the two men with the kaiila quirts struck her across the back
and, before she could
do more than cry out, she was, too, pulled to her feet and forward,
on the two tethers. She then stood, held by the tethers, wildly,
before the pole. Cancega pointed to the pole. She looked at him,
bewildered. Then the quirts, again, struck her, and she cried
out in pain. Cancega again pointed to the pole. Winyela then put
head down and took the pole in her small hands, and kissed it,
humbly. "Yes," said Cancega, encouraging her. "Yes." Again
Winyela kissed the pole. "Yes," said Cancega.
heard the rattles behind her, giving her her rhythm. These rattles
were then joined by the fifing of whistles, shrill
and high, formed from the wing bones of the taloned Herlit. A small
drum, too, then began to sound. Its more accented beats, approached
subtly but predictable, instructed the helpless, lovely dancer
as to the placement and timing of the more dramatic of her demonstrations
and motions. "It is the Kaiila," chanted the men.
Winyela danced. There was dust upon her hair and on her body.
On her cheeks were the three bars of greases that marked her as
the property of the Kailla. Grease, too, had been smeared liberally
upon her body. No longer was she a shining beauty. She was now
only a filthy slave, an ignoble animal, something of no account,
something worthless, obviously, but nonetheless permitted, in the
kindness of the Kaiila, a woman of another people, to attempt to
please the pole.
I smiled. Was
this not suitable? Was this not appropriate for her, a slave?
Winyela, kissing the pole, and caressing it, and
moving about it, and rubbing her body against it, under the directions
of Cancega, and guided sometimes by the tethers on her neck, continued
to dance. I whistled softly to myself. "Ah," said Cuwignaka. "It
is the Kaiila!" chanted the men. "I think the pole will
be pleased," I said. "I think a rock would be pleased," said
Cuwignaka. "I agree," I said.
the neck tethers, was pulled against the pole. She seized it,
and writhed against it, and licked at it. "It is
the Kaiila!" chanted the men. "It is the Kaiila!" shouted
Cuwignaka. A transformation seemed suddenly to come over Winyela.
This was evinced in her dance. "She is aroused," said
Cuwignaka. "Yes," I said.
She began, then, helplessly, to dance her servitude, her submission,
her slavery. The dance, then, came helplessly from the depths of
her. The tethers pulled her back from the pole and she reached
forth for it. She struggled to reach it, writhing. Bit by bit she
was permitted to near it, and then she embraced it. She climbed,
then, upon the pole. There her dance, on her knees, her belly and
back, squirming and clutching, continued.
Winyela now knelt on the pole and bent backwards, until her hair
fell about the wood, and then she slipped her legs down about the
pole and lay back on it, her hands holding to the pole behind her
head. She reared helplessly on the pole, and writhed upon it, almost
as though she might have been chained to it, and then, she turned
about and lay on the pole, on her stomach, her thighs gripping
it, her hands pushing her body up, and away from the pole, and
then, suddenly, moving down about the trunk, bringing her head
and shoulder down. Her red hair hung about the smooth, white wood.
Her lips, again and again, pressed down upon it, in helpless kisses.
Winyela, helplessly, piteously, danced her obeisance to the great
pole, and, in this, to her master, and to men.
In her dance, of course, Winyela was understood to be dancing
not only her personal slavery, which she surely was, but, from
the point of view of the Kaiila, in the symbolism of the dance,
in the medicine of the dance, that the women of enemies were fit
to be no more than the slaves of the Kaiila. I did not doubt but
what the Fleer and the Yellow Knives, and other peoples, too, might
have similar ceremonies, in which, in one way or another, a similar
profession might take place, there being danced or enacted also
by a woman of another group, perhaps even, in those cases, by a
maiden of the Kaiila. I, myself, saw the symbolism of the dance,
and, I think, so, too, did Winyela, in a pattern far deeper than
that of an ethnocentric idiosyncrasy.
I saw the symbolism
as being in accord with what is certainly one of the deepest
and most pervasive themes of organic nature,
that of dominance and submission. In the dance, as I chose to understand
it, Winyela danced the glory of life and the natural order; in
it she danced her submission to the might of men and the fulfillment
of her own femaleness; in it she danced her desire to be owned,
to feel passion, to give of herself, unstintingly, to surrender
herself, rejoicing, to service and love. "It is the Kaiila!" shouted
the men. "It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.
