The Sales Annex

Time again for an excerpt from one of the Gor novels, in this case my favourite book of the series: Dancer of Gor (Book 22 of the saga). This section is from the end of Chapter 8, and the earthgirl slave Doreen is chained for display in the sales annex of a slave auction house, for customers to examine her (and the other girls up for sale) before they are put up for auction that evening:

I sat, waiting, on the long, heavy, wooden platform, raised a foot or so above the dirt floor of the exposition area, it located in the annex to Teibar’s sales barn, he of Market of Semris, a dealer in tarsks, as they said, four-legged and two-legged. The platform was one of several, arranged in orderly rows. The platform I was on was near the center of the room. I sat there, waiting, small, helpless, naked, my feet tucked back, near my left thigh, my ankles crossed, as though they might be held together by a small chain, my left hand on my left ankle, my weight muchly on the palm of my right hand, a chain on my neck, running to its ring in the platform. I do not know how long I had been unconscious. I had awakened here, on the platform, feeling its heavy, sturdy, smooth wooden surface beneath my body. I had also become aware of the chain on my neck. A little later I learned what space and movement it would permit me. I could stand comfortably in it. This was intentional on the part of the masters, being connected with a concept of latitudes suitable for the appropriate display of merchandise. We were a ten-lot originally, it seemed, but as though in anticipation of a projected decision, we had been given different lot numbers. It seems they had not been fully decided, at least at one point, whether to sell us as a unit, a given ten-lot, or to break the ten-lot and sell us individually. They had now decided, it seemed, to sell us individually. I suppose it was a sound commercial decision, given the conditions current in their area. I do not really know. At any rate, they would do what they wanted, the same as with any other sort of merchandise. We were not the only ten-lot now in the room. There were girls, now, on most of the platforms, usually three girls to a platform. These others, I gathered, had been brought in during the day by wagons, or had perhaps been marched over from some other facility. Such things were the concerns of masters, not mine. My head was down. There was a number of my left breast. I was alone. Teibar, my master, who had so easily and imperiously captured me on Earth, and who had brought me here, seeing to it that I was suitably impressed into helpless bondage, had not wanted me. My hopes had been absurd. How naïve I had been. what a fool I had been. I should have known better. I could cry no more.

It was now early in the evening. Somewhat before noon we had been watered, doubtless that we would be freshened and our bellies pleasantly rounded. The men, customers, natives of the locality, agents, dealers and others, were then admitted, to examine us, and, if interested, take notes on our lot numbers. On the platforms, I, and others, had endured the most intimate scrutinies. They had moved about us, circulating here and there, going from one platform to another. They usually did this, it seemed, in a precise pattern, beginning at one point or another, thus making certain that the contents of every platform came within their purview, that they did not miss even one of the displayed wares. We, of course, perforce, must respond to their instructions. We found ourselves often standing, or sitting or kneeling, or moving or assuming attitudes, or pursing our lips, and so on, according to their commands. In these times we were often handled quite objectively, the firmness of our breasts and thighs being tested, and so on. But then animals are often handled on such a basis, slapped on the flanks, and such. Sometimes they would even put us bodily in desired attitudes. They wanted to form some ideas, it seemed, as to our condition and soundness, and what it might be for them, or their clients, to own us. We were even, occasionally, touched intimately. Under such attentions I could not help squirming. This seemed to amuse them. I gathered from some of their remarks, somewhat indelicate remarks, scarcely fit for the ears of an Earth woman, or one who had once been from Earth, that under true male attentions I might prove to be utterly helpless. I found this dubious. I assumed that it was false. I would learn later that it was not. Still I was so distraught, so much numbed, so much in shock, so despondent, so much in despair, so miserable over my rejection by Teibar, that I was not even remotely as responsive as I would normally have been. and this had to do not simply with feelings. Sometimes I was hardly aware of, or caring of, what was being done to me. Sometimes I knelt, and moved, and posed, almost without understanding or thinking about what was being done to me. To these men, I am sure, I must have appeared, though perhaps beautiful, inert. They were now gone. The exposition area was now closed to the public. It was in the early evening. I supposed that we would be watered again, later, that we might again appear fresh, our skin with excellent tone, glistening and smooth, our bellies sweetly rounded. After a large breakfast this morning, we had been fed very lightly, however, only a handful of dry gruel put in our mouths after the closing of the exposition area. To be sure, I supposed it was enough for us. We need far less food than men. It is cheaper to feed us than male slaves. There were other reasons, of course, why we had been fed so lightly today. Tonight they did not want us to be lethargic or sluggish. Too, they did not wish, particularly in the case of new girls, their stomachs turning and wrenching in misery, and terror, to risk disgusting accidents.

"Position!" we heard.

Immediately every girl on every platform assumed position. I looked about, as I could. Every girl that I saw had assumed, as I had, the open-kneed position. It was required of them. I gathered, as it was required of me. They were all attractive. I wondered what sort of slaves we were, that we must kneel in this fashion.

In a few moments we were lined up, according to our separate lots. I at the end of mine, facing not the large, closed double doors which led to the area outside, those doors through which the customers had entered, but the other large, closed double doors, those which, apparently led somewhere else. Gloria was in front of me, as usual. Her hands were manacled behind her back. My hands, too, were identically secured. On her neck, as on mine, was a buckled, two-ringed, leather collar. It was the sort of collar which may be easily put on, and removed from a girl. The girl, of course, if manacled as we were, is helpless in it. The rings are located at 180 degrees from one another. This permits girls to be fastened, the collar oriented appropriately, either side by side, in ranks, or behind one another, in files. A leather strap, with snaps at both ends, joins the rings, usually the ring at the back of one collar to the ring at the front of another. Gloria, being ahead of me, was thus leashed to the ring at the back of the girl’s collar ahead of her, and I was leashed to the ring at the back of Gloria’s collar. As I was at the end of the line, the ring at the back of my collar hung free, against the leather, not utilized.

The double doors before us, were opened.

I could see a long corridor, dimly lit with lamps. It was, like the exposition area, floored with dirt. That made sense, as doubtless tarsks, those of the four-footed variety, those bristly, squat, grunting animals, as opposed to the two-footed variety, those soft, smooth, shapely animals, were often conducted through it.

I looked down the long, dark, dirt-floored corridor.

Our group, it seemed, would be neither the first, nor, given our position, the last to enter that corridor.

I looked down at the writing on my left breast. It was, I had been told, an "89," my lot number.

We had been fed very lightly today.

There was a reason for that. Tonight we were going on the block.

A Leash

I bought a leash today on my way back from the cinema. I'd been meaning to get one for a while, and since my walk home took me past the Pets At Home store and they were open, I decided I might as well get it while I was in that part of town.

So I go in and they have a very nice range of pet leads in leather, cord, that horrid synthetic stuff and of course chain. Me being a Gorean, I go for the chain. 40" in length with a black leather handle and a snap fastening. A steal at £4.99.

I take it to the counter and the girl there rings it up and asks what kind of dog I have.

"Ohh I don't have a dog, it's for my kajira" I reply (even though I don't actually have a kajira as yet).

"Kah gee rah?" and a puzzled look is the reply I get as I'm typing in my pin number.

"Got a bit of paper and a pen?" I ask, and sure enough she produces such. I write down the word KAJIRA in capitals for her, slide it back to her and smile as I say "Look it up on Google. Good night" and taking my card and my newly bought leash, walk out of the store.

Sure wish I could be there to see her face if/when she does take my suggestion!

One Down, One To Go

I've been collecting the Gor novels for a long time, well over a decade now and for the past few years I've had almost the entire set. Almost, but not quite. Two books eluded me. There are 26 books in the series in all, as listed below:

1. Tarnsman of Gor (1967)
2. Outlaw of Gor (1967)
3. Priest-Kings of Gor (1968)
4. Nomads of Gor (1969)
5. Assassin of Gor (1970)
6. Raiders of Gor (1971)
7. Captive of Gor (1972) - Earthgirl Point of View
8. Hunters of Gor (1974)
9. Marauders of Gor (1975)
10. Tribesmen of Gor (1976)
11. Slave Girl of Gor (1977) - Earthgirl Point of View
12. Beasts of Gor (1978)
13. Explorers of Gor (1979)
14. Fighting Slave of Gor (1981) - Jason Marshall Trilogy Book One
15. Rogue of Gor (1981) - Jason Marshall Trilogy Book Two
16. Guardsman of Gor (1981) - Jason Marshall Trilogy Book Three
17. Savages of Gor (1982) - Part One of Two
18. Blood Brothers of Gor (1982) - Part Two of Two
19. Kajira of Gor (1983) - Earthgirl Point of View
20. Players of Gor (1984)
21. Mercenaries of Gor (1985)
22. Dancer of Gor (1986) - Earthgirl Point of View
23. Renegades of Gor (1986)
24. Vagabonds of Gor (1987)
25. Magicians of Gor (1988)
26. Witness of Gor (2001) - Earthgirl Point of View

Norman has allegedly completed a 27th Gor book, Prize of Gor, which has yet to be published.

Until recently I was missing both Kajira and Magicians, but thanks to ebay I now have a copy of Kajira of Gor at last. Unfortunately, this just leaves Magicians to complete the set, the single rarest book in the series, because unlike the others it only had the one print run. All the rest had multiple print runs (these books used to sell in the millions of copies when they were originally published!) both from Daw (the US publisher) and Star (the UK publisher), often with differing covers (the UK cover for Dancer for example is the US cover for Kajira).

