Chain Dance
"The drummer and the flutist prepared once more to play.
The girl in the long, light chain smiled at me. She, at any rate, was pleased by my response.
A wrist ring was fastened on her right wrist. The long, slender, gleaming chain was fastened to this and, looping down and up, ascended gracefully to a wide chain ring on her collar, through which it freely passed, thence descending, looping down, and ascending, looping up, gracefully, to the left wrist ring. If she were to stand quietly, the palms of her hands on her thighs, the lower portions of the chain, those two dangling loops, would have been about at the level of her knees, just a little higher. The higher portion of the chain, of course, would be at the collar loop.
The musicians began again to play. There is much that can be done with such a chain. It was a dancing chain. Its purpose was not to confine the girl but to allow her to incorporate it in her dance, enhancing the dance with its movements and beauty. It is, of course, symbolic of her bondage, this adding fantastic dimensions of significance to the dance. It is not merely a beautiful woman who dances, but one who can be bought and sold, one who is subject to male ownership. Too, of course, the wrist rings, and the collar, are truly locked on her. There is no doubt about it. It is a slave, with all that that means, who is dancing."
~Kajira of Gor, pages 142-143~
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Chain Dance 2
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 did not.
Then he removed his hands from her shoulders and, as the crowd cried out, she sank in abject misery at his feet and performed the ceremony of submission, kneeling, lowering the head and lifting and extending the arms, wrists crossed.
The warrior then turned from her and held out one hand.
Someone from the darkness threw him, coiled, the chain and collar.
He gestured for the woman to rise and she did so and stood before him, head lowered.
He pushed up her head and then, with a click that could be heard throughout the enclosure, closed the collar - a Turian collar - about her throat. The chain to which the collar was attached was a good deal longer than that of the Sirik, containing perhaps twenty feet of length.
Then, to the music, the girl seemed to twist and turn and move away from him, as he played out the chain, until she stood wretched some twenty feet from him at the chain's length. She did not move then for a moment, but stood crouched down, her hands on the chain.
The music had stopped.
Then with a suddenness that almost made me jump and the crowd cry out with delight the music began again but this time as a barbaric cry of rebellion and rage and the wench from Port Kar was suddenly a chained she-larl biting and tearing at the chain and she had cast her black robes from her and stood savage revealed in diaphanous, swirling yellow Pleasure Silk. There was now a frenzy and hatred in the dance, a fury even to the baring of teeth and snarling. She turned within the collar, as the Turian collar is designed to permit. She circled the warrior like a captive moon to his imprisoning scarlet sun, always at the length of the chain. Then he would take up a fist of chain, drawing her each time inches closer. At times he would permit her to draw back again, but never to the full length of the chain, and each time he permitted her to withdraw, it was less than the last. The dance consists of several phases, depending on the general orbit allowed the girl by the chain. Certain of these phases are very slow, in which there is almost no movement, save perhaps the turning of a head or the movement of a hand; others 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.
Nomads of Gor, pgs. 159 - 161
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Sa'eela Dance
The Sa-eela is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of the slaves dances of
Gor. It belongs, generally to the genre of dances commonly known as the Lure Dances of the
Love-Starved Slave Girl. The common theme of the genre, of course, is the attempt on the
part of a neglected slave to call herself to the attention of the Master.... The Sa-eela,
usually performed in the nude, as though by a low slave, and by a girl freed of all
impediments except her collar, is one of the most powerful of slave dances of Gor. It is
done rather differently in different cities but the variations practiced in the river towns
and, generally in the Vosk basin, are in my opinion, among the finest. There is no
standardization for better or worse, in Gorean slave dance. Not only can the dances differ
from city to city, but even from tavern to tavern, and from girl to girl. This is because
each girl, in her own way, brings the nature of her own body, her own dispositions, her own
sensuality and needs, her own personality, to the dance. For the woman, slave dance is a
uniquely personal and creative art form. Too, it provides her with a wondrous modality for
deeply intimate self-expression.
Peggy now danced upon her knees, at the end of the table using the table in the dance,
thrusting her belly against it, and touching it with her hands, and her body and lips.
The Sa-eela, of course is not the sort of dance which could be performed by a free woman.
Peggy, then was back from the table, on the tiles, on her back, and sides, and knees, and
then prone, and again supine, and then writhing, as though in frustration and loneliness.
Stands before the Master, hands lifted, their backs together above her head.
T observed the dancer, closely, the striking of her small, clenched fists on the tiles, the
scratching of her fingernails at their smooth surfaces, the turning of a hip, the flattening
of a thigh, the lifting of a knee, the turning of her head, the piteous scattering of her
hair from side to side. She lay on her back, and whimpering, struck down in misery, stinging
the palms of her hands, bruising her small heels. She might have been in a cell, locked away
from men.
She then rolled to her stomach, and rose to her hands and knees, and head down remained for
a moment in that posture. It is at this moment that the music enters a different melodic
phase, one less physical and frenzied, one almost lyrical in its poignancy. She crawls some
feet to her left and lifts her head. She puts out her small hand. It seems that it there
encounters some barrier, some enclosing, confining wall. She then rises to her feet. Swiftly
she hurries about, in the graceful, frightened haste of the dancer, her hands seeming to
trace the location of the obdurate barriers, those invisible walls which seem to contain
her. She then stood and faced us, and put her head in her hands, bent over and straightened
her body, her head and hair thrown back. "I?" she seemed to ask, looking out, as though some
rude jailer might have come to the gate of her pen. But there is of course, no one there, and
in the performance of the dance, that is clearly understood. Then, in poignant fantasy,
within the pen. But there is, of course, no one there, and in the performance of the dance,
that is clearly understood. Then, in poignant fantasy, within the pen, she prepares herself
for the master, seeming to thoughtfully select silks and jewelry, seeming to apply perfume
and cosmetics, seeming to be bedecked in shimmering diaphanous slave splendor. She then
crosses her wrists, and moves them, as though they have been bound. She then extends them
before her as though the strap on them had been drawn taut. It then seems that she, head
high, a bound slave is being led on her tether from the pen. But, at the gate, of course,
her wrists separate, and her small palms and fingers indicate for us clearly, that she is
still confined. She retreats to the center of the pen, falls to her knees, covers her head
with her hands, and weeps.
The next phase of the music begins at this point.
She looks up. There is a sound in the corridor, beyond the gate. She leaps up, and backs
against the wall of her pen. This time, it seems, truly, there are men there, that they have
come for her. She puts her head up; She turns away; she feigns disdain. Then it seems as
she, startled, looks about, on the floor of the pen, calling to them, lifting her head,
holding out her hand piteously to them. She pleads to be considered.
It then seems, as she shrinks back, lifting herself to the palms of her hands, frightened,
that the gate to her pen has been opened. She kneels swiftly in the position of the pleasure
slave. Obviously she fears her rude jailers. Twice it seems she is struck with a whip. Then
she again assumes the position of a pleasure slave. She nods her head. She understands well
what is expected of her. She is to perform well on the tiles of the feasting hall. "Yes
Masters!" it seems she says. But how little do her jailers, perhaps only common and boorish
fellows, understand that this is precisely what she too, deeply and desperately desires to
do. How long she has waited, in cruel frustration, unfulfilled and lonely, in her cell for
just such a moment, that precious opportunity in which she a mere slave, may be permitted to
display and present herself for consideration of her master. How can they understand the
poignance, and significance of this moment for her? She is to have an opportunity to present
herself before the master! Who knows if she in such a large house, one with such cells and
jailers, may ever again be given such an opportunity?
It then seems that she is hauled to her feet and that her wrists, tightly and cruelly, are
bound behind her back. Her body and head are then bent far over. Her head twists. It seems a
man's hand is in her hair. Not as a high slave, clothed in jewelries and shimmering silks,
tastefully bound, is she to be conducted to the site of her performance, some aristocratic
banquet; rather, cruelly bound and nude, she is to be thrown before masters at a drunken
feast. She then with small, hurried steps, bent over, described a wide circle on the tiles.
Then, it seemed, she was thrown to her knees, and then her side, before us. Her hands were
still held as though tightly bound behind her. She looked at us. We were of course, the
"masters," before whom she was to perform. She rose to her feet. She twisted as though her
hands were being untied. She then flexed her legs and lifted her hands over her head, as she
hand in the beginning, back to back.
The final phases of the Sa-eela then begin.
In these phases the girl, in all her unshielded beauty, and naked except for the collar of
slavery, attempts to arouse the interest of her master.
Peggy's body gleamed with sweat. She had small feet, and lovely high arches. Her body was
superb...
She had now entered into the display phase of the Sa-eela. In this portion of the dance the
girl calls attention to the various aspects of her beauty, from the swirling sheen of her
cascading hair to her ankles, from her small feet to her tiny, fine fingers....
The music now, pounding and throbbing, mounted headily toward the climax of the Sa-eela.
In these, the final portions of the Sa-eela, the slave in effect, puts herself at the mercy
of the master. She has already presented before him, almost in a delectable enumeration,
many of the more external and rhythmic aspects of her beauty. She has displayed herself
hitherto before him rather as an object in which, hopefully, he might take an interest. A
woman may do this, of course from many motives, such as fear or her desire to be purchased
by an affluent master, only one of which might be her authentic, poignant desire to be found
pleasing by him, for her own sake. In such displays there can be, though there often is not,
a subtle psychological distinction, detectable in the behavior, between the merchandise, so
to speak, and the girl who is displaying herself as merchandise. In the first case, where no
true distinction exists, which is the authentic case, the girl in effect says, "I am for
sale. Buy me, and love me!" In the second case, the girl in effect says, "Here is a fine
slave. Are you not interested in her?" In the second case of course, the Gorean is
interested, though the girl may not understand this clearly, in not only the merchandise but
the girl who is displaying the merchandise. She might truly be terrified if she understood
that it was herself he intended to own, and in fact, was going to own, she the exhibitor of
the merchandise as well as she, the merchandise exhibited. Goreans, as I have mentioned, are
interested in owning the whole woman, in all her sweetness, depth, complexity and
individuality.
The girl now, in all her helplessness, in all her desperation in all her sensual splendor,
was dancing not aspects or attributes of her beauty before her master, but was dancing her
own passions, her own needs and desires, her own piteous needful, beautiful, intimate and
personal self before him. There were no restraints, no reservations, no compromises, no
divisions or distinctions. Her needs were as exposed as her collared body. She danced
herself before her master.
