one who is afflicted with plague. She, a slave, knows that if she should contract the disease she would, in all probability, be summarily slain. She dances her terror at this. This was followed by the figure of obedience, and that by the figure of joy.

Fighting Slave of Gor

As we spoke some five musicians entered the room and took their places to one side. There was a czehar player, two flutists, a kalika player, and a player on the kaska, a small hand drum.
...
The dinner proceeded in a leisurely fashion through seven of its courses. There was light banter and charming conversation. The playing of the musicians was pleasant, and unobtrusive.
...
"I had intended to rent a dancing slave in Vonda," said the Lady Florence to her guests, "a decorous girl in blue silk and a golden collar, who might by the loveliness and grace of her movements please us, but it slipped my mind. I am so forgetful! I am afraid we must make do with poor Melpomene."

The Lady Leta laughed.

"Pamela," said the Lady Florence, "bring dancing silks for our slave."

"Oh, Mistress," said Pamela, smiling, "this is a house of refinement. We do not have such scandalous garments here."

"Aii, poor Melpomene," said the Mistress. Then she snapped to Melpomene, "On your feet, Slave!"

Swiftly Melpomene leaped to her feet, tears in her eyes. The chain fell to the ring from the chain loop on her collar.

"Tenalion, my dear," said the Lady Florence, "would you please relieve our lovely Melpomene of the impediment of her chain?"

"Certainly, Lady Florence," said Tenalion. He had been considering Lady Florence, doubtless surmising the configuration of her body beneath the ornate robes.

In a moment Tenalion had taken the chain from Melpomene, unlocking it first from the iron ring in the floor and, secondly, from her collar loop. The order of these events was not arbitrary. It was the opposite, too, of course, of the order in which she had been originally secured, where the chain had been first placed on her collar loop and only then locked about the ring in the floor. Commonly, in a Gorean tethering or chaining situation, of this sort, where neither fastening has as yet been effected, that bond which is on, or near, a woman's body is the first to be placed; similarly, of course, it is the last to be removed. In many situations, of course, there is only one fastening to be effected, that on the woman. It is not unusual for a master, for example, to keep a chain attached to the slave ring at the foot of his couch. It only needs, thus, when he wishes, to be put on the woman. Tenalion coiled the chain, and returned to his place. He put the chain in the box, which reposed near him. Melpomene then, now unchained, but naked, and wearing her collar, stood on the red tiles near the slave ring.

The Lady Florence looked to the leader of the musicians.

"Surely you are not going to dance a naked slave in mixed company?" laughed the Lady Leta.

"Is this a rude house?" laughed the Lady Perimene.

"Scandalous!" laughed the Lady Leta.

"Oh," cried the Lady Florence, in mock dismay, "I wished to obtain a dancing slave from Vonda, but it slipped my mind, so silly am I, and we have now on hand only poor Melpomene."
...
"To be sure," said the Lady Florence, "to dance a naked slave in mixed company seems scarcely to comport with the dignity of a refined house, but remember, too, I am a hostess, and we have men present, and we all know what beasts they are." The women laughed. "Yes," said the Lady Leta. "And so," said the Lady Florence, smiling, "as a good hostess I am under the obligation, surely, of providing a little something for the men."
...
"I was a free woman," wept Melpomene. "I have been locked in a collar but this night. I know nothing of the lovely and sensuous dances of the female slave."

"Bring a slave whip," said the Lady Florence to Pamela, who swiftly brought it to her, from where she had earlier cast it aside.

I saw Tenalion smile. To be sure, many of the dances of female slaves are lovely and sensuous; others, of course, are piteous and orgasmic. In all fairness, though, one must note that there is a large variety of slave dances on Gor, and that there is some variation from city to city. The institution of female slavery on Gor is doubtless thousands of years old; accordingly it is natural that there should be great complexity and refinement in such a delicious art form as slave dance. There are even, it might be mentioned, hate dances and rebellion dances, but most dances, as might be expected, are display dances, or need dances, or love and submission dances; even the hate and rebellion dances, of course, conclude, inevitably, with the ultimate surrender of the girl to her master as a love slave.

"I do not know how to dance, Mistress," whimpered Melpomene. "Please do not whip me."

The Lady Florence stood up.

"I will dance! I will dance!" cried the girl.

The Lady Florence sat down, smiling. "And as you dance, Melpomene," she said, "do not neglect to dance your beauty to the men, and dance it as the slut and slave you are."

"Yes, Mistress!" she wept.

The Lady Florence then signaled to the musicians. There was a swirl of music and a beating on the drum, and then a pause, and then began, with the czehar prominent, the strains of a slow Gorean melody. And Melpomene, the collared slave, danced, entertaining the guests of her Mistress, the Lady Florence of Vonda.

"It is natural in a woman," said Kenneth.

"I think so," I said.

Though doubtless Melpomene was untrained and lacked the thousand precisions and controls, the brilliancies and techniques, of the trained dancer, she was not unattractive on the tiles. She strove to please and dance well. I have little doubt but what the disposition to, and the fundamentals of, slave dance are instinctual in a woman. No other explanation seems compatible with the readiness with which they can acquire such dance. Many of the expressions, the gestures and movements of the body, of course, are clearly reminiscent of those of need and desire, of love and submission. I have little doubt but what these dispositions and talents have been naturally and sexually selected for in the course of evolution, such women being more often spared and sought.

The musicians now played more swiftly.

"Earlier, I suspect," said Kenneth, "she has danced so only in the privacy of her chambers, naked, before her mirror."

"Perhaps," I said.

"What a slave she is!" called the Lady Leta.

"It is for the men," laughed the Lady Florence.

"Surely I must avert my eyes!" laughed the Lady Leta.

"I, too!" laughed the Lady Perimene.

"Dance, you slut, dance!" cried the Lady Florence.

"Yes, Mistress!" wept Melpomene. "Yes, Mistress!"

Neither of the other two women, I noted, had averted their eyes.

"To the men!" ordered the Lady Florence. "To the men!"

Sobbing, the slave then danced her beauty to Brandon, a prefect of Vonda. He threw back his head, laughing at the humiliation wrought upon her, once a proud free woman. She spun from him and, crying, danced before Philebus, bounty creditor of Venna. He grinned and lifted before her eyes the bank draft, drawn on the bank of Reginald in Vonda, certified, and signed by the Lady Florence, for one thousand, four hundred and twenty tarns of gold. His trip had been quite successful, and he had now, too, the pleasure of seeing she who had been the elusive debtor now dancing as a naked slave before him. She then spun about and danced before Tenalion and Ronald, his man. She, a slave, I noted, danced most helplessly and lasciviously before them. They were strong men, and slavers. Too, Tenalion had put the collar on her.

"Continue to dance here," said Tenalion, indicating a place before his small table.

"Yes, Master," she said, commanded.

Then, as she danced before him, he took forth a small pad and, with a marking stick, jotted notes upon it. He was doubtless appraising her, and considering how she might be improved.

After a time, he said, "You may now dance elsewhere"

"Yes, Master," she said.

But a moment after this the Lady Florence stood up and signaled to the musicians to discontinue, for the time, the music.

Melpomene then, of course, knelt, head down, facing her Mistress.

"How do you like my little dancer?" she asked.

"Excellent, for a raw slave," said Tenalion. "Obviously she has slave fire in her belly."

"Do you hear that, Girl," said the Lady Florence to Melpomene, "you have slave fire in your belly."

"Yes, Mistress," said Melpomene, head down, shamed.

"I knew it!" said the Lady Florence.

"Yes, Mistress," said Melpomene, sobbing.

"How right that you wear a collar, Slave Girl," sneered the Lady Florence.

"Yes, Mistress," sobbed Melpomene.

The Lady Florence regarded her new female slave. "Have you been shamed sufficiently, Melpomene?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress," said Melpomene.

"No, you have not been," said the Lady Florence. "It is no dishonor for you, a slave, to dance before free persons. Rather have I accorded you a privilege in permitting you to do so."

"Yes, Mistress," said Melpomene.

"Now I think that I shall truly shame you," she said.

"Mistress?" asked Melpomene.

"Now you shall dance," she said, "before a male slave!"

"Oh, no, Mistress," begged Melpomene, "please, please do not so shame me!"

The two women, the Lady Leta and the Lady Perimene, clapped their hands with pleasure. Brandon and Philebus laughed. Tenalion and Ronald, his man, smiled.

"Please, no, Mistress," begged Melpomene, extending her hands to her Mistress. She could not believe what was being done to her. There can be no greater degradation for a slave girl than to be made to serve a slave.

"Be silent, Girl," snapped the Lady Florence.

"Yes, Mistress," wept Melpomene.

"Kenneth!" called the Mistress. "Jason!"

"Precede me," said Kenneth, holding back the curtain.

"Yes, Master," I said.

I strode into the room. I was stripped to the waist. I wore the half tunic of a stable slave.

I heard the women, the Lady Leta and the Lady Perimene, draw in their breath.

"You!" breathed Melpomene, putting her hand before her mouth.

I stood a few feet from her, my arms folded. I looked down upon her. She seemed very small and vulnerable, so white, so soft, in a steel collar, kneeling on the tiles.

I looked to the men. We measured one another, as men do. I did not flinch before their gaze, though I was slave and they were free. I had stood against men such as Gort, of the stables of Miles, and Kaibar, of the stables of Shandu, in the pit of leather and blood.. Brandon, a prefect of Vonda, and Philebus, the bounty creditor of Venna, seemed troubled. Inwardly I smiled. I could tear either of them to pieces, should it please me. I did not think Brandon would care to speak to me, unless he had guardsmen at his back. I did not think Philebus would care to pursue me for my debts. More respect I entertained for Tenalion and his cohort, he called Ronald. They were slavers. They would know the martial arts. They would be, secretly, armed. It was possible they could slay me before I could get my hands on them. Such men, though mostly they deal with collared wenches, must know the handling of the larger and more dangerous animals, the Kajiri. I saw that they did not fear me. They saw, too, however, that I did not fear them.

"Look at his body," breathed the Lady Leta.

"Where have you been keeping him, my dear?" inquired the Lady Perimene.

"He is a fighting slave, is he not?" inquired Brandon.

"I understand," said the Lady Florence, "that he has been upon occasion used in the stable bouts." Indeed, I was champion of the local stables, those within a perimeter of some fifty pasangs. Even Gort, of the stables of Miles, and Kaibar, of the stables of Shandu, had been unable to best me.

"This is Jason," said the Lady Florence, introducing me to her guests. "He is one of my less important stable slaves. He is, however, apparently not totally unattractive to certain sorts of low women."

The Lady Leta and the Lady Perimene laughed.

"According to my reports," continued the Lady Florence, "some of my stable sluts are half mad with passion for him."

"Imagine what it would be," said Tenalion, "if he were free, and they were his."

"I do not think I would mind being a slut in your stables, my dear Florence," said the Lady Perimene, "if I were to find myself at the mercy of such beasts."

"I deny him women, of course," she laughed.

"That could be dangerous, Lady Florence," said Tenalion, "unless he is kept closely chained."

"Except occasionally, of course," she laughed. She looked at Melpomene who, kneeling, in her collar, shuddered.

"Why do you limit his rations of love flesh?" asked Tenalion.

"It is my will," said the Lady Florence angrily, defensively.

"I see," said Tenalion. He smiled. He looked at the Lady Florence as though he had stripped her.

"Oh, I let him have a snack of love flesh upon occasion," she said, "if it suits my whim." My face was expressionless. I had not had a woman since I had had Telitsia in the training barn, the morning before she had been sold. "Indeed," laughed the Lady Florence, "I might let him have one tonight."

There was laughter.

"Jason," said the Lady Florence, "may I introduce one of my slaves to you, a new one. I call her Melpomene."

"Yes, Mistress," I said. I regarded Melpomene. She was visibly trembling.

"Do you remember Jason, Melpomene?" asked the Lady Florence, sweetly.

"Yes, Mistress," whispered Melpomene.

"Do you think she would make a suitable snack of love flesh for a fighting slave, Jason?" asked the Lady Florence.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"To his feet, Girl," snapped the Lady Florence. "Lick and kiss them!"

Melpomene fled to me. I felt her lips on my feet, and her small tongue.

There was laughter from the Lady Leta and the Lady Perimene.

"Now beg to dance for him," said the Lady Florence.

Melpomene lifted her head. There were tears in her eyes. I saw the collar on her throat, with its chain loop. "I beg to dance for you, Master," she said.

I glanced to the Lady Florence. Then I said, "You may do so."

Melpomene rose to her feet and backed away a few feet from me, and lifted her hands over her head, the wrists back to back. Her knees were flexed.

The Lady Florence regarded the slave, who, not moving, and afraid to meet her eyes, now held, trembling, one of the lovely attitudes of a dancing slave. Then, slowly, not hurrying, the Lady Florence returned to her place, behind the small table. She knelt there, making herself comfortable, and adjusting her robes.

There was silence in the room.

The Lady Florence then signaled to the musicians, and they began to play.

And Melpomene danced before me.

"If you are not pleased with her, Jason," said the Lady Florence, "let me know, and I will have her slain before morning."

Melpomene turned white, for her very life had then been placed in my hands.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Please find me pleasing," begged Melpomene. "Please, Master!"

My face was expressionless. I stood regarding her, arms folded. I looked at her. I remembered her well from that night in Venna, in her house, when I had lain chained at her mercy, subject to her pleasure and abuse.

"Please find me pleasing, Master," she begged, dancing naked before me.

"I will not find you pleasing unless you are pleasing," I told her. It was true.

She moaned. The music began to swirl and flame. Piteously, and more piteously, she danced her beauty before me.

"Do you find her of interest, Jason?" asked the Lady Florence.

"The slave is not without interest," I said.

Suddenly a look of joy came into the eyes of Melpomene, as she sensed that she might be spared, and then, as suddenly, a look of astonishment, as though she could not understand what was occurring within her, and then, suddenly, a look of heat and passion.

"See the flanks move," said Tenalion to Ronald.

"Note the belly," said Ronald.

"Excellent," said Tenalion.

"Slut! Slut!" cried the Lady Florence.

The music became ever more wild and primitive.

"Slave!" cried the Lady Leta.

"Slave!" cried the Lady Perimene.

I smiled. There danced now before me an aroused slave girl, eager to please her Master.

The music suddenly stopped and Melpomene fell to her knees, putting her head to my feet.

Rogue of Gor

I considered the belly and hips of the dancing girl as she thrust them toward me, undulatingly, as the music pounded in the tavern.

"Have you heard the news?" the man next to me was asking. "No," I said.

The girl was naked, save that she wore many strings of jewels and armlets. Too she wore bracelets and anklets of gold, which had been locked upon her and were belled. Her collar too, was of gold and belled. She was blond, and it was said she was from Earth. A single pearl, fastened in a setting like a droplet, on a tiny golden chain, was suspended at the center of her forehead.
--end of page 10

"There has been major engagement, one long awaited," said the man next to me. "south of Vonda. More than four thousand men were involved. Fighting was fierce. The mobility of our squares was crucial in the early phases, separating to permit the entrance of charging tharlarion into our lines, then isolating the beasts." Massed men, I knew, could not stand against the charge of tharlarion, not without a defense of ditches or pointed stakes. "But then," said the man, "there retreat was sounded, but the withdrawal was prearranged to creviced ground, to rock slopes and cragged, outjutting formations. Our generals had chosen their ground well." I knew too that no fixed military formation could meet the phalanx on its own terms and survive. Different length spears are held by different ranks, the longer spears by the more rearward ranks. It charges on the run. It is like an avalanche, thundering, screaming, bristling with steel. Its momentum is incredible. It can shatter walls. When two such formations meet in a field, the clash can be heard for pasangs. One does not meet the phalanx unless it be with another phalanx. One avoids it, one outmaneuvers it. "Our auxiliaries then drove the tharlarion, maddened and hissing, back into the phalanx. In the skies our tarnsmen turned aside the mercenaries of Artemidorus. They then rained arrows upon the shattered phalanx. While the spearmen lifted their shields to protect themselves from the sky, our squares swept down the slopes upon them."

I nodded. I continued to regard the female before me. It was said she was from Earth. I lifted my page to my lips, from the low table behind which I sat, cross-legged.

She regarded me, as she danced her beauty before me.

"The field was ours," said the man. "Vonda herself now lies open to our troops!"

I nodded. I did not take my eyes from the dancer. Her eyes on me were sensuous and hot, those of a true slave. It was hard for me to believe that she was really from Earth.

"The women of Vonda will soon be emptied into our slave markets," said the man. "It will lower prices," said another, gloomily.
--end of page 11

"I have heard," said another, "that forces from Port Olni are marching to the relief of Vonda." "Our men will turn northeast to meet them," said another.

"Please Master," whispered the girl to me. She extended her small hand, still dancing, as though to touch me. On her wrist was a golden bracelet, belled. I saw the small lock, with the key socket on the bracelet. She could not remove it.

"She likes you," said the man next to me, now paying some attention to the dancer.

Suddenly there was the fierce crack of a slave whip and the girl, terrified, scurried from me. Busebius, proprietor of the tavern, stood at the edge of the sand. "Do you think I have but one customer?" he called to her. "No, Master!" she cried. There was laughter. Then she was dancing, too, before others and among the tables. I watched her. She was a sensuous dream. It was hard to imagine that she was from Earth.

"There was another dancer here previously, " said the man next to me, "one called Helen. She too was an Earth blonde. Alison was purchased to replace her. "What happened to the other girl?" I asked. "Helen?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "She was seen once by Marlenus of Ar, who purchased her. She was chained and sent as a gift somewhere." "I see," I said.

"Paga, Master?" asked a dark-haired, belled paga slave, in a scrap of diaphanous yellow silk.

I motioned her away. She had short, lovely legs and a sweet full bosom. The yellow silk was belted tightly about her waist by several turns of yellow binding fiber, more than enough to tie her for your pleasure in an alcove.

I continued to watch the dancer, now some yards away, under the low ceiling.

The girl who had offered me paga had not been truly interested in giving me paga. My cup, clearly, was still almost full. She was offering me something else, other than the wares of the tavern.

The dancer now, as the music was mounting in crescendo, was again approaching me. I considered her ankles and thighs, the sweet belly of her, her breasts, and shoulder and throat, the loveliness of her, her face and eyes, the latitudes of her swirling blonde hair, the shimmering restless jewelry on her body, the metal locked on her wrists and ankles, her collar, the pearl at her forehead.
--end of page 12

"Master," she said, dancing before me. I regarded her through narrowly lidded eyes. Then she sank to her knees and on her knees, leaning backwards, danced before me as a kneeling slave. The music swirled to its climax and, as it ended, she straightened her body and then, from her knees, lowered herself to her right hip and extending her right arm to me, lay before me, submitted, her head to the floor.

There was Gorean applause in the room, the striking of the right palm on the left shoulder.

"Music!" he called. Five musicians, who had been near the kitchen, hurried to their places. Tasdron too, clapped his hands twice and a dancing slave, portions of her body painted, ran to the sand.

I turned away and gave my attention to the slave writhing on the tiles before me. She was performing a need dance, of a type not uncommon among Gorean female slaves. Such a dance usually proceeds in clearly defined phrases, evident not merely in the expressions and movements of the girl but in the nature of the accompanying music. There are usually five phases to such a dance. In the first phase the girl, dancing feigns indifference to the presence of men, before, whom as a slave she must perform. In the second phase, for she has not yet been raped, her distress and uneasiness, her restlessness, her disturbance by her sexual urges, must become subtly more manifest. Here is must be evident that she is beginning to feel her sexuality and drive, profoundly, and yet is struggling against them. Toward the end of this phase, it must become clear not only that she has sexual needs and deep ones, but that she is beginning to fear that she may not be simply, as she is, of sufficient interest to men to obtain their satisfaction.

Here, need, coupled with anxiety and self-doubt, for she has not yet been seized by strong men, must become clear. In the third phase of the dance she, in an almost ladylike fashion, acknowledges herself defeated in her attempt to conceal her sexuality; she then, again in an almost ladylike fashion, delicately but clearly, with restraint but unmistakably, acknowledges and publicly before masters that she has sexual needs.
--end of page 185

Then with smiles and gestures displaying herself, she makes manifest her readiness for the service of men, her willingness and her receptivity. She invites them, so to speak to have her. But she has not yet been seized by an arm or an ankle or by her collar, a thumb hooked rudely under it, or hair, and pulled from the floor. What if she is not sufficiently pleasing? What if she is not to be fulfilled? What is she must continued to dance alone unnoticed. At this point it becomes clear to her that it is by no means a foregone conclusion that men will find her of interest, or that they will see fit to satisfy her. She must strive to be pleasing. If she is not good enough she may be chained, unfulfilled, another night alone in the kennel. There are always other girls. She must earn her rape.

Too, if she should be insufficiently pleasing consistently it is likely that she will be slain. Goreans place few impediments in the way of the liberation of a slave female's sexuality. In this phase of the dance, then, shamelessly the woman dances her need and shamelessly begs for her sexual satisfaction. This phase of the dance is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen.

The fifth and final phase, of the dance, is far more dramatic and exciting. In this phase the girl, overcome by sexual desire and terrified that she may not be found sufficiently pleasing, clearly manifests, and utterly, that she is a slave female. In this portion of the dance the girl is seldom on her feet. Rather, sitting, rolling and changing position, on her side, her back, her belly, half-kneeling, half sitting, kneeling, crawling, reaching out, bending backwards, lying down, twisting with passion, gesturing to her body, presenting it to masters for their inspection and interest, whimpering, moaning, crying out, brazenly presenting herself as a slave, pleading for her rape, she writhes, a piteous, begging, vulnerable, ready slave, a woman fit for and begging for the touch of a master, a woman begging to become at the least touch of her master, a totally submitted slave. The fourth phase of the dance, as I have mentioned, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. This portion of the dance, the fifth portion, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Slave Girl.
...
The music ended with a swirl of sound and the girl with a jangle of bells, lay before the table of Policrates, whimpering, her hand extended. She lifted her head. I read the unmistakable need in her eyes. She was indeed a slave female.
--end of page 187

"Master!" she whimpered. "Please Master!" Policrates glanced at her. "Throw me to your men, please Master," she begged.

Policrates gestured to a brawny fellow who, coming up behind the girl bent down and by her upper arms, lifted her from the floor. She was helpless in his arms. Only her toes, well painted, scarlet nails, touched the floor. Policrates gestured gain to a table to the side, and the fellow, carrying the girl went to the table. He then threw her with a jangle of bells and a clatter of places and goblets to the surface of the table. Instantly the girl was held down on the table, on her back, her arms and legs held apart, and several men crowded about her. I heard her cry with pleasure.

"Music," then he called, "and a new dancer, and wenches to serve! Let the feast continue!" The musicians then again began to play, the sensuous, melodious, exciting wild music of Gor.

I picked up a leg of vulo and bit into it. I was relieved, though I gave little sign of it. Kliomenes, angrily, continued to swill wine. A new dancer came forth upon the floor and began, a tall brute near her with the leather, to perform a whip dance.
--end of page 190
...
In the whip dance, though there are various versions of it, depending on the locality, the girl is almost never struck with the whip, unless of course, she does not perform well. When the whip is cracked, however, the girl will commonly react as though she has been struck. This, conjoined with the music, and her beauty, and the obvious symbolism of her beauty beneath total male discipline, can be extremely, powerfully erotic. In an elegant, civilized context, one of beauty and music, it makes clear and bespeaks the raw and essential primitives of the ancient genetic, biological sexual relationship of men and women, the theme of dominance and submission, that man is master by blood and women is slave by birth.
...
I turned my attention to the dancer on the floor. She lay now on her back, one knee lifted, her arms at her sides, palms down, before the brute with his whip, who towered over her. Her head, too, was turned to the side. Then she turned her head to face the brute, who tyrannized her. She looked deeply into his eyes. Then delicately, in a graceful gestures, she turned her hands, putting their backs to the floor, exposing her palms and the soft flesh of her palms to him, indicating her surrender, her submission, her vulnerability and her readiness.

There was applause, the striking of the left shoulder from the tables.

Guardsman of Gor

More than fifty slave girls, their hair coiffured high on their heads, clad in sleeveless, classic gowns of white silk, were aligned on the walk nearest the wall containing the iron door, that leading within to the halls of the fortress. To the music of the musicians, near the iron door, they performed a most decorous dance, slowly and gracefully lifting their arms and turning, facing first one side and then the other. In their hands they held baskets of flower petals. The dance was the sort that free maidens of a city might perform to honor and welcome visiting dignitaries, or the ambassador and his entourage, of a foreign city. Had their gowns not been sleeveless, and had they not been barefoot, and had their throats not been locked in collars, one might have mistaken them for free women. I could smell viands, too, cooking, the delicious odors of them emanating from the holding. A feast was being prepared.