So should anyone reading this come across a copy of Magicians of Gor by John Norman in a second hand book store, or a charity shop, or whatever, please grab it. I badly want to get a copy of it to complete my collection, but it always reaches stupid prices on ebay. Kajira set me back £12 (including postage and packing). The cheapest I've ever seen Magicians go for would set me back at least £30.

The Next Phase

I have several goals for this year, and right now every last one of them is proceeding well, with only a couple slight delays thus far. I planned to sort my bank accounts out so that I could have funds to renew selling items on ebay. I've done that, the nice bonus sum I got from work at the end of March went a big way towards restoring my finances to a more manageable level, as did my banks agreement to extend my overdraft capacity by £100 for a 2 month period, so I would not continue to be hit by fees. Thanks to both of those measures I have begun getting out of the hole I dug myself into.

I have renewed selling on ebay now. The first 2 batches of auctions raised about £150 in all and that money will bring my accounts fully out of the red for the first time in... I don't know how long. I have one item on ebay at the moment, but as I have all of next week off, I will be spending a good deal of that time sifting through the boxes under my bed. I will be arranging the stuff I own into lots for listing on ebay, and taking the needed photographs. I am going to clear out the stuff I no longer want or need, and in doing so I am going to clear my debts.

I dusted off the home study course I bought back in 1998 and never finished earlier this year, and resumed my studies. This time I completed the course, sat both exams and mailed the papers off for grading. Today I received my diploma in the post. I passed both Proofreading and also Copy Editing with a Merit grade in each. Not the best I could have hoped for, but better than scraping in by the skin of my teeth with a mere Pass. Again I will be putting my holiday to good use by sending out mails to publishing houses to inquire about the possibility of freelance work. That money too (should I earn any) will go to clearing away debts.

Also arriving in the post today was a parcel... well okay I had to go and fetch it from the Royal Mail sorting office, as there was a customs fee to pay. Inside were the last of what I consider to be the basics. I'm not interested in a girlfriend, too much compromise involved. I seek a kajira instead and if all goes well, she should be arriving in a couple weeks time. There are certain basics required for owning and keeping a kajira. I now have what I need to ensure that my girl is kept properly, as she would expect to be kept.

The only glitch thus far in my year has been the news at work that I am to be moved from the Admin dept, back to the Cake Shop where I worked before. I am unhappy about this development which was explained to me yesterday, but I am not in any position to do anything about it. Still, this does give me added motivation towards getting freelance proofreading work and then getting enough regular work in that field, that I can quit my job in the supermarket for good. That is a longer term plan though, but should be acheivable within the next year I believe. Too while I do not wish to return to the Cake Shop (despite getting to work in close proximity to both Dan and Richard again which is a bonus), the hours in that department are far more reliable than they are in Admin, which makes planning around them much easier.

Everything (well almost everything) is proceeding according to my design. Always a step forward, never a step back. Be slow, be steady, be sure. Never has my motto seemed more appropriate than now.

The Sales Barn

It has been a while since I posted an excerpt from a Gor novel. So here is a chunk of Chapter 9 of Dancer of Gor, in which the former librarian Doreen Williamson finds herself sold for the first time, from a sales block at auction!

A man opened the gate and motioned me out, still on all fours, onto a small wooden platform. I could smell sweat, and hear voices, excited voices. One voice seemed predominant among them.

He knelt me back and put manacles on my wrists, joined by about a foot of chain.

I knelt there, the chain across my thighs.

The gate was closed behind me. I saw another girl. I did not know her, now behind the gate. She must wait.

Suddenly the nature of the calls and responses from the crowd became clear to me. There were calls for bids, and there were bids, literally bids, and something was being sold.

I inched forward, to see better. I could see the forward edge of a large, rounded block, about five feet high, set back on the dirt, a few feet within the railing. A double chain seemed to be extending upward, toward it, on a pulley system. I moved forward on my knees, nearer the wooden wall in front of it. I saw Gloria there, on that rounded, raised surface, standing, her wrists over her head, in manacles much like mine. The chain at her manacles extended upward in an inverted "V." It was about two feet in length. The higher hook on the chain had been placed over one strand of the double chain overhead. About Gloria a man walked, with a whip.

I looked back, trembling, at the girl still on all fours in the shoot. Her face was frightened, behind the slats of the gate.

The man who was near me took a short length of chain. It had a hook at each end. It was about two feet in length. He put one end about the chain on my manacles, and held the other.

I suddenly almost cried out with fear. From my left, from the rounded, wooden surface, there had come the snap of a whip. I heard the movement of a chain overhead. I saw Gloria being drawn from the surface by the manacles, doubtless, by means of them, to be lowered to the ground on the other side.

The man then slung his end of my short chain, that whose lower hook was about the chain on my manacles, over the chain extending upwards.

Gloria had been sold!

The chain moved a little, and my wrists were pulled upward.

"No!" I cried, in English. "No, please!"

Then I felt the manacles drawn upward and my arms extended. I was pulled to my left and then, suddenly, my feet were off the platform and I was swinging inches over the dirt. The sides of the manacles cut into my wrists. I was then being lifted up, toward the surface of the block. The gate beneath me, and behind me, was opened. The other girl was now doubtless being brought to the platform, behind the low wall, out of the sight of most of the crowd, and another was moving to the gate. I saw, now, being lifted, that there were tiers behind the standing area, extending back and toward the back of the building. On them, though I could not see them well, there seemed to be many men, sitting. I could not see any females. The only females in the building, I supposed, might be females such as myself, naked females, up for vending. There must have been some four or five hundred men in the building, in the tiers alone, not counting those crowded by the low railing. As I was lifted I could see the semicircular nature of the dirt flooring. Doubtless, the large platform removed, tarsks would be sold here. It was a lofty, raftered building. I put my head up. I saw the chain moving. I saw more rafters, too, high above me, almost lost in the darkness under the roof. It was a barnlike building. My wrists hurt. I was then suspended above the platform. The men were looking at me. It was a sales barn. Then the chain slacked a little and my feet touched the surface of the platform. I stood, it seemed, in a half inch or so of sawdust. My wrists were still held high over my head. I heard the crack of the whip and I jerked, frightened, in the manacles. Some of the men laughed. The whip had not touched me. My response though, I think, aside from being startled, had informed the men that I was not totally unfamiliar with the whip. Indeed, though I had felt it very seldom, I had felt it. Indeed, the first sensation that I had been aware of on this world had been the stroke of Teibar’s whip, awakening his "modern woman" to her new reality. He had struck me three times. I had never forgotten the feel of those informative, salutatory blows, bidding me welcome to my bondage.

The fellow put his left hand on my breast, holding it still, reading it. Then he nodded to another fellow, behind me and to my left, on the platform.

"Lot 89," called that fellow.

Various men at the rail and in the tiers rustled papers, or glanced at notes, held in their hands. I gathered that many of them might be the sort of men who would buy more than one woman. That frightened me.

I listened to the fellow behind us, scarcely understanding him. It was called to the attention of the buyers that I was another Earth female. I was characterized as being intelligent, and as having, for my time on Gor, attained some skill in comprehending the language. I would be capable, I heard, of understanding most simple commands put to me. I myself thought my grasp of Gorean far exceeded such a minimal level but perhaps they wished to be conservative in their claims on my behalf, if only to protect themselves against the possible complaints of dissatisfied customers. Too, they probably weren’t certain, really, how good my Gorean was. I had been here only since yesterday morning. I then heard my height and weight, in Gorean measurements, thirty and a quarter Gorean stone and fifty-one horts, or approximately, in Earth measurements, one hundred and twenty-one pounds and five foot three and three quarters inches, and a large number of my other measurements being similarly, recounted. These would be my "block measurements," those which were mine as of now, on the date of my sale. Some masters will hold a girl to her block measurements, by the whip if necessary. Others will insist on their improvement, under the penalties of a similar discipline, in one direction or another, depending on their own preferences. Other masters are quite lenient, or tolerant, at least within certain limits, pertaining to such measurements. Clothing sizes were not given, as there is little concern on Gor with a slave’s exact sizes in such matters. Most Gorean garments for female slaves are either loose fitting, and drape, or they are pulled tight, sometimes strapped or tied about her, to reveal her. If it is of interest, however, and we are speaking of fixed-ring sizes, I would take a number-two wrist ring and a number-two ankle ring. My collar size is eleven horts. These are average sizes. Gloria, for example, would have taken larger sizes. Men’s sizes, those of male slaves, incidentally, though the numbers are similar, are on a different scale. The buyers were also informed that I was "glana," or a virgin. The correlated term is "metaglana," used to designate the state to which the glana state looks forward, or that which it is regarded as anticipating. Though the word was not used of me I was also ‘profalarina’, which term designates the state proceeding, and anticipating, that of "falarina," the state Goreans seem to think of as that of being a full women, or, at least, as those of Earth might think of it, one who certainly is no longer a virgin.
In both terms, ‘glana’ and ‘profalarina’, incidentally, it seems that the states they designate are regarded as immature or transitory, those of ‘metaglana" or "falarina." Among slaves, not free women, those things are sometimes spoken of along the lines as to whether or not a girl has been "opened" for the uses of men. Other common terms, not generally of slaves, are ‘white silk’ and ‘red silk’, for girls, who have not yet been opened, or have been opened, for the uses of men, respectively.

I suddenly wondered, wildly, my hands held high, held fast in the manacles, if Teibar, my Teibar, might be out there somewhere among those men, perhaps high in the tiers, in the darkness, waiting to bid on me! Then I realized how foolish that would be. He could have bought me at the house, at a discount, if he had wanted me, not waiting, not following me for great distances, not almost certainly paying more in an open market, not risking losing me to a higher bidder in a place such as Market of Semris. No, Teibar would not be here. It was I, who was here, alone.