The music swirled to its climax and Peggy, turning, flung herself to her back on the tiles
before Callimachus of Port Cos. As the music struck its last, rousing note, she arched her
back, and flexed her legs, and looked back at him, her right arm extended piteously back
toward him.
*Guardsmen of Gor, pages 259-266
Dance's page 2
Command To Dance
He smiled.
"I will not!" I said.
"Get on your feet," he said.
"You will begin at the beginning," he said. "You will perform the entire dance, from beginning to end, for us."
"Please, no," I said. I could not stand the thought, the terrifying thought, of putting myself, in the beauty of dance, before men such as these. I could not even dream of letting such men see me dance. It was utterly unthinkable. I had not even dared to show myself thusly to common men, to banal, safe, inoffensive, trivial, conquered men, men of the sort with whom I associated, men of the sort I knew. Who knew what they might think, how they might be tempted to act, what they might be prompted to do?
.........The piece was excellent, in its melodic lines, its moods, and shifts. It was one of my favorites. But never before had I danced to it in terror. Never before had I danced to it before men. Then it finished in a swirl and I spun and sank to my knees before them, my head down, my hands on my thighs, in a common ending position for such a dance. Never before, however, I think, had I been so suddenly and deeply struck with the meaning of this ending position, it following the beauty of the dance, its presentation of the dancer in a posture of submission."
~Dancer of Gor, pages 32-33~
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Trained to Dance
"May Alyena, your obedient girl, your dutiful girl, be taught to dance?".....
"Yes, pretty Alyena," I said to her. "I will have you taught to dance, for in your belly is slave fire." .....
Alyena, in dancing, sensed the power of Ibn Saran. It is not difficult for a female dancer, lightly clad, displaying her beauty, to detect where among those who watch her lies power. I am not sure precisely how this is done. Doubtless, to some extent, it has to do with richness of raiment. But even more, I suspect, it has to do with the way in which they hold their bodies, their assurance, their eyes, as they, as though owning her, observe her. A woman finds herself looked upon very differently by a man who has power and one who does not.
Instinctively, of course, to be looked upon by a man with power thrills a woman. They desire, desperately, to please him. This is particularly true of a slave girl, whose femaleness is most shamelessly and brazenly bared. Ibn Saran, languid, observed the dancer. His face betrayed no emotion. He, sipped his hot black wine.
Alyena threw herself to the floor before him, moving to the music.........I saw her turn, and twist, and writhe, and move, and, on her belly, hold out her hand to him.
Her lessons, which had been intensive, once we had arrived at the Oasis of Nine Wells, had cost little, and had, in my opinion, much increased her value, doubling or tripling it. The modest cost of the lessons had been, in my opinion, an excellent investment. My property had now increased, considerably, in value. But most credit, surely, had to go to the girl herself. With fantastic diligence had she applied herself to her lessons, and practices. Even so small a thing as the motion of the wrist she had practiced for hours.
Her teacher was a cafe slave girl, Seleenya, rented, from her master; her musicians were a flutist, hired early, and, later, a kaska player, to accompany him.
Once I saw her, naked, covered with sweat and bangles, in the sand.
"Have you had to beat her often?" I asked Seleenya.
"No," said the slave girl. "I have never seen a girl so eager," she said.
"Play," said I to the musicians.
They played, until I, by lifting a finger, silenced them. At the same time, too, Alyena froze in the sand, her right hand high, left band low, at her hip, her head bent to the left, eyes intent on the fingers of her left hand, as though curious to see if they would dare to touch her thigh; then she broke the pose, and threw back her head, breathing deeply. There was sand on her ankles and feet; perspiration ran down her body.
..........I motioned her to her feet. I signaled the musicians. She danced.
I observed her. I thought it not unlikely this slave might stir the interest of a man of means.
..........It was superb. And it was incredible. She did not yet know she was a true slave. What a little fool she was.
I watched her move.
She smiled at me, disdainfully. I considered her blond hair, now wild about her head as, suddenly, she entered into a series of spins. Her gaze focused to the last moment on a spot across the room from her, and then, suddenly, on each spin, her head snapped about, and she again found the focus. Then she finished the spins, and froze, hands over her head, body held high, stomach in, right leg flexed and extended, toes only touching the floor. Then she was again in basic position.
..........Behind me, as I thrust apart the beads, I heard the pounding of the drum, the kaska, the silence, then the sound, as the flutist, his hands on her body, to the sound of the drum, instructed the girl in the line-length and intensity of one of the varieties of pre-abandonment pelvic thrusts.
"'Less," he said. "Less. There must be more control, more precision. You are being forced to do this, but you are holding back. You are angry. This must show in your face."
"Please do not touch me so, Master," she said.
"Be silent,' he said to her. 'You are slave.'"
~Tribesmen of Gor, pages 100 – 104~
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Trained Pole Dance
"She knelt behind the dark, smooth post, facing it, her knees on either side of it, her belly and breasts against it, her hands embracing it.
"This may be done to music," said Hermidorus, "and, as you know, there are many versions to the post dance, or pole dance, singly, or with more than one girl, with or without bonds, and so on, but here we are using it merely as a training exercise.
The whip cracked again and the girl, suddenly and lasciviously, became active.
I gasped.
She began to writhe about the pole. "Kiss it, caress it, love it!" commanded the trainer, snapping the whip. "Now more slowly, now scarcely moving, now use your thighs, and breasts more, moving all about it, holding it. Touch it with your tongue, lick it! Use the inside of your thighs more, your breasts, turn about it, slowly, sensuously. Lift your hands above your head, palms to the pole, caressing it. Turn about the pole! Twist about it! Now to your knees, holding it!" He then cracked the whip again. "Enough!" he said. She was then as she had been before, kneeling behind the post, her knees on either side of it, her belly and breasts pressed against it, her hands embracing it."
~Kajira of Gor, page 141~
Dance's page 3
Untrained Girl Dance
Kron clapped his hands again and to my surprise there was a sudden sound of bells and four terrified girls, obviously chosen for their beauty and grace, stood before our table clad only in the scarlet dancing silks of Gor. They threw back their heads and lifted their arms and to the barbaric cadence set by the musicians danced before us.
"Why are they dancing for you?" asked Lara
"They will be whipped if they do not," said Kron.
Lara's eyes dropped.
"You see the collars," said Kron pointing to the slender graceful bands of silver each girl worse at her throat. "We melted the masks and used the silver for the collar."
When Kron had tired of watching the dancers he clapped his hands twice and with discordant jangle of their ankle bells they fled the room.
~Outlaw of Gor, pages 225-226~
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Alyena's Veil Dance
"At a languid gesture from Ibn Saran, Alyena lifted herself from the scarlet tiles, gracefully turning from her side to her knees, and then, head back, hair to the floor, slowly, inch by melodic protesting inch, arms before her body, lifted herself to a kneeling position, erect, the last bit of her to rise being her head, with a swirl of her blond, loose hair. Then, looking to Ibn Saran, suddenly she bent forward, as though impulsively, as though she could not help herself, and, hands on the tiles, head down, kissed the tiles at his feet, before his slippers. She looked up at him. I gathered she wanted to be bought by him. He was her "rich man." He lifted his finger for her to rise. Her right leg thrust forth, brazenly, and then, from her kneeling position, slowly, hands above her head, moving, high, she rose swaying to her feet.
"May I strip your slave?" inquired Ibn Saran.
"Of course," I said.
He nodded to the girl. To the music she unhooked her slave halter of yellow silk and, as though contemptuously, discarded it. I saw she was excited to see his interest in her. Only too obviously was she interested in him making a purchase of her. The churning of milk and the pounding of grain were not for lovely Alyena. That was for ugly girls and free women. She was too desirable, too beautiful, to be set to such labors.
Alyena, now, slowly, disengaged the dancing silk from her hips, yet held it, moving it on and about her body, by her hands, taunting the reclining, languid, heavy-lidded Ibn Saran, to whom she knew, at his slightest gesture, she must bare herself.
He regarded her veil work; she was skillful; he was a connoisseur of slave girls.
At a signal from Ibn Saran, Alyena drew the veil about her body, and around it, and, with one small hand, threw it aside. She stood boldly before him, arms lifted, head to the side, right leg flexed. The veil, floating, wafted away, a dozen feet from her, and gently, ever so gently, settled to the tiles. Then, to the new melodic line, she danced.
Alyena now to a swirl of music spun before us, swept helpless with it, bangles clashing, to its climax.
Then she stopped, marvelously, motionlessly, as the music was silent, her head back, her arms high, her body covered with sweat, and then, to the last swirl of the barbaric melody, fell to the floor at the feet of Ibn Saran. I noted the light hair on her forearms. She gasped for breath."
Ibn Saran, magnanimously, gestured that she might rise, and she did so, standing before him, head high, breathing deeply."
~Tribesmen of Gor, pages 104-108 ~
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Doreen's Virgin Dance
"Do you beg now to dance before your first use Master?" asked Mirus.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"And before the guests of Hendow?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"And before all present?" he inquired.
"Yes, Master!" I said.
"Adorn her," said Mirius.
"Ina," called Tupita. "Sit," she said then to me, "with your hands on the floor beside you, leaning forward, your right leg advanced."
Ina came forward from the back through the beaded curtain, with a flat, shallow, box. Tupita and Sita removed the leather cuffs from my wrists.
There are some three senses of the expression "virgin dance" on Gor. There is a sense in which it is a kind of dance, rather than a particular dance, which is deemed appropriate for virgins. In that sense I was not expected to perform a "virgin dance." One would seldom see such dances in taverns. The second sense is the obvious one in which it is a dance danced by a virgin, and usually just prior to the loss of her virginity. In that sense, it could be almost any dance which serves the purpose of displaying the girl before her initial ravishing. The third sense of the term is that of a specific dance, or type of dance, most often, interestingly, not even danced by a virgin, but usually by an experienced slave. It is not exactly a story dance, but more of an emotional or attitudinal piece, more in the nature of a "role dance," a dance in which the slave dances as though she might be a virgin, but knows she is to be ravished, and that she is expected to be pleasing. The dance I was expected to perform was, I suppose, a "virgin dance" in both the second and third senses of the term. Mirius, paradoxically, speaking obviously in the third sense of the term, had told me that I would do better at this sort of dance when I was no longer a virgin.