I did not see either the slave, Beverly, or the slave, Florence, among them. Doubtless they, like many of the other slaves, were within the holding, preparing, under whips, the feast for their masters. I regarded the slaves. Even in such gowns and in the performance of movements so decorous I found them maddeningly exciting. How excruciatingly beautiful and desirable are women! How difficult it is even to look upon them and not scream with desire. One could scarcely conceive of what such women would be later at the feast when, stripped or clad in rags, or perhaps insulted with a bit of silk, perhaps tied about their left ankle, they must, in the full exposure of their slavery, present themselves before strong men. I did not think their dances then would be so decorous, but would be such as to manifest the full sexual needs of women, under the command of men. I could conceive of them crawling on their knees, if so commanded, serving. I could conceive of them, as I had seen them at other Gorean feasts, their bodies stained with food and drink, caught by the hair, thrown on the low tables and raped by masters, and then raped again. They were naught but slaves. There was no service, pleasure or intimacy so delicious, so profound, so prosaic or so unexpected, that they must not render, and swiftly, at the merest whim of a master. They were, after all, naught but slaves.

I looked about the table. Seven men, including myself, were present, Glyco, high merchant of Port Cos; Tasdron, Administrator of Victoria; Aemilianus, leader of the naval forces of Ar upon the Vosk; Calliodorus, captain of the Tais; and my friends, Callimachus and Miles of Vonda, who had brought with him his slave, Florence. Earlier, as a portion of our entertainment, she had played on the lyre, and sung for us. She had been warmly applauded, which, I think, pleased muchly both the shy slave and her master. Miles of Vonda had had her trained in these skills. As a free woman she had been, in effect, without accomplishments. Now she had additional ways in which to please her master. She now knelt behind her master. She wore a yellow tunic, and her collar.
...
I again turned my attention to the dancers. Their movements were graceful and decorous. One would scarcely know that they were slaves, save, of course, that they wore collars and danced their beauty for men. Their movements were lovely, and refined. Free women might even have been present. This was suitable for the type of party which I had planned. This was not the type of party at which, say, the women of the enemy are forced to dance naked and, afterwards, are to be allotted to the victors as slaves, according to the whim of the commander or according to the fall of the dice. Similarly it was not one of those parties in which a given number of slaves must dance within a circle of free men, of equal number, with whips, stripping themselves to the strokes of the whips and then dancing towards the men. The man who does not accept the woman whips her back from him; similarly the woman who does not dance toward a man is whipped until she does. It is common in this form of dance to make each woman, dancing to each man, go about the circle at least five times. In this way the men have a chance to inspect the women, and consider which ones interest them. Needless to say, it is not long before the women are striving desperately to please the men. Only when she has sufficiently pleased a man is she permitted to crawl from the dancing circle to the cushions of her master for the Ahn.

The lead dancer reminded me somewhat of the slave, Melpomene, who had once been the Lady Melpomene, of Vonda. She was similarly figured to Melpomene; similarly, she had the same dark hair, complexion and high cheekbones as Melpomene. She was not Melpomene, however. I smiled to my self: I doubted that Melpomene, whose slave heat had been ignited, could have managed to dance in such a refined fashion before men. Even had she striven to do so I think that small expressions and subtle movements would have betrayed her, to the detriment of the type of dance which she was supposed to be performing. I regarded the dancers. I supposed that if, at some time in the future, their passions were to be ignited, then they, too, would be ruined for this particular type of dance. I was fortunate, thus, to have been able to obtain them when I did. Too, of course, doubtless their master would keep a close eye on them, at least until he had managed to get a good price for them. After that, what would it be to him if they learned, in the arms of a strong master, what it was to be a full slave.

I wondered where Melpomene was now. Having seen her dance I had little doubt but what she would be being used as a dancer. It takes a long time, of course, for a woman to become a good dancer. She might spend years in low taverns, or as a carnival dancer, or even as a street dancer, for provocation and use, on her leash, before her skills develop to a point at which she is good enough, as it is said, "to be permitted to dance before a Ubar."
...
There were seven musicians, who furnished the music for the dancers, a czehar player, their leader, two kalika players, three flutists and a kaska player. Tasdron kindly had brought these fellows from his tavern. Too, with him he had brought a girl, the former Earth girl, Peggy, who was one of his slaves. She was in a brief, white tunic, and collar. She hovered in his vicinity, waiting upon him. I noted, however, that she could hardly take her eyes from the mighty Callimachus. Tasdron and -I had, together, agreed on the pertinence of her presence at the feast.

There was then a swirl of music and the dancers had finished. We well applauded them. They had been superb. They stood before us in their blue silk and golden collars, their heads down. Then, smiling, to another swirl of music, they turned and hurried from the room, going to the kitchen, where their master would be waiting for them. They were barefoot. There were golden bangles on the left ankle of each. In the kitchen they would be stripped of their costumes, which were not to be soiled. They would then kneel and be fed by hand. When they were finished they would be put naked in slave cloaks and, fastened together in throat coffle, conducted back to their holding cages near the spice wharf. Tomorrow, at noon, on the same ship on which their master had booked passage, they were to be shipped to Port Cos, and from thence, via Turmus, eventually to the island of Cos, in some city of which, probably Telnus, they would be put up for sale. The musicians now played unobtrusively in the background.

"She is a pretty one," said Glyco, indicating the slave in bluish gauze, barefoot and bare-armed, who was deferentially serving us. She put down her head, blushing. "You have been commended," I said to her. "Thank you, Master," she said to Glyco, kneeling, head down. "A girl is grateful, if she has been found pleasing by a free man." "What is her name?" asked Glyco. "I have not yet given her a name," I said. "I see," said Glyco. "You may continue your serving," I said to the girl. "Yes, Master," she said.

"I propose a toast," said Aemilianus, rising.

"A toast," we called. Shirley hurried about, making sure there was wine in the goblets. Callimachus drank water, but he permitted a drop of wine to mix in the water, that the ceremony of the toast might be one in which he fully shared. Wine, incidentally, is often mixed with water in Gorean homes. This is primarily because of the potency of many Gorean wines. The wines I was serving, however, were such that, sensibly, they could be served undiluted. An alternative with the potent wines is to serve very small amounts of them. We stood. The musicians stopped playing.
...
I then watched the two slaves, in their chains, continuing their serving. They, too, serving in their chains, were a part of the entertainment, as much as the music of Tasdron's musicians in the background. The Gorean's concept of entertainment is perhaps simpler, or more subtle or broader than is that, doubtless, of many individuals in many other cultures. For example, he can enjoy watching a slave putting on her tunic or taking it off; he can enjoy seeing a woman chained, and rechained, many times, in many ways, each time being exhibited in her helplessness; and he can enjoy watching his slave working naked in the kitchen, or cleaning,, or doing laundry or sewing; I think this is probably because he enjoys being with her, and finds her precious and beautiful. I had informed Lola that the little slave, now clad in bluish gauze, was to be included in the entertainment. And how delightfully and subtly had Lola complied with my directive! Even she had had the little slave announce the desserts to the guests. I observed the chains on the little slave in bluish gauze. How beautiful they were on her! I wondered if she even realized that she, thus, was now not only serving but was also now a pleasant portion of our entertainment. But of course she must understand this. Surely she had heard the murmur of pleasure and appreciation which had coursed about the table, greeting the appearance of herself and her fellow slave. In more sophisticated Gorean banquets, incidentally, the serving slaves often change costume and jewelry, and sometimes chains, with each course of the meal, their ensembles and accessories being matched to the various courses. I smiled to myself. Lola had put the two slaves in chains for the dessert course. That seemed a delightful and subtle touch. Slave girls know that to some men, and perhaps to any man some of the time, they are, in effect, and will be treated as, only meaningless, delicious desserts. They are, after all, slaves.

I watched Aemilianus' slave emerging from the kitchen. I listened to the unobtrusive music of the musicians, who were sitting on a rug a few feet in front of, and to the left of, the table. I took another sip of the black wine.

The voluptuous blond slave began to lower certain of the lamps.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Forgive me, Master," she said. She then hurried again to the kitchen. As she had done this work the light in the room was romantically softened, but an area, soft as well, of greater illumination had been left before the table. When she had left the room, the musicians, too, had stopped playing. This seemed interesting.

"What is going on?" asked Miles of Vonda.

"I do not know," I said.

"Is it an entertainment?" asked Glyco.

"Perhaps," I said.

The blond slave of Aemilianus then re-entered the room. She placed a large, folded square of sparkling white linen at the bottom of the table. She then lit a wide, large, low candle and placed this candle, on a plate, on the soft, wide square of folded linen. She then withdrew to the side.

I looked at the white linen, and the candle, in the half darkness.

I was startled.

"What memories this stirred in me!"

The musicians then began to play, softly. The girl emerged from the kitchen.

There were sounds of pleasure, and surprise, from those about the table.

"She is beautiful," said Tasdron.

"What manner of garments are those?" asked Glyco.

The dark-haired girl, exquisite and lovely, stood in the light, on the tiles, back from the foot of the table, that we might well see her. Her hair was drawn severely back on her head. She wore what seemed to be a svelte, satin, off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown. Twisted about her feet, over and under, were golden straps.

"I do not understand this," said Miles of Vonda. "Is this meaningful?"

I was almost overwhelmed. "It is very meaningful to me," I said. "Permit me, my friends, to explain. First, Glyco, in answer to your question, the garments she wears are much like, and are meant to suggest, the garments which a free woman may wear on Earth."

"But they are slave garments," said Glyco. "See! The arms and the shoulders are bare!"

"Nonetheless," I said, "on Earth free women may wear such garments."

The girl then turned gracefully before us, displaying the garments. I saw that her hair, severely drawn back on her head, was fastened behind the back of her head in a bun. I had known it would be. I had not forgotten.

"They are slave garments," said Glyco.

"True," I said, "but to understand what she is doing, you must understand that such garments, on Earth, are understood to be exquisite and lovely free-woman's garments."

"Very well," said Glyco.

"Too," I said, "they are, in this case, meant to remind me of, and resemble, the garments which she once wore, as a free woman, to a meeting with me. That is important."

"I understand," said Glyco.

"They would also be the garments in which, for the first time, to my knowledge, she had ever dared to explicitly express her femininity."

"Do the women on Earth not dare to express their femininity?" asked Glyco.

"Many fear to do so," I said.

"What of the men of Earth?" asked Glyco.

"Many of them encourage the women to pretend to be pseudo-men," I said.

"What sort of men are they?" asked Glyco.

"I do not know," I said.

"Observe the hair," I said.

"It seems severe, tight, rigid, constricted, constrained," said Glyco.

"That is part of the costume, so to speak," I said, "of many male-imitating women. The straight lines and severity are supposed to suggest, I gather, efficiency and masculinity."

"Interesting," said Glyco. "It is incongruous, of course, with the garment, which seems rather feminine."

"Such incongruities," I said, "are not uncharacteristic of many Earth women. They can indicate ambiguities in self-images and confusions, in particular, as to their sexuality. There might, of course, I suppose, be many other reasons for them. For example, in some cases, they may represent that a transition is in progress toward femininity."

"The cloth on the table and the candle," said Miles of Vonda, "are supposed to suggest to you the place of this meeting of which you spoke."

"Yes," I said. "It was a place where food was served, and where one might engage in pleasant conversation."

"A tavern?" asked Tasdron.

"Not exactly," I said. There is no precise Gorean expression for a restaurant. `There were no paga slaves there, and no dancers."

"Why would one go to such a place?" asked Miles of Vonda.

"She went there that she might engage in delicate and intimate discourse with me," I said.

"That she might offer herself to you as your slave?" asked Glyco.

"If so," I said, "that was not clearly understood at the time."

"She appears then now before us," said Glyco, "much as she appeared then before you?"

"Yes," I said, "though there are, of course, differences. For example, at that time, her throat was bare." The girl now wore a light white scarf twisted about her throat, the ends over her left shoulder. "Too," I said, "at that time she carried a small silver-beaded pouch."

"I see," said Glyco.

The girl did not now, of course, carry a purse. Slave girls are not permitted to carry such things. When shopping she carries the coins usually in her mouth or hand. Sometimes she ties them in a scarf about a wrist or ankle. Sometimes her master places them in a bag, which is then tied about her neck. Gorean garments, generally, incidentally, except for the garments of craftsmen, do not have pockets. Coins, and personal items, and such, are usually, by free persons, carried in pouches, which are usually concealed within the robes of a free woman, or slung about the waist, or shoulder, of a free man.

The girl, then, to the music, moved gracefully, turning, her hands held out, about the table, displaying herself and her garments for us. She then returned to her place on the tiles, at the foot of the table.

I regarded her. How beautiful she was! She looked at me. Then, gracefully and decisively, to the music, she unbound her hair.

There was applause for this at the table, the gentle striking of left shoulders, for she had done it well, and the significance of a woman's unbinding her hair before a man is well understood on Gor.

"You see now," I said, "how beautiful can be a woman of Earth."

"We know that from our slave markets," laughed Glyco.

She then, reaching to the left side, beneath her arm, of what seemed to be a white sheath gown, undid a fastening, and then others, at the side of her body, her waist, her thigh, and knee, and then, gracefully, the Gorean music unobtrusive but melodious in the background, removed the garment. I saw then that a rectangle of white cloth, cleverly tucked and sewn, had been used to simulate the off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown on Earth. Such an actual gown, of course, had not been available to her on Gor.

There was gentle, appreciative applause.

She now stood before us in what seemed to be a brief, silken, off-the-shoulder slip.

"Now that is a slave's garment, obviously," said Glyco.

"True," I admitted. But I smiled to myself, for I knew that such garments, on Earth, might be worn by free women. To be sure, on Earth, they were usually worn as undergarments, whereas, on Gor, such a garment, silken and smooth, with nothing beneath it, would be regarded as quite acceptable for a slave's street wear, particularly in warm weather. To be .sure, of course, the color of the garment, on Gor, would not be likely to be white, but, commonly, red or yellow. White, on Gor, is a color commonly associated with virginity. It is, accordingly, worn by few slaves.

The girl then sat on the tiles before us, but back a bit,. where we, sitting cross-legged at the low table, could well see her. She extended her right leg, gracefully. It was flexed and, as her foot was placed fully upon the floor, her toes were pointed. These two things, respectively, curved her calf deliciously and extended the line of her beauty. Her left leg was back, its ankle beneath her right thigh. She looked at me, and then, bending forward, removed the golden straps wound about and under her right foot. In the restaurant she had worn golden pumps, with wisps of golden straps. She looked at me. Well did she, and the others, know the significance of removing footwear before a free man. She cast aside the straps she had taken from her right foot. Then, putting her hands back, swiftly and smoothly, beautifully, to the music, without rising, she changed her position on the tiles. Her left thigh now faced me. Her left leg was now gracefully extended, flexed and toes pointed. Her left thigh, and calf, and ankle and foot were marvelous. Her right foot, as her left previously bad been, was back, the right ankle now beneath her right thigh. She then removed the golden straps from her left foot, and cast them aside. She looked at me. She had bared her feet before a free man. The golden straps she had used to simulate the footwear which she had worn on Earth were golden binding straps. They were the nearest thing she could find, within her limited resources, I gathered, to what she had worn in the restaurant. I did not object. They resembled somewhat, and well suggested, that footwear. Such straps, incidentally, are commonly used to bind the hands and feet of women. Sometimes, if it amused me, I could tie her in them.

There was gentle applause for the girl, and murmurs of appreciation. The footwear had been well removed.

She then rose to her feet and stood again before us, but now barefoot upon the tiles.

She then reached again to her left side, and undid a fastening there, below her left arm, and then another below it, and then one at her hip. She then unwrapped the brief sliplike garment from her body, and dropped it to one side.

"Ah," said more than one man. "Interesting," said Glyco.

"The garments in which you now see her," I said, "are supposed to represent typical undergarments of an Earth female."

"I see," said Glyco.

The brassiere had been simulated cleverly with soft white silk. Her beauty, soft, and almost as though protesting its confinement, strained against this silk. Too, between her breasts, this silk had been twisted and knotted, this making even more evident the sweet contours of her beauty, and the sturdy, silken restraint placed upon it. The panties, too, were simulated with white silk, which, in a narrow rectangle, had been wrapped twice about her hips and tucked in at her waist. There was no nether closure to this silk, of course. The Gorean slave girl is not permitted to shield her intimacies without the explicit permission of her master.

Besides these two garments, intended, respectively, to suggest the brassiere and panties of an Earth girl, she still wore, of course, the light, narrow white scarf, this twisted and wound twice about her throat, the ends thrown over her left shoulder.

The girl then, to the music, put back her head and put her hands behind her back, and, reaching high behind her back, this lifting her breasts beautifully, strained for a moment, and then, one by one, twisting slightly, undid the hooks on the confining, tight silk.

Our eyes met.

The silk was then dropped to one side.

"Superb," said Glyco.

She then reached to the white scarf on her throat and, beautifully, to the music, undid it one turn. She then, to the music, drew it beautifully, slowly, from her throat, and, gracefully, dropped it to one side. She wore, of course, now revealed, a close-fitting, gleaming slave collar.

She lifted her head, and, with her fingers, delicately indicated and displayed the collar.

She then stood before us as a barefoot, half-naked, collared slave.

Gorean applause, and murmurs of appreciation, greeted this aspect of her performance.

Our eyes met again.

She then reached with her right hand to her waist and undid the tuck in the silk which was wrapped about her hips. Slowly and beautifully then, to the music, with both hands, she unwound the silk, and then dropped it to the tiles.

"Superb!" said Glyco.

She then crawled to me, on her hands and knees, her head humbly down. Then, when she reached me, she lowered herself to her belly and, extending her right hand, touched me on the knee. She lifted her head. "You are my master," she said, "and I am your slave, and I love you!"

"Superb!" said Glyco. "Superb!" Those at the table, even including the slaves, Florence and Peggy, unable to restrain themselves, applauded. She who had been Shirley, too, now the slave of Aemilianus, applauded.

I took the small slave by the upper arms, and held her, half turned, on her side, near me. I looked down into her eyes. She was breathing heavily. She was shaken with emotion. Her eyes looked up at me, pleadingly.

The voluptuous slave of Aemilianus was now attending again to the lamps, this time restoring the room to its original illumination.

I then drew the slave more closely into my arms, and again regarded her, looking deeply into her. eyes. I had never suspected that she would have performed as she had. I had, of course, specified to Lola that she was to be included in the entertainment, but never had I expected anything of the nature or beauty of what I had seen. That the girl had helped to serve the dessert course in display chains would, in itself, have fully contented me. Informed by Lola that she was to be a component of our entertainment doubtless the girl herself had suggested and devised this performance, abetted, of course, by Lola. Of many things in the performance, such as the restaurant, Lola could have known nothing. The idea of the performance, then, as well as most of the details involved in its presentation, must have been that of my little dark-haired slave. It was a most beautiful gift which she had given me.

The Sa-eela is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of the slave dances of Gor. It belongs, generally, to a genre of dances commonly known as the Lure Dances of the Love-Starved Slave Girl. The common theme of the genre, of course, is the attempt on the part of a neglected slave to call herself to the attention of the Master.

Tasdron then signaled to the musicians.

And then Peggy began to dance.

I remembered her then from long ago, from Earth, also from the restaurant, where she had worked as a hat-check girl. She had worn a black ribbon in her blond hair, a long-sleeved, white-silk blouse, panty hose of black netting, and a brief, black miniskirt. Her long, shapely legs had been well revealed. She had been very lovely. I did not find it hard to understand that she might have come to the casual attention of a Gorean slaver.

"I thought she was not a dancer," said Glyco.

"I have never thought of her as a dancer," said Tasdron. puzzled. "I have never used her as a dancer."

The former Peggy Baxter, of Earth, nude and in the steel collar of Tasdron of Victoria, her master, now danced before us, a Gorean slave girl.

I sipped a Turian liqueur.

I sensed the lovely little dark-haired slave kneel down quite close to me, behind me and to my left. She put her hands about my left arm.

I savored the liqueur, and observed the dance of the slave.

I also smiled, detecting the swift, astonished breathing of the little slave near me.

"Such movements, of course," Glyco was saying, "are instinctual in a woman."

"Yes," said Tasdron.

"Oh," breathed the little slave near me, "oh!" I smiled. I gathered that she had seldom seen the dance of a female slave.

The Sa-eela, usually performed in the nude, as though by a low slave, and by a girl freed of all impediments, except her collar, is one of the most powerful of the slave dances of Gor. It is done rather differently in different cities but the variations practiced in the river towns and, generally, in the Vosk basin, are, in my opinion, among the finest. There is no standardization, or little standardization, for better or for worse, in Gorean slave dance. Not only can the dances differ from city to city, and town to town, and even from tavern to tavern, but they are likely to differ, too, even from girl to girl. This is because each girl, in her own way, brings the nature of her own body, her own dispositions, her own sensuality and needs, her own personality, to the dance. For the woman, slave dance is a uniquely personal and creative art form. Too, of course, it provides her with a wondrous modality for deeply intimate self-expression. "'They all wear collars," is the first portion of a familiar exchange, of which Goreans are fond. The second, and concluding, portion of the exchange is, "But each in her collar is different." This exchange, I think, makes clear the attitude of the Gorean toward the slave girl In one sense she is nothing, and is to be treated as such, but, in another sense, she is precious, and is everything.

A familiar bit of advice given by bold Gorean physicians to free women who consult them about their frigidity is, to their scandal, "Learn slave dance." Another bit of advice, usually given to a free woman being ushered out of his office by a physician impatient with her imaginary ailments is, "Become a slave." Frigidity, of course, is not accepted in slaves. If nothing else, it will be beaten out of their beautiful hides by whips.

I felt the small hands of the lovely little dark-haired slave tight on my arm.

"She is not bad," said Tasdron, observing the dancer.

"She is superb!" breathed Glyco.

I looked across the table, to my right. Lola, half kneeling, half lying, in the arms of Calliodorus, his hand in her hair, could not take her eyes from the dancer. She was breathing deeply. I glanced to my direct right. Florence, in the brief yellow tunic, knelt behind Miles of Vonda, clutching him, her fingers caught in his tunic, her chin on his right shoulder. She, too, was breathing deeply. "Master," she whispered to him. "Master."

I took another sip of the liqueur. It was quite good

Peggy now danced upon her knees, at the end of the table, using the table in the dance, thrusting her belly against it, and touching it with her hands, and her body and lips.

"Ohhh," said the little slave, holding my arm.

I smiled. The Sa-eela, of course, is not the sort of dance which could be performed by a free woman.

Peggy, then, was back from the table, on the tiles, on her back, and sides, and knees, and then prone, and then again, supine, and then writhing, as though in frustration and loneliness.

I observed the dancer, closely, the striking of her small, clenched fists on the tiles, the scratching of her fingernails at their smooth surfaces, the turning of a hip, the flattening of a thigh, the lifting of a knee, the turning of her head, the piteous scattering of her hair from side to side. She lay on her back, and, whimpering, struck down, in misery, stinging the palms of her hands, bruising her small heels. She might have been in a cell, locked away from men.

She then rolled to her stomach, and rose to her hands and knees, and, head down, remained for a moment in that posture. It is at this moment that the music enters a different melodic phase, one less physical and frenzied, one almost lyrical in its poignancy. She crawls some feet to her left and lifts her bead. She puts out her small hand. It seems that it there encounters some barrier, some enclosing, confining wall. She then rises to her feet. Swiftly she hurries about, in the graceful, frightened haste of the dancer, her hands seeming to trace the location of the obdurate barriers, those invisible walls which seemed to contain her. She then stood and faced us, and put her head in her hands, bent over, and then straightened her body, her head and hair thrown back. "I?" she seemed to ask, looking out, as though some rude jailer might have come to the gate of her pen. But there is, of course, no one there, and, in the performance of the dance, that is clearly understood. Then, in poignant fantasy, within the pen, she prepares herself for the master, seeming to thoughtfully select silks and jewelry, seeming to apply perfume and cosmetics, seeming to be bedecked in shimmering, diaphanous slave splendor. She then crosses her wrists, and moves them, as though they have been bound. She then extends them before her as though the strap on them had been drawn taut. It then seems that she, head high, a bound slave, is being led on her tether from the pen. But, at the gate, of course, her wrists separate, and her small palms and fingers indicate for us, clearly, that she is still confined. She retreats to the center of the pen, falls to her knees, covers her head with her hands, and weeps.

The next phase of the music begins at this point.

She looks up. There is a sound in the corridor, beyond the gate. She leaps up, and backs against the wall of her pen. This time, it seems, truly, there are men there, that they have come for her. She puts her head up; she turns away; she feigns disdain. Then, it seems, as she, startled, looks about, they are turning away. She then throws herself to her belly on the floor of the pen, calling to them, lifting her head, holding out her hand piteously to them. She pleads to be considered.

It then seems, as she shrinks back, lifting herself to the palms of her hands, frightened, that the gate to her pen has been opened. She kneels swiftly in the position of the pleasure slave. Obviously she fears her rude jailers. Twice, it seems she is struck with a whip. Then she, again, assumes the position of the pleasure slave. She nods her head. She understands well what is expected of her. She is to perform well on the tiles of the feasting hall. "Yes, Masters!" it seems she says. But how little do her jailers, perhaps only common and boorish fellows, understand that this is precisely what she, too, deeply and desperately desires to do. How long she has waited, in cruel frustration, unfulfilled and lonely, in her cell for just such a moment, that precious opportunity in which she, a mere slave, may be permitted to display and present herself for the consideration of her master. How can they understand the poignance, and significance, of this moment for her? She is to have an opportunity to present herself before the master! Who knows if she, in such a large house, one with such cells and jailers, may ever again be given such an opportunity?