I heard myself characterized as being "semitrained." Was that all my training in the house counted for, I wondered, rising so early, retiring so late, the busy days, the long lessons, their frequency, variety and intensiveness, administered to us morning, noon and night? I then wondered if this, like the claims made with respect to my Gorean, were intended to be precautionary, or conservative, perhaps to avoid possible subsequent difficulties with disappointed buyers. But this time I did not think so. I had some inkling, by now, given my training in the house, of the sorts of things which could be involved in "training," many of which we had not even had time to touch upon. I was sure that given the possibilities of slave service I was still very naïve and backward, still muchly uninformed. Indeed, I suspected that there would always be more to learn about service and love, that such things were fathomless and limitless, and, thus, in a sense, the notion of being ""fully trained," or knowing all there was to know, was in actuality less of a practical goal than a lovely ideal, one which might perhaps be approached ever more closely, but would never be, and perhaps should never be, fully attained. Let the girl revel in her growth, and not fear that one day there will be more to learn, nowhere else to go. There are no summits on the heights of love. Ulrick, however, had assured me in the house, once, that I had talent. I hoped so. Such, among the imperious masters of this world, might improve my chances for survival. I did have a live body, some understanding of my womanhood, and a desire to please men. I looked down into some of the faces below me, behind the railing, across the dirt, across the tarsk run. I had better be pleasing to such men, I thought, shuddering. Then I moaned to myself. Teibar was not here. I was alone. What was I doing here? Why was I brought here, to this world? My wrists hurt, held up so high in the steel. Were the men not being cruel to me? Could they not see I was naked, and helpless?

"Category," I heard, "-Pleasure Slave."

When I heard this categorization, so matter-of-factly given, concluding the fellow’s recounting of attributes and features, measurements and such, I was suddenly, inordinately, startled. I had known, of course, I was not a house slave, or a tower slave, for I was not permitted to kneel in fashions appropriate to those varieties of slave. Too, I had understood, of course, that many of the things I was taught seemed to have direct application to the pleasing of masters, and even profoundly sensuously so, but I had not, until now, heard that exact simple, direct expression. We had never been told, in so many words, that that was the sort of slave we were. Perhaps the Gorean girls had understood, clearly enough, but I do not think we girls of Earth had, at least not is so direct a way, not in the way, certainly, which seemed to be summarized so clearly and succinctly by that one expression. Ulrick had not even told me the sort of slave I was. He had laughed, and informed me that I would learn from men. Now, it seemed, on the sales block, I had done so. I threw back my head, and moaned. The chain overhead tightened and I was pulled up a little more, so that only my toes were on the block.

The auctioneer lifted his whip, cracked it, and called for the first bid.

My wrists hurt. He was calling for a bid on an illiterate barbarian. I realized, suddenly, that that was I.

I was an educated, civilized, refined woman on my own world. Here I was an illiterate barbarian!

I heard someone call out from the floor. I realized, suddenly, I had been bid upon. I was being sold! Too, he was not bidding on part of me, say, on my body. He was bidding in the Gorean fashion on all of me, on the whole slave. The bid had been for twenty copper tarsks. In a moment I had heard twenty-two, and twenty-seven.

On my own world I was a modern woman, of sorts, independent, and free, and with political power, particularly with fearful, cringing men. But here men were not fearful and cringing. But then I had been taken from Earth, and my power, to be brought here to be utterly powerless, to be a slave, to be a pleasure slave! How reductive, I thought, to be a pleasure slave! Then I knew that that was what, on a proper, natural world, I would be, that that, on such world, was right for me. "No, no!" I wept, in English.

I heard more bids.

The auctioneer walked about me. He touched me, here and there, with his whip. He turned me on the chain, I on my toes, exhibiting me.

Then I again faced the men. There were more bids

I though how amused Teibar might have been, to have thought of me, his hated "modern woman," as he thought, being sold, and being sold in this place, a place fit for her, a sales barn, where tarsks, four-legged, and two-legged, like herself, were sold. I wondered if Teibar knew I would be sold in this place. He was doubtless privy to the records of the house. But he may have left their service before I was consigned to the wholesaler outside Brundisium. But it could be this was a common clearing point for their slaves. It could be, too, he had retained contacts with the house. He might very well know I was here. He may have even, for his amusement, arranged that it would be here, or in a similar outlet, that I was sold, influencing the orders in some fashion. Perhaps that I was here, naked in a sales barn, my wrists manacled over my head, being bid upon by strangers, was part of his vengeance on me. At the least he would have known that this, or something similar, would be done to me! How amused he must be, when he thought of such things, his haughty, pretentious "modern woman." as he thought, she whom he held in such contempt, to her dismay and terror, and misery, now being sold naked from a slave block, into absolute bondage!

Then I became aware of someone, or one or two men, actually, calling up from the floor. It was not bids they were calling. I tried to understand them. I did not know if it were their accents, or I simply, in my confusion, my misery and distress, had suddenly lost almost all my command of Gorean. I could not really understand them.

The chain slackened above me and my arms fell, somewhat. The auctioneer put his whip on his belt, held me by the left arm in his right hand, and, with his left hand, reaching up, lifted the chain between my manacles off the lower hook of the short chain, that attached to the strand of the double chain overhead. His hand on my arm kept me from collapsing to the sawdust. My hands were down, the chain on the manacles now against my thighs. He said something to me, but I did not understand it. Then he reached in front of me and gathered the chain between my manacles into his hands and lifted my wrists up, bending my arms back. He put my wrists back, behind my head, and then released the chain on the manacles, letting it drop behind my neck. "Clasp your hands behind the back of your head," he said. I understood him now. "Bend back," he said. "Display yourself." I obeyed, of course. Too, the whip was now again in his hand. "Flex your knees," he said. "Now, turn," he said. "Do not forget our friends to the right," he said. I then displayed myself, again, identically, at the right side of the block. I did not think the other girls had been removed from the chain, or not many of them, given the speed with which the line had moved. Why should I be favored in this respect? The bidding had been interrupted at eighty-eight tarsks, whatever that meant. I did know that there was apparently something about me, perhaps unfortunately, which many Gorean men found of interest. I do not think this was simply a matter of figure and face, though I think these appealed to a Gorean taste, but perhaps something else, something deeper, which they seemed to sense about me, some sort of possibility, or potentially, or something which I myself did not fully understand, or yet understand. Sometimes he touched me with the whip, calling attention to a curve or flank. Teibar’s "modern woman," I thought, is now displaying herself naked to Gorean buyers. He then had me kneel and bent me back, painfully, my hair back to the sawdust, to the center, and then the left, and then the right, before the buyers. He then had me straighten up and unclasp my hands from behind my head. He then lifted the chain forward, over my head. It then hung, between my wrists, a little below my neck. He let me lower my hands. My hands then, and the chain, were again on my thighs. My hands chained as they were, I could not both keep them on my thighs and maintain a full, open-kneel position. I looked up at him, from the sawdust.

Men were calling out, from behind the railing, and some from the tiers. To my surprise the auctioneer removed a key from his belt and removed the manacles from me. I rubbed my wrists. There were marks on them where the manacles had cut into me, when I was lifted to the block.

The auctioneer cracked his whip.

I looked up at him, from the sawdust. I was to be put through slave paces.

I tried to put from me what was being done to me.

I wanted to go back to the library.

The sawdust was in my hair, and its particles clung to my sweating body.

"Yes," I thought, "I can find that book."

I was on my belly, naked, in the sawdust.

"Yes," I thought, "there was quiet, shy Doreen in the library, going quietly about her duties, there, walking about, returning to the reference desk, over that flat carpet, from the information desk, past the xerox machines." I rolled in the sawdust.

Yes, there she was, there, in that simple sweater, that plain blouse and dark skirt, the dark stockings, the low-heeled black shoes. Surely no man could find her of interest. Then she became aware of a man at the reference desk, looking down at her, one bright afternoon, a man whose look penetrated into her deepest heart and belly, and stripped her, and saw the slave there. And he had caught her in her dancer’s costume, that in which no man had ever seen her before, and she had then, in swirling skirt and scarlet halter, and bells, danced in the darkened library, danced before him and his men. I was vaguely aware of a cry of pleasure from the crowd. I had performed the transition between two of the moves in the slave paces with the startling, sensuous agility of a dancer. It then seemed that it was the dancer in the sawdust, on the block, she who had worn the skirt and halter, and bells. How beautiful they seemed to find her! How she moved! She heard the exclamations of praise. The auctioneer stood back, the whip lowered, startled. "No!" I cried. Then again I was awkward and fearful, and only an Earth girl, miserable, confused and terrified, cringing in the sawdust of a slave block on an alien world.

"What is wrong?" asked the auctioneer.

"Nothing, Master," I whispered, cringing before him on all fours.

A gesture of his whip informed me I should lie upon my back. Then I was supine before him. He turned about. He stood partly over my body. He faced the crowd. He had one of his legs between mine.

"Two," was called to him from the floor. "Two!"

"Two!" repeated the auctioneer, holding up two fingers. "Two!"

The auctioneer did not sound angry at this bid. I myself was startled. The bids had been in the eighties before. Now, it seemed they were reduced to only two.

I was on my back, gasping, lying there.

The auctioneer stepped a little away from me, and turned to face me.

It was now as though I could hardly move. I was terrified. I hoped he would not beat me, because the bids were now down to two.

He looked down at me, puzzled.

I think I must then have seemed to him quite otherwise than I had but moments ago. I do not think he understood this. It was almost, I suppose, as though there were not one, but two women on the block, almost as though he had two different women to sell.