I felt metal anklets being thrust on my ankles by Tupita and Sita. They put several on each ankle. They then, similarly, placed narrow bracelets on both my wrists, several on each wrist. A long belt of cord, to which were attached numerous metal disks, suspended and shimmering, was then looped twice about me, the first loop secured high, and tight, at my waist, and the second loop, a larger loop, a framing loop, was secured in such a way, in the back, that it would hang quite low on my belly, well below my navel. The purpose of this belt was to call attention to, and enhance, by sound and sight, the movements of the hips and abdomen. With the slave beads I already wore I felt unutterably displayed, and barbaric. I could not move now without the sounds of the beads, the anklets and bracelets, the shimmering belt with its two loops.
"Stand," said Tupita.
I did.
The men gasped with pleasure. I was frightened.
"Prepare to dance, slave," said Tupita.
"Good," said a man.
I stood then with my hands lifted over my head, the backs of my hands facing one another, my knees flexed. It is a common beginning position in slave dance.
The musicians readied themselves.
I looked out on the men. These were not men of Earth, defeated and tamed by propaganda and lies. These were Gorean men, men like lions. I stood before them, weak and helpless, a woman from Earth, now a collared slave who must dance for their pleasure.
The czehar player, sitting cross-legged, now had his instruments across his lap. He was the leader of the musicians. He had his horn pick in hand.
I stood barefoot, naked, save for collar and adornments, on the dancing floor of a low-ceilinged Gorean tavern. I must prepare to please masters.
"Are you ready?" asked the leader of the musicians, the czehar player.
"Yes, Master!" I said, eagerly
"Aii!" cried a fellow, pleased, as I began to dance.
The music was rich about me.
I danced, as the slave I was.
"Here, slut, here!" called more than one man
I teased them, dancing close to them, swaying, my belly alive for them, with the jangling metal pieces, the anklets clashing on my ankles, the bracelets sliding and ringing on my wrists, and then as they attempted to seize me, drew back, backing away, or whirled, with a swirl of beads, away from them. I picked one man after another out of the audience, seeming to dance my beauty most meaningfully to him. Perhaps he would be my use master. I did not know.
"Several began to keep the time with their hands, clapping them together.
Suddenly in my dance it seemed I was a virgin, reluctant and fearful, terrified in the reality in which she found herself, but knowing she must respond to the music, to those heady, sensuous rhythms, to the wild cries of the flute, to the beating of the drum. I then danced timidity, and reluctance and inhibition, but yet reflecting, as one would, in such a situation, the commands of the music. I examined in dismay the beads about my neck, the cords at my waist, my barbarically adorned anklets and wrists. I touched my thighs, and lifted my arms, looking at them, and put my hands upon my body, as though I could not believe that it was unclothed. I pretended to shrink down within myself, to desire to crouch down, and conceal and cover my nudity. but then I straightened up, fearfully, as though I had heard commands to desist in such absurdities, and then I extended my hands to the sides, to various sides, as though pleading for mercy, to be released from the imperatives of the music, but then reacted, drawing back, as though I had seen the sigh of whips or weapons., The kaska player, alert to this, reduced the volume of his drumming, and then, five times, smote hard upon the taut skin, almost like the cracking of a whip, to which I reacted, turning to one side and another, as though such a disciplinary device had been sounded menacingly, on all sides, in my vicinity, and then I continued to dance, helpless before the will of masters. Then, as the dance continued, I signified by expression and movement my curiosity and fascination with what I was being forced to do, and the responses of my body, reconciled now to its reality, helplessly obedient now to the music.
I suddenly by expression and movement, an almost involuntary contortion of my belly, seemingly startling me, and frightening me, appeared to suddenly sense, or glimpse, my sexuality.
"Ah," said a man, appreciatively.
I approached him in the dance, and then others, my belly seeming to register, with its jangling accouterments, their presence. Each time I would draw back fro them, but my belly, my hips, would seem to propel me again toward them, or toward yet another. I then felt my hips, and thighs, and breasts, and belly, as these seemed to come alive in the music. And then, throwing my head back, I danced unabashedly as an acknowledged, aroused slave, much as I had before, taunting them, teasing them, delighting in my power, but then, suddenly as though I sensed my ultimate helplessness, my ultimate inability to achieve total fulfillment without the wholeness of sexuality, without the master and the yielding, which gave meaning to the incipient passions within me. I danced the aroused slave who is the property of the master and begs his touch.
"Good," said a fellow.
"The slut is excellent," said another.
Then I realized suddenly that I was actually aroused. The interior of my thighs were hot. My belly, hot and burning, seemed to beg to be touched. I do not know, really, whether I had done this to myself in the dance, which is possible, or if my arousal had merely come upon me in the course of the dance, but I was aroused. I was a helpless, aroused slave! This now was no role. It was what I was.
I returned to the back of the dancing floor, piteously, that I might sway before my master, he in the back, by the bearded curtain, gross, loathsome Hendrow.
Hendrow nodded to me, almost imperceptibly. Then pointing to me, and lifting his finger twice, he indicated I should turn away, and return my dance, in the center of the floor, facing the crowd.
I knew the music was approaching its climax, and the dance must be concluded.
I then, in the coda of my performance, danced helplessness and beauty, and submission, surrendering myself as I, in my collar, must, into the hands and mercies of masters.
As the music concluded I performed floor movements, and the eyes of the men blazed, and fists pounded on the tables, and then the music was done and I lay before them on my back, my breasts rising and falling as I fought for breath, my body sheened with sweat, my hands beside me, palms up, my knees lifted slightly, my right knee highest, a slave before masters. "
*Dancer of Gor, pages 190-196
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Dance's Page 4
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I watched Aemilianus' slave emerging from the kitchen. I listened to the unobtrusive music of the musicians, who were sitting on a rug a few feet in front of, and to the left of, the table. I took another sip of the black wine.
The voluptuous blond slave began to lower certain of the lamps.
"What are you doing?" I asked her.
"Forgive me, Master," she said. She then hurried again to the kitchen. As she had done this work the light in the room was romantically softened, but an area, soft as well, of greater illumination had been left before the table. When she had left the room, the musicians, too, had stopped playing. This seemed interesting.
The blond slave of Aemilianus then re-entered. She placed a large, folded square of sparkling white linen at the bottom of the table. She then lit a wide, large, low candle and placed this candle, on a plate, on the soft, wide square of folded linen. She then withdrew to the side.
I looked at the white linen, and the candle, in the half darkness.
I was startled.
What memories this stirred in me!
The musicians then began to play, softly. The girl emerged from the kitchen.
There were sounds of pleasure, and surprise, from those about the table...
The dark-haired girl, exquisite and lovely, stood in the light, on the tiles, back from the foot of the table, that we might well see her. Her hair was drawn severely back on her head. She wore what seemed to be a svelte, satin, off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown. Twisted about her feet, over and under, were golden straps.
The girl then turned gracefully before us, displaying the garments. I saw that her hair, severely drawn back on her head, was fastened behind the back of her head in a bun. I had known it would be. I had not forgotten.
The girl, then, to the music, moved gracefully, turning, her bands held out, about the table, displaying herself and her garments for us. She then returned to her place on the tiles, at the foot of the table.
I regarded her. How beautiful she was! She looked at me. Then, gracefully and decisively, to the music, she unbound her hair.
There was applause for this at the table, the gentle striking of left shoulders, for she had done it well, and the significance of a woman's unbinding her hair before a man is well understood on Gor.
She then, reaching to the left side, beneath her arm, of what seemed to be a white sheath gown, undid a fastening, and then others, at the side of her body, her waist, her thigh, and knee, and then, gracefully, the Gorean music unobtrusive but melodious in the background, removed the garment. I saw then that a rectangle of white cloth, cleverly tucked and sewn, had been used to simulate the off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown on Earth. Such an actual gown, of course, had not been available to her on Gor.
There was gentle, appreciative applause.
She now stood before us in what seemed to be a brief, silken, off-the-shoulder slip.
The girl then sat on the tiles before us, but back a bit, where we, sitting cross-legged at the low table, could well see her. She extended her right leg, gracefully. It was flexed and, as her foot was placed fully upon the floor, her toes were pointed. These two things, respectively, curved her calf deliciously and extended the line of her beauty. Her left leg was back, its ankle beneath her right thigh. She looked at me, and then, bending forward, removed the golden straps wound about and under her right foot. In the restaurant she bad worn golden pumps, with wisps of golden straps. She looked at me. Well did she, and the others, know the significance of removing footwear before a free man. She cast aside the straps she had taken from her right foot. Then, putting her hands back, swiftly and smoothly, beautifully, to the music, without rising, she changed her position on the tiles. Her left thigh now faced me. Her left leg was now gracefully extended, flexed and toes pointed. Her left thigh, and calf, and ankle and foot were marvelous. Her right foot, as her left previously had been, was back, the right ankle now beneath her right thigh. She then removed the golden straps from her left foot, and cast them aside. She looked at me. She had bared her feet before a free man. The golden straps she had used to simulate the footwear which she had worn on Earth were golden binding straps. They were the nearest thing she could find, within her limited resources, I gathered, to what she had worn in the restaurant. I did not object. They resembled somewhat, and well suggested, that footwear. Such straps, incidentally, are commonly used to bind the hands and feet of women.
There was gentle applause for the girl, and murmurs of appreciation. The footwear had been well removed.
She then rose to her feet and stood again before us, but now barefoot upon the tiles.
She then reached again to her left side, and undid a fastening there, below her left arm, and then another below it, and then one at her hip. She then unwrapped the brief slip like garment from her body, and dropped it to one side....
The brassiere had been simulated cleverly with soft white silk. Her beauty, soft, and almost as though protesting its confinement, strained against this silk. Too, between her breasts, this silk had been twisted and knotted, this making even more evident the sweet contours of her beauty, and the sturdy, silken restraint placed upon it. The panties, too, were simulated with white silk, which, in a narrow rectangle, had been wrapped twice about her hips and tucked in at her waist. There was no nether closure to this silk, of course. The Gorean slave girl is not permitted to shield her intimacies without the explicit permission of her master.