Winyela was dragged back, toward the bottom of the pole on its
tripods. There she was knelt down. The two men holding her neck
tethers slipped the rawhide, between their fist and the girl's
neck, under their feet, the man on her left under his right foot,
and the man on her right under his left foot. But already Winyela,
of her own accord, breathing deeply from the exertions of her dance,
and trembling, had put her head to the dirt, humbly, before the
Then the tension on the two tethers was increased, the rawhide
on her neck being drawn tight under the feet of her keepers. I
do not think Winyela desired to raise her head. But now, of course,
she could not have done so had she wished. It was held in place.
I think this is the way she would have wanted it. This is what
she would have chosen, to be owned, to serve, to be deprived of
The men about slapped their thighs and grunted their approval.
The music stopped. The tethers were removed from Winyela's neck.
She then, tentatively, lifted her head. It seemed now she was forgotten.
Blood Brothers of Gor - Page 39
girl wore Gorean dancing silk. It hung low upon her bared
hips, and fell to her ankles. It was scarlet, diaphanous.
A front corner of the silk was taken behind her and thrust,
loose and draped, into the rolled silk knotted about her
hips; a back corner of the silk was drawn before her and
thrust loosely, draped, into the rolled silk at her right
hip. Low on her hips she wore a belt of small denomination,
threaded, overlapping golden coins.
A veil concealed her muchly from us, it thrust into the strap
of the coined halter at her left shoulder, and into the coined
belt at her right hip. On her arms she wore numerous armlets
and bracelets. On the thumb and first finger of both her left
and right hand were golden finger cymbals. On her throat was
He clapped his hands. Immediately the girl stood beautifully,
alert, before us, her arms high, wrists outward. The musicians,
to one side, stirred, readying themselves. Their leader was a
czehar player. He looked at the girl. He clapped his hands, sharply.
There was a clear note of the finger cymbals, sharp, delicate,
bright, and the slave girl danced before us.
I regarded the coins threaded, overlapping, on her belt and
halter. They took the firelight beautifully. They glinted, but
were of small worth. One dresses such a woman in cheap coins;
she is slave. Her hand moved to the veil at her right hip. Her
head was turned away, as though unwilling and reluctant, yet
knowing she must obey. The dancer was now moving slowly to the
turned to watch the dancer. She danced well. At the moment
upon the "slave pole," it fixing her in
place. There is no actual pole, of course, but sometimes it is
difficult to believe there is not. The girl imagines that a pole,
slender, supple, swaying, transfixes her body, holding her helplessly.
About this imaginary pole, it constituting a hypothetical center
of gravity, she moves, undulating, swaying, sometimes yielding
to it in ecstasy, sometimes fighting it, it always holding her
in perfect place, its captive.
control achieved by the use of the "slave pole" is
remarkable. An incredible, voluptuous tension is almost immediately
generated, visible in the dancer's body, and kinetically felt
by those who watch. I heard men at the table cry out with pleasure.
The dancer's hands were at her thighs. She regarded them, angrily,
and still she moved. Her shoulder lifted and fell; her hands
touched her breasts and shoulder; her head was back, and then
again she glared at the men, angrily.
Her arms were high, very high. Her hips moved, swaying. Then,
the music suddenly silent, she was absolutely still. Her left
hand was at her thigh; her right high above her head; her eyes
were on her hip; frozen into a hip sway; then there was again
a bright, clear flash of finger cymbals, and the music began
again, and again she moved, helpless on the pole. Men threw coins
at her feet. The dancer moaned, crying out, as though in agony.
Still she remained impaled upon the slave pole, its prisoner.
The hips of the dancer now moved, seemingly in isolation from
the rest of her body, though her wrists and hands, ever so slightly,
moved to the music. Samos, with a snap of his fingers, freed
the dancer from the slave pole. She moved, turning, toward us.
Before us, loosening her veil at the right hip, she danced. Then
she took it from her left shoulder, where it had been tucked
beneath the strap of her halter.
With the veil loose, covering her, holding it in her hands,
she danced before us. then she regarded us, dark-eyed, over the
veil; it turned about her body, then,.. she wafted the silk about
her, immeshing her in its gossamer softness.