I rose up on my elbows but he, with the heel of his bootlike sandal, thrust me back to the sawdust. He then, with his bootlike sandal, turned me to my stomach. "Kneel," he said. I knelt. He then replaced the manacles on my wrists. He turned me so that I knelt facing the crowd. He pulled down the short chain from the horizontal chain. "Stand," he said. I obeyed. "What is wrong with her?" called a man. The chain between my manacles was looped over the lower hook on the short chain. I could hardly stand. I was terrified. I looked out on the men. Any one of them, I realized, could own me. I was a slave! I could be owned. I could belong to them! They could do with me what they might please, anything. They would have over me total power. But I was a woman of Earth! This could not be happening to me! Then, as the higher chain, the strand of the double chain, took up its slack, my wrists were again pulled up, high, over my head. Again I could touch the block only with my toes. I had not been as Ulrick had wanted, not at the end. I had been too much afraid. I had not been fresh and supple. I had not controlled my breath well. I feared I had not been beautiful. I had been too afraid, too afraid to be truly beautiful. I had been too clumsy. I had not down well! Oddly enough I had not wanted to disappoint Ulrick, who, I think, had liked me. Too, I didn’t want to be punished for not having done well. Surely they had wanted to make more money on me than "two," two of whatever it was.

I looked down into the faces. They were masters, and I was a slave. My eyes met those of one fellow, a large, corpulent man, stripped to the waist, very hairy, with crossed belts running across his chest. He had a drooping mustache. He had a long scar at the left side of his face. He was one of the grossest, most frighteningly ugly men I had ever seen. He looked up at me, and grinned. On the right side of his mouth, a tooth was missing. I looked up, away from him, at the manacles on my wrists. They again hurt my wrists, my body stretched, and pulled up, as it was, on my toes. My toes hurt, and the back of my legs. I looked above the manacles, to the chain. Chains are so strong. We cannot break them.

The auctioneer was now behind me and to my left. "Is there a further bid?" he asked.

I think the ambiguities in my performance, if that is what they were, may have puzzled several in the crowd, as well as the auctioneer.

The house was quiet.

I looked down again. Again my eyes met those of the large, corpulent fellow. He grinned. He did not seem puzzled. I feared he might be a perceptive master, in spite of his grossness, his ugliness, from whom a girl could not keep secrets. I looked hastily away, again, from him.

"Am I bid only two," inquired the auctioneer, "for this luscious merchandise?"

I felt the whip touch my flank and waist, on the left.

He then stepped a bit before me, to my left. He turned and touched me twice with the whip. "Consider this flank, and belly," he said.

I tried to hold myself perfectly still. The light touches of the whip, though, had made me terribly uneasy.

He again moved behind me, and to the left.

"I have been bid two," he said, "for this lovely barbarian pleasure slave. Do I hear more? To be sure, she is only semitrained, and perhaps not yet fully broken to the collar. That I would not gainsay. But surely she has some promise. Yes, I think so. Some of you, I am sure, suspect that she has promise."

I did not know what he meant by that.

"Is there a higher bid?" he asked. "Shall I close my hand?"

A wave of anger suddenly swept over me. I, a pleasure slave! Absurd! How reductive! How degrading! I wanted suddenly to prove to them that I was no pleasure slave. I was an educated, refined, civilized woman of Earth! I was a modern woman, at least of sorts! I was no pleasure slave! But I knew, looking down at those faces, that if any of them owned me, I would have to be fully pleasing to them. I would have to bend all of my efforts, and all of my beauty, my charm, my grace, my knowledge, my intelligence, my tact, everything that I was, and could hope to be, to that end. I would have to be to them, and perfectly, a pleasure slave. And what horrified me most, I think, was that I wanted this. I wanted to serve men, and give them pleasure, to be precious to them, to be loved and appreciated, to make them happy. What a terrible woman I was, to want to make men happy. Then again, I strove to be cold and hard, to be cruel like stone and leather. I must not allow myself to feel! But what, I asked myself, if I were not allowed to be my own mistress? What if men simply did things to me, forcing me to feel, as it pleased them, forcing me to yield, and melt, against my will, forcing me to feel, and experience, things which on Earth I had never even dreamed of, forcing me to be what I most feared, permitting me nothing else, a woman in the order of nature? Then I steeled myself again. I was no pleasure slave. There was no pleasure slave in me! I was above such things. I was my own mistress. No man could change that!

"Aii!" I cried, suddenly, startled, squirming wildly, leaping in the manacles, twisting, with a movement of chain, then my weight on them, the chain taut, my knees lifted, almost to my belly, my eyes shut, my teeth gritted.

There was much laughter from the house.

When I opened my eyes again, my body now again stretched out, standing on its toes, my wrists high over my head in the manacles. I looked down, across the dirt area, over the railing. The large, hideous, gross, corpulent fellow was there, looking up at me, grinning. I blushed hotly. I looked away from him.

I had not expected the touch.

There was more laughter.

My body was crimson with shame.

It had been revealed to the men that I had a vital, living body.

I held my ankles, and knees, and legs as closely together as I could. I was terrified. I was suddenly aware then, dimly, of what men might do to me, how they might take me out of myself, subjecting me to incredible sensations as they, not I, might wish, or choose. Too, if I had so reacted to so small and simple a thing, it was difficult to conjecture how I might behave if subjected to more detailed, subtle or prolonged attentions. I suddenly felt terribly helpless, and yet, too, in a way, eager. Too, what if, horrifying enough, I was not permitted resistance but must, under the sanction of terrible penalties, under the command of masters, open myself fully to feeling, if I were forced to yield, and fully, and was forced, thusly, to collaborate in my own conquest? There was one thing which perhaps, in a way, was in my favor. My entire skin, and body, tonight, was much less responsive than it would normally have been. I could tell that, even from this morning. I had known it, too, from my responses on the platform in the exposition area of the sales barn, at the other end of the long corridor. This had to do with my disappointment in the matter of Teibar, that I was still not within his grasp, that he had not brought me here, in some master’s jest, to reclaim me. I had then understood that, despite all my hopes, I was really, in the end, nothing to him, only another pretty Earth girl, to be brought here merely in the tone of his business, to wear the collar and lick the whip. My sense of abandonment had been acute. How alone I had suddenly realized I was here, on this strange, beautiful world. I had been almost in shock, and without feeling. Too, tonight, I had been, particularly in the last few minutes, almost numbed with misery, and terror, understanding myself being sold. I had been frightened, constricted and tight. I had been, I feared, not beautiful. I had been just the opposite, I feared, of what Ulrick would have wanted. Thus, even though I had been taken unawares by the sudden movement of the auctioneer’s whip, and had moved suddenly, inadvertently, in a manner which might have suggested to some that I was a pleasure slave, I knew that the fullness of what I conjectured would be my typical response to such a touch had not even been hinted at. The full range of my responsiveness, thusly, I congratulated myself, still lay concealed. None could suspect it. I shuddered, though, to think of what it, so delicate and deep, might be under a master’s hands. I could suspect, even from the simple touch I had received, how helpless I might be.

"Two!" called a fellow from behind the rail, raising his hand. "Two and fifty!"

"Two and fifty!" called the auctioneer, pleased. "Two and fifty! Do I hear more?"

The house was quiet.

I looked down. The fellow who had just made the bid, whatever was its amount, was the large, gross, corpulent fellow, he who was so ugly, so frightening.

"Shall I close my hand?" asked the auctioneer. His hand was open, held out to the side.

I looked down at the man.

I twisted in the manacles. I could not free myself. I was a slave!

I looked down at him.

I would wear a collar. I was branded.

I looked down at him.

I knew that in time my body would regain its sensitivity levels, that inexorably its awareness, and helplessness, would return. It would be inevitable, like the rising of water in a well. I could do nothing about it.

I looked down at him.

He looked up at me, and grinned.

"The barbarian is yours!" said the auctioneer, closing his hand.

A Couple Of Thoughts On Manhood

From the book "Marauders of Gor" by John Norman.

On another world, lit by the same star, in another place, dawn, too, drew near. The distant light in the great cities, unknowing, soon to be occupied with the concerns of their days, piercing the haze of daily, customary poisons, first struck the heights of the lofty building, reflecting from the rectangular windows, like sheets of burnished copper reflecting the fire of the sun. Men would soon be up and about their duties, hurrying from one nothing to another, to compromises, to banal degradations, anxious lest they fail to be on time. They would not care for the blackened grass growing between the bricks; they would take no notes of the spider's architecture, nor marvel at the flight of a wren darting to its nest among the smoke-blackened, carved stones. There would be no time. There would be no time for them, no time for seeing, or feeling, or touching, or loving or finding out what it might be to be alive. Clouds would be strangers to them; rain an inconvenience; snow a nuisance; a tree an anachronism; a flower an oddity, cut and frozen in a florist's refrigerator. These were the men without meaning, so full and so empty, so crowded, so desolate, so busy, so needlessly occupied. These were the gray men, the hurrying men, the efficient, smug, tragic insects, noiseless on soft feet, in the billions iron hills of technology. How few of them gazed even on the stars. In grandeur so fearful that men must shield themselves from pettiness from its glory; do they not understand that in themselves, and in perhaps a thousand other intelligences, reality has opened its eyes upon its own immensity; do they shut their eyes lest they see gods?

David Fincher the director of Fight Club in an interview with Gavin Smith, "Inside Out," Film Comment, Sep/Oct 1999

We're designed to be hunters and we're in a society of shopping. There's nothing to kill anymore, there's nothing to fight, nothing to overcome, nothing to explore. In that societal emasculation this everyman is created.