It then seems that she is hauled to her feet and that her wrists, tightly and cruelly, are bound behind her back. Her body and head are then bent far over. Her head twists. It seems a man's hand is in her hair. Not as a high slave, clothed in Jewelries and shimmering silks, tastefully bound, is she to be conducted to the site of her performance, some aristocratic banquet; rather, cruelly bound and nude, she is to be thrown before masters at a drunken feast. She then, with small, hurried steps, bent over, described a wide circle on the tiles. Then, it seemed, she was thrown to her knees, and then her side, before us. Her hands were still held as though tightly bound behind her. She looked at us. We were, of course, the "masters," before whom she was to perform. She rose to her feet. She twisted, as though her hands were being untied. She then flexed her legs and lifted her hands over her head, as she had in the beginning, back to back.

The final phases of the Sa-eela then begin.

In these phases the girl, in all her unshielded beauty, and naked except for the collar of slavery, attempts to arouse the interest of her master.

In the former Peggy Baxter, of Earth, I now saw little left which was reminiscent of her planet of origin. Before us there danced a Gorean slave girl.

I glanced about, to the small, dark-haired slave clutching my arm, to Lola, in the arms of Calliodorus, to Florence, kneeling behind Miles of Vonda, to she who had been Shirley, in her yellow gauze, kneeling to one side, now the slave of Aemilianus. They were breathing deeply. Their eyes shone. In fascination, and in arousal, and fear, they watched the beautiful slave. They knew that they, too, wore collars.

Peggy's body gleamed with sweat. She had small feet, and lovely, high arches. Her body was superb. She had retained, by means of diet and exercise, her block measurements, those measurements which were hers when she, after having been prepared for sale, was marketed from a slave block. The master commonly has a record of such measurements and many masters, using a tarsk scale, used for small livestock, and slave tapes, periodically check their lovely properties, making certain that they are maintaining the measurements. And woe to the girl, in such a case, whose measurements are found to depart to any significant extent from the block measurements! Such a departure can be an occasion for corrective discipline, and-of a quite severe sort. Sometimes, when one sees a fearful girl refusing the smallest of sweets and exercising, almost in desperation, one may suspect, in amusement, that the day on which her master plans to check her measurements is not far distant. The lovely figures of slave girls are not accidents. Only free women are permitted to become unkempt and gross.

Peggy was dancing well.

She had lovely arms, and lovely, slender wrists. They would look well roped, or clasped in slave steel.

She had now entered into the display phase of the Sa-eela. In this portion of the dance the girl calls attention to the various aspects of her beauty, from the swirling sheen of her cascading hair to her ankles, from her small feet to her tiny, fine fingers.

Women are so incredibly beautiful. It is a wonder that men do not scream with pleasure, seeing them.

It is little wonder that Goreans put them in collars, and own them.

"Oh!" gasped the naked, collared little beauty kneeling near me. I smiled. I recalled that she had seen little on Gor of the dancing of female slaves.

I looked at her.

"She is so sensuous, and female!" she whispered.

I shrugged. "She is a slave," I said. Free women, incidentally, are seldom permitted to witness dances of the erotic power of the Sa-eela. The major reason for this, interestingly, is not that they might be offended or outraged, but for their own protection. Many times lovely, young free women, sometimes thinking that they have cleverly disguised them. selves, donning male garments, pretending to be boys, thus seeking admission to the dances, find themselves set upon and stripped. Soon, in chains and well ravished, they find themselves as much slaves as the dancer. Perhaps, in their turn, too, they will be taught to dance. On their way to the market they may, if they wish, reflect upon what they, at that time, are likely to regard as their folly. Later, at the feet of a strong man, they may become clearer on the nature of the motivations that took them to such a performance in the first place. They were courting slavery, begging, in their way, for the steel of the collar, pleading to be subject, if they were not pleasing, to the cut of the whip. They had not truly been free women; they had only been, unbeknownst to themselves, slaves in search of their masters.

"I am hot, Master," said the little slave kneeling beside me.

"A bold admission," I said, "for a former Earth girl."

"And I am frightened," she whispered, suddenly.

"Of course," I said. "You now realize, even more clearly than before, what it might mean to be a slave on Gor."

She then clutched my arm, even more tightly, and then, she kneeling beside me, small and naked, helpless and vulnerable, her throat locked in the steel of my collar, on the tiles, we watched the dance of the female slave.

The music now, pounding and throbbing, mounted headily toward the climax of the Sa-eela.

In these, the final portions of the Sa-eela, the slave, in effect, puts herself at the mercy of the Master. She has already presented before him, almost in a delectable enumeration, many of the more external and rhythmic aspects of her beauty. She has displayed herself hitherto before him rather as an object in which, hopefully, he might take an interest. A woman may do this, of course, from many motives, such as fear or her desire to be purchased by an affluent master, only one of which might be her authentic, poignant desire to be found pleasing by him, for her own sake. In such displays there can be, though there often is not, a subtle psychological distinction, detectable in the behavior, between the merchandise, so to speak, and the girl who is displaying herself as merchandise. In the first case, where no true distinction exists, which is the authentic case, the girl, in effect, says, "I am for sale. Buy me, and love me!"

In the second case, the girl, in effect, says, "Here is a fine slave. Are you not interested in her?" In the second case, of course, the Gorean is interested, though the girl may not understand this clearly, in not only the merchandise but the girl who is displaying the merchandise. She might truly be terrified if she understood that it was she herself he intended to own, and, in fact, was going to own, she the exhibitor of the merchandise as well as she, the merchandise exhibited. Goreans, as I have mentioned, are interested in owning the whole woman, in all her sweetness, depth, complexity and individuality. They, and their whips and chains, settle for nothing less. To think of the imbonded woman as a slave object is in one sense quite correct, but, in another sense, it is a perversion of, and a failure to understand, the intimate and beautiful relations which can exist between masters and slaves.

The girl now, in all her helplessness, in all her desperation, in all her sensual splendor, was dancing not aspects or attributes of her beauty before her master, but was dancing her own passions, her own needs and desires, her own piteous, needful, beautiful, intimate and personal self before him. There were no restraints, no reservations, no compromises, no divisions or distinctions. Her needs were as exposed as her bared body. She danced herself before her master.

The music swirled to its climax and Peggy, turning, flung herself to her back on the tiles before Callimachus of Port Cos. As the music struck its last, rousing note, she arched her back, and flexed her legs, and looked back at him, her right arm extended piteously back towards him.

The last of the musicians had now filed from the house. I thought they had been superb. I would later, in a few days, send a tip for them to the tavern of Tasdron.

Savages of Gor

Blood Brothers of Gor

Several of the men, now, under the direction of Cancega, began to remove the branches and bark from the felled tree. Two forks were left, one about eighteen feet high and the other about twenty-three feet high. This was to allow for the pole later being set in the earth, within the enclosure of the dance, set among its supporting stakes, to a depth of some seven or eight feet. These forks would then be, respectively, about ten and fifteen feet high.

The slim trunk of the tree, with its forks, stripped of its bark, was now long, smooth and white.

It was set in two stout tripods of branches, about a yard above the ground.

Paint was brought forth, in a small clay vessel. The girl, too, was again brought forward.

It was she, herself, with the paint, the slave, who must proclaim that the poke was Kaiila. In this type of application of paint, on wood, over a large surface, or bands of a large surface, a brush of chopped, twisted grass is used. The paint itself was red. This red was probably obtained from the powered earths or clays. It may also, of course, have been obtained from crushed rock, containing oxides of iron. Some reds, too, may be obtained from boiled roots.

Winyela, in her finery, the beautiful, delicate, red-haired, white slave girl, under the direction of Cancega, medicine chief of the summer camp of all the Kaiila, carefully, obediently, frightened, applied the red paint. "It is Kaiila," chanted many of the men about, as she did this. Thrice did Winyela, with the brush, as the pole was turned in the tripods, scarletly band the rotated surface. "It is Kaiila," chanted the men. She was then drawn back, the paint and brush removed from her, and again knelt, her knees closely together, the two tethers on her throat.

The three scarlet bands of paint were bright on the white pole. Scarlet bands, in number from one to five, are commonly used by Kaiila warriors to mark their weapons, in particular their lances and arrows. To this mark, or marks, then, will be added the personal design, or pattern, of the individual warrior. An arrow then, say, may be identified not only as Kaiila, but, within the tribe, or band, as the arrow of a particular warrior.

The Kaiila, incidentally, in the Barrens, are generally known as the "Cutthroat tribe." The bands, then, generally by outsiders, and usually even among the Kaiila themselves, are supposed to have this sort of significance. I have met Kaiila, however, who have denied this entire line of interpretation.

They call my attention to the fact that the Kaiila themselves seldom, among themselves, think of themselves as the "Cutthroat tribe." They think of themselves as being the Kaiila, or the people of the Kaiila. Similarly they point out that a symbolic representation of a cut throat should surely be a single slash, not one or more encircling bands. The true origin, then, of the encircling bands, I suppose, is lost in history. The bands, incidentally, are usually three in number. This suggests to me that they might originally have been thought to be phallic in significance. The number three, as is well known, is often thought to be a very special number. this probably has to do, of course, with the triune nature of the male genitals.

The paint was bright on the pole.

The three bands, each about four of five inches in width, and separated also by such distances, were painted in such a way that the bottom ring, or band, was about seven and a half to eight and a half feet from the base of the pole. Thus, when the pole was set in the ground, amidst its supporting stakes, these circles would be at the visible base, or root, of the pole. Too, they would be beneath the belt of an encircling dancer.

"It is Kaiila!" shouted the men.

The neck tethers were then removed from Winyela. I gathered that her part in the ceremony was not concluded.

Suddenly the girl screamed.

I tensed.

"Do not interfere," said Cuwignaka.

The hands of men, then, were at the necklaces about her throat, the ornaments. Her moccasins and leggings were removed. The golden strings were untied, and taken, which had bound her hair. Her hair was rapidly and deftly unbraided. The silver bracelets were slipped from her wrists. The soft-tanned shirtdress, with its designs, and beading and fringe, was then thrust over her head and pulled away. She now knelt absolutely naked, save for Canka's collar, among the men. Her knees were clenched closely together. Her hair, now loose, radiant in the sun, was spread and smoothed down her back. She was very white. She almost shone in the sun. Not only was she quite fairly complexioned but, prior to her being adorned in her finery, now removed from her, she had been washed, and clipped, and groomed and scrubbed, apparently, as thoroughly and carefully as a prize kaiila.

"She is quite beautiful," said Cuwignaka.

"Yes," I said.

The girl whimpered as the two rawhide tethers were now, again, tied on her throat, below Canka's collar.

"What is to be done with her now?" I asked.

"Observe," said Cuwignaka.

"Oh," cried the girl. One of the men, behind her, had thrown dust upon her. "Oh!" she sobbed, as two men, rather in front of her, one on each side, tossed, each, a double handful of dust upon her. She closed her eyes, and shrank back, for Cancega, with a shallow, rounded box, was crouching before her. The box contained some sort of black paste, or grease. She shuddered as Cancega, taking the material on his fingertips, applied it to her cheeks. He made three dark lines, about a finger's width each, on each cheek. these were signs, I supposed, for the Kaiila. Then he rubbed the material elsewhere, in smudges, upon her body, on her arms, and back, and breasts and belly, and on the tops of her thighs, on her calves, and then, thrusting his hand between them, on the interior of her thighs.

The girl regarded him, frightened, as he, intent, did this work.

He then stood up.

She knelt at his feet, looking up at him, frightened, her knees now again pressed closely together.

Two men, with kaiila quirts, now stood behind the girl. She was not aware of their presence.

I then realized what the men, doubtless, had in mind.

I smiled.

"Oh!" cried the girl, frightened, dismayed, as Cancega suddenly, with his foot, forced her knees widely apart. She did not dare close them. She now, for the first time in the afternoon, knelt as a slave.

Then, suddenly, the two men with the kaiila quirts struck her across the back and, before she could do more than cry out, she was, too, pulled to her feet and forward, on the two tethers.

She then stood, held by the tethers, wildly, before the pole.

Cancega pointed to the pole.

She looked at him, bewildered. Then the quirts, again, struck her, and she cried out in pain.

Cancega again pointed to the pole.

Winyela then put her head down and took the pole in her small hands, and kissed it, humbly.

"Yes," said Cancega, encouraging her. "Yes."

Again Winyela kissed the pole.

"Yes," said Cancega.

Winyela then heard the rattles behind her, giving her her rhythm. These rattles were then joined by the fifing of whistles, shrill and high, formed from the wing bones of the taloned Herlit. A small drum, too, then began to sound. Its more accented beats, approached subtly but predictably, instructed the helpless, lovely dancer as to the placement and timing of the more dramatic of her demonstrations and motions.

"It is the Kaiila," chanted the men.

Winyela danced. There was dust upon her hair and on her body. On her cheeks were the three bars of grease that marked her as the property of the Kaiila. Grease, too, had been smeared liberally upon her body. No longer was she a shining beauty. She was now only a filthy slave, an ignoble animal, something of no account, something worthless, obviously, but nonetheless permitted, in the kindness of the Kaiila, a woman of another people, to attempt to please the pole.

I smiled.

Was this not suitable? Was this not appropriate for her, a slave?

Winyela, kissing the pole, and caressing it, and moving about it, and rubbing her body against it, under the directions of Cancega, and guided sometimes by the tethers on her neck, continued to dance.

I whistled softly to myself.

"Ah," said Cuwignaka.

"It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.

"I think the pole will be pleased," I said.

"I think a rock would be pleased," said Cuwignaka.

"I agree," I said.

Winyela, by the neck tethers, was pulled against the pole. She seized it, and writhed against it, and licked at it.

"It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.

"It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.

A transformation seemed suddenly to come over Winyela. This was evinced in her dance.

"She is aroused," said Cuwignaka.

"Yes," I said.

She began, then, helplessly, to dance her servitude, her submission, her slavery. The dance, then, came helplessly for the depths of her. The tethers pulled her back from the pole and she reached forth for it. She struggled to reach it, writhing. Bit by bit she was permitted to near it, and then she embraced it. She climbed, then, upon the pole. There her dance, on her knees, her belly and back, squirming and clutching, continued.

I looked to Canka. He was a few yards away, astride his kaiila. He rode bareback. This is common in short rides about the village, or in going out to check kaiila. The prestige of the saddle, and its dressiness, is not required in local errands or short jaunts. Similarly, in such trips its inconvenience may be dispensed with. He watched Winyela dance. His dark eyes shone. He knew he was her master.

Winyela now knelt on the pole and bent backwards, until her hair fell about the wood, and then she slipped her legs down about the pole behind her head. She reared helplessly on the pole, and writhed upon it, almost as though she might have been chained to it, and then, she turned about and lay on the pole, on her stomach, her thighs gripping it, her hands pushing her body up, and away from the pole, and then, suddenly, moving down about the trunk, bringing her head and shoulders down. Her red hair hung about the smooth, white wood. Her lips, again and again, pressed down upon it, in helpless kisses.

"She is quite good, the slave," said Cuwignaka.

"Yes," I said.

"She has not been trained to do this, has she?" asked Cuwignaka.

"Not to my knowledge," I said. It seemed to me rather unlikely that debutantes from high society would be trained to perform the supplication and passion dances of slave girls.

"It is instinctual in a woman," said Cuwignaka.

"I think so," I said. It seemed to me not unlikely, for many reasons, having to do with sexual selection, in particular, that such behaviors were, at least in broad outlines, genetically coded. Behaviors can be selected for, of course, and tendencies to behaviors, as well as such things as the color of hair and eyes. This is evident from the data of ethology. A woman's acquisition of the skills of erotic dance, incidentally, like those of a child's linguistic skills, follows an unusually sharp learning curve. This suggests that the rudiments of such dance, or the readiness for it, like the capacity, at least, for the rapid and efficient acquisition of language, is genetically coded. Sex, and human nature, may not be irrelevant to biology.

"Superb," said Cuwignaka.

"Yes," I said.

Winyela, helplessly, piteously, danced her obeisance to the great pole, and, in this, to her masters, and to men.

"Look," said Cuwignaka.

"Yes," I said "Yes!"

I well understood, now, why free women could not be permitted to see such a dance. It was the dance of a slave. How horrified, how scandalized, they would have been. Better that they not even know such things could exist. Such dances, that such things could be, are doubtless best kept as the secrets of masters and slaves. Too, how furious, how outraged, they would be, to see how beautiful, how exciting and desirable another woman could be, a thousand times more beautiful, exciting and desirable than themselves, and one who has naught but a slave. But then how could any free woman compete with a slave, one who is truly mastered and owned?

I watched Winyela dance.

It was easy to see how free women could be almost insanely jealous of slaves, and how they could hate them so, so inordinately and deeply. Too, it was little wonder that slaves, helpless in their collars, so feared and dreaded free women.

"The slave dances well," said Cuwignaka.

"Yes," I said.

In her dance, of course, Winyela was understood to be dancing not only her personal slavery, which she surely was, but, from the point of view of the Kaiila, in the symbolism of the dance, in the medicine of the dance, that the women of enemies were fit to be no more than the slaves of the Kaiila. I did not doubt but what the Fleer and the Yellow Knives, and other peoples, too, might have similar ceremonies, in which, in one way or another, a similar profession might take place, there being danced or enacted also by a woman of another group, perhaps even, in those cases, by a maiden of the Kaiila. I, myself, saw the symbolism of the dance, and, I think, so, too, did Winyela, in a pattern far deeper than that of an ethnocentric idiosyncrasy. I saw the symbolism as being in accord with what is certainly one of the deepest and most pervasive themes of organic nature, that of dominance and submission. In the dance, as I chose to understand it, Winyela danced the glory of life and the natural order; in it she danced her submission to the might of men and the fulfillment of her own femaleness; in it she danced her desire to be owned, to feel passion, to give of herself, unstintingly, to surrender herself, rejoicing, to service and love.

"It is the Kaiila!" shouted the men.

"It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.

Winyela was dragged back, toward the bottom of the pole, on its tripods. There she was knelt down. The two men holding her neck tethers slipped the rawhide, between their first and the girl's neck, under their feet, the man on her left under his right foot. But already Winyela, of her own accord, breathing deeply from the exertions of her dance, and trembling, had put her head to the dirt, humbly, before the pole. Then the tension on the two tethers was increased, the rawhide on her neck being drawn tight under the feet of her keepers. I do not think Winyela desired to rise her head. But now, of course, she could not have done so had she wished. It was held in place. I think this is the way she would have wanted it. This is what she would have chosen, to be owned, to serve, to be deprived of choice.

The men about slapped their thighs and grunted their approval. The music stopped. The tethers were removed from Winyela's neck. She then, tentatively, lifted her head. It seemed now she was forgotten. Her garments and jewelry, rolled in a bundle, were tied in what would be the lower fork of the pole. Two other objects, on long thongs, which were wrapped about the higher fork, were placed in the higher fork. Later, when the pole was set in the enclosure of the dance, the tongs would be unwrapped and the two objects would hang beside the pole. Both were of leather. One was an image of a kailiauk. The other was an image of a man. The image of the man had an exaggerated phallus, thrust forth and nearly as long as an arm, of a sort common in primitive art. I was reminded by these things of the medicine of the pole, and of the great forthcoming dance, projected to take place about it. The medicine of the pole and dance had intimately to do, obviously, with such things as hunting, fertility and manhood. To the red savages the medicine world is very real.

"You may get up," said Cuwignaka to Winyela. She was looking about herself, bewildered, apparently forgotten. She rose up and went to the side of Canka, astride his kaiila, her master. Men were lowering the medicine pole to the ground and breaking apart the tripods. Ropes had been put on the pole. Then, preceded by Cancega, with his medicine wand, uttering formulas, followed by his two seconds, with their rattles, the pole, pulled on its ropes, being drawn by several kaiila, was dragged toward the camp.

"You were very beautiful, Winyela," said Canka.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

Kajira of Gor

"Surely you heard the music which was coming from within?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. It would not be easy to forget that music, so melodious, so exciting and sensual.

"A girl was dancing within," he said. "It was a paga tavern."

"You did not let me enter," I said.

"Such girls often dance in little more than jewels, or chains," he said. "It is better, I think, too, that free women not see how they look at men and how they move before them."

"I see," I said. "And how do men find such women?"

"It is in the best interests of the woman," said he, "that the men find her pleasing, very pleasing."

"I see," I said, shuddering. I wondered if I could be pleasing to a man in that way, dancing before him, and then, later, if he had paid my owner my price, in an alcove. Most girls in such a place, I had heard from Susan, but generally not the dancers, came merely with the price of the drink itself. I supposed that if one were a dancer, and was then serving in an alcove, an additional price having been paid for one's use, one would have to strive to be particularly good. Gorean men, I was sure, would see to it that they got their money's worth.

She knelt behind the dark, smooth post, facing it, her knees on either side of it, her belly and breasts against it, her hands embracing it.

"This may be done to music," said Hermidorus, "and, as you know, there are many versions to the post dance, or pole dance, singly, or with more than one girl, with or without bonds, and so on, but here we are using it merely as a training exercise.

The whip cracked again and the girl, suddenly and lasciviously, became active.

I gasped.

She began to writhe about the pole. "Kiss it, caress it, love it!" commanded the trainer, snapping the whip. "Now more slowly, now scarcely moving, now use your thighs, and breasts more, moving all about it, holding it. Touch it with your tongue, lick it! Use the inside of your thighs more, your breasts, turn about it, slowly, sensuously. Lift your hands above your head, palms to the pole, caressing it. Turn about the pole! Twist about it! Now to your knees, holding it!" He then cracked the whip again. "Enough!" he said. She was then as she had been before, kneeling behind the post, her knees on either side of it, her belly and breasts pressed against it, her hands embracing it. The girl was looking at me. She was wondering, perhaps, if I were the next to be put to the post. I looked away, angrily. Did she not know I was not a lowly thing like she? Did she not know I was free? "It is a useful exercise," said Hermidorus to Drusus.

"Obviously," agreed Drusus.

I looked back at the girl. She was now looking away. I looked at the post. It was dark, and shiny. It had been polished smooth, apparently, by the bodies of many girls.

The drummer and the flautist prepared once more to play. The girl in the long, light chain smiled at me. She, at any rate, was pleased by my response.

A wrist ring was fastened on her right wrist. The long, slender, gleaming chain was fastened to this and, looping down and up, ascended gracefully to a wide chain ring on her collar, through which it freely passed, thence descending, looping down, and ascending, looping up, gracefully, to the left wrist ring. If she were to stand quietly, the palms of her hands on her thighs, the lower portions of the chain, those two dangling loops, would have been about at the level of her knees, just a little higher. The higher portion of the chain, of course, would be at the collar loop.

The musicians began again to play. There is much that can be done with such a chain. It was a dancing chain. Its purpose was not to confine the girl but to allow her to incorporate it in her dance, enhancing the dance with its movements and beauty. It is, of course, symbolic of her bondage, this adding fantastic dimensions of significance to the dance. It is not merely a beautiful woman who dances, but one who can be bought and sold, one who is subject to male ownership. Too, of course, the wrist rings, and the collar, are truly locked on her. There is no doubt about it. It is a slave, with all that that means, who is dancing.

"Tonight," said Ligurious, "I will give her to guardsmen. She will dance the whip dance, naked." There are many whip dances on Gor, of various sorts. In a context of this sort, presumably not in a tavern, and without music, the girl is expected to move, writhe and twist seductively before strong men. If she does not do well enough, if she is insufficiently maddeningly sensuous, the whips fall not about her, but on her. When one of the men can stand it no longer he orders her to his mat where, of course, she must be fully pleasing. If he is not, then she is whipped until she is. Then, when one man is satisfied, the dance begins again, and continues in this fashion until all are satisfied, or tire of the sport.

"Drop the silk," he said.

I did.

"Now get on your belly on the tiles, Tiffany," he said.

Immediately I lowered myself to my belly on the tiles. I looked up at them, the palms of my hands on the floor.

"Are you familiar with floor movements, Tiffany?" he asked.

"A little, Master," I said. "I saw some once in a slaver's house." This had been in the house of Kliomenes, when I had been taken on a tour there long ago by Drusus Rencius. I had been free then, of course. Now I was as much a slave as the girls I had seen there at the time.

"I am going to signal to the musicians, Tiffany," said Aemilianus. "When they begin to play, you may begin your performance."

"Yes, Master," I whispered. When I had seen such movements in the house of Kliomenes I had never dreamed that they might, horrifyingly enough, one day be required of me. In few modalities is a woman's slavery made clearer or more manifest than when she must perform floor movements, than when she must, in effect, dance before men, never rising higher than her knees.

Then the music began.

Almost as soon as I had begun to dance I saw Emily tear back her slave silk, exposing her breasts to Aemilianus, and to kiss him. He held her against him with his left arm about her body and held her two hands, their wrists crossed, in his grip, captured, across his body. He held her in this fashion, helpless. And both, then, were watching me.

Once I had been Tiffany Collins. I now writhed, a Gorean slave, at the feet of men.

I do not know how long the music lasted, perhaps only about four or five Ehn. Then, swirling and climaxing, it suddenly ended. I lay, gasping and sweating, on my belly on the tiles. I looked up. I hoped that I had pleased the masters.