I saw the parted lips, the eyes wide with horror, of the kneeling,
harnessed girl, through the light, yellow veil; then the dancer
had drawn it away from her, and, turning, was again in the center
of the floor.
The dancer whirled near us, then enveloped me in her veil. Within
the secrecy of the veil, binding us together, she moved her body
slowly before me, lips parted, moaning... I slowly removed her
veil from her, then threw it aside.
Then with my right hand, the Tuchuk quiva in it, while still
holding her with my left, as she continued to move to the music,
I, behind her back, cut the halter she wore from her. I then
thrust her from me, before the tables, that she might better
please the guests of Samos, first slaver of Port Kar. She looked
at me reproachfully, but, seeing my eyes, turned frightened to
the men, hands over her head, to please them. Never in all this,
of course, had she lost the music in her body. The men cried
out, pleased with her beauty.
Tribesmen of Gor - Page 8
new dancer came forth upon the floor and began, a tall brute
near her with the leather, to perform a whip dance.
In the whip dance, though there are various versions of it,
depending on the locality, the girl is almost never struck with
the whip, unless, of course, she does not perform well. When
the whip is cracked, however, the girl will commonly react as
though she has been struck. This, conjoined with the music, and
her beauty, and the obvious symbolism of her beauty beneath total
male descipline, can be extremely, powerfully erotic. In an elegant,
civilized context, one of beauty and music, it makes clear and
bespeaks the raw and essential primitives of the ancient, genetic,
biological sexual realtionship of men and women.
The whip dance continued before us. The whip dance was now approaching
its climax. I turned my attention to the dancer on the floor.
She lay now on her back, one knee lifted, her arms at her sides,
palms down, before the brute with his whip, who towered over
her. Her head, too, was turned to the side. Then she turned her
head to face the brute who tyrannized her. She looked deeply
into his eyes. then, delicately, in a graceful gesture, she turned
her hands, putting their backs to the floor, exposing her palms,
and the soft flesh of her palms, to him, indicating her surrender,
her submission, her vulnerability and her readiness.
There was applause, the striking of the left shoulder, from
the tables. The brute then crouched beside her and encircled
her neck with the coils of his whip. He drew her to her knees
then before him.
She looked up at him, her neck in the whip coils, his.
There was more applause. Then the brute looked to Policrates,
who indicated a table. He then pulled the girl to her feet and,
running her over the tiles, and then releasing the coils from
her neck, threw her stumbling into the arms of waiting pirates
who, with a cry of pleasure, siezed her and began to work their
lusty wills upon her.
There was more applause, and laughter.
Rogue of Gor - Page 191
All eyes were on the
dark-haired dancer, the skirt of diaphanous scarlet dancing silk
low upon her hips. Her hands moved as though she might be, starved
with desire, picking flowers from a wall in a garden. One saw
almost the vines from which she plucked them, and how she held
them to her lips, and, at times, seemed to press herself against
the wall which confined her. Then she turned and, as though alone,
danced her need before the men.
I idly observed the dancer. Her eyes were on me. It seemed,
in her hands, she held ripe fruits for me, lush larma, fresh
picked. Her wrists were close together, as though confined by
the links of slave bracelets. She touched the imaginary larma
to her body, caressing her swaying beauty with it, and then,
eyes piteous, held her hands forth, as though begging me to accept
the lush fruit.
Men at the table clapped their hands on the wood, and looked
at me. Others smote their left shoulders. I smiled. On Gor, the
female slave, desiring her master, yet sometimes fearing to speak
to him, frightened that she may be struck, has recourse upon
occasion to certain devices, the meaning of which is generally
established and culturally well understood...to kneel before
the master and put her head down and lift her arms, offering
him fruit, usually a larma, or a yellow Gorean peach, ripe and
These devices, incidentally, may be used even by a slave girl
who hates her master but! whose body, trained to love, cannot
endure the absence of the masculine caress. Such girls, even
with hatred, may offer the larma, furious with themselves, yet
helpless, the captive of their slave needs, forced to beg on
their knees for the touch of a harsh master, who revels in the
sport of their plight. They are slaves.