Walking Away

I quit online Gor tonight. I've not been happy roleplaying online in the various chatrooms for some time now. I honestly cannot put my finger on any one particular thing that has brought about this abandonment. I can't say "That is the straw that broke the camel's back". It's lots of little things, that individually niggle at me, and force me to make this adjustment, and that compromise. And finally there comes a point where you have to look around, and you realise that you aren't where you thought you were.

I love the world of Gor, I have 24 of the 26 novels in print, and would dearly love to complete the collection (I'm missing the books Kajira of Gor and Magicians of Gor). I'm not giving up on the world as written, just as it is portrayed online. I'm fed up of the hypocrisy, of people saying one thing and doing another and thinking nothing of it, or coming up with bullshit excuses to justify their actions. Everyone has a breaking point. I've been pushed slowly but surely past mine.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my time, and it is a lot of time I'm talking about, hours everyday are suddenly freed up. I guess I'll work out what to do with the free time as I go along.

Feeding Time

Another excerpt from the novel Dancer of Gor by John Norman. This is from the start of Chapter 5, and is set some time after Doreen Williamson has arrived on Gor, she having been trained as a pleasure slave. This except details how the girls are fed. Enjoy.

"Eat!" said the man. My face was thrust down, into the trough, half into the moist gruel. His hand was in my hair. I feared for a moment I might suffocate. I pressed my face down into the gruel. I opened my mouth. With my teeth and lips, and tongue, desperately scraping, scooping, pulling, licking, biting, pushing down, moving my head, I tried to get as much into my mouth as I could. My head was then pulled up, and held back, by the hair. I swallowed what I had in my mouth. It was not easy to swallow it. I knelt before a wooden feeding trough, with other girls. The man crouched beside me. My eyes were closed. Gruel was upon my face and in my hair. He then threw my head forward again, over the wooden rim of the trough, and pushed my face down again, deeply, submerging it, to the ears, in the gruel. Again I struggled to get as much as I could into my mouth. Then his hand left my hair and I lifted my head from the moist substance. I blinked, gruel upon my face, its particles like wet, unmelting snow on my eyelashes. He had gone further down the line. I struggled to swallow what I had in my mouth. I pulled a little, weakly, at the light, lovely manacles which confined my wrists behind my back. I looked at the other girls, to my right. They, too, were similarly manacled. We were not yet permitted to use our hands in feeding. I looked to my left, and made certain that the man was not watching. I then bent down and tried to wipe my closed eyes and face on the wooden edge of the trough. He was not treating everyone as he had treated me. I had received special attentions in this matter. That had to do with something which had happened earlier. I looked to the girl to my right, a blonde. She put her head down, again, to the trough, her wrists linked behind her, like mine, in those lovely feminine confinements, little more than two lock rings and a tiny span of gleaming chain. We were all naked. It was easy to tell, however, which of us were virgins, for the virgins, like myself, wore the "iron belt." Its horizontal portion, like an iron oval, would close about my waist, and the vertical portion, like a "U", hinged in front to the horizontal portion, flattened, shaped and slotted at its center, would swing up between my legs and there it flattened, laterally slotted end, like a hasp, would be placed over the staple on the left side, already over this staple, and secured there, behind my back, with a heavy, dangling padlock. There was little danger I would be penetrated while wearing this device. The girl to my right did not wear it. She had already been "opened for the uses of men," as it is said here. She was thus free, of course, for the uses of the guards, who did not fail to avail themselves of their privileges. Once she had been dragged forth from her kennel, down several from mine, to the right, and they, so eager were they, such men, to have her, that they had not even seen fit to wait until they had pulled her on her leash to their own quarters. I pretended not to watch. But later, after they were finished, and had returned her to her own kennel, and I was alone, I wept, so aroused I was. I did not know if she were from Earth, and if so, from what part of it, or if she were of this world. We are almost never permitted to speak during the feeding period. When she had been used before my kennel she had been under "gag law," as is common when the guards use a girl, forbidden speech, save for moans and whimpers. I had understood many of the commands given to her, of course. I had begun to learn this language. I looked at her. It was possible she was of this world. Men here, I had learned, were every bit as ready, and as prompt, to put their own females to their purposes as the females of Earth. Our origins made no difference in these matters. What was important was what we had in common, our sex, simply that we were females. To be sure, the girls here from this world regarded themselves as immeasurably superior to us, those of Earth, and perhaps the men did, too, in some sense, but, as far as I could tell, that made their chains no lighter, nor the blows they received any the less severe. Some men, of course, many men even, seemed to find women of Earth of special interest, and treated them with particular harshness. Teibar, who had captured me, I think, was such a man. Others, however, seemed to prefer visiting these abuses on the women of their own world. Others, which made sense to me, seemed to think in terms of the individual woman. I think it would be true, however, to say that generally, aside from people’s opinions as to the proper sort of treatment for us, we did not have the same "standing" as the women of this world. More often than they, for example, we would be put in earrings, which here is regarded, interestingly enough, as an almost consummate degradation of a woman. similarly, another indication of our status here is that, occasionally, one of our names, an Earth-girl name, would be bestowed on a girl of this world, as a punishment, usually a temporary one, indicating that she was now to be regarded as one of the lowest of the low. I had now been branded, a small, graceful mark burned into my left thigh, high, under the hip. It had a vertical bar, a rather strict one, with two curling, frondlike extensions, rather near its base, as though in submission to it. It looked a little like a "K." That was mine. There were variations on this theme. Some of the other girls had similar brands, but, in one respect or another, somewhat different. There were other sorts of brands, too, but the "K-type" brand was the most common. Most of these brands, of whatever sort, were on the left thigh, as mine was, near the hip. On my neck, also, there was now a flat, narrow steel collar. It was close-fitting. I could not remove it. It was locked there. It was not uncomfortable. I seldom even though about it, but it was there.

I looked to my left. The fellow who had thrust my face into the gruel was looking in my direction. Quickly I put my face back into the trough, thrusting it into the moist gruel. Feeding time was almost over. I did not care for the gruel much, as it was tasteless and flat. I ate it, however, as it was incumbent upon me to do so. Too, I was hungry, and it was undeniably nourishing. It, like other aspects of our diet, the fruits and vegetables, and the cylindrical pellets we were given, seemed intended to slim our bodies and bring us to a peak state of health. The gruel was appropriate enough for us, I supposed. It was clearly a form of animal feed.

I sneaked a look to my left, and, frightened, saw that the man was coming in my direction. Swiftly I thrust my face back into the trough and addressed myself to the gruel. I sensed he would now be behind me. I ate quickly, and well. I then heard the gong sound, which signified the end of the feeding period. Immediately I withdrew my head from the trough and knelt back on my heels, my back straight, looking straight ahead. When the gong sounds the girl stops eating immediately, and assumes this position. Obedience is to be instantaneous.

I heard the man moving away. Yes, he had been behind me. I breathed more easily.

I was now eating quite well. They did not have any more trouble with me on that score, not now.

A week ago I had, not because I wanted to starve, or die, as some of the Earth girls in my group had proclaimed hysterically in their own cases, and not even because I was trying to be difficult, really, I had refused to eat. I had done this, I think, as an experiment, as much as anything else. I had wondered what they would do. Too, I think I was trying to find out the limitations within which I was functioning, what I might be able to do, and might not be able to do. I wanted to know the nature and extent, and the existence or nonexistence, of the discipline to which I might be liable. I wanted to know something about the boundaries of my world. I was trying to find out where the fences were, the location of the walls. I found out. There had been seven of us involved in this matter. Our leader was a short, plump blonde who had been a political columnist for a small suburban newspaper on the northeast coast of the United States. She had been a political-science major in college. We were taken immediately in hand, all seven of us. Three of us, our leader and her two chief cohorts, were immediately kenneled, publicly, in the feeding area. The rest of us were tied on low "perches," also in the feeding area, at one wall, platforms fitted with "T" beams, a ring in the back of the "T" beam. Such things are often found in such houses, like rings and posts, commonly being used for purposes of display and discipline. Our ankles were put in leather shackles, behind the vertical post. Our arms were hooked over the horizontal post and fastened in front of us with straps and leather manacles, which buckled shut. Our heads were then pulled back and , by our hair tied about the ring behind the post, held painfully in this position. Narrow tubes were then brought, with plungers. These, to our dismay and discomfort, and horror, were thrust down our throats to our stomach. These tubes were inserted through heavy leather balls put in our mouths. We could not close our mouths or bite on the tubes because of these obstructions. Food was then forced into our stomachs. The tubes were then withdrawn. We could not rid ourselves of the food, even had we wished to do so. Our hands were secured. We looked at one another. Some of the girls had tears of helpless frustration in their eyes. If the men chose not to permit it, they could not even starve themselves. In my eyes, however, I think, was something less like helpless rage and defeat than reassurance, wonder and respect. I was pleased to learn, terrible though it may sound, how strong these men were, and how, with them, I was totally helpless. None of us requested a second demonstration of their power. We went quickly enough to the trough after that.