"Very good, Tiffany," said Aemilianus.

"Superb," said one man. "Superb!" said another.

The musicians were free. Musicians on Gor, that is, members of the caste of musicians, are seldom, if ever, enslaved. Their immunity from bondage, or practical immunity from bondage, is a matter of custom. There is a saying to the effect that he who makes music must, like the tarn and the Vosk gull, be free. This is a saying, however, which I suspect was invented by the caste of musicians, to protect itself from bondage. For example, there are many musicians on Gor, not members of the caste, who are enslaved. For example, it is quite common on Gor to train a slave girl in the use of a musical instrument, that she might be more pleasing to masters. It never seems to occur to anyone that she should then be freed. Indeed, it is felt that since she is in a collar, it will make her performance, her playing, and perhaps her singing, even more superb. Too, some male slaves are fine musicians. The only other caste on Gor which is generally considered, for most practical purposes, as immune from bondage is the caste of players. These are the fellows who make their living from the game of Kaissa, playing it for prizes, charging for games, giving instruction and exhibitions, annotating games, and so on. They are usually poor fellows but generally have little trouble securing a night�s food and lodging for a game or two. The general affection and respect which Goreans feel for the game of Kaissa is probably the explanation for the practical immunity from bondage commonly accorded the members of the caste of players. Slaves are seldom permitted to play Kaissa. In some cities it is against the law from them to do so. It is often thought to be an insult to the game to even let them touch the pieces. The dancers, on the other hand, several of whom were sleeping to the side, were all females, and slaves. Few free women, I suspect, would dare to dance the dances of Gor before strong men. If they did so, how long could they expect to remain free? Any woman who dares to appear so before men, and dance, it is said, is in her heart a slave. Let her then be collared! Whatever may be the truth in these matters it is a fact that almost all of the dancers on Gor are slaves. Indeed, many of the most beautiful and exciting slaves on Gor are dancers. They bring their masters much gold.

Players of Gor

We were in the great hall in the holding of Samos, in Port Kar. The room was lit by torches. Many of his men, sitting cross-legged at low tables, as we were, were about. They were eating and drinking, being served by slaves. We sat a bit apart from them. Some musicians were present. They were not now playing.

I heard a slave girl laughing, somewhere across the room.

Outside, in the canal traffic, I heard a drum, cymbals and trumpets, and a man shouting. He was proclaiming the excellencies of some theatrical troupe, such as the cleverness of its clowns and the beauty of its actresses, probably slaves. They had performed, it seems, in the high cities and before Ubars. Such itinerant troupes, theatrical troupes, carnival groupings, and such, are not uncommon on Gor. They consist usually of rogues and outcasts. With their wagons and tents, often little more than a skip and a jump ahead of creditors and magistrates, they roam from place to place, rigging their simple stages in piazzas and squares, in yards and markets, wherever an audience may be found, even at the dusty intersections of country crossroads. With a few boards and masks, and a bit of audacity, they create the mystery of performance, the magic of theater. They are bizarre, incomparable vagabonds. They are denied the dignity of the funeral pyre and other forms of honorable burial.

The group outside, doubtless on a rented barge, was not the first to pass beneath the narrow windows of the house of Samos this evening. There were now several such groups in the city. Their hand-printed handbills and hand-painted posters, the latter pasted on the sides of buildings and on the news boards, were much in evidence. All this had to do with the approach of the Twelfth Passage Hand, which preceded the Waiting Hand.

The Waiting Hand, the five-day period preceding the vernal equinox, the first day of spring, is a very solemn time for most Goreans. During this time few ventures are embarked upon, and little or no business is conducted. During this time most Goreans remain within their houses. It is in this time that the doors of many homes are sealed with pitch and have nailed to them branches of the brak bush, the leaves of which have a purgative effect. These precautions, and others like them, are intended to discourage the entry of ill luck into the houses.

In the houses there is little conversation and no song. It is a time, in general, of mourning, meditation and fasting. All this changes, of course, wit the arrival of the vernal equinox, which, in most Gorean cities, marks the New Year.

At dawn on the day of the vernal equinox a ceremonial greeting of the sun takes place, conducted usually by the Ubar or administrator of the city. This, in effect, welcomes the New Year to the city. In Port Kar this honor fell to Samos, first captain in the Council of Captains, and the council's executive officers. The completion of this greeting is signified by, and celebrated by, a ringing of the great bars suspended about the city. The people then, rejoicing, issue forth from their houses. The brak bushes are burned on the threshold and the pitch is washed away. There are processions and various events, such as contests and games. It is a time of festival. The day is one of celebration.

These festivities, of course, are in marked contrast to the solemnities and abstinences of the Waiting Hand. The Waiting Hand is a time, in general, of misery, silence and fasting. It is also, for many Goreans, particularly those of the lower castes, a time of uneasiness, a time of trepidation and apprehension. Who knows what things, visible or invisible, might be abroad during that terrible time? In many Gorean cities, accordingly, the Twelfth Passage Hand, the five days preceding the Waiting Hand, that time to which few Goreans look forward with eagerness, is carnival. The fact that it was now only two days to the Twelfth Passage Hand, explained the presence of the unusual number of theatrical and carnival troupes now in the city.

Such troupes, incidentally, must petition for the right to perform within a city. Usually a sample performance, or a part of a performance, is required, staged before the high council, or a committee delegated by such a council. Sometimes the actresses are expected to perform privately, being "tested", so to speak, for selected officials. It the troupe is approved it may, for a fee, be licensed.

--page 11

No troupe is permitted to perform within city unless it has a license. These licenses usually run for the five days of a Gorean week. Sometimes they are for a specific night or a specific performance. Licenses are commonly renewable, within a given season, for a nominal fee. In connection with the fees for such matters, it is not uncommon that bribes are also involved. This is particularly the case when small committees are involved in the approvals or given individuals, such as a city's Entertainment Master or Master of Revels. There is little secret, incidentally, about the briberies involved. There are even fairly well understood bribery scales, indexed to the type of troupe, its supposed treasury, the number of days requested for the license, and so on. These things are so open, and so well acknowledged, that perhaps one should think of them more as gratuities or service fees than as bribes. More than one Master of Revels regards them as an honest perquisite of his office.

Samos signaled again to the musicians, and they began to play a sensual, slow, adagio melody.

"I have placed my Home Stone," said Samos, turning his attention to the board. "It is your move." That was true. It was my eleventh move. I considered the board and the placement of his Home Stone. An attack, I thought, would be premature. I would continue my development. I would attempt to secure the center, garnering thereby the mobilities and options commonly attendant on the control of these customarily vital routes. He

--page 20

who controls the roads, some say, control the cities. This, of course, is not strictly true, not in a world where most goods can be carried on the back of a man, not in a world where there are tarns.

"It is the sleen for her," I heard a man say.

Samos glanced at the dancer.

I, too, glanced at her. She was not trained. She did not know slave dance. Her movements were those of a virgin, a white-silk girl. She had not yet been taught slave helplessness. No man yet in his arms had taught her the exquisite, transforming degradations of the utilized slave, the wrenching surrender spasms, enforced upon her by his will, of the conquered bondwoman, experiences which, once she has had them, she is never willing to give up, experiences which she comes to need, experiences for which she will do anything, experiences which, whether she wishes it or not, put her at and keep her at, the mercy of men.

"She is clumsy," said Samos. He was irritated. I saw he did not wish, really, to have her killed.

A man laughed at her, as she tried to dance before him. "her throat will be cut within the Ahn," laughed another man. Another man turned away from her, when she approached him, to have his goblet of paga filled by a luscious, half-naked, collared slave.

"Clumsy, clumsy," said Samos. "I thought she might have the makings, somehow, of a pleasure slave."

"She is trying," I said.

"She does not have what it takes," said Samos.

"Her body is richly curved," I said. "That suggests an abundance of female hormones, and that, in turn, suggests the potentialities, the capacities for love, the sensibilities, the dispositions of the pleasure slave."

"She is not acceptable," said Samos. "She is inadequate."

"She is trying desperately to please," I said.

"But she is not succeeding," he said.

"She has a lovely body," I said. "Perhaps someone could buy her for a pittance, for a pot girl."

"She is not adequate," said Samos. "I will have to have her destroyed." He looked back to the board.

I saw several of the slave girls looking fearfully at one another. I to not think that they cared much for their new sister in bondage, the former Lady Rowena of Lydius, who perhaps in some subtle way, perhaps in virtue of her former background, held herself superior to them, but, too, I don nit think they cared to have her thrown alive, screaming, to sleen. She was, after all,

--page 21

now, like the, only a slave. "Dance, you stupid slave," hissed one. "Do you not know you are a slave? Do you not know you are owned?"

A wild look, one of sudden, fearful insight, came over the face of the dancer. She had not thought, specifically, objectively, it seemed, about this aspect of matters. But, of course, she was owned. She was now property. She could now be bought and sold, like a tarsk, at the pleasure of masters.

She belonged to Samos, of course. It had been within the context of his capture rights that she had, as a free woman, of her own free will, pronounced upon herself a formula of enslavement. Automatically then, in virtue of the context, she became his. The law is clear on this. The matter is more subtle when the woman is not within a context of capture rights. Here the matter differs from city to city. In some cities, a woman may not, with legal recognition, submit herself to a specific man as a slave, for in those cities that is interpreted as placing at least a temporary qualification on the condition of slavery which condition, once entered into, all cities agree, is absolute. In such cities, then, the woman makes herself a slave, unconditionally. It is then up to the man in question whether or not he will accept her as his slave. In this matter he will do as he pleases. In any event, she is by then a slave, and only that.

In other cities, and in most cities, on the other hand, a free woman may, with legal tolerance, submit herself as a slave to a specific man. If he refuses her, she is then still free. If he accepts her, she is then, categorically, a slave, and he may do with her as he pleases, even selling her or giving her away, or slaying her, if he wishes. Here we might note a distinction between laws and codes. In the codes of the warriors, if a warrior accepts a woman as a slave, it is prescribed that, at least for a time, an amount of time up to his discretion, she be spared. If she should be the least bit displeasing, of course, or should prove recalcitrant in even a tiny way, she may be immediately disposed of.

It should be noted that this does not place a legal obligation on the warrior. It has to do, rather, with the proprieties of the codes. If a woman not within a clear context of rights, such as capture rights, house rights, or camp rights, should pronounce herself slave, simpliciter, then she is subject to claim. These claims may be explicit, as in branding, binding and collaring, or as in the uttering of a claimancy formula, such as "I own you," "You are mine," or "You are my slave," or implicit, as in, for example, permitting the slave to feed from your hand or follow you.

--page 22

"Dance, fool!" cried one of the slave girls to the former Lady Rowena of Lydius.

"See the free woman!" laughed one of the slaves. "It is the sleen for her," said another.

"Please men!" cried another. "What do you think you are for?"

"Like this!" cried a brunette, leaping away from the tables to the tiles, tearing away her silk.

"Do not interfere," warned a man. The brunette, terrified, seized up her silk, and shrank back behind the tables, into the shadows, where, huddled, knelt the other slaves.

She who had been the Lady Rowena fell sobbing to her knees, helpless on the tiles, covering her face with her hands. The music stopped.

"You are cruel, all of you!" cried out Linda, the blond Earth-girl slave of Samos, springing to her feet. All eyes turned towards her. "You put us in collars! You take away our clothes! You make us serve you! You do with us as you please!" She looked beautiful, in her brief tunic, barefoot, her body filled with passion, her small fists clenched, in her collar.

"And you love it!" laughed a man.

"Yes!" she cried. "I love it! You cannot know how I love it! I come from a world where there are almost no true men, a world where manhood is almost educated and conditioned out of existence. I come from a world of love-starved women. I did not know what true men were until I came to Gor, and was put in a collar! Here I am disciplined and trained, here I am owned and fulfilled! Here I am happy! I pity even my free sisters of Gor, who are so far above me, for they cannot know the overwhelming joys and fulfillments which are mine, and I pity a thousand times more my miserable free sisters of Earth, so far away, longing for their collars and masters!"

There was silence. She hurried to the side of the girl kneeling on the tiles. She crouched beside her, putting her arm about her shoulders. She then looked at us. "But this is only a poor slave," she said. "She is new to her condition. She is trying to please. It is just that she does not yet know how. Please be kind to her. Give her some time. Let her learn. Is she not beautiful? Do you not think she could learn to be pleasing? Show her mercy!"

It was then again silent.

Numbly, Linda rose to her feet and walked back about the tables. She knelt behind our table, her head down.

"With your permission," I said to Samos. I rose to my feet

--page 23

and went to the girl, now prone, red-eyed, on the tiles. I crouched down beside her.

"Oh!" she cried.

I turned her over, handling her with authority, as a slave is handled.

She looked up at me.

Never before, doubtless, had she been handled like this. "Her face is beautiful," I said, "her body is curvaceous, her limbs are fair. It seems she should bring a good price."

She gasped, appraised as a female.

"But what is inside a woman is more important," said a man.

"That is true," I said. Some of the most succulent and exciting slaves I had known were, I suppose, at least compared with some of their sisters in bondage, comparatively plain in appearance. Such women constitute marvelous bargains in a slave market. They cost far less than many of their higher-priced sisters and yet, in the long run, are worth far more. Many men, upon returning home, thinking they have bought an average girl within their means, discover instead, to their delight, that they have purchased a dream. To be sure, the matter is complicated. Slavery, for example, marvelously, subtly, tends to bring out the beauty in a woman. Many women, after a year or two in bondage, become so beautiful that they can double or triple their price.

"Men desire women," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"And you belong to that sex," I said, "which is maddeningly, exquisitely desirable."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"And you are," I said, "I think, objectively, a beautiful member of that sex."

"Thank you, Master," she whispered.

"It therefore seems not inconceivable that men might find you desirable."

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"Does that please you?" I asked.

"It terrifies me," she said.

"Do you have normal feelings toward men?" I asked.

"I think so, Master," she said.

"Now that you are a slave," I said, "it is not only permissible for you to yield to these feelings, but you must do so."

"Master!" she whispered.

"Yes," I said, "for you are now a slave."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, shuddering.

--page 24

"That makes quite a difference, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"She does not have slave reflexes," said a man.

I pulled her by the hair up to a sitting position, and then, by the hair, bent her head back.

"Oh!" she winced.

"Keep the palms of your hands on the tiles," I said. She did so. Her knees were slightly flexed.

"Oh! Oh!" she cried suddenly.

"Keep your palms on the tiles," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Yes, Master!"

"She does have slave reflexes," I reported.

"Yes," said the man.

"Yes," said another man.

"Are men now of greater interest to you?" I asked.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

"We are now going to put these things together," I said. "First, you are an exquisitely desirable woman. You are the sort of woman who could drive a man mad with passion. You are the sort of woman to possess whom men might kill. Furthermore, your beauty and desirability is increased a thousand old because you are a property girl, a slave."

"Yes, Master," she whispered. "Oh, Master!"

"Men are now of even greater interest to you, are they not?" I asked.

"Yes, Master!" she wept.

"Keep the palms of your hands on the floor," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"That handles things from the point of view of the man," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Now," I said, "second, let us consider things from the point of view of the woman, from your point of view."

"Master!" she cried.

"Keep the palms of your hands on the floor," I said.

"Yes, Master," she whimpered.

"As a slave," I said, "it is not only permissible for you to yield to your deepest, most stirring, most primitive, most overwhelmingly feminine urges but you must do so, shamelessly, unqualifiedly, completely."

"Yes, Master," she cried, and thrust herself suddenly, piteously, against my hand.

I then, by the hair, pulled her about and threw her lengthwise, prone, to the tiles.

--page 25

She looked up at me, over her shoulder. I saw wildness in her eyes. I saw that she had begun to sense what it might be to be an aroused slave.

"Whip," I said, to a man, the fellow who had earlier disciplined the foolish slave who had permitted herself, without permission, to display merriment over the plight of a free woman.

The whip was placed in my hand.

"Master?" asked the girl, apprehensively.

"I do not believe you were given permission to stop dancing earlier," I said.

"No, Master," she said.

"As you are a stupid girl and new to your condition, your punishment, this time, will be light. Three lashes."

"Three!" she sobbed.

"Do not expect masters to be so lenient with your stupidity in the future," I said.

"No, Master," she wept.

Then, doubtless for the firs time in her life, she who had been the proud free woman, the Lady Rowena of Lydius, naked, and on her belly on the tiles, felt, like the common girl she now was, the slaveship of Gor.

"Stand," I told her. "Back straight, belly in, breasts out. Lift your hands to your shoulders, flex your knees."

"I have been whipped," she said, disbelievingly.

"See the difference?" said a man to another at his table. "How she stands?"

"Yes," said the other.

I touched her here and there, with the whip, deftly, correcting a line, or the tension of a curve.

She shrank back from the touch of the whip. She now knew what it could to do to her. She had felt it. After a girl has once felt the whip the mere sight of it is usually enough to bring her immediately into line. "What hangs upon the wall?" a master might ask. "The slave whip, Master," she responds. "How may I be more pleasing?"

I handed the whip back to the fellow who had had it, and returned to my place at the table of Samos.

He signaled the musicians, and they began, again, to play.

I gave my attention to the board. It was my move. I did not bother, then, to glance at the former Lady Rowena of Lydius. She was a mere slave, dancing for masters. Doubtless, too, as the evening wore on, other girls, too, perhaps Tula, and Susan, and Linda, would be ordered to the floor, to dance before strong

--page 26

men, then perhaps, each in her turn, one by one, to be dragged to the tables.

I moved my Ubara's Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubara's Scribe Three. This, supporting the center, would also open a file, developing the Ubara's Builder. The Gorean dancer is expected, usually, to satisfy the passions she arouses. "It is your move," I said to Samos. I gathered, from the cries of pleasure, from the clapping of hands, the striking of hands on shoulders, that the new slave might be proving not unacceptable. "How is she doing?" I asked. "I do not think it will be necessary, at least immediately, to throw her to sleen," said Samos. He was regarding the dancer. "It is your move," I said. Samos put his chin on his fists and examined the board. I lifted my head and looked across the room.

I saw that it was a slave who danced before the men. She gyrated but inches from a burly oarsman, then leaped back, eluding his drunken grasp. She moved between the tables, a slave, an owned woman. Then she was kneeling beside a man, kissing and caressing him, and then, as though it were involuntary, as though her hands were tied behind her and she was being pulled back, away from him, by a rope, she retreated from him. In a moment she was showering another man with her hair and kisses. Then she offered a man wine, holding the goblet, pressing it against her belly, swaying sensuously before him. She was then again in the center of the tiles, among the tables. She made as if to speak, and then, suddenly, stopped, as though startled. Then she took a wad of her long, golden hair and, swiftly balling it, thrust it, as though insolently, in her mouth. She then looked at the men reproachfully. It was as though a man, perhaps not desiring to hear her speak, had gagged her with her own hair. There was laughter. She drew the hair from her mouth, drawing some if it, in loosening it, deeply back between her teeth, with her head back, as though she might have been in the constraint of a gag strap, all this to the music, and then her hair was free, and, with a movement of her head and movements of her hands, beautifully, she draped and spread it about her. It seemed then she withdrew modestly, frightened, behind the hair, drawing it like a cloak or sheet about her, as though by means of this piteous device she might hope desperately to conceal at least some minimal particle of her beauty from the rude scrutiny of masters. But it was not to be permitted.

To a swirl of music, taking her hair to the sides, holding it, parting it, with clenched fists thrust behind her, twisting, her body thrust forward, her beauty was suddenly, it seemed as

--page 27

though by command, or by the action of another, brazenly bared. "Good!" said more than one man. There was a striking of shoulders in Gorean applause. Even some of the slave girls cried out with pleasure. The girl had done it well. Then she was again dancing among the tables. her movements gave much pleasure. She entertained well. If Samos had known she would prove this good he might have put her in bells or a chain. I doubted that some of the things she had done, in all their abundance and richness, had been merely thought up on the spur of the moment. I suspected that many times in here dreams and fantasies she had danced thus before men, as a slave. Then, lo, one night in Port Kar she found herself truly a slave, and so dancing, and for her life.

As the music neared its climax she returned before our table, dancing desperately and pleadingly. It was there that was to be found her master.

She lowered herself to the floor and there, on her knees, and her sides, and her belly and back, continued her dance.

Men cried out with pleasure.

Floor movements are among the most stimulatory aspects of slave dance.

I regarded her. She was not bad. She was, of course, not trained. A connoisseur of slave dance, I suppose, might have pointed out errors in the pointing of a toe, the extension of a limb, the use of a hand, not well framing the body, not subtly inviting the viewer's eye inward, and so on, but, on the whole, she was definitely not bad. Given her lack of training, a lack which could, of course, be easily remedied, she was not bad, really. Much of what she did, I suppose, is instinctual in a woman. Too, of course, she was dancing for her life.

She writhed well, an utterly helpless, begging slave.

Then the music was finished and she was before us, kneeling, her head down, in submission to Samos. She lifted her head to regard Samos, her master. She searched his face fearfully, for the least sign of her fate. It was he who would decide whether she would live or die.

"It is my hope, Master," she said, "that in time I might not prove totally unacceptable as a slave."

"You may approach," said Samos.

She did not dare to rise to her feet. She crawled, head down, on her hands and knees, to the edge of the table. There, near the table, she put her head down and kissed the tiles. Then, rising up a little and approaching further, still on her hands and knees, she

--page 28

turned her head, delicately, and kissed the edge of the table, her lips touching partly the surface of the table, partly its side.

The music began and Tula danced. I saw other girls moving closer to the tables, subtly taking more prominent positions, hoping perhaps thereby to be more visible to the men. Tula was Samos' finest dancer. There was much competition among his girls for the second position. My own finest dancer was a wench named Sandra. Some others, for example, Arlene, Janice, Evelyn, Mira and Vella, were also quite good.
...
Tula now swayed lasciviously, insistently, forwardly, before the table. I saw Linda, kneeling somewhat behind Samos, regard her with fury. Slave girls commonly compete shamelessly for the favor of the master. Tula, with those long, tannish legs, the high cheekbones, the wild, black hair, the golden collar, was very beautiful. It is pleasant to own women. But Samos paid her little, or no, attention. With a toss of her head she spun away. She would spend the night in the arms of another.
...
Outside I could hear the sounds of yet another troupe traversing the canal, with its raucous cries, its drums and trumpets. There had been several such troupes, theatrical troupes, carnival troupes, this evening. It was now only two days to carnival, to the Twelfth Passage Hand.

"Kaissa, like love and music, is its own justification," I said. "It requires no other."

To be sure, there tend to be few restrictions on the movements of players on Gor. They tend to travel about, on the whole, pretty much as they please. They tend to have free access almost everywhere, being welcomed, unquestioned, in most Gorean camps, villages, town and cities. In this respect, they tend to resemble musicians, who generally enjoy similar privileges. There is a saying on Gor, "No musician can be a stranger." This saying is sometimes, too, applied to members of the caste of players. The saying is somewhat difficult to translate into English, for in Gorean, as not in English, the same word is commonly used for both "stranger" and "enemy." When one understands that, of course, it is easier to understand the saying in its full meaning.

Mercenaries of Gor

"Dance," I told Feiqa.

"I do not know how to dance, Master," she moaned.

"In every female there is a dancer," I said.

"Master," she protested.

"I know you are not trained," I said.

"Master," she said.

"There are many forms of dance," I said. "Music is not even necessary. It need not even be more than beautiful movement. Move before the men, and about them, Move as seductively and beautifully as you can, and as a slave, saying, crawling, kneeling, rolling, supine, prone, begging, pleading, piteous, caressing, kissing, licking, rubbing against them."

I followed her, threading my way among the small tables, and the mats, and the slave rings and clutching, moving, --page 312-- intertwined bodies, to a small table. I heard gasping, and a small cry of pain, and then a small cry of submission, and the movement of a chain on tiles. The room was crowded, but not too crowded. I heard conversation. Some musicians were playing in the half darkness. Some of these brothels are really not that much different from certain paga taverns. There, too, of course, girls go with the drinks, though dancers are commonly extra. The table was in the second row, or so, from the front of the room, where there was something of an open space. The musicians were on the right side of this, as I faced them. It was not easy to see at first. The room was illuminated, insofar as it was, with a soft, flickering, reddish light, the result of the flames of tiny tharlarion-oil lamps set in narrow red-glass enclosures on certain of the tables. In such a light, of course, interesting colorations, subtle, soft, constantly changing reddish hues, ranging, depending on the color of the glass and the mix of the lights, from dark, rose-colored pinks to creamy crimsons, are imparted to the flesh of white-skinned slaves. Too, there were many dark places and shadows. Some men are fond of privacy in such a place.

I then returned to my own table. Louise was still there, kneeling. I had not yet dismissed her.

"Am I dismissed, Master?" she asked.

"No," I said.

She gasped.