The girl now knelt before me, her body obedient still trembling,
throbbing, to the melodious, sensual command of the music. I
looked into the cupped hands, held toward me. They might have
been linked in slave bracelets. They might have held lush larma.
I reached across the table and took her in my arms, and dragged
her, turning her, and threw her on her back on the table before
me. I lifted her to me, and thrust my lips to hers, crushing
her slave lips beneath mine. Her eyes shone. I held her from
me. She lifted her lips to mine. I did not permit her to touch
me. I jerked her to her feet and, half turning her, ripping her
silk from her, hurled her to the map floor, where she half lay,
half crouched, one leg beneath her, looking at me, stripped save
for her collar, the brand, the armlets, bells, the anklets, with
"Please us more," I told her. Her eyes blazed. "And
do not rise from the floor, Slave," I told her. The music,
which had stopped, began again. She turned furiously, yet gracefully,
extending a leg, touching an ankle, moving her hands up her leg,
looking at me over her shoulder, and then rolled, and writhed,
as though beneath the lash of master.
The dancer now lay on her back and the music was visible in
her breathing, and in small movements of her head, and hands.
Her hands were small and lovely. She lay on the map floor, her
head turned toward us. She was covered with sweat.
my fingers and her legs turned under her, and she was kneeling,
head back, dark hair on the tiles. Her hands moved,
delicate, lovely. Slowly, if permitted, she would rise to an
erect kneeling position; her hands, as she lifted herself, extended
toward us. Four times said I "No," each time my command
forcing her head back, her body bent, to the floor, and each
time, again, to the music, she lifted her body.
time I let her rise to an erect kneeling position. The last
portion of her body to rise was her beautiful head.
The collar was at her thorat. Her dark eyes, smoldering, vulnerable,
reproachful, regarded me. Still did she move to the music, which
had not yet released her. With a gesture I permitted her to rise
to her feet. "Dance your body, Slave," I told her, "to
the guests of Samos."
Angrily the girl, man by man, slowly, meaningfully, danced her
beauty to each guest. They struck the tables, and cried out.
More than one reached to clutch her but each time, swiftly, she
moved back. The dancer, now behind us, continued to move before
the low tables. The eyes of the men gleamed. Before each man,
for moments seemingly his alone, she danced her beauty.
turned from the tables and, hands high over her head, approached
me. She swayed to the music before me. "You commanded
me to dance my beauty for the guests of Samos," said she, "Master.
You, too, are such a guest." I looked upon her, narrow lidded,
as she strove to please me.
Then she moaned and turned away, and, as the music swirled to
its maddened, frenzied climax, she spun, whirling, in a jangle
of bells and clashing barbaric ornaments before the guests of
Samos. Then, as the music suddenly stopped, she fell to the floor,
helpless, vulnerable, a female slave. Her body, under the torchlight,
shone with a sheen of sweat.
She gasped for breath; her body was beautiful, her breasts lifting
and falling, as she drank deeply of the air. Her lips were parted.
Now that her dance was finished she could scarcely move. We had
not been gentle with her. She looked up at me, and lifted her
hand. It was at my feet she lay.
Tribesmen of Gor - Page 25
observed Phyllis Robertson performing the belt dance, on
love furs spread between the tables, under the eyes of
Warriors of Cernus and the members of his staff. Beside
me Ho-Tu was shoveling porridge into his mouth with a horn
The music was wild, a melody of the delta of the Vosk.
The belt dance is a dance developed and made famous by Port
dancing girls. Cernus, as usual, was engaged in a game
with Caprus, and had eyes only for the board.
The belt dance is performed with a Warrior. She now writhed
on the furs at his feet, moving as though being struck with a
whip. A white silken cord had been knotted about her waist; in
this cord was thrust a narrow rectangle of white silk, perhaps
about two feet long.
Phyllis Robertson now lay on her back, and then her side, and
then turned and rolled, drawing up her legs, putting her hands
before her face, as though fending blows, her face a mask of
pain, of fear. The music became more wild.
The dance receives its name from the fact that the girl's head
is not suppose to rise above the Warrior's belt, but only purists
concern themselves with such niceties; wherever the dance is
performed, however, it is imperative that the girl never rise
to her feet.