Transportation

The following is an excerpt from Chapter 6 of the novel Dancer of Gor by John Norman, one of my favourite books in the saga. Doreen Williamson, a librarian from Earth has been kidnapped and taken to that barbaric world on the other side of the sun, where she has been trained as a slave. Her training done, she is en route to her first sale:

I lay there, hooded, a new slave, trying to understand, down in my belly, what is was, truly, to be a property. I could thus come into the ownership of anyone who had the wherewithal to buy me, male or female. Too, I had little doubt that not all the men on this world could be of the nature of Teibars and Ulricks, and the guards in the house where I had been trained. Doubtless there were men here, too, if not as on Earth, men who might be fretful, petty and weak, men the very sight and smell of which I might find offensive, men whose appearance and least touch I might find literally sickening, men I might find inutterably disgusting, men who were unclean, who were cruel, and loathsome and gross, who might be hideous and frightful, men I might find myself shrinking from, almost vomiting in disgust and terror, but they would own me, as much as any other, and I would be obliged, as a slave, to bring myself warmly and unquestionably into their arms, and bring my lips obediently and hotly to theirs, to submit wholly to them, to give myself wholly to them, to surrender wholly to them, holding back nothing, to please them, fully, and intimately. These things were simple attachments to my condition, consequences of what I was. I could not change them. They were simply part of what it meant to be what I was, a slave. We do not choose our masters nor is it up to us, whether or not we will please them, or to what degree. We must strive to be perfection all ways, for anyone. That is part of what is to be a slave. In reconciling myself to bondage I had, also, to reconcile myself to this condition. It is a part of bondage. It is something which the slave must accept. Without it there can be no true slavery. I had accepted this condition, at least theoretically, verbally, acknowledging its incumbency on me, in my training. Somehow, interestingly, this acceptance, too, seemed liberating to me. It made my bondage much more real to me. Too, interestingly, in its way, it also made it seem much more precious to me.

Still, I supposed one could not truly understand what being a property was until one had been sold, and had come into the keeping of masters. Doubtless Teibar’s "modern woman," his arrogant, pretentious Earth female, as he had thought, his despised catch, would come to understand what that was. How amused he would be from time to time, I supposed, thinking of what he had done to me, the fate into which he had brought me. I tried to hate him, but could not. I wanted rather to kiss his feet. But then perhaps he did not even remember me. Perhaps he had forgotten me! Perhaps I was now alone, totally alone, on this world, having been brought here for a price, and then, having earned my coins for others, discarded, cast into the markets, set adrift in uncertain weather, on trackless seas, to vanish from sight, to disappear tracelessly, with no one noticing or caring, at the mercy of whatever course winds and currents, and fortune, and the will and interests of men, might take me. But I would never forget Teibar. I would remember him, always, even as I moaned in my dreams.

I jerked suddenly, frightened, in the manacles. I could belong to anyone, to anyone who could pay for me! Surely that was wrong for a woman of Earth! How could it have come about that I was now only a lowly slave? I had been a woman of Earth! How could it have come about then that I was now, on this world, only a collared animal, stripped and chained, at the mercy of masters? Could it truly be I here, in this cage, in chains? Had I gone mad? Could I be dreaming? But I pushed up with my tongue, straining my tongue, against the bottom of the leather ball in my mouth, fixed there so mercilessly, so effectively. I moved my lips and teeth about it. I could feel its shape and size. But I could not dislodge it. I shook my head a little, moving the chain on my neck. It was on me. I hurt my wrists, pulling against the manacles that confined them. But I could not relieve their stern clasp in the least, nor extend by an iota the tiny span their links allotted me. I moved my shoulder and thigh on the metal flooring. My shoulder was sore, and my thigh was sensitive, and perhaps red. The flooring gave us a very obdurate surface. It was very solid. It was plated, and heavy. I supposed it might be of iron. The plates, I conjectured, judging from the apparent weight and solidity of them, must be an inch thick, at least. No, I was not dreaming. It was I, here, truly, in this place, now a slave. Then again I was content. How had Teibar, and others, I wondered, have known that I was a slave? It had not been hard to tell, I had gathered. I was frightened, but, too, I knew I was where I belonged, in bondage.

Dancing For Her Food

This is another excerpt from the novel Witness of Gor, one of my favourite books from the series. In this exceprt the girl Janice has been summoned to the quarters of the guard officer Terrance of Treve. Having not been fed since dawn, and just finished serving him food, she is ravenous, but if she wants to be fed, she must first dance well for her Master:

I did not even know the name of he who reclined upon the divan. But what needed I to know, other than the fact that he was a free man, and I would address him as “Master”? He knew my name, of course, the only name I had, which had been put on me in this place, ‘Janice’.
I was barefoot. There were bangles on my ankles.
“The Earth woman is hungry?”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“And would be fed?”
“Yes, Master,”
“We shall see how you perform,” he said.
“Master?” I asked.
“Do you know how to use your veil?” he asked.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Discard it then,” he said.
I removed the veil from about my shoulders, and dropped it to the side. It floated to the glossy tiles, and lay there, lightly, crumpled.
“Remove your outer silks,” he said.
I obeyed, and put them to the side.
The music rippled.
I wore now a skirt of filmy silk, which would swirl as I moved. It was open to my left. My midriff was muchly bared. My breasts were haltered high. Tiny straps came over my shoulders. In such garments one might serve at more decorous banquets, though, to be sure, most likely not if free women were present. When free women are present, one usually serves gowned, or tunicked. At less decorous banquets one might expect to serve differently, in a ta-teera, in rags, in a slave strip, naked, in such ways. I wore bracelets, an armlet, bangles. Too, I had been given earrings, golden rings.
“Do you know the name of this world?” he asked.
“Gor,” I said.
“Do you know how to dance?” he asked.
“No!” I said.
“Surely they taught you something in the pens,” he said.
“I am not a dancer!” I wept.
“Surely you know something of the basic steps,” he said, “the walks, the glides, the presentations, the turns, the arm movements?”
“A little, Master,” I said, in misery. To be sure, one is not likely to escape the pens without being taught such rudiments.
“You are going to dance for me, Earth woman,” he said.
“I do not know how to dance!” I protested.
There was a tiny, skeptical skirl from one of the instruments.
“Beginning position!” he snapped.
There are several such. I swiftly flexed my knees, lifted my rib cage, and put my hands together, wrists crossed, over my head, the backs of my hands facing out, the palm of my right hand over the palm of my left hand.
He rose from the divan, as I stood thusly before the divan, so posed, and went to the side of the room. From one of the ornate chests he fetched forth a thick, single-bladed, snakelike slave whip. I watched him with terror as he approached. Then he stood to one side. Then, suddenly, at the side, he snapped the whip. The report was like the crack of a rifle. I nearly fainted. I sobbed.
“You are going to dance for me, Earth woman,” he said, menacingly, “and as what you are, and what you are only, an Earth-girl slave before her Gorean master.” He then snapped the whip again. “Do you understand?” he asked.
“Yes, Master!” I wept.
He then returned to the divan, on which he reclined, the whip on the silks beside him, inches from his grasp.
“Begin,” he said.
I danced.
At one point he lifted his finger and the music stopped, and I stopped.
“Do you know the use of finger cymbals?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Continue,” he said.
And so again the music began, and again I danced. Alas, I, so little trained in the art form, fro an art form it is, was only too painfully aware of how far short my efforts must fall from those of a skilled performer. Could I do more than squirm, and writhe, and plead with my body, for mercy? But perhaps my desperation might amuse him? Perhaps he was merely interested in registering, with bemused tolerance, the inept, pathetic strivings of an Earth-girl slave to please him, hoping not to be beaten. Perhaps he was having me do this merely that he might at the end, for my clumsiness, lash me? Yet, too, I did not want to betray the dance. I loved it. It is so beautiful. I wanted, thusly, to suggest, within my limits, at least, something of the richness, the complexity, the profound sensuousness of such dance. Such dance can be a revelation to those who are unfamiliar with it, who have never seen it. Some never suspect how beautiful and exciting a woman can be until they see her in such dance. In few ways better than in such dance is it made more evident what an incredibly beautiful, marvelous, precious, wonderful thing a woman is. It is no wonder they want to get their chains on us. And, too, of course, I was frightened of him. I did want to display myself, and present myself, well before him. I did not want to be whipped. But, too, I confess, I wanted him to want me. I was stirred by him, powerfully, sexually, as I was by many on this world, such men, and I wanted, thusly, to please him and excite him. He, as many men on this world, set fires in my belly. I danced before him. He helped himself, from time to time, to some of the food left on the table, a grape, a tiny viand, keeping his eyes on me. I must remember the hand and arm movements, the spins, the circles, the lifts, the thrusts! And then, at some point, perhaps when I was kneeling before him, moving my arms, and head and shoulders, I think I became one with the music and the dance. Startled I rose to my feet and began to move about the room. Were there hundreds present? Did they feast their eyes on this dancer? I went even to the musicians and moved, presenting myself as a slave, before them. Were they not, too, men, and thus such as before whom it was appropriate that I present myself, hoping for their approbation? In the eyes of the musicians I read something that I had not expected to find, that they were not displeased with the sight of the slave before them. How this made me hope, and how my heart was filled with a sudden surge of elation!

But it was not these men whom I must most desperately strive to please. It was another. I returned, to move before him. Then, again, I whirled away, going about the divan, to the narrow window and dancing before it. Doubtless there were none out there who saw me so move. The lights were beautiful. I then, in my dance, utilized the corners and surfaces of chests, and the walls of the room. I saw, beside the divan, a coil of chain. I danced away from it, terrified. Then it seemed I was alone with the dance, and my joy in it. And then, a moment later, wildly, it seemed again that I must dance for many. Did I hear the striking of the shoulders in applause, the pounding of goblets on low tables, the urgent cries of men? What power, I thought, must a dancer, a true dancer, exercise over men! How she must arouse them, how she must drive them mad with passion! But what power, ultimately, is hers, for she is in her collar? When the music stops is she not then, clearly, once again, only a slave at the feet of men? And is not the central, nonrepudiable message of this dance, in its entire concept, in its beauty, in its presentation of the female in all her marvelous sensuousness that man is the master? This form of dance, on this world, is called “slave dance.” That is perhaps partly because, on this world, it is permitted only to slaves, but I think it is more likely because, in it, the nature of women is clearly manifested as slave. One might also mention that the dancer, in this form of dance, on this world, is commonly expected to satisfy the passions which she may have aroused. The submission which commonly figures in the finale of her dance, on this world, is not, I assure you, purely symbolic.