"Are you any good on a mat?" I asked.
...
She hurried to the mat, to kneel upon it.
...
I looked about, for a loose chain. In a moment or two I had found one, near another slave ring. I looped it in my hand, and carried it to the ring near my mat. The key, the same key fitting both the padlock-type terminations of the chain, was in one of the locks. I crouched down beside Louise and looped one end of the chain about her neck, where I locked it snugly into place with one of the padlock-type terminations. The chain depended from her neck, between her breasts. I then looped the other end of the chain about the slave ring and, with the termination at that end, locked it there. She had about five feet of play between her neck and the slave ring. That is more than sufficient to allow a female to perform. Many men give her even less chain, some only six inches or so, such adjustments being made with different length chains, and also, often with the same chain, by loopings, doublings and such, secured by fastening the padlocklike terminations through various links. She put her fingers on the chain. She surreptitiously pulled it a little. It was on her.

"Master?" she asked. I walked over to the wall and hung the key on a nail there, with other keys. That is where the key should have been in the first place. There it is out of the reach of all the slave rings. Too, in this way, it is easier to keep track of them, and a customer is less likely to inadvertently walk off with one. No chains hung there, incidentally. They were apparently, at least those usually there, in use, or like the one I had found, loose on the floor. I glanced around. The place seemed crowded. Ita and Tia were dancing, summoned forth by a hostess, before a customer. I recalled Louise dancing. She had done at least that very well, surely. I wondered if she, and Earth girl, going about her business on Earth, had ever suspected that she would one day be so dancing on Gor, as a nude, collared slave. I supposed not. I wondered what she would have thought if someone had suggested this to her. Doubtless she would of thought it absurd, or amusing.--page 368--

But then, a moment later, she might have felt the thick layers of the chemically treated cloth held firmly over her nose and mouth. Business seemed good this evening. Indeed, it seemed to be thriving. This Ludmilla, whoever she was, I conjectured, had something of a gold mine in this little establishment. Tonight�s receipts, at any rate, would probably prove quite gratifying.

I returned to the slave mat.
...
"Move," I told her.

She moved then, and turned, upon the mat, sometimes on her belly, sometimes on her back, sometimes on her side, sometimes kneeling, sometimes sitting, sometimes curled up, sometimes bending backwards, pausing every moment or so, for a moment or so, stock-still, posing, that I might feast my eyes upon her loveliness, revealing thusly for me her imbonded beauty in numerous and various attitudes. There were tears in her eyes. I saw that she had had some training.

She was then breathing heavily.

I let the loose whip blades brush her back. "Master?" she asked.
...
"Perform," I said.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

"Better," I said, "better. Remember you are no longer a woman of Earth now. More leg extension. That is behind you. You are now only a Gorean slave. Good. You are not even a person any longer. You are now only a lascivious animal that exists only for the pleasure of men. Only an animal. Do not forget it. But an incredibly desirable animal. Lift your hand more piteously. Good. The most desirable form of animal in existence, the female slave. That expression, improve it. Let it show that you beg a man for his touch. Do you beg a man for his touch?"

"Yes," she cried, suddenly, "I do!"

"Use the chain," I said. "It is on your neck. Use it! Use it in this mat dance."

"Dance?" she wept.

"Yes," I said, "You can consider it a dance. You can treat it as a dance. You are writhing for a master, pausing now and then to startle him with your beauty, on your chain. There is even music here. Feel it in your belly. Deep in your belly! Deeper! Yes! Yes!"

"Take me!" she cried in English!" "I beg you to take me!"

I took her in my arms, and kissed her. She was helplessly hot and open. --page 370--

"Oh, yes," she cried. "Now! Now! I beg it! I beg it!"

"As a woman of Earth?" I asked.

"No," she sobbed, "as what I am now, as a Gorean slave of her master!"

Later I used her once more, this time on her belly, that she might not forget she was a slave, nor grow too proud. I then turned her to her back. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. "I am yours," she wept. "I want to live for you, and to serve you in all ways."

Dancer of Gor

I could hardly stand. Tonight I was to dance before me, such men! I felt ill. I had danced hitherto only before Teibar, and his men, at the library, and once or twice before the men in the house of my training, and, of course, here, in my lessons, before some men, in particular, the musicians, and some men from the house, who, from time to time, would pause to watch me. But I had never danced before Hendow, my own master. Mirus had seen me several times, though, and he, I am sure, had conveyed reports to my master. Mirus, when I had knelt before him at the end of my lessons, seemed generally, on the whole, and particularly lately, quite pleased with my progress. I received such intelligences with extreme relief, kneeling before him, for I did not wish to be whipped. Sometimes, in my lessons, as I danced, I could see Mirus, and other men of the house, watching me, their eyes alight. Sometimes they licked their lips, almost as though I might be food. Yesterday, at the conclusion of my last lesson, when in a swirl of music, I had lowered myself to the floor, in a dancer�s posture of abject submission before men, I had heard several of them cry out with approval, and strike their left shoulders repeatedly, fiercely, with the palms of their hands. They had then crowded about me. On my knees, rising, I had been conscious of their legs, and whips, about me. What whips I could I seized to me and kissed, hastily, in fear. I had been afraid they would beat me. But "Marvelous!" and "Superb!" I heard. Mirus was then, almost by force, pushing them away --page 169-- from me, and ordering them to return to their duties. Grumbling they disbanded, leaving the room. When we were alone, after even the musicians had left, and I was still at his feet, I looked up at him. it was he, first among these men, second only to Hendow, my master, whom I must most strive to please. "Master?� I asked. "You have talent," he said, dryly. "Thank you, Master," I said. I put down my head and kissed his feet, delicately, in deference and gratitude. He then turned away from me, rather suddenly I thought.

"Slave dance," on Gor, incidentally, is a very rich and varied dance form. It covers a great deal more than simple "ethnic dance." For example, it includes dances such as hunt dances, capture dances, submission dances, chain dances, whip dances, and such. Perhaps what is done in slave dance on Gor would count as "exotic dance" on Earth, but, if we are thinking of the actual kinds of dances performed, then there is much in slave dance, for example, story dances, which are seldom, if ever, included in "erotic dance" which, on Earth, and there are forms of dance in "erotic dance" which, for one reason or another, are seldom, if ever, seen on Gor, for example, certain forms of carnival dancing, such as bubble dancing or fan dancing. Perhaps the reason such dances are seldom, if ever, seen on Gor, is that Goreans would not be likely to regard them as being "real dance." They would be regarded, I think, as little more than culturally idiosyncratic forms of commercial teasing. They are, at any rate, not the sort of dance, or the "danse-du-ventre" sort, so pleasing to strong men, which a slave on Gor, fearing the whip, must often learn to perform.

Hendow gestured with his head to the musicians, and they made there way, one by one, through the beaded curtain. There were five of them, a czehar player, two kalika players, a flautist and a drummer. In a moment or two, as Mirus solicited further interest among the customers, I heard the sounds of the instruments, the czehar and kalikas being tuned, the flautist trying --page 180-- passages, the drummer�s fingers light on the taut skin of his instrument, the kaska, then adjusting it, then trying it again, then tapping lightly, then more vigorously, with swift, brief rhythm, limbering his wrists, fingers and hands. The music of Gor, or much of it, is very melodious and sensuous. Much of it seems made for the display of slaves before free men, but then I suppose, that is exactly what it is made for.
...
There are some three senses of the expression "virgin dance" on Gor. There is a sense in which it is a kind of dance, rather than a particular dance, which is deemed appropriate for virgins. In that sense I was not expected to perform a "virgin dance." One would seldom see such dances in taverns. The second sense is the obvious one in which it is a dance danced by a virgin, and usually just prior to the loss of her virginity. In that sense it could be almost any dance which serves the purpose of displaying the girl before her initial ravishing. The third sense of the term is that of a specific dance, or type of dance, most often, interestingly, not even danced by a virgin., but usually by an experienced slave. It is not exactly a story dance, but more of a "role dance," a dance in which the slave dances as though she might be a virgin, but knows she is to be ravished, and that she is expected to be pleasing. The dance I was expected to perform was, I suppose, a "virgin dance" in both the second and third senses of the term. Mirus, paradoxically, speaking obviously in the third sense of the term, had told me that I would do better at this sort of dance when I was no longer a virgin.

I felt metal anklets being thrust on my ankles by Tupita and Sita. They put several on each ankle. they then, similarly, placed narrow bracelets on both my wrists, several on each wrists. A long belt of cord, to which were attached numerous metal disks, suspended and shimmering, was then looped twice about me, the first loop secured high, and tight, at my waist, and the second loop, a larger loop, a framing loop, was secured in such a way, in the back, that it would hang quite low on my belly, well below my navel. The purpose of this belt was to call attention to, and enhance, by sound and sight, the movements of the hips and abdomen. With the slave beads I already wore I felt inutterably displayed, and barbaric. I could not move now without the sounds of the beads, the anklets and bracelets, the shimmering belt with its two loops.

"Stand," said Tupita.

I did.

The men gasped with pleasure. I was frightened.

"Prepare to dance, slave," said Tupita.

"Good," said a man.

I stood before them with my hands lifted over my head, the backs of my hands facing one another, my knees flexed. It is a common beginning position in slave dance.

The musicians readied themselves.

I looked out on the men. These were not men of Earth, defeated and tamed by propaganda and lies. These were Gorean men, men like lions. I stood before them, weak and helpless, a woman from Earth, now a collared slave, who must dance for their pleasure.

The czehar player, sitting cross-legged, now had his instrument across his lap. He was the leader of the musicians. He had his horn pick in hand.

I stood barefoot, naked, save for collar and adornments, on the dancing floor of a low-ceilinged Gorean tavern. I must prepare to please masters. I wondered what the men who had worked at the library would think if they could see me now, their so-much-taken-for-granted Doreen, her beauty now at the disposal of masters, men who could break them in pieces. I wondered if they would lament my plight, deploring it with typical, whining, hypocritical cant, or if they , too, would sit there, at those low tables, their blood racing, their eyes alight, becoming men.

Aynur and Tula were now behind me, kneeling at the back of the floor, with their bowls. Tula's was empty. Aynur held the house's halves of the divided ostraka. One of them would prove to be the lucky ostrakon." Ina, the flat, shallow box of adornments beside her, was back with them. So, too, with the cuffs and leashes, were Tupita and Sita. Mirus, too, had now withdrawn to the back.

If I did not dance well I did not doubt but what I would be whipped.

I looked out on the men.

One of them would be my first use master. In a special sense my "virgin dance" must be dedicated to him. But, in general, I must dance, too, before the guests of Hendow's tavern, and, too, before all who were present. This included Mirus, who, I think, had often wanted me. Too, I could see others of Hendow�s men about, come to see the dance, and now, too, to one side, the kitchen master. After tonight, at the tubs, I would doubtless be no safer from him than Ina.

Perhaps if I danced poorly? But I did not want to be whipped!

Then I knew I did not want to dance poorly. Out there there were men, real men, many of whom excited and stirred me, even in my virgin�s belly. I could scarcely imagine what it might be to be helpless in their arms, and at their power, as a slave. I was desperately eager to please such men. I wanted to be marvelously exciting and beautiful before them. I wanted them to desire me. I wanted them to want me! Too, I knew many of the girls despised me as a woman of Earth. I wanted to show them, too, women such as Tupita and Sita, what a woman of Earth could do to their Gorean masters, how, she, too, could excite them, and twist them with torments of desire, and make them gasp and scream with pleasure! Too, in my anger at having been abandoned by Teibar, who had been my capture master on Earth, I wanted to dance well. He had let me go! But I had sold for two and a half silver tarsks, on my first sale! I had been purchased by Hendow, of Brundisium, who, I had gathered, was noted in this city for having an excellent eye for the selection of slave meat! Certainly the girls in his tavern, Inger, and Tupita, and Ina, and the others, were superb! Perhaps, I, too, then, was attractive! I saw the men, even now, looking at me! I could sense the heat and desire in them. They would not compromise with a woman like me. They would want her too much. They would throw her to their feet. They would dominate and master me, mercilessly! I was a female. In the arms of no other sort of man could I be fulfilled. Too, let Teibar cry out with anguish if he could find out how desired I would be, and what an excellent slut, what superb slave meat. I, his despised "modern woman," proved to be! I would become a high slave! I would cost a great deal of money! He would not even be able to afford me! Let him scream with the wanting of me, but it would be at the feet of others, in their collars, that I would kneel!

"Are you ready?" asked the leader of the musicians, the czehar player.

"Yes, Master!" I said, eagerly.

"Aii!" cried a fellow, pleased, as I began to dance.

The music was rich about me.

"I told you that was no virgin," said a man.

"Who cares?" asked another.

--page 193-- In the dance I had power. In the dance I was beautiful. I saw delight in the eyes of men. I heard gasps of admiration. To be sure I was of a body type, that of the natural woman, short-legged and well-curved, that tends to be attractive to Gorean men, and I think my face, which some had told me was delicate and sensitive, and lovely and intelligent, which so easily betrayed my emotions, may have been pleasing to them, but I think there was more to it than these things. Had it been merely a matter of face and figure I do not think the effect would have been the same. Many things were doubtless involved. One, of course, was that it was a slave who danced. The dancing of a slave is a thousand times more sensuous than that of a free woman because of the incredible meanings involved, the additional richness which this furnishes, the explosive significance of this comprehension, that she who dances is owned, and, theoretically, could be owned by you. Too, she is naked, or scantily clad, and is bedecked in a barbaric manner. This speaks of reality and savagery, of ferocity, and beauty, of dominator to dominated, of master to slave. The dancing of the female before the male, that she be found pleasing and he be pleased, is one of the most profound lessons in all of human biology. Others are when she kneels before him, when she kisses his feet, when she performs obeisance, when she know herself subject, truly, to his whip. Another is when she is seized in his arms, imperiously, and crushed to him. too, I think in this dance I was also as successful as I was because of the sort of woman I was, one who possessed deep female needs, and profound passions. I was ready, even at that time, as I now realize, to have the relentless torches of men set to the tinder in my belly, that slave fires might be lit there, thence by service, submission and love, my condition as slave, and the commands and touches of men, to be fanned, whether I willed it or not, to my dismay and joy, into open conflagrations. But I think, too, more simply, that there are skills involved, and that I was an excellent dancer, even at that time.

I danced, as the slave I was.

"Here, slut, here!" called more than one man.

I teased them, dancing close to them, swaying, my belly alive for them, with the jangling metal pieces, the anklets clashing on my ankles, the bracelets sliding and ringing on my wrists, and then, as they attempted to seize me, drew back, backing away, or whirled, with a swirl of beads, away from them. I picked one --page 194-- man after another out of the audience, seeming to dance my beauty most meaningfully to him. Perhaps he would be my use master. I did not know.

Several began to keep the time with their hands, clapping them together.

"She is not a virgin," said a man.

"No," said another.

I came about then to the back of the dancing floor. Tupita, and the others were there. "You are good," said Tupita to me, grudgingly.

"I am superb," I said to her, angrily. Then I added, hastily, "Mistress!"

I looked to the back of the tavern, where, near the beaded curtain, stood Hendow, my Master, his arms folded. I swayed before him. I wanted to convince him that he had not made a mistake in purchasing me. I saw in his eyes that I had much to learn. I moved a little to my left, dancing before Mirus, who crouched there at the back of the floor, the sack of tarsk bits heavy at his belt.

"Do not change anything," he said to me, "but I would have thought you would dance rather more like a virgin."

I whirled away from him, to my right. Yes, I thought to myself, what are you doing, Doreen? What has gotten into you? Why are you doing this? Why is your belly so alive? Why are you so excited? Why is your body so hot? Why is it moving like this? You are dancing more like a purchasable slut, a common girl from a market, a girl who has been well taught by men and the whip the meaning of her collar, one who has already learned to whimper behind the bars of her kennel and scratch at its walls, than a virgin, fearing, but curious about, her first taking.

"Look," said a man.

"Superb!" said another.

I did not think Mirus would mind if I changed my performance in this fashion, particularly, as I would, later, return to the taunting, sensate splendors of the aroused woman, and then, at the end, to the helpless pleading of the begging female, she who knows herself, ultimately, at the mercy of masters.

Actresses need only be actresses. They need not be dancers. But she who is a dancer must be more than a dancer. She must be an actress, as well.

"Ah, yes," said a man.

Suddenly in my dance it seemed I was a virgin, reluctant and fearful, terrified in the reality on which she found herself, but knowing she must respond to the music, to those heady, sensuous rhythms, to the wild cries of the flute, to the beating of the drum. I then danced timidly, and reluctance and inhibition, but yet reflecting, as one would, in such a situation, the commands of the music. I examined in dismay the beads about my neck, the cords at my waist, my barbarically adorned ankles and wrists. I touched my thighs, and lifted my arms, looking at them, and put my hands upon my body, as though I could not believe that it was unclothed. I pretended to shrink down within myself, to desire to crouch down, and conceal and cover my nudity, but then I straightened up, fearfully, as though I had heard commands to desist in such absurdities, and then I extended my hands to the sides, to various sides, as though pleading for mercy, to be released from the imperatives of the music, but then reacted, drawing back, as though I had seen the sight of whips or weapons. The kaska player, alert to this, reduced the volume of his drumming, and the, five times, smote hard upon the taut skin, almost like the crackling of a whip, to which I reacted, turning to one side and another, as though such a disciplinary device had been sounded menacingly, on all sides, in my vicinity, and then I continued to dance, helpless before the will of masters. Then, as the dance continued, I signified my expression and movement my curiosity and fascination with what I was being forced to do, and the responses of my body, reconciled now to its reality, helplessly obedient now to the music.

I am a basically shy person. But now I was dancing such things as shyness, and timidity, and fear, and curiosity, and fascination, as roles. Like many shy persons I can find myself in roles, and blossom forth in them.

I suddenly by expression and movement, an almost involuntary contortion of my belly, seemingly startling me, and frightening me, appeared to suddenly sense, or glimpse, my sexuality.

"Ah," said a man, appreciatively.

I approached him in the dance, and then others, my belly seeming to register, with its jangling accouterments, their presence. Each time I would draw back from them, but my belly, my hips, would seem to propel me again toward them, or toward yet another. I then felt my hips, and thighs, and breasts, and belly, as these seemed to come alive in the music. And then, throwing my head back, I danced unabashedly as an acknowledged, aroused slave, much as I had before, taunting them, teasing them, delighting in my power, but then, suddenly, as though I sensed my ultimate helplessness, my ultimate inability to achieve total fulfillment without the wholeness of sexuality, without the master and the yielding, which gave meaning to the incipient passions --page 196-- within me. I danced the aroused slave who is the property of the master and begs his touch.

"Good," said a fellow.

"The slut is excellent," said another.

Then I realized suddenly that I was actually aroused. The interior of my thighs were hot. My belly, hot and burning, seemed to beg to be touched. I do not know, really, whether I had done this to myself in the dance, which is possible, or if my arousal had merely came upon me in the course of the dance, but I was aroused. I was a helpless, aroused slave! This now was no role. It was what I was.

I returned to the back of the dancing floor, piteously, that I might sway before my master, he in the back, by the beaded curtain, gross, loathsome Hendow. He, I felt, of all those in the tavern, would understand what was now within me. I felt I could keep no secrets from him. it seemed he had a way of looking through me, and seeing whatever was within me, no matter how I might try to hide it. But I did not want to hide this from him. Rather I wanted his understanding. I wanted him to offer me comfort, or perhaps even rescue me from the floor. In my fears it was natural that I should seek him out, gross and loathsome though he might be. He was the one who owned me. He was my master.

Hendow nodded to me, almost imperceptibly. Then, pointing to me, and lifting his finger twice, he indicated I should turn away, and return to my dance, in the center of the floor, facing the crowd.

I knew the music was approaching its climax, and the dance must be concluded.

I then, in the coda of my performance, danced helplessness and beauty, and submission, surrendering myself as I, in my collar, must, into the hands and mercies of masters.

As the music concluded I performed floor movements, and the eyes of the men blazed, and fists pounded on the tables, and then the music was done and I lay before them on my back, my breasts rising and falling as I fought for breath, my body sheened with sweat, my hands beside me, palms up, my knees lifted slightly, my right knee highest, a slave before masters. I heard the roars of triumph, shouts of pleasure. I was frightened. The men were on their feet. There was a thunder of applause, the striking of the shoulders in the Gorean fashion, and, too, the crashing of goblets on the tables. I crept to my knees in the bedlam. I became aware of Hendow standing near me now, and Mirus was to one side. "Back," called Hendow. "Back!" I felt small --page 197-- among the legs of the men. Mirus and Hendow, gently, were forcing men back, away from the floor. Then I was kneeling there, small, between them.

Mirus looked down upon me. Swiftly I pressed my lips fervently, placatingly, to his sandals. "Look up," said he. I looked up, frightened. Would I be punished for altering the dance?

"I did not think you could do better," he said. "I was wrong."

I regarded him, frightened. Would he then be angry? Would I be cuffed, or kicked?

"You did well," he said. "I am pleased."

I almost fainted with relief, and, gratefully, pressed my lips to his sandals. But then a girl is seldom punished for improving her service. Indeed, as I would later learn, girls are encouraged to be rich and creative in such matters.

"Yes, Master," I smiled. We were still to be hot, and ready, paga slaves, eager to serve, and fully, the silk no more than an invitation to its removal. This was not much different, incidentally, than what was the case in even the most prestigious paga taverns. In such places free women were generally not permitted. In them, usually, the only women to be found would be collared slaves, generally belonging either to the tavern keeper or the guests, who may have brought them in, to avail themselves of the facilities of the alcoves. In such places, the mastery was practiced. Such places, regardless of their cost, their location, their appointments, the excellence of their food and drink, the beauty of their slaves, the quality of their music, existed, as did the tavern of Hendow, for the pleasures of men. That was the purpose of such places, whether they were within lofty towers, reached by graceful bridges, or near the wharves, close enough to hear the tide lapping at the pilings, whether they had a dozen musicians or only a single, dissolute czehar player, alone with his music, whether the girls were richly silked or stark naked, save for brands and collars, whether there were chains of gold and luxurious furs in the alcoves or only wire and straw mats. They were paga slaves.

On my back, tied there, was a rolled pallet, filled with straw. About my neck hung a copper bowl. It was suspended by a thong, threaded through a small hole in the bowl. My master had a double flute slung on his back. He was Gordon, an itinerant musician.

"Is she any good?" called a lad, as we hurried through the dusty street.

"Come and see," said my master.
...
"Here," said my master, stopping in a shady corner of the square.

"Yes, Master," I said.

There was a building there. In the wall of it, about a foot from the ground, there were four or five slave rings. Such things are common in Gorean public places. They provide masters with a convenience for the tethering of their slaves.

Some men gathered around.

I loosened the cords which kept the pallet on my back. I removed the pallet from my back and put it on the ground. I undid the strings which kept it rolled, and spread it. It was to the left of the nearest slave ring. I took the copper bowl from about my neck and put it beside the pallet. My master then put his end of the least twice about the slave ring and, with a heavy padlock, passed through two leash rings, secured it there. I was now chained to the slave ring.

I knelt beside the bowl. I kept my head down.

My master removed his long double flute from his back.

I braced myself for an instant.

I think that anyone in the square must have heard those sounds. He then, for two or three minutes, played soft, full, --page 284-- melodious tunes, sensuous, inviting tunes. Men began to gather around, in greater numbers. There was soon a small crowd there.

I kept my head down.

My master would decide when the crowd was sufficient. I recollected the monument in the square, the heroic figures, and the women, doubtless booty, at their feet. I recollected, too, in particular, the frieze encircling the base of the monument. I recalled in particular, the lofty Tatrix on her throne, in the beginning of the frieze, and later, the procession of those who came suing for peace, bearing conciliatory gifts, animals, riches, women and such. I recalled the Tatrix, fully clothed, in chains, placed on her knees before the victor. I recalled, too, the last portion of the frieze, where she sat beside the victor, in her tiara, gracing his victory feast, half stripped, while women of her city, totally naked, served and danced. I was excited by the frieze. I was excited, too, as a slave, by the men about. In the presence of men, sometimes to my dismay and embarrassment, I would feel warm and wonderful between my legs. This was permissible, of course, for I was only a slave. Those women in the frieze had probably been free women, at least at the time. their freedom, however, I did not doubt, would have proved fleeting, and soon they would have been distributed among the victors, or disposed of, for profit, in various slave markets. I wondered if the general would have had the Tatrix, sold in a cheap market or if he would have kept her for himself, perhaps as the least of his own slaves. But I, myself, was not a free woman. I was only a slave. I loved the freedom, and liberation this gave me, to be a full woman. I then heard the soft swirl of music which I well recognized.

I rose gracefully to my feet, and stood before the men. I heard the soft intaking of breath in several of them, in anticipation. How powerful I felt then, thought I was only a slave, chained at a ring.

With the music of the double flute in the background I modestly removed the Ta-Teera, putting it to the side.

"Ah!" said a man.

"Marvelous," said another.

I adjusted the chain, placing it between my breasts. It went to the ground where it lay in a coil, then moved back to the ring. By intent it was of a generous length. I pulled it down a bit, at the collar. I did this in such a way that the men could tell it was well locked there. I knew this would excite them, as it excited me. Too, of course, as a practical matter, this further assured that the draw would be at the front of the collar. I flexed my --page 285-- knees. I lifted my hands over my head, gracefully, their wrists back to back.

My master let me dance for four or five minutes, until the men were in a frenzy of need. I performed even what are called "floor movements" for them. I saw their eyes blazing. Such is the power of the dancer.