The music now became a moan of surrender, and the girl was on
her knees, her head down, her hands on the ankle of the Warrior,
his sandal lost in the unbound darkness of her hair, her lips
to his foot. In the next phases of the dance the girl knows herself
the Warrior's, and endeavors to please him, but he is difficult
to move, and her efforts, with the music, become ever more frenzied
The belt dance was now moving to its climax and I turned to
watch Phyllis Robertson. Under the torchlight Phyllis Robertson
was now on her knees, the Warrior at her side, holding her behind
the small of the back.
Her head went farther back, as her hands moved on the arms of
the Warrior, as though once to press him away, and then again
to draw him closer, and her head then touched the furs, her body
a cruel, helpless bow in his hands, and then, her head down,
it seemed she struggled and her body straightened itself until
she lay, save for her head and heels, on his hands clasped behind
her back, her arms extended over her head to the fur behind her.
At this point, with a clash of cymbals, both dancers remained
immobile. Then, after this instant of silence under the torches,
the music struck the final note, with a mighty and jarring clash
of cymbals, and the Warrior had lowered her to the furs and her
lips, arms about his neck, sought his with eagerness. Then, both
dancers broke apart and the male stepped back, and Phyllis now
stood, alone on the furs, sweating, breathing deeply, head down.
Assassin of Gor - Page 185
At a languid gesture
from Ibn Saran, Alyena lifted herself from the scarlet tiles,
gracefully turning from her side to her knees, and then, head
back, hair to the floor, slowly, inch by melodic protesting inch,
arms before her body, lifted herself to a kneeling position,
erect, the last bit of her to rise being her head, with a swirl
of her blond, loose hair.
to Ibn Saran, suddenly she bent forward, as though impulsively,
as though she could not help herself, and, hands
on the tiles, head down, kissed the tiles at his feet, before
his slippers. She looked up at him. I gathered she wanted to
be bought by him. He was her "rich man."
He lifted his finger for her to rise. Her right leg thrust forth,
brazenly, and then, from her kneeling position, slowly, hands
above her head, moving, high, she rose swaying to her feet.
"May I strip your slave?" inquired
"Of course," I
He nodded to the girl. To the music she unhooked her slave halter
of yellow silk and, as though contemptuously, discarded it. I
saw she was excited to see his interest in her. Only too obviously
was she interested in him making a purchase of her. The churning
of milk and the pounding of grain were not for lovely Alyena.
That was for ugly girls and free women. She was too desirable,
too beautiful, to be set to such labors.
Alyena, now, slowly, disengaged the dancing silk from her hips,
yet held it, moving it on and about her body, by her hands, taunting
the reclining, languid, heavy-lidded Ibn Saran, to whom she knew,
at his slightest gesture, she must bare herself.
He regarded her veil work; she was skillful; he was a connoisseur
of slave girls.
At a signal from Ibn Saran, Alyena drew the veil about her body,
and around it, and, with one small hand, threw it aside. She
stood boldly before him, arms lifted, head to the side, right
leg flexed. The veil, floating, wafted away, a dozen feet from
her, and gently, ever so gently, settled to the tiles. Then,
to the new melodic line, she danced.
Alyena now to a swirl of music spun before us, swept helpless
with it, bangles clashing, to its climax. Then she stopped, marvelously,
motionlessly, as the music was silent, her head back, her arms
high, her body covered with sweat, and then, to the last swirl
of the barbaric melody, fell to the floor at the feet of Ibn
Saran. I noted the light hair on her forearms. She gasped for
Tribesmen of Gor - Page 104
I turned away and gave
my attention to the slave writhing on the tiles before us. She
was performing a need dance, of a type not uncommon among Gorean
female slaves. Such a dance usually proceeds in clearly defined
phrases, evident not merely in the expressions and movements
of the girl but in the nature of the accompanying music.
There are usually five phases to such a dance. In the first
phase the girl, dancing, feigns indifference to the presence
of men, before whom, as a slave, she must perform. In the second
phase, for she has not yet been raped, her distress and uneasiness,
her restlessness, her disturbance by her sexual urges, must become
subtly more manifest.
Here it must be evident that she is beginning to feel her sexuality,
and drives, profoundly, and yet is struggling against them. Toward
the end of this phase it must become clear not only that she
has sexual needs, and deep ones, but that she is beginning to
fear that she may not be, simply as she is, of sufficient interest
to men to obtain their satisfaction. Here, need, coupled with
anxiety and self-doubt, for she has not yet been seized by strong
men, must become clear.