I danced out, only the porch, overlooking the city, the lights. I now saw that some of the lights, indeed, were on the distant walls of the city. They were beacons. Their primary purpose is to guide in the warriors, mounted on the gigantic saddlebirds, to enable them to safely negotiate the defenses of stakes and wire on the walls. The stars were very beautiful. I looked up and gasped, for then, for the first time, I saw the three moons. I had learned there were three moons here but this was the first time I had seen them. One does not see the moons in the pens, or in the depths, and, if they were visible, I had not noticed them during the light of the day.
“Return, slave,” I heard.
I swiftly whirled about, and re-entered the room there were three moons here! But then, in a moment, I was, again, before he upon the divan.
He lifted his finger and the music stopped, and I, too, stopped.
There is one aspect to slave dance to which I have neglected to call explicit attention, but it is one which, I suspect, at least implicitly, is clear to all. Slave dance is arousing to the female who dances it. Once cannot move as in slave dance without becoming sexually aroused. In this sense, twofold effect occurs when we dance before masters. One has not only an arousal display but an arousal activity. And there is a reciprocal, mutually reinforcing, interaction between these things, as one understands that one is arousing, and he understands that you are also being aroused, and you know that he understands this, and so on. Indeed, slave dance can function as a cure for frigidity. It relieves inhibitions, improves confidence, and, I suppose, to some extent, literally stirs and stimulates organs. It is difficult for a body which has been trained in slave dance, for example, to be stiff and unresponsive. To be sure, there are many cures for frigidity. An obvious one is the condition of bondage itself. Another is the whip, and switch.
“Remove your upper silk,” he said.
I undid the halter, and slipped it away.
I saw that I would, indeed, dance as an Earth-girl slave before her Gorean master.
For a time I danced in this fashion, and then, again, he lifted his finger and the music stopped, and, I too, stopped.
I looked at the remains of the food on the low table. I was very hungry.
“Remove your silk,” said he, “Earth woman.”
My hands went to the hip band and undid the clasp there. I lifted the silk to the side. I dropped it to the tiles.
He indicated to the musicians that they should again play. This time, doubtless in virtue of some arrangement with, or signal conveyed to, the musicians, it was an extreme adagio melody to which I must move. I remained in place, so dancing, almost without movement.
He picked up the whip, and walked about me, scrutinizing the slave.
I was terribly afraid I would be struck.
Then he was again before me, back some five feet or so, that he might have an excellent view.
The whip, coiled, was in his right hand.
“Do the women of your world often dance thusly, naked before their males?” he asked.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“Doubtless they will have them dance thusly, for they are men,” he mused.
I was silent.
“And do they whip the women if they are not pleasing?” he asked.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“You seem to know very little of your world,” he said.
“It is very different from this world, Master,” I said.
“But you know that you will be whipped, here on this world, Earth woman, if you are not pleasing, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master!” I said.
With a motion of his wrist he flicked out the blade of the whip, uncoiling it. He observed it. The end of the blade, snakelike, narrow and tapering, was upon the tiles. He then, with another movement of his wrist, lifted it from the tiles.
“Please, do not whip me, Master,” I begged. “I will try to be pleasing!”
“I am sure you will,” said he, “Earth woman.”
He then returned to the divan, and reclined thereupon. He indicated to the musicians that they might increase the tempo, which they did.
I danced.
How helpless we are!
How these men master us!
I wore my collar. It was narrow, close-fitting, locked. It was a state collar. On it was my name, that name which had been given to me, ‘Janice’. I had been a free woman of Earth. I had then been brought to this world. I was now only a slave.
I danced.
How incredibly free and female I felt.
I danced.
I had been sent to his quarters.
I danced before him.
I wondered how I looked to him. I hoped desperately that he might find me pleasing. I wondered how women such as I looked to males. Well, I conjectured, in our collars, obeying, hoping to please, striving desperately to please. How exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it must be to be a male on a world such as this, I thought, a world in which they had such power, at least over such as I. Here, you see, they had kept their mastery, in the order of nature. Here males were men, and here females, at least those such as I, could only be women, their women. How was it, I wondered, that these men had never relinquished their nature, that they had never surrendered their manhood, that they had never betrayed their blood, that they had never permitted themselves to be diminished and reduced, destroyed and crippled? I did not know. But they had not. Did they sense the danger we might pose to them, if they were weak, or permissive, or lenient? Was that why they were as they were? Was that why they put us in collars and kept us at their feet, because they knew us so well? But how could we be women if they were not men? Or had they profited from some hideous illustration of nature gone awry, from the dismal instruction of some tragic lesson, from the clear example of some pathological mistake, one they would simply not permit to occur in their won world? Or, perhaps, it was merely that this world had developed as it had, drawing strength and meaning from nature, rather than trying to live, dry and rootless, apart from her? But, as I danced before him, I did not think merely how exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it must be to be a male on this world but also, despite its dangers, its terrors, how exciting, how glorious, how joyful, how real, how meaningful it was to be a woman on this world! I had never begun to feel so fulfilled on my old world as I had here. It was only on this world, it seemed, that I had, in my small, lowly way, begun to feel fully meaningful. It was here that someone, deeper and more real than names, had found herself.
I knew who she was.
It was fully fitting that she danced as she did, before such a man. It was not merely he who knew this, you see. It was I, as well.
“To the floor,” said he, “Earth woman.”
The Earth woman then, to the music, slowly and gracefully lowered herself to the floor, and there, to those sensuous strains, speaking so unabashedly to the blood of men and women, continued her dance.
He clapped his hands, ending the music.
I rose to all fours, before him, on the glossy tiles.
“You are not now closely silked,” he said.
So I knelt now before him, my back straight, my head down, the palms of my hands down on my thighs, my knees properly, widely spread.
I heard him speak to the musicians. I head the clinking of what was doubtless a small sack of coins. One by one the three musicians left. One said, “A pretty slave.” Another said, “Yes,” He before whom I had performed said, “She has much to learn.” “Doubtless she will be well taught,” said the leader of the musicians.
“I wish you well,” said the officer to them. “We wish you well,” said the leader of the musicians. They had then left.
I remained kneeling before the divan, head down.
I heard something strike the tiles before me. It was a tiny leg of roast fowl.
I looked up at him, knowing that I dare not yet break position.
I was ravenously hungry. I was starving.
But I could not yet reach for the food.
I had not yet received permission.
“You may feed,” he said

The World Of Gor

I define myself as a gorean. So what is Gor? That is a highly complex question, far more so than it sounds. Put simply, Gor is a fictional world that was created and detailed in a series of 26 novels, by an American professor named John Lange, who wrote them under the pseudonym of John Norman. The novels themselves vary greatly in tone, length and subject matter, and to be honest the stories leave a lot to be desired. Norman clearly fancies himself as a writer in the same vein as Edgar Rice Burroughs (author of Tarzan, and John Carter of Mars). He isn't in the same league though, and while he might have started writing the Gor novels with an aim to emulate the John Carter stories, he ended up writing something entirely different.

Gor itself is another planet in our solar system, slightly smaller than Earth (and with a little less gravity) and with three moons. It is in the same orbit as Earth, only always on the other side of the sun to our world. In every language on the planet, the word Gor simply means Homestone. Their name for the sun (which we call Sol), is Tor-Tu-Gor, or Light On The Homestone. The Gor of the novels is entirely based on one continent of this world, with the people living there oblivious even to the existence of any other large landmasses, which I presume there must be. Indeed, not even the whole of the continent is known, the eastern regions bordered by the massive Voltai Mountains, and beyond them simply a vast grassy wilderness known as the Barrens. To the west lies Thassa, the great ocean, and while there are some island nations detailed, none are really that far out into Thassa, and like medieval europeans before Columbus, the people are scared to sail beyond the worlds end.

Gor is ruled by the enigmatic Priest-Kings, the closest analogy the world has to Gods. They are not seen, and only rarely heard from, yet every Gorean fears them and pays homage to them. They live in the Sardar Mountains in the north of the continent. Ask a gorean what a priest-king is and most would say that they likely are little different to humans, just larger, more powerful, grander and worthy of respect. They are in fact giant golden ants, highly evolved and super intelligent. Only a bare few goreans, trusted servants, are aware of this fact. They have ruled Gor for eons, even moving the planet through various solar systems until reaching ours, collecting many creatures along the way that comprise much of Gor's sometimes bizarre flora and fauna.

These "Voyages of Acquisition" also brought humans to Gor, a species that the Priest-Kings find fascinating. As a result, many of the cultues and races of Earths antiquity are represented (albeit renamed) on Gor. We have the mighty cities of Ar (Rome) and Cos (Carthage). There are Vikings (Torvaldslanders), Inuits/Eskimos (Red Hunters), Amerindians (Red Savages), even Amazons (Panther girls in the northern forests, Talunas in the southern jungles). Too, there are many cultures that have developed on the world, unique to there, the great tribes of the southern Wagon Peoples having little in common with any culture of Earth save perhaps the Romany Gypsies of Eastern Europe in olden days, and the pirate reavers of squalid Port Kar likewise without any real earth comparison. Were goreans from the main continent ever to venture to another continent on their world, I do not doubt that they would likely find cultures comarable to the Aztecs, Mayans, Incans and Orientals of Earth.