I then, at the finish of the music, knelt before them, submitting, as a female slave, and then, still kneeling, lifted my head. "May I speak, Masters?" I asked. "Yes," cried several of the men. "I have need of the touch of a man," I said. "I beg the touch of a man. Who will touch me?" these were words I had been taught to say, even, of course, the appropriate petition, that of a slave girl, to speak before masters. But, too, I had been excited. They were men, and I was a slave. I did want their touch, and desperately. The only sexual attention my master gave me, wanting to keep me in need for customers, was an occasional raping.

I felt myself seized by the upper arms, half lifted from my knees, and flung back on the pallet. I heard a small coin, a tarsk bit, ring in the copper bowl. I seized the lustful brute to me, desperately, thankfully! I was hot and open, and slave needful! In an instant he was finished with me. I half sat up, but was caught, and thrust back to the pallet. I heard another coin strike in the bowl. I closed my eyes, gratefully.

I served muchly that afternoon, and five times did I dance. Sometimes in my dance I made use of the chain, sometimes pretending, to the music, to fight it, a fight which I had to lose, or not to understand it, looking to the men then, as though they might explain its meaning to me; they did, with raucous cries; sometimes I used it to caress me, with the soft, lovely chain caresses of bondage, to which I, whimpering, responded; sometimes I seemed to confine myself variously, seemingly sometimes more strictly, more helplessly, more mercilessly, with it; sometimes I kissed it and caressed it, gratefully and lovingly expressing therein the welling up within me of my joy at finding myself at last in my rightful place in nature; there is much that one can do with a chain. Once a free woman came to watch, for a moment, I dared not meet her eyes, but, too, I did not falter in my dance, or beauty; indeed, I tried to show her, lovingly, as one woman to another, what a woman could be, even a lowly slave, especially a lowly slave. She hurried away, trembling with her robes. I wondered if sometimes she, too, would care to wear a collar, and move so before men.

I then, late in the afternoon, lay upon the pallet. I could hear, --page 286-- beneath its narrow, sewn canvas surface, the crinkling of the straw within. There were several coins in the copper bowl. My master had taken some out, from time to time, during the afternoon. One normally leaves enough in the bowl to act as an invitation to others, but not so much as to suggest that there is no need of more, if only to keep the others company.
...
My master was Gordon, an itinerant musician. I was a street dancer.

Too, my former master, Gordon, had paid fifty copper tarsks for me, and this was undoubtedly a great deal of money for him. Surely that should count for something. He was only an impoverished itinerant musician. He was not the agent of what was, in effect, an international company, with considerable funds, those of his employer, not his own, to expend!

Whereas in the cities, where the rights of citizenship are clearest, where the sways of custom and tradition tend to be jealously guarded, where the influence of Home Stones is likely to be most keenly felt, free labor was generally held its own, the same cannot be said for all rural areas of Gor, particularly areas which fall outside the obvious jurisdiction or sphere of influence of nearby cities. Too, it is difficult to be a citizen of a city if one cannot reach it within a day�s march. Citizenship, or its --page 303-- retention, on other than a nominal basis, in some cities, is contingent on such things as attending public ceremonies, such as an official semi-annual taking of auspices, and participating in numerous public assemblies, some of which are called on short notice. Accordingly, for various reasons, such as lack of citizenship, an inability to properly exercise it, resulting in effective disenfranchisement, or, most often, a fierce independence, repudiating allegiance to anything save one�s own village, the farmers, or peasantry, are more likely to suffer from the results of cheap competition than their own urban brethren. In the last several years, the institution of the "great farm," with its projected contracts, its organization and planning, its agricultural expertise, and its imbonded labor force has become more common on Gor. Some Gorean farmers own their own land, and some share in land owned by a village. It is not unknown for both sorts to receive offers from agents of the "great Farms," sometimes owned by individuals, and sometimes by companies, whose capital has been generated by the investments of individuals who are, in effect, stockholders. Many times these offers, which are usually generous, are accepted, with the result that the amount of area under cultivation by the great farms tends to increase. Sometimes, it is said, that cruel and unfair pressure is applied to farmers, or villages, such as threats, or the burning of crops, and such, but I would think that this would surely be the exception rather than the rule. When the great farms can usually achieve their aims, statistically, by legitimate business measures there would be little point in having recourse to irregular inducements. Too, the Gorean peasant tends to be a master of the "peasant bow," a weapon of unusual accuracy, rapidity of fire, and striking force. Usually, as it is their caste policy, the farmers or villagers seek new land, usually farther away, to start again. They seldom attempt to enter the cities, where they might eventually contribute to the formation of a discontented urban proletariat. Their caste codes discourage it. Also, of course, they would generally not be citizens of the city and in the city there would be little opportunity for them to practice their caste crafts. Also, may cities, save those interested, for one reason or another, in increasing their population, for better or for worse, tend not be enthusiastic about accepting influxes of the indigent. Such have contributed, through economic hardship, or treachery, to the diminishment, and even fall, of more than one city. I think that the cities, on the whole, have mixed feelings about the great farms. Whereas they welcome currently lower prices on produce and greater assurances of its variety and quantities, they also tend --page 304-- to regret the withdrawal or loss of the local peasantry, which provided them not only with a plethora of individual suppliers, tending to generate a free market, complex and competitive, but also with a sphere of intelligence and even defense about the city. An organization of great farms, acting in concert, of course, could reduce competition, and eventually regulate prices rather as they pleased, particularly with regard to staples such as Sa-Tarna and Suls. Accordingly some cities have been willing to offer inducements to farmers to remain in their vicinity, such as a liberalization of the requirements of citizenship, the performance of rural sacrifices, the holding of games in rural areas, subsidizing the touring of theatrical and musical troupes in the countryside, special holidays honoring the agricultural caste, which may be celebrated in the city, and so on. In many cases these inducements appear to have been effective. The farmer likes to be appreciated, and to have the importance and value of his work recognized. He thinks of his caste as "the ox on which the Home Stone rests." Too, of course, he generally prefers to stay where he is. He is fond of the land he knows.

"Dance," he said.

"Master?" I asked, disbelievingly.

"Need a command be repeated, slave girl?" he asked.

"No, Master!" I cried. I wound the chain a bit about my wrists, taking up its slack. I could use it, in its different lengths, , later, in the dance. I lifted my hands above my head, the backs of my hands facing one another. I flexed my knees. Sometimes a woman is permitted, even a free woman, among the fires of a burning city, the glare of the flames red upon her flesh, to dance before masters as a naked slave. She must hope to be found pleasing, and that her fate will be only the brand, chains and the collar. She dances helplessly, desperately. She hopes to be found pleasing. She dances for her life. He was giving me the chance! He must sill care for me! "Thank you, Master," I cried. It had been long, I knew, since these men had had a woman, and they were Goreans. They would be half mad with desire. Too, many of them had found me exciting, and had wanted me earlier, else I could not have lured them. Too, I was a skilled dancer. Too, I was beautiful, or had been told so. Certainly many men of this world have found me attractive, and desirable, and have not hesitated to put me to their services, and fully, as may be down with a slave.

I danced.

I looked at their faces.

Many of these men, I knew, would feel they had a score to settle with me. It was my hope that they might be persuaded to accept in settlement of these accounts, if accounts they were, not my blood but so small and innocent a thing as my mastering, my total ravishing and subjugation. That would be vengeance --page 331-- enough, I hoped, for such men. Certainly I had lured them. But I had not truly chosen to do so. Surely they would understand that! Of my own will I would never have dared to do such a thing! And now I danced before them, for my life, helpless, desperate to please them, in terror. What more then could they want, saving my zealous services, those commonly to be surrendered by a slave dancer to masters.

I danced.

I saw anger, and hatred, turn to desire.

I did many cunning things with the chains.

I began to sense, with timidity, and hope, and then a growing confidence, and with an increasing sense of elation, that many of them, perhaps even most, might be encouraged to find me of at least minimal interest.

"Hei!" cried one of them, smiting his thigh.

"Master!" I called to him, gratefully, then dancing back from him, in the sand. Others restrained him from following me and seizing me. Then I was too near the other side of the circle, and returned, quickly, gracefully, to its center, dancing to first one man and then another. More than one reached out for me. Their grasping hands were but a yard or two from me.

"You were surely never of the metal workers!" laughed the fellow who had been of that caste.

"No, Master," I assured him.

"No woman of my caste could move like that!" he cried.

"Do not be too sure, Master," I cautioned him.

I saw sweat upon his forehead, and his fists clench as he perhaps recalled some women he had known, of that caste. Surely the women of his caste, too, could be taught to dance, and to lick and kiss, and serve, and even superbly, such that they might drive a man wild with desire. Were they not, too, in the final analysis, only females? I had known two slaves who had once been of his caste, Corinne, in the house of my training, and Laura, in Hendow's tavern. Both had been superb slaves. To be sure, being slaves, they were no longer in his caste. Animals do not have caste.

I danced before another.

It was my desperate hope to turn their wrath, and their desire for vengeance, seemingly at the beginning so adamant, so fierce and unrelenting, to interest, and desire, and passion. "Do not kill me, Master," I begged another, "but let me live, I beg you, to serve and please you, and with all the fullness of the female!"

"Perhaps," he said, licking his lips.

I continued to dance.

--page 332-- There are many forms of placatory dances which are performed by female slaves. Some of these tend to have rather fixed forms, sanctioned by custom and tradition, such as the stately "Contrition Dace" of Turia. Some form of placatory dance is usually taught to the girl in slave training. There is no telling when it might be needed. Though I had had, because of the relatively advanced state of my dancing skills, for a new slave, very little instruction in dance in the house of my first training. I had been taught at least that much. The form of placatory dance taught to a girl usually depends on the girl in question. For example, I had not been taught the stately "Contrition Dance" of Turia. It has been felt that the nature of my body lent itself to a more desperate, needful, lascivious form of dance. I had been taught how to dance on my knees, for example, and, supplicatingly, on my back, and belly. Most placatory dances, however, are not fixed-form dances, but are "free" dances, in which the slave, exquisitely alert to the nuances of the situation, the particular master, the nature of his displeasure, the gravity of her offense, and such, improvises, doing her best to assuage his anger and beg his forgiveness, to reassure him of the authenticity of her contrition and the genuineness of her desire to do better.

"There is no garbage here, on which to make your bed," said one of the men, "and I have learned that, indeed, in any event, you are worth less than it."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Nor do I have a cloak now, doubled, to soften the cruelty of the cobblestones to your back," he said.

"Hot sand will do, Master," I said, "and chains in which my limbs are enclosed."

"Yes," he said.

I saw I did not need to fear him, save in the ways any slave must fear a master.

I danced then to those whose eyes were hardest. Some of them were not even men I had trapped, but only men who knew what I had done. Some may have been as innocent as those I had lured, others might have been murderers and brigands, suitably enchained for the expiation of sentences, their custody having been legally transferred to Ionicus, my master, at the payment of a prisoner�s fee, by the writ of a praetor or, in more desperate cases, by the order of a quaestor. I danced abjectly. I danced piteously. I danced beggingly. I danced as well as I could. I could not do more. They would either be pleased or not. My fate was in their hands.

"She is pretty," said one of them.

--page 333-- "Yes," said another.

Hope sprang again high within me. I sought then to move another, with my helplessness, and the pleas of my body.

"Are you a good slave lay?" asked a man.

"It is my hope that I am pleasing, Master," I said. "Surely I shall endeavor to be so."

He grinned.

"She has the look of a wench who would be good in the furs," laughed a man. I heard the chain move in the heavy staple on his shackle.

"There are no furs here," laughed another man.

I had not had furs touch my body since a cool evening, five nights ago, in the overseer�s tent. I had then worn the rectangle of red silk, that in which he was accustomed to put his use slaves. It is such, it thrust over a leather thong knotted above the girl�s belly, that it may be easily brushed aside, or pulled away. It was my hope that I had pleased him well. Toward morning he had chained me, hand and foot, to a stake near his feet, where I could not reach him. I moaned for a time, but the kick of his foot had taught me that I must then be silent.

"She is an excellent dancer," commented a man, another whom I had lured in Argentum.

"Yes," said another fellow, another of those who owed his chaining to me.

I began to be conscious then, as I sometimes was, of the incredible power of the female slave, of how helpless men could be before her, and of what she could do to them.

"Ah," said one of the men, softly, watching.

I repeated the movement.

"Yes," said another man. "Yes!" said another.

How paradoxical I thought, that she who is branded, and collared, and owned, and is nothing, should have such power!

"Dance, slut, dance!" said a man.

And then again I danced, helplessly, piteously, suing for their favor, striving desperately to be found pleasing. In the end the power belongs to the master, totally, and not to the slave. She is his.

"Excellent," said a man. "Excellent."

I danced.

I danced in such a way that a free woman might only dream of, awakening, sweating, in the night, clutching her covers, in terror, then feeling her throat with trepidation, with the tips of frightened fingers, to ascertain that no collar has been locked on it in the night. How could she, a free woman, have such a --page 334-- dream? What could it mean? And what would the men do to her when they came to take her in their arms? She awakened, in terror. Perhaps she hurries to strike a light in her room. The familiar surroundings reassure her. She has had such dreams before. What could they mean? Nothing, of course. Nothing! Such dreams must be meaningless! They must be! But what if they were not? She shudders. Perhaps she then, in her long silken gown, curls up, frightened, at the foot of her bed. What, too, could that mean? She does not know. Surely that, too, means nothing. But what if it did? She lies there, troubled, but somehow comforted, somehow secure, in that position. It seems to her, somehow, that that is where she belongs.

"Superb," said a man.

I saw now that they, or most of them, were pleased. I sensed now that I might be spared, at least if I pleased them, too, well enough in the sand. I had lured many of them, but now I danced for before them, to please them, begging for my life, danced before them helplessly, at their mercy, submitted and dependent on their favor, for my very life, as much as though I might be their own slave. I saw to my joy, coming gradually to understand it, that they, or surely most of them, would accept this, my beauty, my submission and service, abject and total, in lieu of my blood. It would be vengeance enough for them. How mighty they were, and kind! To be sure, I would have to continue to show them perfections of slave service and total deference. How grateful I was to he whom I had most feared, he who was last upon the chain, he who had given me this eagerly embraced opportunity to save my slave's hide! But it was he, of all of them, who had refused to watch me dance. He stood with his back turned to me, his back straight, his arms folded, looking away. Many times I had danced to him, moving behind him in the sand, but he did not turn. He did not deign to glance upon me. Then, near the end of my dance, as it approached its climax, I was on my knees in the sand, writhing, bending forward until my hair was in the sand, bending back then, exposing the bow of my body, my thighs, my belly, my breasts and throat to them, my hands inviting attention to them, my hair back in the sand, and then I straightened, and then was on my back, and belly, twisting and moving, lifting my hands to them, begging for favor, piteously suing for mercy. Such things I had been taught as long ago as the house of my first training, but I think, truly, even had I not had such training, I would, in the circumstances, have done much the same. Perhaps it is instinctual in a woman. I had, when owned by Gordon, the musician, once seen a former free woman, new --page 335-- to her collar, in an alley in Samnium, performing so for a master, he with whip in hand, encouraging her to adequacy. She did well. She, shuddering, half in shock, learned that she would be spared, at least for the time. he then began to instruct her in how to give pleasure to a man. She attended fearfully, and well, to her lessons.

At the end of the dance, I was on my knees again, behind him. I lifted my hands to him. "Master, please!" I begged. "Look upon me!" But he did not turn.

With a cry of joy the men surged about me. I was lifted by my upper arms and flung back in the sand. My legs were lifted up, my kneed bent. My wrist chain was pulled forward and thrust over and behind my feet. It was then jerked up, behind me. I could now not move my hands from my sides. I was helpless. My ankles, each in the grip of one man, were pulled apart, until my ankle chain, its links straightened, permitted no further extension. My opened tunic was thrust back on both sides. I, half submerged in the sand, put my head back, looking up and back. I could see the figures, and the palanquin, seemingly small, seemingly far above me, seemingly far away from me on the ridge. I thought my master, Ionicus, of Cos, might be looking at me, through the lorgnon. "Oh!" I cried, suddenly, as the first of them put me to his pleasure.

"Dance, dance, Tuka," urged Tupita.

I rose to my feet. I rubbed my hands on my thighs. I touched myself about the waist, lifting my hands slightly, calling attention to my bosom. Such things are subtle. I wanted to so please the stranger. I wanted to show him what I could do, and now was.

"Your legs are short," said the stranger.

--page 441-- "Forgive me, Master," I said.

"It is not a criticism," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said. Such legs, I knew, were splendid for this form of dance, in which, from time to time, the woman becomes a writhing, cuddly love animal, made for a man's hands and arms.

I saw from the stranger's eyes that I was to particularly dance myself to Mirus. I turned to face him. I lifted my left hand, holding my right low, at my hip. My head was down, humbly, and turned to the left.

I knew Mirus would try not to watch me. He would nurse his fury. He would attempt to resist me. He did not wish to permit me to placate him.

I knew I must attract his attention.

"Ai!" I cried suddenly, as though in pain, and I reacted as though I had been, from his quarter, struck with a whip.

Mirus looked at me, startled, and I looked at him, reproachfully, and frightened, and than, as though he had whipped me, and commanded me, I began to dance. There was no music, of course, and so the dance must content itself largely with the expression, as it were, of my servitude, and my subjection to his will. I moved as beautifully as I could, and as though in fear the before him, trying to please him, begging to placate him. From time to time in the dance I reacted again as though I had felt the whip, crying out in pain, looking at him in terror, sometimes struck even to my knees. Sometimes, too, I tried to dance before the stranger, but his eyes would inform me that it was before Mirus that I was to dance slave beauty.

"Look at her, Master!" cried Tupita. "See how beautiful she is!"

"Master," I wept to Mirus. "I beg forgiveness!"

Then I reacted again and again, as though he might have been angered by my plea, as though I were struck with the whip. Then I was on my back, and stomach, even, reacting as though I was struck, turning, twisting, as though in terror and pain to fend blows. It was as though he were punishing me.

"She dances well," said Mirus.

"Forgive her, Master," begged Tupita. "She is sorry! She begs forgiveness!"

I looked to the stranger, in his mask, from where I lay. His eyes shone. I almost cried out with pleasure. Had he though that he had known me? Well, perhaps now he was wondering if he had really, at all, known me!

I leaped to my feet and moved sensuously but, too, as though --page 442-- prodded and shoved, as though driven, herded, to the slave wagon. Tupita gasped. I seized the slave whip and thrust it between my teeth, harshly, as might have a man, and then I flung myself to the dirt. Then, bit by bit, sometimes on my knees, sometimes as though I had tried to rise, and had then again been thrust to my knees, sometimes on all fours, sometimes as though trying to rise to my knees, and being forced again to all fours, I made my way to Mirus. As I approached him it seemed I became more and more terrified, and contrite, and then, at the conclusion of my dance, I put my head down and placed the whip humbly before him. I then put my head down again licked and kissed it, and then I put myself on my belly, prostrated before him, a slave at his mercy. "Forgive me, Master," I begged.

"You have placed a whip before me," he observed.

"That it may be used to punish a slave, Master," I said. How naturally I thought of myself as a slave! I was a slave.

"It would seem in your dance," he said, "that you were already much punished."

I said nothing. In the dance, of course, not a blow had fallen upon me.

"But it is not my whip to which you are subject," he said. I was startled, and my heart leapt to hear this. Could he mean that the stranger had put claim upon me, and that it was to his whip that I was now subject? But, of course, he may have meant only that I belonged to Ionicus of Cos. That could be read upon my collar.

Renegades of Gor

The baths here, of course, were very simple and primitive. For example, they were heated in the same room, and not in virtue of subterranean furnaces, heat from which would normally be conveyed upward through vents and pipes. Here, too, there were no scented pools, no massaging rooms, no steaming rooms. Too, of course, here there were no exercising yards, where one might try a fall or two in wrestling or, say, have a game of --page 58-- catch, either with the large or small ball. Similarly, there were no recreational gardens, no art galleries, no strolling lanes, no arcades of merchants, no physicians� courts, no music rooms, or such.

I could hear music now, coming from the piers of Port Cos. As the bow swung about to enter the harbor I could see the piers were jammed with crowds in their holiday finery. It seemed all the caste colors of Gor might be there.
...
We were now within the harbor at Port Cos. The piers were some three hundred yards away, jammed with people. Music came from them. Pennons waved. The pharos on its promontory was behind us now, to port, something like a pasang away. The flotilla, entering the harbor, with its flags and streamers, would be a splendid sight. Already, too, from the piers, it would be able to be seen that the two slaves hung --page 426-- from the outjutting display beams on either side of the concave bow of the Tais.
...
It was very hard to hear now. The drums and pipes aboard the Tais were sounding. There was other music, too, here and there, from the piers, greeting other ships. There was much shouting, and calling, and raillery, between the piers and ships.

Vagabonds of Gor

The "parade of slaves," as it is sometimes called, commonly takes place in venues such as paga taverns and brothels. It may also, of course, take place elsewhere, for example, in the houses of rich men, at dinners, banquets, and so on. It is a presentation of beauty and attractions. The slaves present themselves, usually one by one, often to the accompaniment of music, for the inspection of the guests. It is in some ways not unlike certain fashion shows of Earth, except, of course, that its object is generally not to merchandise slave wear, though it can have such a purpose, but to present the goods of the house, so to speak, for perusal. Whereas in the common fashion show of Earth the woman considers the clothing and the man considers the women, and the women serve the ulterior purposes of the designer, in the parade of slaves there are generally no free women present, and the men, openly, lustily, consider the beauty of the women, as it was meant by nature to be considered, as that of slaves, and the women serve the ulterior purposes not of a designer, but of a master, who will, in the event of their selection, collect their rent fees, or such. To be sure, the women serve themselves, too, but not in the trivial sense of obtaining money, but in the more profound senses, psychological and biological, of expressing and fulfilling their nature. To be sure, the women must fear, for they may be taken out of themselves, so to speak, and forced helplessly into ecstasy.

I heard a swirl from a flute, the simple flute, not the double flute, and the quick pounding of a small tabor, these instruments now in the hands of Philebus' assistants. The slaves about the enclosure looked wildly at one another, frightened, yet terribly excited. Then, as startling as a gunshot, there was the sudden crack of a whip in the hand of Philebus. The girls cried out in fear, in their collars and scanty silks. Even Temione, near me, recoiled. It was a sound not unfamiliar to female slaves.

"Dora!" called Philebus.

Immediately one, of the girls, a sensuous, widely hipped, sweetly breasted slave, half walking, half dancing, to the music, swirled among the guests and then presented herself particularly before the burly fellow, moving before him, back and forth, facing him, turning about.

"Lana!" called Philebus, and Dora swirled away, twirling, from the center of the presentation area, to complete her circuit of the area, doing her best to evade the caresses and clutches of men, and then knelt, in the background.

The girl whom the burly fellow had consigned to the pleasure of his friend leaped to her feet and began her own circuit of the area, in much the same manner as her predecessor, Dora. She was an exciting, leggy wench, and the lightness of her silk, its brevity, and the partedness of her bodice, thanks to Philebus, left few of her charms to the imagination. She was the sort of woman who might initially be tempted to give a master a bit of difficulty, but I did not think that this difficulty would be such that it could not be easily remedied, and prevented from reoccurring, with a few blows of the whip. She looked well in her collar, and I had little doubt that, under proper discipline, she would be grateful, loving and hot in it.

"Aiii!" cried a fellow, saluting the beauty of the parading slave.

She postured seductively before him.

"How beautiful she is," said Temione.

"Aiii!" cried out another fellow.

But the burly fellow, with a laugh, and a movement of his goblet, dismissed her.

This time she hurried away, immediately, moving beautifully, among the men, in the circuit of slave display. She had not dallied an instant. She had been dismissed.

"Tula!" called Philebus, and another wench sprang to her feet.

Lana, her circuit completed, returned to the side of the fellow to whom the burly fellow had consigned her earlier. She was still his, by the will of another, until she would be released.

"Lina!" called Philebus. She was short-legged and plump, juicy, as it is said, with a marvelous love cradle. Such often make superb slaves. They commonly bring high prices in the markets.

"I am afraid," said Temione.

Lina blushed at the raucous commendations showered upon her. Then she, too, dismissed, swirled about, away from the center, and went to kneel in the back.

"Sucha!" called Philebus. She, too, was short, but very darkly complexioned. I suspected she might be a Tahari girl, or one from that region.

"Ina!" called Philebus. She was taller, and blond, perhaps from a village near Laura. Although she was blond, it was clear that slave fires had been ignited in her belly. I smiled. I did not doubt but what she, even though blond, would be as helpless now in the arms of a man as the most common of slaves.

"Susan!" called Philebus. Susan was a redhead.

The girl who had been across the burly fellow's knees had now been thrust to his right and she lay there in the dirt, watching the parade of slaves. She was breathless. Her eyes shone. The other girl, on the fellow's left, had risen to her hands and knees. She gasped. She seemed awestricken and excited. "Down" said the fellow to her. She then, and the other, curled close to him, one on each side, excitedly watching the self-presentations of the slaves. Each, from time to time, kissed at the burly fellow, as though to remind him that they, too, were about, and women, and ready.