Besides these two garments, intended, respectively, to suggest the brassiere and panties of an Earth girl, she still wore, of course, the light, narrow white scarf, this twisted and wound twice about her throat, the ends thrown over her left shoulder.
The girl then, to the music, put back her head and put her hands behind her back, and, reaching high behind her back, this lifting her breasts beautifully, strained for a moment, and then, one by one, twisting slightly, undid the hooks on the confining, tight silk.
Our eyes met.
The silk was then dropped to one side. "Superb," said Glyco.
She then reached to the white scarf on her throat and, beautifully, to the music, undid it one turn. She then, to the music, drew it beautifully, slowly, from her throat, and, gracefully, dropped it to one side. She wore, of course, now revealed, a close-fitting, gleaming slave collar.
She lifted her head, and, with her fingers, delicately indicated and displayed the collar.
She then stood before us as a barefoot, half-naked, collared slave.
Gorean applause, and murmurs of appreciation, greeted this aspect of her performance.
Our eyes met again.
She then reached with her right hand to her waist and undid the tuck in the silk which was wrapped about her hips. Slowly and beautifully then, to the music, with both hands, she unwound the silk, and then dropped it to the tiles.
"Superb!" said Glyco.
She then crawled to me, on her hands and knees, her head humbly down. Then, when she reached me, she lowered herself to her belly and, extending her right hand, touched me on the knee. She lifted her head. "You are my master," she said, "and I am your slave, and I love you!"
Guardsman of Gor, pgs. 247-252
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Flute Dance
On the wall, in the trough of the breach, we saw four men rolling a heavy stone toward the field side of the wall. A flute girl was parodying, or accompanying, their efforts on the flute, the instrument seeming to strain with them, and then, when they rolled the stone down, she played a skirl of descending notes on the flute, and, spinning about, danced away. The men laughed.
There was suddenly near us, startling us, another skirl of notes on a flute, the common double flute. A flute girl, come apparently from the wall side of the Wall Road, danced tauntingly near us, to our right, and, with the flue, while playing, gestured toward the wall, as though encouraging us to join the others in their labor. I, and Marcus, I am sure, were angry. Not only had we been started by the sudden intrusive noise, which the girl must have understood would have been the case, but we resented the insinuation that we might be such as would of our own will join the work on the wall. Did she think we were of Ar, that we were of the conquered, the pacified, the contradictable, the tamed? She was an exciting brunet, in a short tunic of diaphanous silk. She was slender, and was probably kept on a carefully supervised diet by her master or trainer. Her dark eyes shone with amusement. She pranced before us, playing. She waved the flute again towards the wall.
We regarded her.
She again gestured, playing, toward the wall.
I had little doubt that she assumed from our appearance in this area that we were of Ar.
We did not move.
A gesture of annoyance crossed her lovely features. She played more determinedly, as though we might not understand her intent.
Still we did not move.
Then, angrily, she spun about, dancing, to return to her former post near the wall side of the Wall Road. She was attractive, even insolently so, at the moment, in the diaphanous silk.
Magicians of Gor, pgs 120-121
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Klio looked about. I could see she was pleased to be so approved of, in her basic elements, as a naked female, but too, she was alarmed, having some inkling as to what might be the entailments of such preferences.
"Have her perform," said one of the men.
I shook the slave leash, now on her, This movement was transmitted through the leather, until it jerked and snapped at he ring, on the leash collar.
"Oh, please , no!" she wept.
"I have shaken the leash, once," I said. "You did not then perform. Fortunate it was for you then that you were a free woman, and not a slave. Even so, I was not pleased. Do you understand?"
"Yes!" she said.
"Now, when I shake it again, you will perform."
She put her head down, trembling.
"Do you understand?" I asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
"You must remember, gentlemen," I said, "she is only a free woman."
I shook the leash and Lady Klio, naked, attempted to perform.
Some of the men laughed.
"Surely you can do better than that," I said.
She sank to her stomach, in the dirt, at the bottom of the trench, weeping.
"Whip her," said a tall fellow, watching her, with his arms folded.
She looked up at him, frightened.
His eyes suddenly glinted. I had not seen what passed between them but I suspect that he had seen in her eyes something swift, some flash of sudden fear and recognition, that she had seen him as her Master.
Then she put down her head again and there, in the dirt, shuddered.
"On your knees," I said. "Now."
She cried out, and rose quickly to her knees.
"Knees spread," I said.
She knelt there, her knees spread. She blushed crimson. It seemed she could not take her eyes off the tall fellow.
"Perform," I encouraged her. "Move. Call attention to your charms."
Again Lady Klio began to perform, as she could.
"It may not be much, gentlemen," I informed them, holding the leash, "but surely for such a woman it is an unusual activity. I suspect that she is not accustomed to doing it. Perhaps in the future she will be better at it. Look, gentlemen. Little as it may be. I suspect this is far more than was provided for the many chaps who paid for her meals, her lodging, her wardrobe, her transportation, her luxuries, her claimed needs, her numerous bills.
"Continue to perform," I said. You may leave your knees, but do not rise to your feet.
She regarded me, in wild protest.
"Yes,?" I said.
"Do not make me do these things," she begged. "Do not make me dance and writhe so. I am a free woman!"
"Your freedom will soon be a matter of the past," I told her. "How well you do now could influence the quality of your life in the future."
"Do not fear," I said. "I know you are truly a slave. I learned it in your kiss, when you were shackled at the wall at the Crooked Tarn. I think that perhaps, in the same kiss, you learned it."
The men laughed. She sneaked a glance at the tall fellow, and then, hastily, put down her head. He smiled.
"Lady Elene, of Tyros, your friend, whom you remember front he Crooked Tarn, and the coffle," I said, "is even now in a slave collar." It had been put on her within moments of her sale.
Klio looked back at me.
"In her performance," I said, "the slave, unrestrained, emerged quickly and in moments the woman discovered that it was she. It pleased the men abundantly. It brought a good price. It is now collared."
Klio sobbed.
"Frankly," I said, "I had not expected you to be inferior to her."
She looked at me, angrily.
"But perhaps the women of Tyros," I said, "are superior to those of Cos?"
"I think not," said a man, rather angrily.
There was laughter from the others. I supposed he must be Cosian, natively.
"But then," I said, "it is said, I have heard, that those of Port Kar prize Cosians as slaves."
"Show us what a Cosian can do," said a man.
"Thus," I said, "it seems that it is not, really, that the women of Tyros are superior to the women of Cos, but merely that, in your particular case, you are inferior to the Lady Elene."
She looked at me, again angrily.
"But that is only to be expected, upon occasion, I suppose," I said, "that some woman of Tyros would be superior to some woman of Cos. Too, it is no disgrace to be inferior to the Lady Elene, who is quite attractive and, in time, might even make a dancer."
"I am inferior to Elene," she said, angrily.
The men laughed at her vehemence.
She looked at the tall fellow.
I quickly then, that she would feel the authoritative signal of the leash and collar rings while she was looking at the tall fellow, shook the leash.
"Ah!" said a fellow.
I was quite pleasant then with Klio.
My expectation, I then felt, that she would prove to be the most exciting and desirable of the two, was borne out. That was why I had saved her for last, of course, for use in the trench closest to Ar's Station. To be sure, I might have been somewhat prejudiced, for I remembered Klio's lovely dark hair, and I tend to be partial to brunets. Who, eventually, would prove to be the best slave I did not know. Let such women compete desperately with one another, and with other slaves, each striving to be the best.
One of the men cried out with pleasure.
That had been an excellent leash move, to be sure. Klio displayed herself brilliantly on the leash. Such things seem very natural for a woman. Perhaps they are, to some extent like slave dance, instinctive, the biological template, or genetic dispositions for them, having been selected for , the biological need of a woman to belong, to be approved of and to love.
"Superb!" said a fellow.
I wondered if Klio, sensing these deep, dark, wonderful, frightening things within her, the rightfulness of the destiny of submission to men for her, and such, had not, perhaps in the privacy of her own chambers, before her mirror, put the leash on herself. Perhaps she had then, there, before the mirror, in the privacy of her own quarters, moved similarly. It is not unusual for women to do this sort of thing, alone, often in bonds and chains, expressing plaintively therein their longing for a master.
"Superb! Superb!" cried for another fellow.
Klio, I recalled, had chosen a dangerous way of life, one which she must surely have realized, on one level or another, might lead to the collar.
" 'Klio', " I said to the men, "might be an excellent name for a slave, do you not think so?"
"Yes!" said more than one.
Klio flushed with pleasure. Somehow it seemed she became even more sinuous, more sensuous, then.
I saw that she was paying a bit too much attention to the tall fellow.
"On, your belly," I said to Klio. "There, that fellow," I said, indicating a grizzled sapper to one side, his hooks near him, "address yourself to him, about the feet and legs."
He grinned.
"No!" said the tall fellow.
I had thought this move on my part might bring him into action.
Klio stopped, and turned, from her knees, to regard him.
"I will buy her!" he said.
"She is not cheap," I said. It seemed to me I might as well get what I could for Klio. I fear I must admit occasionally to a streak of opportunistic greediness.
"A silver tarsk!" he cried.
"Done!" I said. I had not really expected anything like that. Klio, redeemed through Ephialtes, had only cost me thirty copper tarsks. Perhaps I should have held out for more, seeing the eagerness of the fellow, but, after all, I was taken by surprise by the splendid offer, and even opportunistic greediness has its limits, particularly when surprised.
"On all fours," I said to Klio.
Immediately she went to all fours.
"A silver tarsk," I said.
It was placed in my palm and I put it in my pouch. I then removed my leash and collar from her neck. I had not even returned the leash and collar to my pouch before I heard a decisive click and a small cry from Klio. She looked up, collared, a slave, at her Master.
"She dances, the leash dance well, does she not?" I asked.
"I will improve her in it," said he, grimly.
Klio quickly bent her head, unbidden to his feet, and kissed them.
"Share her," said a fellow.
"Let her dance again," said another, "not in the leash."
"Proffer her to the arms of each of us," said another, "in turn."
"She is mine," said the fellow.
"We are your comrades in arms," said another.
"True!" said another.
"Have no fear," said the tall fellow, " I will share the slave, and my good fortune, with you, but do not forget that in the end it is I alone to whom she belongs, that it is mine alone whose slave she is."