In the third phase of the dance she, in an almost ladylike fashion,
acknowledges herself defeated in her attempt to conceal her sexuality;
she then, again in an almost ladylike fashion, delicately but
clearly, with restraint but unmistakably, acknowledges, and publicly,
before masters, that she has sexual needs.
Then, with smiles, and gestures, displaying herself, she makes
manifest her readiness for the service of men, her willingness,
and her receptivity. She invited them, so to speak to have her.
But she has not yet been seized by an arm or an ankle, or by
her collar, a thumb hooked rudely under it, or hair, and pulled
from the floor. What if she is not sufficiently pleasing? What
if she is not to be fulfilled? What if she must continue to dance,
alone, unnoticed. At this point it becomes clear to her that
it is by no means a foregone conclusion that men will find her
of interest, or that they will see fit to satisy her. She must
strive to be pleasing.
If she is not good enough she may be chained, unfulfilled, another
night alone in the kennel. There are always other girls. She
must earn her rape. Too, if she should be insufficiently pleasing
consistently it is likely that she will be slain. Goreans place
few impediments in the way of liberation of a slave female's
In this phase of the dance, then, shamelessly the woman dances
her need and, shamelessly, begs for her sexual satisfaction.
The phase of the dance is sometimes known as the Heat of the
The fifth, and final phase, of the dance, is far more dramatic
and exciting. In this phase the girl, overcome by sexual desire
and terrified that she may not be found sufficiently pleasing,
clearly manifests, and utterly, that she is a slave female. In
this portion of the dance the girl is seldom on her feet. Rather,
sitting, rolling, and changing position, on her side, her back,
her belly, half kneeling, half sitting, kneeling, crawling, reaching
out, bending backwards, lying down, twisting with passion, gesturing
to her body, presenting it to masters for their inspection and
interest, whimpering, moaning, crying out, brazenly presenting
herself as a slave, pleading for her rape, she writhes, a piteous,
begging, vulnerable, ready slave, a woman fit for and begging
for the touch of a master, a woman begging to become, at the
least touch of her master, a totally submitted slave.
The fourth phase of the dance, as I have mentioned, is sometimes
known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. This portion of
the dance, the fifth portion, is sometimes known as the Heat
of the Slave Girl.
The music ended with a swirl of sound and the girl, with a jangle
of bells, lay before the table of Policrates, whimpering, her
hand extended. She lifted her head. I read the unmistakable need
in her eyes. She was indeed a slave female.
Rogue of Gor - Page 185
The figure of the woman, swathed in black, heavily veiled, descended
the steps of the slave wagon. Once at the foot of the stairs
she stopped and stood for a long moment. Then the musicians began,
the hand-drums first, a rhythm of heartbeat and flight.
To the music, beautifully, it seemed the frightened figure ran
first here and then there, occasionally avoiding imaginary objects
or throwing up her arms, ran as though through the crowds of
a burning city - alone, yet somehow suggesting the presence about
her of hunted others.
Now, in the background, scarcely to be seen, was the figure
of a warrior in scarlet cape. He, too, in his way, though hardly
seeming to move, approached, and it seemed that wherever the
girl might flee there was found the warrior. And then at last
his hand was upon her shoulder and she threw back her head and
lifted her hands and it seemed her entire body was wretchedness
and despair. He turned the figure to him and, with both hands,
brushed away hood and veil.
There was a cry of delight from the crowd.
The girl's face was fixed in the dancer's stylized moan of terror,
but she was beautiful. I had seen her before, of course, as had
Kamchak, but it was startling still to see her thus in the firelight
- her hair was long and silken black, her eyes dark, the color
of her skin tannish.
She seemed to plead with the warrior but he did not move. She
seemed to writhe in misery and try to escape his grip but she
Then he removed his hands from her shoulders and, as the crowd
cried out, she sank in abject misery at his feet and performed
the ceremony of submission, kneeling, lowering the head and lifting
and extending the arms, wrists crossed.
The warrior then turned from her and held out one hand. Someone
from the darkness threw him, coiled, the chain and collar. He
gestured for the woman to rise and she did so and stood before
him, head lowered.