"Jane!" called Philebus. Jane was a very shapely and curvaceous brunet. The names 'Susan' and 'Jane' are Earthgirl names, but this did not mean that these girls had to be Earth girls. Earthgirl names are commonly used on Gor as slave names. They may have been once from Earth, of course. However, even if that were the case, they were now naught but Gorean slave girls, properties, salable, tradable, and such, now only lascivious, uninhibited owned women, slaves. I mention that they may once have been from Earth because that is a real possibility, having to do with the slave trade. Ships of Kurii, as the evidence makes clear, regularly ply slave routes between Earth and Gor. That is why I mention that possibility.

"Jasmine, Feize!" called Philebus.

"I cannot present myself," wept Temione to me.

"Do you prefer the lash?" I asked.

"He scorns me, he holds me in contempt," she said. "He would laugh at me. He would ridicule and mock me! He threw me from him in disgust! He thinks of me as ugly, as fat, as stupid, as a she-sleen, as one who is not worth sleen feed, as one so ugly and disgusting that he would have me taken from his sight!"

"But now," I said, "you are a slave."

She looked at me, wildly.

"Temione!" called Philebus.

Instantly Temione, in a sensuous flash of beauty, was on her feet.

I gasped.

"Ah!" cried several of the men.

She was a slave, and totally!

She moved about, away and among the men, in her moment in the parade of slaves, on that dirt circuit among masters, Goreans, larls among men, uncrippled, unsoftened, untamed beasts, categorical, uncompromising owners of women, and she a woman, inutterably desirable and vulnerable, soft and beautiful, owned, such as they might have at their feet, among them!

"Aiii!" said a fellow.

But she had drawn back from him, as though fearfully, but yet in such a way that he was under no delusion that her wholeness, in his grasp, or in that of another, would yield untold pleasure.

I forced myself to look about.

The burly fellow had lowered his goblet.

Philebus himself seemed startled. I think he had not realized what he had owned, until then.

The kneeling girls in the back, too, watched, some rising up from their heels. They looked at Temione, and at one another. Some gasped. Some seemed startled, others stunned. It was as though they could not believe their eyes. They had not, until then, I gathered, no more than Philebus, nor I, suspected the depth and extent of the female, and slave, in Temione. Some of them tore open their silk, and squirmed on their knees, in the dirt, in need. Seeing how beautiful a woman could be, and how desirable, they, too, wanted so to writhe and move, and, in doing so, to bring themselves, too, to the attention of masters, that they might beg some assuagement for their needs of submission and love.

There was the sound of the flute and drum. There was the firelight, the men about, the enclosure, the Vosk in the background, the firelight and the slave.

"So beautiful," whispered a man.

"Gold pieces," said another man, appraising the luscious property slut.

"Yes, yes!" agreed another, excitedly.

She paused before me, in her circuit, her hands moving on her thighs, her shoulders and breasts moving.

II sipped paga. Then I dismissed her, with a small movement of my head.

She spun away.

Now she was approaching the burly fellow.

It was pleasant to observe her, the owned, collared, silked, barefoot beauty.

Then the slave stood before the burly fellow, her shoulders back, her head up, proud in her slavery, unabashedly exultant in it, her body seeming hardly to move, but yet revealing, and obedient to, as must be the body of a slave in the parade, the music.

"Ah!" said the burly fellow, his eyes shining.

She regarded him. Surely he must recognize her!

Then she moved, back and forth, before him. His hand was tight on the goblet. The girls in the back murmured. He did not dismiss Temione. He kept her before him.

Men looked at one another, grinning.

Temione moved before the fellow, here and there, in one direction or another, twirling about, walking, approaching, withdrawing, approaching. Still he did not dismiss her. Once, as she moved away from the fellow, our eyes met. She seemed startled, puzzled. It seemed she had expected he must surely recognize her! Doubtless she had been prepared to be again scorned, to be rebuffed, to be ordered from his sight, to be sent away, perhaps even struck, but he had not yet even released her from the prime display area, that before him, near the center of the circle. In another moment, as she again faced me, I could not help but take in, in a glance, together with her consternation and puzzlement, the excitingness of her shapely, bared legs, her exquisite ankles and feet, the marvelous lineaments of her hips, waist and breasts, well betrayed by the silk she wore, that mockery of a garment, suitable for a slave, the sweetness of her upper arms and forearms, the smallness of her hands and fingers, her shoulders, her throat, encircled by its collar, her delicate, sensitive, beautiful face, the total marvelousness of her! Perhaps it was understandable then, I thought, that he had not recognized, in this beautiful and exciting slave, the mere free woman he had earlier so scorned and abused. Perhaps few men would have, at least at first. And yet she was, in a sense, the same woman, only now fixed helplessly in bondage.

Then she was again before him.

No, he did not recognize her.

Then she stood boldly before him, as though challenging him to recognize her!

But he still did not recognize her!

Then boldly, suddenly, she tore back her silk before him. The girls in the background gasped. Men leaned forward. The hand of Philebus tightened on the whip he held. He half lifted it.

But the girl noted him not. Her eyes were on the burly fellow, and his on her, raptly, startled, stunned.

Then she put herself to the dirt before him in what, had she been a dancer, and on a different surface, might have been termed "floor movements," such things as turnings and twistings, rollings and crawlings, sometimes on her hands and knees, sometimes on her stomach; sometimes, too, she would be kneeling, sitting, or lying, or half sitting, half lying, or half kneeling, half lying; I saw her on her back and stomach, sometimes lifting her body; I noted, too, she was excellent on her side, one and the other, both facing him, and away, in her movements; I regarded her crawling, on her hands and knees, or on her stomach, sometimes lifting her body; sometimes she would look back over her shoulder, perhaps as though in fear or even, it seemed, sometimes, challenging him to recognize her; sometimes she would approach him, crawling, head down, sometimes head up, or turned demurely to the side; then she would be again sitting, or kneeling, or lying, extending her limbs, displaying them, drawing them back, flexing them; sometimes she recoiled or contracted, as though into herself, drawing attention to herself, to her smallness and vulnerability, her curves, as a helpless, compact, delicious love bundle; I saw, too, that she knew the Turian knee walk. Men cried out with pleasure. And in all this, of course, time was kept with the music.

I glanced to the burly fellow. His knuckles were white on goblet, his hand so clenched upon it. /p>

"Is master pleased?" inquired Philebus.

"Yes! Yes!" cried the burly fellow.

"Yes!" cried others.

With his goblet the burly fellow indicated that the slave might rise.

She stood then before him. Though she scarcely moved, in her body yet was the music. I did not think Philebus would use the whip on her for having parted her silk, unbidden, or for having put herself to the dirt before Borton, his customer. Such delicious spontaneities, incidentally, are often encouraged in a slave by a private master. Bondage is a condition in which imagination and inventiveness in a slave are highly appropriate. Indeed some masters encourage them with the whip. In a public situation, however, as in a paga tavern, it is advisable that the girl be very careful, at least in her master's presence. She must not let it appear that she is, even for an instant, out of the master's complete control, and, of course, in the ultimate sense, this is entirely true. She is, in the end, his, and completely. If a girl, say, one new to slavery, does not know this, she soon learns it, and well.

"Come, come," said Borton, gesturing with his left hand and the goblet in his right, "bring them all forward!"

Philebus, with the whip, gestured the girls in the background forward and they hurried forward, in their silk, their feet soft in the dirt, and they knelt, in a semicircle behind, and about, Temione, her silk parted, who still stood.

"Perhaps master is ready to make a choice for the evening?" asked Philebus.

There was laughter.

The question, surely, was rhetorical.

With his coiled whip Philebus, expansively, indicated the girls, like a merchant displaying wares, or a confectioner displaying candies, and, in a sense, I suppose, he was both.

There was more laughter.

I did not think there was much doubt what the burly fellow's choice would be.

The two fellows who had supplied the music were silent. One wiped the flute, the other was addressing himself to the tabor, loosening some pegs, relaxing the tension of the drumhead. The drumhead is usually made of verrskin, as most often are wineskins.

"Can they dance?" asked the burly fellow, as though his mind might not yet be made up.

The taborist looked up.

"Alas, no," cried Philebus, in mock dismay, "none of my girls are dancers!"

The taborist continued his work.

There were cries of mock disappointment from the crowd.

"I will dance," said Temione.

The slave girls shrank back, gasping. There was silence in the enclosure. Philebus, in rage, lifted his whip. But the burly fellow indicated that he should lower it.

"Forgive me, Master," said Temione. She had spoken without permission.

"You do not know how to dance," said Philebus.

"Please, Master," said Temione.

"You beg permission to dance before this man?" asked Philebus.

"Yes, Master," she said. /p>

"Let her dance!" called a man.

"Let her dance!" called another.

"Yes!" said others.

Philebus looked to Borton, the burly fellow. "Let her dance," he said.

Philebus glanced at his fellows, and the one tried a short schedule of notes on the flute, the other retightened the pegs on the tabor.

Borton looked quizzically at the girl before him, so beautiful, and owned.

She did not meet his eyes.

"Let the melody be soft, and slow, and simple," said Philebus to the flutist, who nodded.

"May I speak, Master," asked Temione.

"Yes," said Philebus.

"May the melody also be," said she, "one in which a slave may be well displayed."

"A block melody?" asked the flutist, addressing his question to Philebus.

"No," said Philebus, "nothing so sensuous. Rather, say, the "Hope of Tina." "

Approval from the crowd met this proposal. The reference to "block melodies" had to do with certain melodies which are commonly used in slave markets, in the display of the merchandise. Some were apparently developed for the purpose, and others simply utilized for it. Such melodies tend to be sexually stimulating, and powerfully so, both for the merchandise being vended, who must dance to them, and for the buyers. It is a joke of young Goreans to sometimes whistle, or hum, such melodies, apparently innocently, in the presence of free women who, of course, are not familiar with them, and do not understand their origins or significance, and then to watch them become restless, and, usually, after a time, disturbed and apprehensive, hurry away. Such women, of course, will doubtless recall such melodies, and at last understand the joke, if they find themselves naked on the sales block, in house collars, dancing to them. Some women, free women, interestingly, even when they do not fully understand such melodies, are fascinated with them and try to learn them. Such melodies, in a sense, call out to them. They hum them to themselves. They sing them in private, and so on. Too, not unoften, on one level or another, they begin to grow careless of their security and safety; they begin, in one way or another, to court the collar. The "Hope of Tina," a melody of Cos which would surely be popular with most of the fellows present, on the other hand, was an excellent choice. It was supposedly the expression of the yearning, or hope, of a young girl that she may be so beautiful, and so feminine, and marvelous, that she will prove acceptable as a slave. As Temione was from Cos I had little doubt that she would be familiar with the melody. To be sure, it did have something of the sensuousness of a block melody about it. Yet I thought, even so, she would probably know it. It was the sort of melody of which free women often claim to be completely ignorant but, when pressed, prove to be familiar, surprisingly perhaps, with its every note.

"Why do you wish to dance before me?" asked the burly fellow of the slave.

"Did Master not wish to see a woman dance?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Surely then," she said, "that is reason enough."

He regarded her, puzzled. It was clear he did not recall her, but also clear, for he was no fool, that he suspected more was afoot than a mere compliance with a masterly whim, even though such whims, for the slave, in many contexts, constitute orders of iron.

"Why do you wish to dance?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she said, "it is that a master may be pleased, perhaps it is simply that I am a slave."

II saw Philebus' hand tighten on the handle of the whip.

"Do I know you?" asked Borton.

"I think not, Master," she said, truthfully enough. /p>

She put her hands over her head, her wrists back to back.

"She is beautiful!" said a fellow.

"Dance, Slave," said Philebus.

"Ah!" cried men.

To be sure, Temione was not a dancer, not in the strict, or trained sense, but she could move, and marvelously, and so, somehow, she did, swaying before him, and turning, but usually facing him, as though she wished not to miss an expression or an emotion that might cross his countenance. Yet, too, uncompromisingly, she was one with the music, and, particularly in the beginning, with the story, seeming to examine her own charms, timidly, as if, like the "Tina" of the song, she might be considering her possible merits, whether or not she might qualify for bondage, whether or not she might somehow prove worthy of it, if only, perhaps, by inward compensations of zeal and love, whether or not she might, with some justification, aspire to the collar. Then later it seemed she danced her slavery openly, unabashedly, sensuously, so slowly, and so excitingly, before the men and, in particular, before the burly fellow. Surely now, all doubts resolved, there was no longer a question about the suitability of bondage for such a woman.

"She can dance!" said a man.

"She should be trained!" said another.

"See her," said another.

"Has she not had training?" asked one of Philebus.

"No," said Philebus. "Only days ago I bought her free."

"See her," said yet another.

"It is instinctual in a woman," said another.

II tended to agree with the fellow about the instinctuality of erotic dance in a female. The question is difficult, to be sure, but I am confident that there are genetic codings which are germane to such matters. Certainly the swiftness and skill with which women attain significant levels of proficiency in the art form argues for the involvement of biological latencies. It is easy to speculate, in general terms, on such latencies having been selected for in a variety of ways, for example, in noting their affinity with movements of love and luring, their value in displaying the female, their capacity to stimulate the male, their utility in pleasing and placating men, and such. The woman who can move well, who can dance well, so to speak, and please men in many ways, is more likely to be spared, and bred. Many is the woman who has survived by dancing naked before conquerors in the hot ashes of a burning city, who, perhaps ostensibly lamenting, but inwardly thrilled, sensing the appropriateness and perfection of her imminent bondage, has put forth her fair limbs for the clasp of chains and her lovely neck for the closure of the collar. Yes, I thought, there is, in the belly of every woman, somewhere, a dancer. Too, I was not unaware that in certain cases, as in that of Temione now, as she was not as yet really skilled, and was certainly untrained, the man himself might make a difference. One man might, and another might not, at her present stage, call forth the dancing slave in her. What woman has not considered to herself what it might be like to dance naked before some man or another, one before whom she knows she could be naught but his slave?

"Beautiful!" said a man.

Temione was pleased.

The collar looked well on her neck. It belonged there. There was no doubt about it.

How she looked at the burly fellow! He was now so taken with her he could hardly move.

Now the exquisite slut began to sense her power, that of her beauty and desirability.

She had determined, I now realized, from the first moment she had leaped to her feet, obedient to the command of her master, Philebus, that she would make test of her womanhood, that she would, courageously, regardless of the consequences, risking contempt and perhaps even punishment, display herself before him, this rude fellow who had once so scorned and tyrannized her as a free woman, as what she now was, ultimately and solely, female and slave. To be sure, she, new to her slavery, had perhaps not fully realized that she had really no choice in this matter but, willing or not, must do so, and to the best of her ability, in total perfection.

Borton moaned in desire, scarcely daring to move, his eyes glistening, fixed on the dancing slave.

How bondage had transformed Temione! What is the magic, the mystery of the brand, the collar, I wondered, that by means of them such marvels might be wrought? It had to do, I supposed, with the nature of woman, her deepest needs, with the order of nature, with the pervasive themes of dominance and submission. In bondage woman is in her place in nature, and she will not be truly happy until she is there. Given this, it may be seen that, in a sense, the brand and collar, as lovely and decorative as they are, and as exciting and profoundly meaningful as they are, when they are fixed on a woman, and she wears them, and as obviously important as they are from the point of view of property law, may be viewed not so much as instituting or producing bondage as recognizing it, as serving, in a way, as tokens, or outward signs, of these marvelous inward truths, these ultimate realities. The true slave knows that her slavery, her natural slavery, is not a matter of the brand and collar, which have more to do with legalities, but of herself. She may love her brand and collar, and beg them, and rejoice in them, but I do not think this is merely because they make her so exciting, desirable and beautiful; I think it is also, at least, because they proclaim publicly to the world what she is, because by means of them her deepest truth, freeing her of concealments and deceits, cutting through confusions, resolving doubts, ending hesitancies, making her at last whole and one, to her joy, is marked openly upon her. The true slave is within the woman. She knows it is there. She will not be happy until she terminates inward dissonances, until she casts out rending contradictions, until she achieves emotional, moral, physiological and psychological consistency, until she surrenders to her inward truths.

"May I speak, Master?" Temione asked of the burly fellow, swaying before him.

How bold she was!

"Yes," he said, huskily.

"Does Master find a slave pleasing?" he asked.

"Yes!" he said.

"Perhaps even exciting?" she inquired.

"Yes, yes!" he said, almost in pain.

"I am not too fat, am I?" she asked.

"No!" he said. "No!" It might be mentioned that as a slave girl is a domestic animal her diet is subject to supervision. Most masters will give some attention to the girl's diet, her rest, exercises, training, and so on. Some slavers, with certain markets in mind, such as certain of the Tahari markets, deliberately fatten slaves before their sale, sometimes keeping them in small cages, sometimes even force-feeding them, and so on. Most masters, on the other hand, will try to keep their slaves at whatever dimensions and weights are thought to be optimum for her health and beauty.

"Perhaps Master thinks I am stupid," she said.

"No," he said. "No!" Properties such as intelligence and imagination are prized in female slaves. It helps them, obviously, to be better slaves. Too, it is pleasant to dominate such women, totally.

"Does Master think I am a she-tarsk?" she asked.

"No!" he cried.

"Beware," Philebus cautioned her, his whip in hand.

"Let her speak, let her speak," said the burly fellow, tensely.

I did not think the swaying slave would be likely to be mistaken for a she-tarsk. She might, however, as she was acting, be mistaken for something of a she-sleen. To be sure, the whip can quickly take that sort of thing from a woman.

"Alas," she lamented, "I am not worth even sleen feed!"

"No!" cried the burly fellow. "Do not say that! You are exquisite!"

"But such a charge has been cited against me," she moaned.

"By some wretch I wager!" said he, angrily.

"If Master will have it so," she demurred.

"Would that I had him here," he said. "I would well chastise him, and with blows, did he not retract his judgment, belabor him for his lack of taste!" In fairness to the burly fellow, it had been Temione the free woman against whom he had leveled that charge, not Temione, the slave. There was obviously a great deal of difference between the two, even if Temione herself was not yet that aware of it.

"Alas that I am so ugly!" she said.

"Absurd!" he cried. "You are beautiful!"

"Master is too kind," she said.

"You are the most beautiful slave I have ever seen!" When he said this I noted that a pleased look came over the features of Philebus. He would not now, I suspected, be willing to let Temione go easily, if at all.

"Surely Master speaks so to all the slaves," she said. /p>

"No!" he said.

"That you will have the poor slaves open and gush with oil at your least touch."

"No!" he cried. She did not understand as yet, I gathered, given her newness to slavery, that such, emotional and physical responsiveness, was expected of, and required of, all slaves, at the touch of any master.

"Can it be then, Master," she asked, "that you do not wish to cast me from you?"

"I do not understand," he said.

"Will you not order me from your presence," she asked, "or have me dragged from your sight?"

"No!" he cried.

"Then Master finds me of some interest?" she asked.

"Yes!" he howled in pain.

I saw that he wanted to leap to his feet and seize her. I did not think he would be able to get her even as far as one of the small alcove tents within the enclosure. More likely, she would be flung to the dirt and publicly ravished, before the fire, even where she had danced. She might then, in a moment, bruised in his ardor, gasping in her collar, be dragged to an alcove, and forced again and again to serve, until dawn, until at last she might lie soft against him, by his thigh, in her collar, having served to quench for a time the flames of so mighty a lust, one which she, as a slave, had aroused and which she, as a slave, must satisfy.

"A girl is pleased," she said.

The music stopped, and the girl, instinctively, among the others, fell to the dirt and lay there before him, on her back, looking at him, her breasts heaving, a submitted slave.

I caught a glimpse, between bodies, of a naked slave writhing in a net on the dancing floor. Four other slaves were dressed in such a way as to suggest that they might be slave hunters, but their costumes were such as to leave no doubt as to their own sex, and considerable charms. They were on their feet and had light staffs. They whirled about the captive, preventing her escape, and exulting over her, pretending to prod and torment her. There was much skilled staff work in progress, the staffs often behaving in unison, circling about, changing hands, striking on the floor together, seeming to poke at the victim, to strike her and such. It was a version of the dance of the netted slave. Slave nets, of course, are used by many slavers, constituting standard items in their hunting equipment. To be sure, they are usually used in rural areas, as when raiding small villages, and such. In a city, nooses, gag hoods, chemicals, and such, are more often used. To be sure it is sometimes regarded as amusing to take a sophisticated urban woman in a net, a device usually reserved for the acquisition of rustic maids.

I sat back from the dancing floor, my back to the wall, the musicians to my left.
...
The dance was coming to an end and the slave who had been "netted," now well in custody, bound and leashed, was being displayed by the "hunters" to the patrons. Now the captive knelt in the center of the dance floor, the "hunters" exultant about her. Then, as the music swirled to a conclusion, the captive lowered her head, humbly. There was much Gorean applause, the striking of the left shoulder with the palm of the right hand. There was then, suddenly, the snapping of a slave lash, and the "hunters" swiftly stripped themselves, cast aside their staffs and knelt with the prisoner. Then one of the fellows from the tavern took the net and cast it over the lot of them. No longer then were the hunters hunters. Now, they, too, were only netted slaves. Then, to a passage of music, all rose up, hunted and hunters, all now in the net, and, in the small, pretty running steps of hastening slave girls, hurried from the floor. There was more applause.

Magicians of Gor

"I hear music, outside, the instruments of peasants, I believe," said Marcus, turning to me. "Perhaps they are holding fair or festival, such as they may, in such times."

I heard the sound of a tabor several yards away, and the swirl of a flute, and the clapping of hands.

I went in that direction.

"Marcus," I said, pleased, finding him in the crowd there.

"Women are dancing," he said.

"Superb," I said.

Behind Marcus was Phoebe, standing very straight, and very close to him, but not touching him. she was holding her lower lip between her teeth, presumably to help her keep control of herself. Also there was a little blood at the left side of her mouth. I gathered she must have dared in her need to brush hopefully or timidly against her master, or whimpered a bit more than he cared to hear. Indeed, perhaps she had even dared to importune him. Her wrists were still bound behind her. The lead on her leash looped up to Marcus' grasp.

"The camp is in a holiday mood," I said.

"Yes," he said.

I saw more than one fellow looking at Phoebe. She had marvelous legs and ankles, and a trim figure. She stood very straight. It was not difficult to tell now, even by glancing at her, that she was in need. One of the fellows looking her over laughed. Phoebe trembled, and bit her lip a little more.

A fellow tore off the tunic of a slave girl and thrust her out, into the circle.

"Aii!" cried men.

The female danced.

"I entered Phoebe in "meat catch,"" said Marcus, "but she failed to catch even a single morsel."

"I am not surprised," I said. "She can hardly stand."

"That one is pretty," said Marcus. He referred to a redhead, thrust into the circle.

"I had thought you might have taken Phoebe to the tent by now," I said.

"No," said Marcus.

There were now some four or five girls in the circle. One wore a sigh that said, "I am for sale."

Phoebe made a tiny noise.

"I think Phoebe is ready for the tent now," I said.

"She did not even want to leave it," said Marcus.

"True," I said.

"Perhaps you should take Phoebe back to the tent," I said. "She is hot."

"Oh?" asked Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

"Perhaps I should put her into the circle," he said.

"She can scarcely move," I said.

"Oh," he said. I think he was pleased.

"She is in desperate need of a man's touch," I said.

"It does not matter," he said. "She is only a slave."

"Look," said Marcus. He referred to a new girl, joining the others in the circle. She wore ropes and performed on her knees, her sides, her back and stomach.

"She is very good," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

The dance in the circle, as one might have gathered. Was not the stately dance of free maidens, even in which, of course, the maidens, though scarcely admitting this even to themselves, experience something of the stimulatory voluptuousness of movement, but slave dance, that form of dance, in its thousands of variations, in which a female may excitingly and beautifully, marvelously and fulfillingly, express the depths and profoundness of her nature. In such dance the woman moves as a female, and shows herself as a female, in all her excitingness and beauty. It is no wonder that women love such dance, in which dance they are so desirable and beautiful, in which dance they feel so free, so sexual, so much a slave.

Another woman entered the circle. She, too, was excellent.

"How do you like them?" Marcus asked Phoebe. It was no accident, surely, that he had brought her here to watch the slave dance.

"Please take me to the tent, Master," she begged.

As Marcus had undoubtedly anticipated the sight of the slave dance would have its effect on his little Cosian. She saw how beautiful could be slaves, of which she was one. On the other hand, I suspected he had not counted on the effect on himself.

Another girl, a slim blonde, was thrust into the circle. Her master, arms folded, regarded her. She lifted her chained wrists above her head, palms facing outward, this, because of the linkage of the manacles, tightening it, bringing the backs of her hands closely together. She faced her master. Desperate was she to please him. There was a placatory aspect to her dance. It seemed she wished to divert his wrath.

(p(page 45) "Ah," said Marcus, softly.