The men crowded around Klio now, and I could hardly see her among them. Even the fellow from the low wooden platform, which page him a vantage over the top of the trench, had joined them.
Renegades of Gor, pgs. 170 - 178
Dance's page 5
"The tile dance is commonly performed on red tiles, usually beneath the slave ring of the master's couch. The girl performs the dance on her back, her stomach and sides. Usually her neck is chained to the slave ring. The dance signifies the restlessness, the misery, of a love-starved slave girl. It is a premise of the dance that the girl moves and twists, and squirms, in her need, as if she is completely alone, as if her need is known only to herself; then, supposedly, the master surprises her, and she attempts to suppress the helplessness and torment of her needs; then, failing this, surrendering her pride in its final shred, she writhes openly, piteously, before him, begging him to deign to touch her. Needless to say, the entire dance is observed by the master, and this, in fact, of course, is known to both the dancer and her audience, the master. The tile dance, for simple psychological and behavioral reasons, having to do with the submission context and the motions of the body, can piteously arouse even a captured, cold free woman; in the case of a slave, of course, it can make her scream and sob with need."
~Explorers of Gor, pages 13-14
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"You may dance, Slave," I told her.
It was to be the dance of the six thongs.
She slipped the silk from her and knelt before the great table and chair, between the other tables, dropping her head. She wore five pieces of metal, her collar and locked rings on her wrists and ankles. Slave bells were attached to the collar and the rings. She lifted her head, and regarded me. The musicians, to one side, began to play. Six of my men, each with a length of binding fiber, approached her. She held her arms down, and a bit to the sides. The ends of six lengths of binding fiber, like slave snares, were fastened on her, one for each wrist and ankle, and two about her waist; the men, then, each holding the free end of a length of fiber, stood about her, some six or eight feet from her, three on a side. She was thus imprisoned among them, each holding a thong that bound her.
I glanced at Thura. I recalled that she had been caught in capture loops on the rence island, not unlike the two now about Sandra's waist. Thura was watching with eagerness.
So, too, were all.
Sandra then, luxuriously, catlike, like a woman awakening, stretched her arms.
There was laughter.
It was as though she did not know herself bound.
When she went to draw her arms back to her body there was just the briefest instant in which she could not do so, and she frowned, looked annoyed, puzzled, and then was permitted to move as she wished.
I laughed.
She was superb.
Then, still kneeling, she raised her hand, head back, insolently to her hair, to remove from it one of the ornate pins, its head carved from the horn of 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 slave bells.
She turned and twisted and leaped, and sometimes seemed almost free, but was always, by the dark thongs, held complete prisoner. Sometimes she would rush upon one man or another, but the others would not permit her to reach him, keeping her always beautiful female slave snared in her web of thongs. She writhed and cried out, trying to force the thongs from her body, but could not do so.
At last, bit by bit, as her fear and terror mounted, the men, fist by fist, took up the slack in the thongs that tethered her, until suddenly, they swiftly bound her hand and foot and lifted her over their heads, captured female slave, displaying her bound arched body to the tables.
There were cries of pleasure from the tables, and much striking of the right fist on the left shoulder.
She had been truly superb.
Then the men carried her before my table and held her bound before me. "A slave," said one.
"Yes," cried the girl, "slave!"
The music finished with a clash.
The applause and cries were wild and loud.
I was much pleased. "
*Raiders of Gor, pages 228-230
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I jerked 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 stepped back from her. "When I clap my hands," I said, "you will dance, Slave." "Yes, Master," She said.
I then struck my hands together, and, terrified, the girl danced.
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 based. 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.
I watched the girl dance. She was quite good... The needs of human beings are a matter of biology. The values in a culture are the vaules of certain men. Many people take the values of the culture for granted, as though they were shomehow a part of the furniture of the universe. They should realize that the values they are taught are the values of particular men, and often, unfortunately, of men who, long ago were short-lived, ignoratn, uninformed, unhealthy and quite possibly of unsound mind. Perhaps human beings should, from the viewpoints of contemporary information and modern medicine, re-evaluate these perhaps anachronistic value structures. Values need not be something one somehow mysteriously "knows," a result of having fogotten the conditioning process by means of which they were instilled, but could be something chosen, something selected as instruments by means of which to improved human life. It is not wrong for human beings to be happy.
"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 said.
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 fire lit 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 it. "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.
Explorers of Gor, pgs. 360-363
Dance's page 6
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"Tuka, Tuka!" called another fellow.
"She is extremely pretty," I said.
"She knows something of slave dance," said a fellow, licking his lips.
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes" he said.
"Tuka, Tuka, Tuka!" called more men.
The fellow, Teiber, looked down at his slave, who looked up at him, and quickly, timidly, kissed at his thigh. How much she was his, I thought.
"Tuka, to the circle!" called a fellow.
"She is a dancer," said a man.
"She is extraordinary," said another.
"Put Tuka in the circle!" called a fellow.
"Tuka, Tuka!" called another.
Teiber snapped his fingers once, sharply, and the slave leaped to her feet, standing erect, her head down, turned to the right, her hands at her sides, the palms facing backward. She might have been in a paga tavern, preparing to enter upon the sand or floor. I considered Teiber's Tuka. She had an excellent figure for slave dance.
"Clear the circle!" called a fellow.
The other dancers hurried to the side, to sit and kneel, and watch.
I considered the slave. She was beautiful, and well curved.
Teiber gestured to the circle.
"Ahh!" said men.
"She moves like a dancer," I said.
"She is a dancer," said a fellow.
I considered the girl. She now stood in the circle, relaxed, yet supple and vital, her wrists, back to back, over her head, her kneels flexed.
"She is a bred passion slave," I said, "with papers and a lineage going back a thousand years."
"No," said a man.
"Where did he pick her up," I asked, "at the Curulean?"
"I do not know," said a fellow.
I supposed she was perhaps a capture. I did not know if a fellow such as this Teiber, who did not seem of the merchants or rich, could have afforded a slave of such obvious value. A fellow, for example, who cannot afford a certain kaiila might be able to capture it, and then, once he has his rope on its neck, and manages to make away with it, it is his mount.
"Aii!" cried a fellow.
"Aii!" said I too.
Dancing was the slave!
"She is surely a bred passion slave," I said. "Surely the blood line of such an animal go back a thousand years!"
"No! No!" said a man, rapt, not taking his eyes from the slave.
I regarded her, in awe.
"She is trained of course," said a man.
Only to obviously was this a trained dancer, and yet, too, there was far more than training involved. Too, I speak not of such relatively insignificant matters as the mere excellence of her figure for slave dance, as suitable and fitting as it might be for such and art form, for women with many figures can be superb in slave dance, or that she must possess a great natural talent for such a mode of expression, but something much deeper. In the nature of her dance I saw more than training, her figure, and her talent. Within this woman, revealing itself in the dance, in its rhythm, its joy, its spontaneity, its wonders, were untold depths of femaleness, a deep and radical femininity, unabashed and unapologetic, a rejoicing in her sex, a respect of it, a love of it, an acceptance of it and a celebration of it, a wanting of it, and of what she was, a woman, a slave, in all of its marvelousness.
"Tuka, Tuka!" called men.
Men clapped their hands.
The slave danced.
Much it seemed to me, though there might be two hundred men about the circle, she danced for her Master.
Once he even indicated that she should move more about which, instantly, commanded, she did.
"Tuka, Tuka!" even called some of the other slaves about the edges of the circle, sitting and kneeling there, unable to take their eyes from her, clapping, too. Teiber's Tuka it seemed, was popular even with the other slaves, of which she was such a superb specimen.
I watched her moving about the circle.
"Aii!" cried men, as she would pause a moment to dance before them. I had little doubt she might once have been a tavern dancer. Such dancers must present themselves in such a fashion before customers. This gives the customer an opportunity to assess them, and to keep them in mind, if he wishes, for later use in an alcove.
"Aii," cried another fellow.
I speculated that she would not have languished for attention in the alcoves.
"She is superb," said the flow next to me.
"Yes," I said.
She was working her way about the circle.
It was interesting to me that a Master would dare to display such a slave publicly. I gathered that he was quite confident of his capacity to keep her. He must then, I suspected, be excellent with the sword.
"Ah," said the fellow next to me.
The dancer approached.
How marvelous are the Gorean women, I thought. And I thought then, too, sadly, of the women of Earth, so many of them so confused, so miserable, so unhappy, women not knowing what they were, or what they might be, women trapped in a maze of ultimately barren artifices, women subjected to social coercions, women subjected to antibiological constraints, women forced to deny themselves and their depth natures in the name of freedom, women trying to be men, not knowing how to be women, women torturing themselves and others with their confusions, their inhibitions, their pain, their frustrations. But I did not blame them for they were the victims of pathological conditioning programs. Any beautiful, natural creature can be clipped and then instructed to rejoice i n its mutilations and mishappenness. So inhibit, so frigid, so inert, so anesthetic. That so many of them could even feel their pain was, I supposed, a hopeful sign. If their culture was correct, or judicious, why did it contain so much unhappiness and pain? In a body, pain is an indication that something is wrong. So, too, it is in a culture.
Then the dancer was before me, and I was awed with beauty.
I kept her there before me for a moment, not letting her move away, my gaze holding her.
I wept then for the men of Earth, that they would not know such beauties. How utterly marvelous are the Gorean females! How utterly different they are from the women of Earth! How impossible would it be for a female of Earth to match them!
I watched the dancer then move to the next fellow, and turn about.
Suddenly I was stunned. High on her left arm there was a small, circular scar. It was not, surely, in that place, and given its nature, the result of a marking iron. Indeed , it is by means of such tiny indications, fillings in the teeth, and such, that a certain sort of girl, for which there is a market on Gor, is often recognized.
"She is not from Gor!" I said.
"She is from far away," said the fellow next to me.
"From the distant land," said another.
"Called "Earth,'" said another.
"Yes," I said.
The mark on the girl's arm had not been the result of the imprint of a master's iron. It had been a vaccination mark. I had noted, too, interestingly, just before she had whirled away, that she was shy. I assessed her as being quite intelligent, extremely sensitive, and an excellent slave.