He pushed up her head and then, with a click that could be heard
throughout the enclosure, closed the collar - a Turian collar
- about her throat. The chain to which the collar was attached
was a good deal longer than that of the Sirik, containing perhaps
twenty feet of length.
Then, to the music, the girl seemed to twist and turn and move
away from him, as he played out the chain, until she stood wretched
some twenty feet from him at the chain's length. She did not
move then for a moment, but stood crouched down, her hands on
I saw that Aphris and Elizabeth were watching fascinated. Kamchak,
too, would not take his eyes from the woman. The music had stopped.
Then with a suddenness that almost made me jump and the crowd
cry out with delight the music began again but this time as a
barbaric cry of rebellion and rage and the wench from Port Kar
was suddenly a chained she-larl biting and tearing at the chain
and she had cast her black robes from her and stood savage revealed
in diaphanous, swirling yellow Pleasure Silk.
There was now a frenzy and hatred in the dance, a fury even
to the baring of teeth and snarling. She turned within the collar,
as the Turian collar is designed to permit. She circled the warrior
like a captive moon to his imprisoning scarlet sun, always at
the length of the chain. Then he would take up a fist of chain,
drawing her each time inches closer. At times he would permit
her to draw back again, but never to the full length of the chain,
and each time he permitted her to withdraw, it was less than
The dance consists of several phases, depending on the general
orbit allowed the girl by the chain. Certain of these phases
are very slow, in which there is almost no movement, save perhaps
the turning of a head or the movement of a hand; others are defiant
and swift; some are graceful and pleading; each time, as the
common thread, she is drawn closer to the caped warrior.
At last his fist was within the Turian collar itself and he
drew the girl, piteous and exhausted, to his lips, subduing her
with his kiss, and then her arms were about his neck and unresisting,
obedient, her head to his chest, she was lifted lightly in his
arms and carried from the firelight.
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may dance, Slave," I told her. It was to be the dance
of the six thongs.
She slipped the silk from her and knelt before the great table
and chair, between the other tables, dropping her head. She wore
five pieces of metal, her collar and locked rings on her wrists
and ankles. Slave bells were attached to the collar and the rings.
She lifted her head, and regarded me. The musicians, to one side,
began to play.
Six of my men, each with a length of binding fiber, approached
her. She held her arms down, and a bit to the sides. The ends
of six lengths of binding fiber, like slave snares, were fastened
on her, one for each wrist and ankle, and two about her waist;
the men, then, each holding the free end of a length of fiber,
stood about her, some six or eight feet from her, three on a
side. She was thus imprisoned among them, each holding a thong
that bound her.
Sandra then, luxuriously, catlike, like a woman awakening, stretched
her arms. There was laughter. It was as though she did not know
herself bound. When she went to draw her arms back to her body
there was just the briefest instant in which she could not do
so, and she frowned, looked annoyed, puzzled, and then was permitted
to move as she wished. I laughed. She was superb.
Then, still kneeling, she raised her hand, head back, insolently
to her hair, to remove from it one of the ornate pins, its head
carved from the horn of kailiauk, that bound it. Again a thong,
this time that on her right wrist, prohibited, but only for an
instant, the movement, but inches from her hair. She frowned.
There was laughter.
At last, sometimes immediately permitted, sometimes not, she
had removed the pins from her hair. Her hair was beautiful, rich,
long and black. As she knelt, it fell back to her ankles. Then,
with her hands, she lifted the hair again back over her head,
and then, suddenly, her hands, by the thongs were pulled apart
and her hair fell again loose and rich over her body. Now, angrily,
struggling, she fought to lift her hair again but the thongs,
holding apart her hands, did not permit her to do so. She fought
them. The thongs would permit her only to wear her hair loosely.
Then, as though in terror and fury, as though she now first
understood herself in the snares of a slave, she leaped to her
feet, fighting, to the music, the thongs. The dancing girls of
Port Kar, I told myself, are the best on all Gor. Dark and golden,
shimmering, crying out, stamping, she danced, her thonged beauty
incandescent in the light of the torches and the frenzy of the
She turned and twisted and leaped, and sometimes seemed almost
free, but was always, by the dark thongs, held complete prisoner.