Gor is also a primitive world by the standards of ours (the novels are set in a time period concurrent to Earth's 20th/21st centuries), with most technology and societal practices not having evolved beyond the level of Earth's Iron Age (cultures such as the Romans). Much technology is limited by the edicts of the Priest-Kings, they not wishing mankind to develop to a point where their own existence becomes threatened, having seen how Earth has turned out, a world choked with pollution and industry, where laws are passed and enforced even against simple biological fact. In other ways though, Gor is more advanced than Earth, most obviously in the field of medicine where the gorean physicians have developed both a 100% effective contraceptive in the form of a latent poison made from the Sip Root that is drunk by women. It remains effective until a releaser is drunk to neutralise its effects. Also they have developed the stabilisation serums, a set of injections that are a cure for ageing, many goreans living for centuries in perfect health. Disease is almost unknown.

Gorean society is caste based, with five High Castes (the Warriors, Builders, Initiates, Scribes and Physicians) and many lesser castes, though no-one ever considers their caste to be below anyone elses. And while some might look down on other castes, none deny that every caste is important. The Warrior after all knows that without the Metalworker and Leatherworker to make his armour and weapons, he is of little use. The Scribe needs the paper made from plants picked by the Rencer. And everyone needs the food grown by the Peasants.

The lowest strata of gorean society are the slaves. Slavery is a culturally accepted part of life in every society on the planet. Too, it is universal in how slaves are kept. Slaves have no rights in gorean society, not to food, water, shelter, clothing, a name, or even life, they are legally at the same status as animals. The vast majority of slaves are female, male slaves almost exclusively being used for heavy labour in mines, quarries, rowing warships etc. Slavegirls (or Kajira to use the gorean term) fill a great variety of roles. Slaves are kept in a collar, a locked circle of steel about their neck, inscribed wth their owners details. They are also branded, the most common place for this being high on the left thigh, just below the hip. Brands vary by the society which marks the girl, but the most common is the Kef which looks like a stylised letter K (the first letter of the word Kajira). They own nothing, and are entirely the property of whoevers collar they wear, who can do as they please with them.

Gor has some creatures that are similar to those of Earth such as: Tarsks (Boar), Bosk (Bison), and Vulo (Chickens)and many that are unique, such as: Tarns (huge birds of prey, like the Roc from Earth's legends. These are trained, saddled and used as mounts), Sleen (six legged reptiles that are kept much like dogs are on Earth), Urts (six legged rodents) and Kaiila (large cats, kinda like lions, that are used as riding beasts). There are also several varieties of Tharlarion (Dinosaurs) that have been domesticated, most notably the Draft Tharlarion (Brontosaurus) used to pull huge wagons and barges, and High Tharlarion (a large species of Velociraptor,that are used as cavalry mounts).

That is a brief overview of the world itself, and I will write more to explain various aspects of the world, backed up with quotes from the books to illustrate points, as my words do not do Gor justice, only John Norman's can do that.

The Leash

This is an excerpt from one of my favourite books, Witness of Gor by John Norman. The main character (a woman from Earth, who was abducted and brought to the planet Gor, there trained as a slave) has been brought to before a set a double doors, and is about to be presented to her Master:

He then jerked the leash. But now it did not close on my throat. It had been adjusted, to be a normal collar.
I looked at him, gratefully.
I still could not slip it, of course.
"That is better, is it not?" he asked.
I whimpered once.
"You do not now fear the leash, do you?" he asked.
I whimpered twice.
"You are mistaken," he said.
I regarded him, puzzled. What was there to fear from a common leash?
He then freed the ring at the back of the sack from the chain on the wall.
No longer was I attached to the wall.
I felt him unbuckling the sack.
I whimpered, begging him to speak to me.
"You are perhaps concerned about the gong," he said.
I whimpered once.
"That was the first signal," he said.
When the sack fell free from about my upper body I was put to all fours. My upper body suddenly felt cold. It had been uncomfortably warm in its tight canvas enclosure, from the pressure of my limbs held so closely to my body and the general heat and constraint of the sack. It had been covered with a sheen of perspiration, from its confinement and my exertions. Now it felt cold, from the air of the corridor. He then had me crawl forward, until my legs, too, were free of the sack. He then folded the sack and put it to one side. He then picked up the leash, looping its long end in three or four coils.
We then waited, again.
He was to my left. I was naked. I was on all fours. The tunic, in its small, neat folds, was gripped between my teeth.
The leash, in his hand, looped down, and then up, to my neck.
I regarded the closed door.
"Remember that you would like to live," said the jailer.
I whimpered, once.
He looked down upon me, as such men often look, and appropriately, upon women such as I.
"You are a pretty little she-sleen," he said.
At that time, though I was familiar with sleen, or at least the one who had patrolled the ledge, I did not know the word.
There are many varieties of sleen, incidentally, adapted to diverse environments; the most formidable, as far as I know, is the forest sleen. There is also a sand sleen, a snow sleen, even some aquatic varieties, types of sea sleen, and so on. They vary greatly in size, as well. Some sleen are quite small and silken, and sinuously graceful, no larger than domestic cats. They are sometimes kept as pets.
It was easy enough to understand, of course, that a "pretty little she-sleen" must be some sort of domestic animal. I was on all fours. I was to be, apparently, marched forward, through the door, on all fours, leashed. How could it be made more clear to me that I was an animal?
At that time I did not know of the habit of some masters, usually imposed as punishment, to refuse an upright posture to their girls, and to refuse them, as well, the use of human language. They must go about on all fours, or their bellies, and communicate, as they can, by whimpers, moans, and such. They are naked, save for their collars. They are not permitted to use their hands to feed themselves, and so on. Needless to say, they also serve in this modality. There are various Gorean expressions for this; one is the "discipline of the she-tarsk." A tarsk is a piglike animal. The boars are tusked, and can be quite large. They are also territorial and fierce. Many hunters have lost their lives in their pursuit. The sows are smaller and lack tusks. The male keeps them in his group, or, so to speak, in his harem.
"Do you understand the leash?" he asked.
I whimpered once.
"I wonder," he said.
He then, suddenly, without warning, jerked the leash upward, and its leather was tight under my chin and I was jerked up to my knees, and I looked at him wildly, helplessly held in place; he then, with ease, with flicks of the leash, flung me to one side and the other, bruising me on the stone and the walls, and then put me to my back, and his booted sandal was on my belly; I looked up at him, in terror; the stone was hard beneath me; and then, with snaps of the leash and the sides of his feet, and gestures, he rolled me about on the stone, from one side to the other; and then he flung me to my belly; how hard was the stone! I shuddered, lying before him, on my belly, in his power. How well I had been controlled by the leash, even though my hands were free! I lay there prone, trembling, sweating on the stone, the tunic tight between my teeth; he then put his foot on my back, holding me down, pressing me to the stone, and, leaning forward, pulled up the leash, the leather again under my chin; my head was painfully back; always , as a practiced leash master, he avoided exerting pressure on the throat; that can be extremely dangerous; the pressure of a collar, of whatever sort of collar, is to be always high, under the chin, or at the back or sides of the neck; happily, he had adjusted the collar so that it was no longer a choke collar; else I might have been slain; most collars, of course, as mine now was, given the adjustment he had made, are not choke collars; such collars, as suggested, can be extremely dangerous; indeed, most masters eschew them; too, they commonly train their girls to such a point of perfection that there is no need for such a device; too, of course, the girls go to great lengths in diligence and perfection of service to avoid having such a device put on them; also, as a matter of fact, other devices are as much or more effective in girl training, even things as simple as bracelets and a switch; but even if a choke collar is used, the slave knows that she has nothing to fear from it, unless she is in the least bit recalcitrant or disobedient; then, of course, there is much to fear from it; he then, with the free end of the leash, which was long, tied my hands behind my back, and then crossed my ankles, and pulled them up, painfully behind me, and tied them to my wrists. I reared up a little, but was helpless. I then, lay, subdued, on my belly, before him, my wrists tied behind me, my ankles pulled up and tied to my wrists.
How I had been intimidated, controlled and mastered!
"Do you understand the leash now," he asked, "a little better?"
I whimpered once, fervently.
I now understood the leash, and its power, as I had never understood it before.
And as he had adjusted it, it had been only a common leash. How terrifying then would be a choke leash!
I had received additional training.
I gathered that he had though I needed it.
Certainly I would be a better kajira for it.
Another device which can be used for training, display, control, or such, is the slave harness, to which a leash may be attached. This does not touch the throat. Such a harness, well cinched on the slave, can be extremely attractive. There are usually two rings on such a harness, for the attachment of a leash; one is on the front of the harness and the other is on the back.
He then unbound my hands and feet, and gestured that I should once again go to all fours.
I did so, the leash still on me.
I would be taken through the door leashed, on all fours. I was a slave, an animal. And thus I would be presented, as an animal, before whoever might be on the other side of that door. The leash was a common leash. I did not require a choke collar.
"Soon, little tasta," he said. "Soon."
We waited.
My knees, and palms of my hands, were sore, from the stone. My body, too, was bruised from my leash training.
I had a clearer notion now of what I was.
I was more of a kajira now than I had been this morning.
This was, I think, a kindness on the part of the jailer. He wanted me to live.
Then I started as, from behind the door, from somewhere well behind it, once again, sounded the gong.
The door opened.
"Proceed, little tasta," said the jailer.
I then, on my leash, crawled toward the opening