She had now, as the music swirled to its finish, returned to move before her Master. Then, the dance ended, men striking their left shoulders in Gorean applause, shouting their vociferous approval, some armed warriors striking their shields with spear blades, she sank to the ground, on her back, breathless, breasts heaving, covered with a sheen of sweat, before her Master, her left knee raised, her head turned toward him, then palms of of her hands, at her sides, vulnerably exposed.
She had been superb. My shoulder was sore where I had much struck it.
Then with a sensuous, fluid movement she rose to her knees before her Master. She spread her knees, widely. She regarded him, beggingly. The dance had much aroused her, and she was totally his, completely at his will, his pleasure and mercy.
"Our gratitude , Teiber!" cried a fellow.
Magicians of Gor, pgs. 52-56
Dance's page 7
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Then, suddenly, the two men with the kaiila quirts struck her across the back and, before she could do more than cry out, she was, too, pulled to her feet and forward, on the two tethers.
She then stood, held by the tethers, wildly, before the pole.
Cancega pointed to the pole.
She looked at him, bewildered.
Then the quirts, again, struck her, and she cried out in pain.
Cancega again pointed to the pole.
Winyela then put her head down and took the pole in her small hands, and kissed it, humbly.
"Yes," said Cancega, encouraging her. "Yes."
Again Winyela kissed the pole.
"Yes," said Cancega.
Winyela then heard the rattles behind her, giving her her rhythm. These rattles were then joined by the fifing of whistles, shrill and high, formed from the wing bones of the taloned Herlit. A small drum, too, then began to sound. Its more accented beats, approached subtly but 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 grease 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.
Winyela, by the neck tethers, was pulled against the pole. She seized it, and writhed against it, and licked at it.
"It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.
"It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.
A transformation seemed suddenly to come over Winyela. This was evinced in her dance.
"She is aroused," said Cuwignaka.
Winyela's Pole Dance
"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 masters, 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 pole. Then the tension on the two tethers was increased, the rawhide on her neck being drawn tight under the feet of her keepers. I do not think Winyela desired to 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 choice.
The men about slapped their thighs and grunted their approval. The music stopped. The tethers were removed from Winyela's neck. She then, tentatively, lifted her head. It seemed now she was forgotten.
Blood Brothers of Gor, pgs. 39-43
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"There were bells, three rows of them, small and golden, thronged tightly about the girl's left ankle.
The entire floor of the chamber, shining, richly mosaiced, broad, reflecting the torchlight, was a map.
I watched the girl. Her knees were slightly bent. Her weight was on her heels, freeing her hips. Her rib cage was lifted, but her shoulders, relaxed, were down.
Her abdominal muscles, too, were relaxed, loose. Her chin was lifted, haughtily. She did not deign to look at us. Dark hair flowed behind her.
..................
The left ankle of the girl, under the bells, the brown thong, the golden metal, was tanned...... The girl wore Gorean dancing silk. It hung low upon her bared hips, and fell to her ankles. It was scarlet, diaphanous. A front corner of the silk was taken behind her and thrust, loose and draped, into the rolled silk knotted about her hips; 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 a collar.
(Samos) clapped his bands. 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 music.
I turned to watch the dancer. She danced well. At the moment she writhed upon the "slave pole", it fixing her in place. There is no actual pole, of course, but sometimes it is difficult to believe there is not. The girl imagines that a pole, slender, supple, swaying, transfixes her body, holding her helplessly. About this imaginary pole, it constituting a hypothetical center of gravity, she moves, undulating, swaying, sometimes yielding to it in ecstasy, sometimes fighting it, it always holding her in perfect place, its captive. The control achieved by the use of the "slave pole" is remarkable. An incredible, voluptuous tension is almost immediately generated, visible in the dancers body, and kinetically felt by those who watch. I heard men at the table cry out with pleasure. The dancer's hands were at her thighs. She regarded them, angrily, and still she moved. Her shoulders lifted and fell; her hands touched her breasts and shoulders; her head was back, and then again she glared at the men, angrily. Her arms were high, very high. Her hips moved, swaying. Then, the music suddenly silent, she was absolutely still. Her left hand was at her thigh; her right high above her head; her eyes were on her hip; frozen into a hip sway; then there was again a bright, clear flash of the finger cymbals, and the music began again, and again she moved, helpless on the pole. Men threw coins at her feet.
The dancer moaned, crying out, as though in agony. Still she remained impaled upon the slave pole, its prisoner.
The 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, to the misery of the blondish girl, she wafted the silk about her, immersing 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."
~Tribesmen of Gor, pages 7 - 13~
Dance's page 8
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I observed Phyllis Robertson performing the belt dance, on love furs spread between the tables, under the eyes of the Warriors of Cernus and the members of his staff. The music was wild, a melody of the delta of the Vosk. The belt dance is a dance developed and made famous by Port Kar dancing girls.
The belt dance is performed with a Warrior. She now writhed on the furs at his feet, moving as though being struck with a whip. A white silken cord had been knotted about her waist; in this cord was thrust a narrow rectangle of white silk, perhaps about two feet long. About her throat, close fitting and snug, there was a white-enameled collar, a lock collar. She no longer wore the band of steel on her left ankle.
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 and desperate.
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, pgs. 185-188
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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 invites them, so to speak to have her. But she has not yet been seized by an arm or an ankle, or by her collar, a thumb hooked rudely under it, or hair, and pulled from the floor. What if she is not sufficiently pleasing? What if she is not to be fulfilled? What 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 satisfy her. She must strive to be pleasing. If she is not good enough she may be chained, unfulfilled, another night alone in the kennel. There are always other girls. She must earn her rape. Too, if she should be insufficiently pleasing consistently it is likely that she will be slain. Goreans place few impediments in the way of liberation of a slave female's sexuality. In this phase of the dance, then, shamelessly the woman dances her need and, shamelessly, begs for her sexual satisfaction. This phase of the dance is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. The fifth, and final phase, of the dance, is far more dramatic and exciting. In this phase the girl, overcome by sexual desire and terrified that she may not be found sufficiently pleasing, clearly manifests, and utterly, that she is a slave female. In this portion of the dance the girl is seldom on her feet. Rather, sitting, rolling, and changing position, on her side, her back, her belly, half kneeling, half sitting, kneeling, crawling, reaching out, bending backwards, lying down, twisting with passion, gesturing to her body, presenting it to masters for their inspection and interest, whimpering, moaning, crying out, brazenly presenting herself as a slave, pleading for her rape, she writhes, a piteous, begging, vulnerable, ready slave, a woman fit for and begging for the touch of a master, a woman begging to become, at the least touch of her master, a totally submitted slave. The fourth phase of the dance, as I have mentioned, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. This portion of the dance, the fifth portion, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Slave Girl.
The music ended with a swirl of sound and the girl, with a jangle of bells, lay before the table of Policrates, whimpering, her hand extended. She lifted her head. I read the unmistakable need in her eyes. She was indeed a slave female.
Rogue of Gor, pgs. 185 -187
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"I caught a glimpse, between bodies, of a naked slave writhing in a net on the dancing floor. Four other slaves were dressed in such a way as to suggest that they might be slave hunters, but their costumes were such as to leave no doubt as to their own sex, and considerable charms. They were on their feet and had light staffs. They whirled about the captive, preventing her escape, and exulting over her, pretending to prod and torment her. There was much skilled staff work in progress, the staffs often behaving in unison, circling about, changing hands, striking on the floor together, seeming to poke at the victim, to strike her and such. It was a version of the dance of the netted slave.
I sat back from the dancing floor, my back to the wall, the musicians to my left.
The dance was coming to an end and the slave who had been "netted," now well in custody, bound and leashed, was displayed by the "hunters" to the patrons. Now the captive knelt in the center of the dance floor, the "hunters" exultant about her. Then, as the music swirled to a conclusion, the captive lowered her head, humbly. There was much Gorean applause, the striking of the left shoulder with the palm of the right hand. There was then, suddenly, the snapping of a slave lash, and the "hunters" swiftly stripped themselves, cast aside their staffs and knelt with the prisoner. Then one of the fellows from the tavern took the net and cast it over the lot of them. No longer then were the hunters hunters. Now, they, too, were only netted slaves. Then to a passage of music, all rose up, hunted and hunters, all now in the net, and, in the small, pretty running steps of hastening slave girls, hurried from the floor. There was more applause."
~Vagabonds of Gor, pages 400-401~
Dance's page 9
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A 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 discipline, can be extremely, powerfully erotic. In an elegant, civilized context, one of beauty and music, it makes clear and bespeaks the raw and essential primitives of the ancient, genetic, biological sexual relationship of men and women.
The 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, sized her and began to work their lusty wills upon her. There was more applause, and laughter.
Rogue of Gor, pgs. 191-196
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Paga Slave Whip Dance
"I watched the dancing girl of Port Kar writhing on the square of sand between the tables, under the whips of masters, in a Paga tavern in Port Kar............
It is called the Whip Dance, the dance the girl upon the sand danced.
She wore a delicate vest and belt of chains and jewels, with shimmering metal droplets attached. And she wore ankle rings, and linked slave bracelets, again with shimmering droplets pendent upon them; and a locked collar, matching.
She danced under ships' lanterns, hanging from the ceiling of the paga tavern, it located near the wharves bounding the great arsenal.
I heard the snapping of the whips, her cries.
The dancing girls of Port Kar are said to be the best of all Gor. They are sought eagerly in many cities of the planet."
~Raiders of Gor, page 100~
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Talena retired behind the silk partition, and I built up the fire in the center of the tent, not wishing to retire as yet. I could not forget the figure on the throne, he of the black helmet, and I thought perhaps that he had noticed me and had reacted. It had been, perhaps my imagination. I sat on the tent carpet, poking at the small fire in the cooking hole. I could hear from a tent nearby the sound of a flute, some soft drums, and the rhythmic jangle of some tiny cymbals.
As I mused, Talena stepped forth from behind the silk curtain. I had thought she had retired. Instead, she stood before me in the diaphanous, scarlet dancing silks of Gor. She had rouged her lips. My head swam at the sudden intoxicating scent of a wild perfume. Her olive ankles bore dancing bangles with tiny bells. Attached to the thumb and index finger of each hand were tiny finger cymbals. She bent her knees ever so slightly and raised her arms gracefully above her head. There was a sudden bright clash of the finger cymbals, and to the music of the nearby tent, Talena, daughter of the Ubar of Ar, began to dance for me.