The girl who wore the sign, "I am for sale," danced before us, as she had before others, displaying her master's proffered merchandise. I saw that she wanted to be purchased. That was obvious in the pleading nature of her dance. Her master was perhaps a dealer, and one, as are many, who is harsh with his stock. Her dance, thusly, was rather like the "Buy me, Master," behavior of a girl on a chain, the "slaver's necklace," or in a market, the sort of behavior in which she begs purchase. A girl on such a chain, or in a market, who is too much passed over has reason for alarm. Not only is she likely to be lowered on the chain, perhaps even to "last girl," which is demeaning to her, and a great blow to her vanity, but she is likely to be encouraged to greater efforts by a variety of admonitory devices, in particular, the switch and whip. Earth-girl slaves brought to Gor, for example, are often, particularly at first, understandably enough, I suppose, afraid to be sold, and accordingly, naturally enough, I suppose, sometimes attempt, usually in subtle ways, to discourage buyers, thereby hoping to be permitted to cling to the relative security of the slaver's chain. Needless to say, this behavior is soon corrected and, in a short time, only too eager now to be off the slaver's chain, they are displaying themselves, and proposing themselves, luscious, eager, ready, begging merchandise, to prospective buyers.

The girl for sale was a short-legged brunet, extremely attractive. I considered buying her, but decided against it. This was not a time for buying slaves. I gestured for her to dance on. She whirled away. A tear moved diagonally down her cheek.

She might, of course, not belong to a dealer.

There are many reasons why a master might put his girl, or girls, up for sale, of course. He might wish, for example, if he is a breeder, to improve the quality of his pens or kennels, trying out new blood lines, freshening his stock, and such. He might wish, casually, merely to try out new slaves, perhaps ridding himself of one to acquire another, who may have caught his eye. Perhaps he wants to keep a flow of slaves in his house, lest he grow too attached to one, always a danger. Too, of course, economic considerations sometimes become paramount, these sometimes dictating the selling off of chattels, whose value, of course, unlike that of a free woman, constitutes a source of possible income. Indeed, there are many reasons for the buying and selling of slaves, as there are for other forms of properties.

I continued to watch the female, the sign about her neck, dance. No, I said to myself, it would not do to bring her into peril. Then I chastised myself for weakness. One would not (page 46) wish to purchase her, of course, because she might constitute an encumbrance. Still, she was attractive. Even as I considered the matter she received a sign from a fellow, her master, I suppose, and she tore open her silk, and danced even more plaintively before one fellow and then another. She seemed frightened. I suspected she had been warned as to what might befall her if she should prove unsuccessful in securing a buyer. I saw her glance at her master. His gaze was stern, unpitying. She danced in terror.

&"Ahh," said Marcus. "Look!"

He was indicating the slim blonde, she with the chained wrists, whose dance before her master seemed clearly placatory in nature. She had perhaps begged to be permitted to appear before him in the dancing circle, that she might attempt to please him. he had perhaps acquiesced. I recalled he had thrust her into the circle, perhaps in this generously according her, though perhaps with some impatience, and misgivings, this chance to make amends for some perhaps unintentional, minuscule transgression. Perhaps his paga had not been heated to the right temperature. Women look well in collars.

"See?" asked Marcus.

I wondered how long he could hold out.

"I can do that, Master," sobbed Phoebe, trying to stand very still.

The blonde was now on her knees, extending her arms to her master, piteously, all this with the music in her arms, her shoulders, her head and hair, her belly.

&"Aii!" said Marcus.

Her master seized her from the circle then and hurried her from the light, her head down, held by the hair, at his left hip. This is a common leading position for female slaves being conducted short distances. As the master holds her hair in the left hand, it leaves his right hand, commonly the sword hand, free.

Another woman was thrust into the circle.

II thought the blonde had very successfully managed to divert her master's wrath, assuming that was what she was up to. The only whip she need fear now, muchly, at any rate, would seem to be the "whip of the furs." To be sure, she might be given a stroke or two, if only to remind her that she was a slave.

"Look," said Marcus, interested.

I saw that the girl with the sign about her neck had taken a leaf from the book of the blonde, and cunningly, too. She, too, was now on her knees, advertising her charms, attesting mutely to the joys and delicacies that would be attendant upon her (page 47) ownership. I saw her owner look at her, startled. She, of course, did not now see him. I gathered he had never seen her in just this fashion or way before, her silk parted, writhing on her knees, kissing, lifting her hands, her head moving, her hair flung about. "I will buy her!" called a fellow. "How much do you want?" inquired another, eagerly. Her master rushed into the circle. "Close your silk, lascivious slut!" he ordered her. Swiftly she clutched the silk about her, startled, confused, kneeling small before him. He looked about, angrily. He jerked her by one arm to her feet. She struggled to keep her silk closed with the other hand. "She is not for sale!" he said. He then drew her rapidly from the light, into the darkness outside the circle. We heard a tearing of silk. There was much laughter.

"He did not know what he owned!" laughed a man.

"No!" agreed another.

I guessed that the possession of such a wench might not, after all, even in my situation, have been too burdensome. After all, one could always have gotten a great deal of good out of her, and a great deal of work. On the other hand, she was no longer for sale.

"I can do that, Master," said Phoebe.

"Nonsense," said Marcus.

"I can!" she said.

MMarcus and I watched the women in the circle. I think perhaps about two Ihn passed. Perhaps one might have wiped one's nose, quickly, in the interval.
...
We then returned our attention to the dancing circle. New women entered it upon occasion, as others were withdrawn. There were now some ten to fifteen slaves in the circle. How beautiful women are!

"How disgusting," said a free woman, nearby. I had not noticed her standing there until now.

"Be gone, slut!" said a peasant.

The free woman gasped, and hurried away. Peasants are not always tolerant of gentlewomen. To be sure, they do not always object to them when they come into their possession, as, say, they might after the fall of a city, or if one, say, has been captured and deliberately sold to them, perhaps by some male acquaintance, for one reason or another. Indeed I suspect the hardy fellows upon occasion rather enjoy owning such elegant women, women who are likely in their loftiness to have hitherto disparaged or despised their caste. It is pleasant to have them in ropes, naked at their feet. Sometimes they are asked if they rejoice to now be owned by peasants. If they respond negatively they are beaten. If they respond affirmatively they are also beaten, for lying. Quickly then will the women be taught the varied labors and services of the farm. Interestingly these women, under the domination of their powerful masters, often become excellent farm slaves. Sometimes they are even permitted to sleep in the hut, at their master's feet.

"That is an excellent dancer there," said a fellow. /p>

"Yes," I said.

"I think she has auburn hair," said another fellow. It was difficult to tell in the light.

"Yes," said another.

Auburn hair is highly prized in the slave markets. I recalled the slave, Temione, now, as I understood it, a property of Borton, a courier for Artemidorus of Cos. Her hair was a marvelous auburn. Too, by now, it would have muchly grown out, after having been shaved off some months ago, for catapult cordage.

I noted that the free female had gone a bit about the outside of the circle, and now stood there, back a bit from the circle, where there was a space between some men. From that position of vantage she continued to watch the dancers. This puzzled me. If she found such beauty, such sensuous liberation, such fulfilling joy, such reality, such honesty, the marvelousness of owned women before their masters, offensive or deplorable, why did she watch? What did she see there in the circle, I wondered. {page 50) What so drew her there, what so fascinated here there? Like most free women she was perhaps inhibited, frustrated and unhappy. She continued to gaze into the circle. perhaps she saw herself there, clad in a rag and collar, if that, moving, turning with the others, like them so beautiful, so much alive, so vulnerable, so helpless, so owned. Does her master lift his whip? She must then redouble her efforts to please, lest she be lashed. I supposed that she, even there, standing so seemingly still, pretending to be a mere observer, could feel the dance in her body, in its myriad incipient movements, tiny movements in her legs, in her belly, in her body, in herself, in the wholeness of her womanhood. Perhaps she wished for her robes to be torn off and to be collared, and to be thrust, in her turn, into the circle. I did not doubt but what she would be zealous to please. Indeed, she had best be! But how strange that she, a free woman, would even linger in this place. Perhaps free women are incomprehensible. A Gorean saying came to mind, that the free woman is a riddle, the answer to which is the collar.

"Away!" called a fellow, who had turned about and seen the free woman. he waved his arm, angrily, "Away!" he said. The free woman then turned about and left the vicinity of the circle, hurriedly. I felt rather sorry for her, but then, I thought, surely the fellow was right, that the circle, or its vicinity, was no place for a free female. It was a place, rather, for the joy of masters and their slaves. Similarly, the vicinity of such places, though I did not think it would be so in this camp, at this particular time, can be dangerous for free women. For example, sometimes free women attempt, sometimes even disguising themselves, to spy on the doings of masters and slaves. For example, they might attempt, perhaps disguised as lads, to gain entrance to paga taverns. And often such entrance is granted them but later, to their horror, they may find themselves thrown naked to the dancing sand and forced to perform under whips. Similarly if they attempt to enter such establishments as pretended slaves they may find themselves leaving by the back entrance, soon to become true slaves. In many cities, such actions, attempting to spy on masters and slaves, disguising oneself as a slave, garbing oneself as a slave, even in the supposed secrecy of one's own compartments, lingering about slave shelves and markets, even exhibiting an interest in, or fascination with, bondage, can result in a reduction to bondage. The theory is apparently that such actions and interests are those of a slave, and that the female who exhibits them should, accordingly, be imbonded.

I noted a fellow approaching the circle, who had behind him, heeling him, an unusual lovely slave.

(page 51) "Teibar!" called more than one man. "Teibar!"

I have, more than once, I believe, alluded to the hatred of free women for their imbonded sisters, and to how they profess to despise them and hold them in contempt. Indeed, they commonly treat such slaves with what seems to be irrational and unwonted cruelty. This is particularly the case if the slave is beautiful, and of great interest to men. I have also suggested that this attitude of the free female toward the slave seems to be motivated, paradoxically enough, by envy and jealousy. In any event, slave girls fear free women greatly, as they, being mere slaves, are much at their mercy. Once in Ar, several years ago, several free women, in their anger at slaves, and perhaps jealous of the pleasures of masters and slaves, entered a paga tavern with clubs and axes, seeking to destroy it. This is, I believe, and example, though a rather extreme one, of a not unprecedented sort of psychological reaction, the attempt, by disparagement or action, motivated by envy, jealousy, resentment, or such, to keep from others pleasures which one oneself is unable, or unwilling, to enjoy. In any event, as a historical note, the men in the tavern, being Gorean, and thus not being inhibited or confused by negativistic, antibiological traditions, quickly disarmed the women. They then stripped them, bound their hands behind their back, put them of a neck rope, and, by means of switches, conducted them swiftly outside the tavern. The women were then, outside the tavern, on the bridge of twenty lanterns, forced to witness the burning of their garments. They were then permitted to leave, though still bound and in coffle. Gorean men do not surrender their birthright as males, their rightful dominance, their appropriate mastery. They do not choose to be dictated to by females. The most interesting portion of this story is its epilogue. In two or three steps the women returned, mostly now barefoot, and many clad now humbly in low-caste garments. Some had even wrapped necklaces or beads about their left ankle. They begged permission to serve in the tavern in servile capacities, such as sweeping and cleaning. This was granted to them. At first the slaves were terrified of them but then, when it became clear that the women were not only truly serving humbly, as serving females, but that they now looked timidly up to the slaves, and desired to learn from them how to be women, and scarcely dared to aspire to their status, the fears of the slaves subsided, at least to a degree. Indeed, it was almost as though each of them, though perhaps a low girl in the tavern rosters, and much subject to the whip, had become "first girl" to some free woman or other, a rare turnabout in the lives of such collared wenches. Needless (page 52) to say, in time, the free women, learning the suitable roles and lessons of womanhood, for which they had genetic predispositions, and aided by their lovely tutors, were permitted to petition for the collar. It was granted to them. It seems that his was what they had wanted all the time, though on a level not fully comprehensible to them at the beginning. One does not know what has become of them for, in time, as one might expect, they being of Ar, they were shipped out of the city, to be disposed of in various remote markets.

"Greetings, Teibar!" called a fellow.

"Hail, Teibar!" called another.

From the latter manner of greeting, I gathered this Teibar might be excellent with the staff, or sword. Such greetings are usually reserved for recognized experts, or champions, at one thing or another. For example, a skilled Kaissa player is sometimes greeted in such a manner. I studied Teibar. I would have suspected his expertise to be with the sword.

"His Tuka is with him," said a fellow.

"Tuka, Tuka!" called another, rhythmically.

"Tuka" is common slave name on Gor. I have known several slaves with that name.

The girl who had come with Teibar, Tuka, I supposed, now knelt at his side, her back straight, her head down. Her collar, like most female slave collars, particularly in the northern hemisphere, was close fitting. There would be no slipping it. I had no doubt that this Teibar was the sort of fellow who would hold his slave, or slaves, in perfect discipline.

"Tuka, Tuka!" called another fellow.

"She is extremely pretty," I said.

"She knows something of slave dance," said a fellow, licking his lips.

"Oh?" I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Tuka, Tuka, Tuka!" called more men.

the fellow, Teibar, looked down at his slave, who looked up at him, and quickly, timidly, kisses at his thigh. How much she was his, I thought.

"Tuka, to the circle!" called a fellow.

"She is a dancer," said a man.

"She is extraordinary," said another.

"Put Tuka in the circle!" called a fellow.

"Tuka, Tuka!" called another.

Teibar snapped his fingers once, sharply, and the slave leaped to her feet, standing erect, her head down, turned to the right, her hands at her sides, the palms facing backward. She might (page 53) have been in a paga tavern, preparing to enter upon the sand or floor. I considered Teibar's Tuka. She had an excellent figure for slave dance.

"Clear the circle!" called a fellow.

The other dancers hurried to the side, to sit and kneel, and watch.

I considered the slave. She was beautiful and well curved.

Teibar gestured to the circle.

"Ahh!" said men.

"She moves like a dancer," I said.

"She is a dancer," said the fellow.

I considered the girl. She now stood in the circle, relaxed, yet supple and vital, her wrists, back to back, over her head, her knees flexed.

"She is a bred passion slave," I said, "with papers and a lineage going back a thousand years."

"No," said a man.

"Where did he pick her up," I asked, "at the Curulean?"

"I do not know," said a fellow.

II supposed she was perhaps a capture. I did not know if a fellow such as this Teibar, who did not seem of the merchants, or rich, could have afforded a slave of such obvious value. A fellow, for example, who cannot afford a certain kaiila might be able to capture it, and then, once he had his rope on its neck, and manages to make away with it, it is his mount.

"Aii!" cried a fellow.

"Aii!" said I, too.

Dancing was the slave!

"She is surely a bred passion slave," I said. "Surely the blood lines of such an animal go back a thousand years!"

"No! No!" said a man, rapt, not taking his eyes from the slave.

I regarded her, in awe.

"She is trained, of course," said a man.

Only too obviously was this a trained dancer, and yet, too, there was far more than training involved. Too, I speak not of such relatively insignificant matters as the mere excellence of her figure for slave dance, as suitable and fitting as it might be for such an art form, for women with many figures can be superb in slave dance, or that she must possess a great natural talent for such a mode of expression, but something much deeper. In the nature of her dance I saw more than training, her figure, and her talent. Within this woman, revealing itself in the dance, in its rhythm, its joy, its spontaneity, its wonders, were untold depths of femaleness, a deep and radical femininity, (page 54) unabashed and unapologetic, a rejoicing in her sex, a respect of it, a love of it, an acceptance of it and a celebration of it, a wanting of it, and of what she was, a woman, a slave, in all of its marvelousness.

"Tuka, Tuka!" called men.

Men clapped their hands.

The slave danced.

Much it seemed to me, though there might be two hundred men about the circle, she danced for her master.

Once he even indicated that she should move more about which, instantly, commanded, she did.

"Tuka, Tuka!" even more called some of the other slaves about the edges of the circle, sitting and kneeling there, unable to take their eyes from her, clapping, too. Teibar's Tuka, it seemed, was popular even with the other slaves, of which she was such a superb specimen.

I watched her moving about the circle.

"Aii!" cried men, as she would pause a moment to dance before them. I had little doubt she might once have been a tavern dancer. Such dancers must present themselves in such a fashion before customers. This gives the customer an opportunity to assess them, and to keep them in mind, if he wishes, for later use in an alcove.

"Aii," cried another fellow.

I speculated that she would not have languished for attention in the alcoves.

"She is superb," said the fellow next to me.

"Yes," I said.

She was working her way about the circle.

It was interesting to me that a master would dare to display such a slave publicly. I gathered that he was quite confident of his capacity to keep her. He must then, I suspected, be excellent with the sword.

"Ah," said the fellow next to me.

The dancer approached.

How marvelous are the Gorean women, I thought. And I thought then, too, sadly, of the women of Earth, so many of them so confused, so miserable, so unhappy, women not knowing what they were, or what they might be, women trapped in a maze of ultimately barren artifices, women subjected to inconsistent directives and standards, women subjected to social coercions, women subjected to antibiological constraints, women forced to deny themselves and their depth natures in the name of freedom, women trying to be men, not knowing how to be women, women torturing themselves and others with their confusions, {page 55) their inhibitions, their pain, their frustrations. But I did not blame them for they were the victims of pathological conditioning programs. Any beautiful natural creature can be clipped and then instructed to rejoice in it mutilations and misshapenness. It was little wonder that so many of the women of Earth were so inhibited, so frigid, so inert, so anesthetic. That so many of them could even feel their pain was, I supposed, a hopeful sign. If their culture was correct, or judicious, why did it contain so much unhappiness and pain? In a body, pain is an indication that something is wrong. So, too, it is in a culture.

Then the dancer was before me, and I was awed with beauty.

I kept her there before me for a moment, not letting her move away, my gaze holding her.

I wept then for the men of Earth, that they could not know such beauties. How utterly marvelous are the Gorean females! How utterly different they are from the women of Earth! How impossible it would be for a female of Earth to match them!

I watched the dancer then move to the next fellow, and turn about.

SSuddenly I was stunned. High on her left arm there was a small, circular scar. It was not, surely, in that place, and given its nature, the result of a marking iron. Indeed, it is by means of such tiny indications, fillings in the teeth, and such, that a certain sort of girl, for which there is a market on Gor, is often recognized.

She is not from Gor!" I said.

"She is from far away," said the fellow next to me. /p>

"From a distant land," said another.

"Called "earth,"" said another.

"Yes," I said.

&"They make excellent slaves," said another. I wondered if this might not be true. The Earth female, starved for sexual fulfillment, suddenly plunged into the gorgeous world of Gor, subject to masculine pleasure, taught obedience, and such, might well, I supposed, after a period of adjustment and accommodation, rejoice in self-discovery, in her true liberation, in her finding herself at last in her place in nature, the beautiful and desirable slave of strong and uncompromising masters.

"I think we should send an army there and bring them all back in chains," said another.

"That is where they belong," said another.

"Yes," said another.

TThe mark on the girl's arm had not been the result of the imprint of a master's iron. It had been a vaccination mark. I (page 56) had noted, too, interestingly, just before she had whirled away, that she was shy. I assessed her as being quite intelligent, extremely sensitive, and an excellent slave.

She had now, as the music swirled to its finish, returned to move before her master. Then, the dance ended, men striking their left shoulders in Gorean applause, shouting their vociferous approval, some armed warriors striking their shields with spear blades, she sank to the ground, on her back, breathless, breasts heaving, covered with a sheen of sweat, before her master, her left knee raised, her head turned toward him, the palms of her hands, at her sides, vulnerably exposed.

She had been superb. My shoulder was sore where I had much struck it.

TThen with a sensuous, fluid movement she rose to her knees before her master. She spread her knees, widely. She regarded him, beggingly. The dance had much aroused her, and she was totally his, completely at his will, his pleasure and mercy.

"Our gratitude, Teibar!" called a fellow.

"Hail, Teibar!" called another.

He called Teibar then waved to the men about, and turning about, took his way from the area of the circle. The slave rose to her feet and hurried after him, to heel him. more than one man touched her, and as a slave may be touched, as she moved through them, hurrying to catch up with her master. To even these touches I could see her respond, even in her flight. I saw that she was a hot slave, and one, who would be, whether she wished it or not, uncontrollable, helplessly responsive, in a man's arms. Then she was with her master, seeming to heel him, but yet so close to him that she touched him, brushing against him. I had little doubt that she would soon be lengthily used, ravished with all the attention, detail and patience with which Gorean masters are wont to exploit their helpless chattels.

After the dance of Tuka, men and slaves departed from the circle, many doubtless to hurry to their blankets and tents. I, too, thought I had taken comfort earlier with the blond mat girl, was uncomfortable.

In a moment then, startling me, and doubtless many others in the crowd, there was a blast of trumpets and a roll of drums to our right. Regulars of Cos, regiments of them, in ordered lines, in cleaned, pressed blue, with polished helmets and shields, preceded by numerous standard bearers, representing far more units than were doubtless in the city at the moment, and musicians, advanced. Tharlarion cavalrymen, of both bipedal and quadrupedal tharlarion, flanked the lines. The street shook under the tread of these beasts. Turned on the crowd they might, in their passage, have trampled hundreds.

The crowd, now that it had segments of the forces of Cos before it, seemed strangely docile. These were not a handful of Taurentians that might have been swept from their path like figures off a kaissa board. These were warriors in serried ranks, many of whom had doubtless seen battle. To move against such would have been like throwing themselves onto the knife walls of Tyros. Similarly, should the troops wheel to the sides, charging, blades drawn, they might have slaughtered thousands, harvesting the crowds, trapped by their own numbers, like sa-tarna.

With a roll of drums and a blast of trumpets, and the distinct, uniform sound of hundreds of men coming simultaneously to a halt, the Cosian array arrested its march not yards from the forward ramp.

"Is there to be entertainment?" he asked.

"Czehar music," she said, "and, later, the recitation of poetry by Milo, the famed actor, to the music of the double flute." The instrument which is played by the flute girls is a double flute, too, but I had little doubt that the player involved would not be a flute girl but someone associated with one or another of the theaters of Ar. Similarly the instrument would undoubtedly be far superior, in both range and tone, to those likely to be at the disposal of flute girls.

"I was referring," said he, " to entertainment."

"Whatever, Captain, could you have in mind?" she asked.

"I have duties," he said.

&"Surely you do not mean "entertainment" in which females might figure?" she said.

"Is there another sort?" he asked. /p>

"You have free woman in mind," she asked, "perhaps lute players."

"No," said he. "Females, female slaves."

"I see," she said.

"Dancers," he said.

"I see," she said.

"Or perhaps such as might figure as contestants in games, or as prizes, and such."

I wondered if a man could be a man without a slave. I supposed that he might be a strong fellow, and a good fighter, and such, without a slave. Similarly, one might have lived I supposed, without having eaten meat, without having heard music. I wondered if a woman knew what it was to be a woman without ever having had a master. It did not seem to me likely.

Twice in the manuscript, later, Cabot refers to a "Flute Street." From the context it seems clear that this is "Aulus." I have accordingly edited the manuscript in the interests of consistency, changing "Flute Street" to "Aulus." My interpretation is supported by information supplied by a colleague in the Classics Department, to the effect that there is a Greek expression for a flute which might be transliterated as aulos. I think we may assume then, apart from contextual considerations, that "Aulus" and "Flute Street" are the same streets bordering the great theater, that of Pentilicus Tallux. Flute music is apparently extremely important in Gorean theater. Indeed, we learn from Cabot's miscellaneous notes that the name of the flute player usually occurs on theatrical advertisements immediately after that of the major performer or performers. It seems the flute player is often on stage and accompanies performers about, pointing up speeches, supplying background music and such. This is accepted as Gorean theatrical convention, it seems, much as locations as city streets, airplanes, life rafts and deserts. Various "modes" are supposed, as well, to elicit and express various emotions, some being appropriate for love scenes, others for battle scenes, etc. lastly it might be mentioned that "Aulus" can also occur as a Gorean masculine name. This sort of thing is familiar, of course, in all languages, as Smith, Cooper, Chandler, Carpenter, Carter, and such, stand for occupations, and names like Hampshire, Lake, Holm, Rivers, and such, stand for places, and names like Stone, Hammer, Rock , and such, stand for things.

Illiteracy, or, more kindly, an inability to read and write, is not taken on or as a mark of stupidity. These things tend rather, in many cases, to be associated with the caste structure (page 394) and cultural traditions. Some warriors, as I have indicated earlier, seem to feel it is somewhat undignified for them to know how to read, or, at least, how to read well, perhaps because that sort of thing is more in the line of, say, the scribes. One hires a warrior for one thing, one hires a scribe for another. One does not expect a scribe to know the sword. Why, then, should one expect the warrior to know the pen? An excellent example of this sort of thing is the caste of musicians which has, as a whole, resisted many attempts to develop and standardize a musical notation. Songs and melodies tend to be handed down within the caste, from one generation to another. If something is worth playing, is it worth remembering, they say. On the other hand, I suspect that they fear too broad a dissemination of the caste knowledge. Physicians, interestingly, perhaps for a similar reason, tend to keep records in archaic Gorean, which is incomprehensible to most Goreans. Many craftsmen, incidentally, keep such things as formulas for certain kinds of glass and alloys, and manufacturing processes, generally, in cipher. Merchant law has been unsuccessful, as yet, in introducing such things as patents and copyrights on Gor. Such things do exist in municipal law on Gor but the jurisdictions involved are, of course, local.

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