Sometimes she would rush upon one man or another, but the others
would not permit her to reach him, keeping her always beautiful
female slave snared in her web of thongs. She writhed and cried
out, trying to force the thongs from her body, but could not
At last, bit by bit, as her fear and terror mounted, the men,
fist by fist, took up the slack in the thongs that tethered her,
until suddenly, they swiftly bound her hand and foot and lifted
her over their heads, captured female slave, displaying her bound
arched body to the tables.
were cries of pleasure from the tables, and much striking of
right fist on the left shoulder. She had been truly superb.
Then the men carried her before my table and held her bound before
me. "A slave," said one. "Yes," cried the
girl, "slave!" The music finished with a clash. The
applause and cries were wild and loud. I was much pleased.
Raiders of Gor - Page 228
the tether on her throat. "This is a tether," I
said, "It is to be well incorporated in your dance. You
are a tethered slave. Do not forget it. You may fight the tether,
you may love it. It may confine your body, you may use it to
caress your body, an invitation to your master, a surrogate symbol
of his domination of you. You need not dance always on your feet.
A woman can dance beautifully on her knees, moving as little
as a hand, or on her back, or belly or side. In all things do
not forget that you are a slave."
"Are you now commanding me to dance before you?" she
asked. "Yes," I said, "you dance now as a commanded
slave. And if I am not well pleased have no fear but what you
will be well beaten, if not slain." "Yes, Master," she
said. I then struck my hands together, and, terrified, the girl
She had not been taught the tether dance, one of the most beautiful
of the slave dances of Gor, but she improvised well. Indeed,
it was hard to believe that she had not had training. I am inclined
to believe that the need dances and display dances of the human
female may be, at least in their rudiments, instinctual. I suspect
there is a genetic disposition in the woman toward this type
of behavior and that certain of the movements, closely associated
with luring behavior and love movements, may also be genetically
One reason for supposing this to be the case is that a girl's
growth in certain forms of dance skills does not follow a normal
learning curve. It is rather like the human being's ability to
acquire speech, which also does not follow a normal learning
curve. It seems reasonably likely that facility in acquiring
speech, which would have enormous survival value, has been selected
for. Similarly, a woman's marvelous adaptability to erotic dance
may possibly have been selected for. At any rate, whatever the
truth may be in these matters, feminine women, perhaps to the
horror of their more masculine sisters, seem to take naturally
to the beauties of erotic dance. At the very least, perhaps inexplicably,
they are marvelously good at it. These genetic dispositions,
of course, if they exist, can be culturally suppressed.
the girl dance. She was quite good. "Now you
are becoming a woman," I told her. She knelt on one knee,
her right; her left leg was flexed; the tether was taken, in
a turn, about her left thigh; her hands, too, were on her left
thigh; her head was down, but turned toward me; her lip trembled. "Continue
to dance, Slave," I told her. "Yes, Master," she
I watched her, and marveled. It is interesting to note that
such movements, those of slave dances, despite the inhibitions
of rigid cultures, may occur in a girl's sleep, and may even
occur, almost spontaneously, when she, nude, alone, passes before
a mirror in her bedroom. How shocked she may be to suddenly see
her body move as that of a slave. Could it have been she who
so moved? Later, perhaps to her surprise, she finds herself standing
before the mirror. She is naked, and alone. Then, perhaps scarcely
understanding what is occurring within her, she sees the girl
in the mirror has begun to dance.
The movements are not dissimilar perhaps to those of women who,
thousands of years ago, danced in firelit caves before their
masters. Then, knowing well that it is she herself who is the
dancer, she dances brazenly, boldly, before the mirror. Well
does she present her bared beauty before it in the movements,
the attitudes and postures of the female slave. Then perhaps
she falls to the rug, scratching at it, pressing her belly to
"I want a Master," she
whispers. I now stood up. My arms were folded.
The girl now was upon her knees at my feet, the tether on her
neck slung back behind her to the slave stake. Still in her dance,
she began to lick and kiss at my body. I then took her by the
upper arms and held her, half lifted from her knees, before me.
"Please do not whip me," she begged. I then, by the
upper arms, dragged her to the side of the slave stake. I put
her on her knees there. She looked up at me. "you danced
well as a slave," I said.
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