As she moved slowly before me, she asked softly, "Do I please you, Master?" There had been no scorn, no irony in her voice.
"Yes," I said, not thinking to repudiate the title by which she had addressed me.
She paused for a moment and walked lightly to the side of the tent. She seemed to hesitate for an instant, then quickly gathered up the slave whip and a leading chain. She placed them firmly in my hands and knelt on the tent carpet before me, her eyes filled with a strange light, her knees not in the position of Tower Slave but of a Pleasure Slave.
"If you wish," she said, "I will dance the Whip Dance for you, or the Chain Dance."
I threw the whip and chain to the wall of the tent. "No," I said angrily. I would not have Talena dance those cruel dances of Gor, which so humbled a woman.
Tarnsman of Gor, pgs. 134-135
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Dance of the Tuchuk Slave Girl
"Dance," ordered Aphris.
The trembling girl before her did not move.
"Dance!" screamed Aphris, rising to her feet.
"What shall I do?" begged the kneeling girl of Kamchak. She looked not too unlike Hereena, and was perhaps a similar sort of girl, raised and trained much the same. Like Hereena, of course, she wore the tiny golden nose ring.
Kamchak spoke to her, very gently. "You are slave," he said. "Dance for your Masters."
The girl looked at him gratefully and she, with the others, rose to her feet and to the astounding barbarity of the music performed the savage love dances of the Kassars, the Paravaci, the Kataii, the Tuchuks.
They were magnificent.
One girl, the leader of the dancers, she who had spoken to Kamchak, was a Tuchuk girl, and was particularly startling, vital, uncontrollable, wild.
It was then clear to me why the Turian men so hungered for the wenches of the Wagon Peoples.
At the height of one of her dances, called the Dance of the Tuchuk Slave Girl, Kamchak turned to Aphris of Turia, who was watching the dance, eyes bright, as astounded as I at the savage spectacle. "I will see to it," said Kamchak, "when you are my slave, that you are taught that dance."
Nomads of Gor, page 98
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Dance's Page 10
In every female there is a Dancer - Feiqa's Dance
"Dance," I told Feiqa.
"I do not know how to dance, Master," she moaned.
"In every female there is a dancer," I said.
"Master," she protested.
"I know you are not trained," I said.
"Master," she said.
"There are many forms of dance," I said. "Music is not even necessary. It need not even be more than beautiful movement. Move before the men, and about them. Move as seductively and beautifully as you can, and as a slave, swaying, crawling, kneeling, rolling , supine, prone, begging, pleading, piteous, caressing, kissing, licking, rubbing against them."
"Do I have a choice, Master?" she asked.
"No," I said. "absolutely not."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Would you prefer for your pretty flesh to be lashed from your bones?" I asked.
"No, Master!" she said.
"And as the evening progresses, and as men might desire you," I said. "you will please them, and fully."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You are slave, an absolute and total slave," I reminded her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
One of the fellows, then, began to sing, "Hei, Hei," and clap his hands.
Feiqa danced.
The men cried out with pleasure, many of them joining in the song, and keeping time with their hands. I was incredibly proud of her. How joyful it is to own females and have absolute power over them! Seldom, indeed, I imagined, did the rude herders of the Alars have such a vision of imbonded loveliness in their camp, in their arms. Such delicious females were not allowed in their camps, I gathered. The free women did not permit them. They probably had them hidden in wagons, until they could be sold off, or killed. How beautiful Feiqa was! What incredible power she exercised, though only a helpless slave, over men! How she pleased them and made them scream with pleasure! How incredibly basic, how fundamental, how real she was! I then felt a sudden, poignant sorrow for the women of Earth. How different Feiqua was from them. How far removed delicious, exquisite Feiqua was from the motivated artifices, the lies, fabrications, the propagandas, the demeaning, sterile, unsatisfying, reductive, negative superficialities of antibiological roles, the prescriptions of an unnatural and pathological politics, the manipulative instrumentations of monsters and freaks. I wondered how many of the women of Earth wished they might find themselves in a collar, dancing naked in the firelight before warriors of an Alar camp.
"Disgusting! Disgusting!" cried the free woman, Boabissia in her leather and furs, having returned to the fire, and she rushed forward, a stout, thick, short, supple, single-bladed quirtlike whip in her hand. She began to lash Feiqa who fell to her knees, howling with misery, a whipped slave. "We do not allow such as you in an Alar camp!" cried the free woman. Feiqua put her head down. Again the lash fell on her.
"Feiqa will now again dance," I said.
I looked to Feiqua, still kneeling, her back bright with the memory of the free woman's attentions.
"You may continue to dance, Feiqa," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
The men cried out with approval, and smote their left shoulders with pleasure. In a moment Feiqa, vital and sensuous, liberated now from the fear of the free woman, and having felt the whip, in that perhaps being reminded of what might be the consequences of failing to please free persons, addressed herself once more, eagerly and joyously, marvelously and subserviently, to the pleasures of Masters. I was so aroused I was in pain. I could hardly wait to get her back to the camp of the wagoners. From time to time I glanced at Boabissia. She was on her side, trussed, watching Feiqa. In her eyes there was awe, understanding what a woman could be.
Mercenaries of Gor, pgs. 60-64
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"I then gave my attention to the dancer, a sweetly hipped black girl in yellow beads.
She was skillful and, I suspected, from the use of the hands and beads, had been trained in Ianda, a merchant island north of Anango. Certain figures are formed with the hands and beads which have symbolic meaning, much of which was lost upon me, as I was not familiar with the conventions involved. Some, however, I had seen before, and had been explained to me. One was that of the free woman, another of the whip, another of the yielding, collared slave. Another was that of the thieving slave girl, and another that of the girl summoned, terrified, before the master. Each of these, with the music and followed by its dance expression, was very well done. Women are beautiful and they make fantastic dancers. One of the figures done was that of a girl, a slave, who encounters one who is afflicted with plague. She, a slave, knows that if she should contract the disease she would, in all probability, be summarily slain. She dances her terror at this. This was followed by the figure of obedience, and that by the figure of joy."
~Explorers of Gor, pages 133-134~
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"I threw the whip and chain to the wall of the tent. "No," I said angrily. I would not have Talena dance those cruel dances of Gor, which so humbled a woman.
"Then I will show you a love dance," she said happily, "a dance I learned in the Walled Gardens of Ar."
"I should like that," I said, and, as I watched, Talena performed Ar's strangely beautiful dance of passion.
She danced before me for several minutes, her scarlet dancing silks flashing in the firelight, her bare feet, with their belled ankles, striking softly on the carpet. With a last flash of the finger cymbals, she fell to the carpet before me, her breath hot and quick, her eyes blazing with desire. I was at her side, and she was in my arms. Her heart beat wildly against my breast. She looked into my eyes, her lips trembling, the words stumbling but audible."
~Tarnsman of Gor, page 135~
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Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave
I turned to the musicians. "Do you know," I asked, "the Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave Girl?"
"Port Kar's?" asked the leader of the musicians.
"Yes" I said.
"Of course," said he.
I had purchased more than marking and collars at the smithy.
"On your feet," boomed Thurnock to Thura, and she leaped frightened to her feet, standing ankle deep in the thick pile rug.
At a gesture from Clitus, Ula, too, leaped to her feet.
I put ankle rings on Midice, and then slave bracelets. And tore from her the bit of silk she wore. She looked at me with terror.
I lifted her to her feet, and stood before her.
"Play," I told the musicians.
The Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave Girl has many variations, in the different cities of Gor, but the common theme is that the girl dances her joy that she will soon lie in the arms of a strong master.
The musicians began to play, and to the clappings and cries of Thurnock and Clitus, Thura and Ula danced before them.
"Dance," said I to Midice.
In terror the dark-haired girl, lithe, tears in her eyes, she so marvelously legged, lifted her wrists.
Now again Midice danced, her ankles in delicious proximity and wrists lifted again together back to back above her head, palms out. But this time her ankles were not as though chained, nor her wrists as though braceleted; rather they were truly chained and braceleted; she wore the linked ankle rings, the three-linked slave bracelets of a Gorean master; and I did not think she would now conclude her dance by spitting upon me and whirling away.
She trembled. "Find me pleasing," she begged.
"Do not afflict her so," said Telima to me.
"Go to the kitchen," said I, "Kettle Slave."
Telima turned and, in the stained tunic of rep-cloth, left the room, as she had been commanded.
The music grew more wild.
"Where now," I demanded of Midice, "is your insolence, your contempt!"
"Be kind!" she cried. "Be kind to Midice!"
The music grew even more wild.
And then Ula, boldly before Clitus, tore from her own body the silk she wore and danced, her arms extended to him.
He leaped to his feet and carried her from the room.
I laughed.
Then Thura, to my amazement, though a rence girl, dancing, revealed herself similarly to the great Thurnock, he only of the peasants, and he, with a great laugh, swept her from her feet and carried her from the room.
"Do I dance for my life?" begged Midice.
I drew the Gorean blade. "Yes," I said, "you do."
And she danced superbly for me, every fiber of her beautiful body straining to please me, her eyes, each instant, pleading. trying to read in mine her fate. At last, when she could dance no more, she fell at my feet, and put her head to my sandals.
"Find me pleasing," she begged. "Find me pleasing, my Master!"
I had had my sport.
Raiders of Gor, pgs. 115-117
Dance's Page 11
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There were no some four or five girls in the circle. One wore a sign that said "I am for sale."
The dance in the circle, as one might have gathered, was not the stately dance of free maidens, of course, the maidens, though scarcely admitting this even to themselves, experience something of the stimulatory voluptuousness of movement, but slave dance, that form of dance, in its thousands of variations, in which a female may excitingly and beautifully, marvelously, and fulfillingly, express the depths and profoundities of her nature.
In such dance the woman moves as a female, and shows herself as a female, in all her excitingness and beauty. It is no wonder that women love such dance, in which dance they are so desirable and beautifully, in which dance they feel so free, so sexual, so much a slave.
Another woman entered the circle. She too was excellent....Another girl, a slim blonde was thrust in to the circle. Her Master, arms folded, regarded her
She lifted her chained wrists above her head, palms facing outward, this, because of the linkage of the manacles, tightening it, brining the backs of her hands closely together. She faced her Master. Desperate was she to please him. There was a placatory aspect to her dance. It seemed she wished to divert his wrath.
"Ahh," said Marcus. "Look!"
He was indicating the slim blonde, she with the chained wrists, whose dance before her Master seemed clearly placatory in nature. She had perhaps begged to be permitted to appear before him in the dancing circle, that she might attempt to please him. He had perhaps acquiesced. I recalled he had thrust her into the circle, perhaps in this generously according her, thought perhaps with some impatience, and misgivings, this chance to make amends for some perhaps unintentional, minuscule transgression. Perhaps his paga had not been heated to the right temperature. Women look well in collars.
The blonde was on her knees, extending her hands to her Master, piteously, all this with the music in her arms, her shoulders, her head and hair, her belly.
Her Master seized her from the circle then and hurried her from the light, her head down, held by the hair, at his left hip. This is a common leading position for female slaves being conducted short distances. As the master holds her hair in the left hand, it leaves his right hand, commonly the sword hand, free.
I thought the blonde had very successfully managed to divert the Master's wrath., assuming that was what she was up to. The only whip she need fear now, muchly, at nay rate, would seem to be the "whip of the furs." To be sure, she might be given a stroke or two, if only to remind her that she was slave.
Magicians of Gor pgs. 44-46
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There are many forms of placatory dances which are performed by female slaves. Some of these tend to have rather fixed forms, sanctioned by customs and tradition. such as the stately "Contrition Dance" of Turia. Some form of placatory dance is usually taught to the girl in slave training. There is no telling when it might be needed. Thought I had had, because of the relatively advanced state of my dancing skills, for a new slave, very little instruction in dance in the house of my first training, I had been taught at least that much. The form of placatory dance taught to a girl usually depends on the girl in question. For example, I had not been taught the stately "Contrition Dance" of Turia. It had been felt that the nature of my body lent itself to a more desperate , needful, lascivious form of dance. I had been taught how to dance on my knees, for example, and supplicatingly, on my back, and belly. Most placatory dances, however, are not fixed-form dances, but are "free" dances, in which the slave exquisitely alert to the nuances of the situation, the particular Master, the nature of his displeasure, the gravity of her offense, and such, improvises, doing her best to assuage his anger and beg his forgiveness, to reassure him of the authenticity of her contrition and the genuineness of her desire to do better.
"Hot Sand will do, Master," I said, "and chains in which my limbs are enclosed."
"Yes," he said.
I saw I did not need to fear him, save in the ways any slave must fear a Master.
I danced then to those whose eyes were hardest. Some of them were not even men I had trapped, but only men who knew what I had done. Some may have been as innocent as those I had lured; others might have been murders and brigands, suitably enchained for the expiration of sentences, their custody having been legally transferred to Ionicus, my Master, at the payment of a prisoners fee, by the writ of a praetor or, in more desperate cases, by the order of a quaestor. I danced abjectly. I danced piteously. I danced beggingly. I danced as well as I could. I could not do more. They would either be pleased or not. My fate was in their hands.
"She is pretty," said one of them.
"Yes," said another.
Hope sprang again high within me. I sought them to move another, with my helplessness, and the pleas of my body.
"Are you a good slave lay?" asked a man.
"It is my hope that I am pleasing, Master," I said. "Surely I shall endeavor to be so."
He grinned.
"She is an excellent dancer," commented a man, another whom I had lured in Argentum.
"Yes," said another fellow, another of those who owned his chaining to me.
I began to be conscious then, as I sometimes was, of the incredible power of the female slave, of how helpless men could be before her, and of what she could do to them.
"Ah," said one of the men, softly, watching.
I repeated the movement.
"Yes," said another man. "Yes!" said another.
How paradoxical I thought, that she who is branded, and collared, and owned, is nothing, should have such power!
"Dance, slut, dance!" said a man.
And then again I danced, helplessly, piteously, suing for their favor, striving desperately to be found pleasing. In the end the power belongs to the master, totally, and not to the slave. She is his.
"Excellent," said a man. "Excellent."
I danced.
I danced in such a way that a free woman might only dream of, awakening, sweating, in the night, clutching her covers, in terror, then feeling her throat with trepidation, with the tips of frightened fingers, to ascertain that no collar has been locked on it in the night. How could she, a free woman, have such a dream? What could it mean? And what would the men do to her when they came to take her in their arms? She awakened, in terror. Perhaps she hurries to strike a light in her room. The familiar surroundings reassure her. She has had such dreams before. What could they mean? Nothing, of course. Nothing! Such dreams must be meaningless! They must be! but what if they were not? She shudders. Perhaps she then, in her long silken gown, curls up, frightened, at the foot of her bed. What, too, could that mean? She does not know. Surely that, too, means nothing. But what if it did? She lies there, troubled, but somehow comforted, somehow secure, in that position. It seems to her, somehow, that that is where she belongs.
"Superb," said a man.
I saw now that they, or most of them, were pleased. I sensed now that I might be spared, at least if I pleased them, too, well enough in the sand. I had lured many of them, but now I danced before them, to please them, begging for my life, danced before them helplessly, at their mercy, submitted and dependent on their favor, for my very life, as much as thought I might be their own slave. I saw to my joy, coming gradually to understand it that they, or surely most of them, would accept this, my beauty, my submission and service, abject and total, in lieu of my blood. It would be vengeance enough for them. How mighty they were, and kind! To be sure, I would have to continue to show them perfections of slave service and total deference. How grateful I was to he whom I had most feared, he who was lost upon the chain, he who had given me this eagerly embraced opportunity to save my slave's hide! But it was he, of all of them, who had refused to watch me dance. He stood with his back turned to me, his back straight, his arms folded, looking away. Many times I had danced to him, moving behind him in the and, but he did not turn. he did not deign to glance upon me. Then, near the end of my dance, as it approached its climax, I was on my kneels in the sand, writhing, bending forward until my hair was in the sand, bending back then, expressing the bow of my body, my thighs, my belly, my breasts and throat to them, my hands inviting attention to them, my hair back in the stand, and then I straightened, and then was on my back, and belly, twisting and moving, lifting my hands to them, begging for favor, piteously suing for mercy. Such things I had been taught as long ago as the house of my first training, but I think, truly, even had I not had such training, I would, in the circumstances, have done much the same. Perhaps as instinctual in a woman. I had, when owned by Gordon, the musician, once seen a former free woman, new to her collar, in an alley in Samnium, performing so for a Master, he with the whip in hand, encouraged her to adequacy. She did well, She, shuddering, half in shock, learned that she would be spared, at least for the time. He then began to instruct her in how to give pleasure to a man. She attended fearfully, and well, to her lessons.
At the end of my dance, I was on my knees again, behind him. I lifted my hands to him. "Master, please!" I begged. "Look upon me!" But he did not turn.
With a cry of joy the men surged about me. I was lifted by my upper arms and flung back in the sand. My legs were lifted up, my knees bent. My wrist chain was pulled forward and thrust over and behind my feet. It was then jerked up, behind me. I could not move my hands from my sides. I was helpless. My ankles, each in the grip of one man, were pulled apart, until my ankle chain, its links straightened, permitted no further extension. My opened tunic was thrust back on both sides. I, half submerged in the sand, put my head back, looking up, and back. I could see the figures, and the palanquin, seemingly small, seemingly far above me, seemingly far away from me on the ridge. I thought my Master, Lonicus, of Cos, might be looking for me, through the lorgnon. "Oh!" I cried, suddenly as t he first of them put me to his pleasure.
Dancer of Gor, pgs. 333-335
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Panther Girl Dance's
Stalking Dance of the Panther Girls
Then, about me, the panther girls, circling, swaying, began a slow stalking dance, as of hunters.
I lay in the center of the circle.
Their movements were slow, and incredibly beautiful. Then suddenly one would cry out and thrust at me with her spear. But the spear was not thrust into my body. Its point would stop before it had administered its wound. Many of the blows would have been mortal. But many thrusts were only to my eyes, or arms and legs. Every bit of me began to feel exposed, threatened.
I was their catch.
Then the dance became progressively swifter and wilder, and the feigned blows became more frequent, and then, suddenly, with a wild cry, the swirling throng about me stood for an instant stock still, and then with a cry, each spear thrust down savagely toward my heart.
I cried out.
None of the spears had struck me.
The girls cast aside the spears. Then, like feeding she-panthers they knelt about me, each one, with her hands and tongue, touching and kissing me.
I cried out with anguish.
I knew I could not long resist them.
Hunters of Gor, pgs. 138-139
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There was a long silence, of some Ihn, and then, at a nod from Hura, who threw her long black hair back and lifted her head to the moons, the drum began again its beat. Mira's head was down, and shaking. Her right foot was stamping. The panther girls put down their heads. I saw their fists begin to clench and unclench. They stood, scarcely moving, but I could sense the movement of the drum in their blood.
The men of Tyros glanced to one another. It was few free men who had ever looked, unbound, on the rites of panther girls.
Hura's eyes were on the moons. She lifted her hands, fingers like claws, and screamed her need.
The girls then, following her, began to dance.
I looked down at the circle.
It might have been a rite not of women, but of the she-panthers! How starved must be the lonely, hating panther women of the forests, so gross is their hostility, so fierce their hatred, and yet need, of men. They twisted, screaming now, clawing at the moons. I would scarcely have guessed at the primitive hungers evident in each movement of those barbaric, feline bodies. They would be masters of men. Proud, magnificent creatures. And yet by biology, by their beauty, by their aroused inwardness, could not, in fact, own but only, in their true fulfillment, belong, be taken, be conquered.
The drum was now very heady, swift. The dance of the panther girls became more wild, more frenzied. Vicious, sinuous, clawing, lithe, these savage beauties, in their skins and gold, with their knives, their light spears, weapons darting, danced. They were terrible, and beautiful, in the streaming, flooding light of the looming, primitive moons of perilous Gor. I could hear their cries of rage and need, hear their heels striking in the earth, their hands slapping at their thighs. I saw the teeth of some, white, bared, at the moons, their eyes blazing. The hair of all was unbound. Several had already, oblivious of the presence of the men of Tyros, torn away their skins to the waist, others completely. On some I could hear the movement of the necklaces of sleen teeth tied about their necks, the shivering and ringing of slender golden bangles on their tanned ankles. In their dance they danced among the staked-out bodies of the men of Marlenus, and about the great Ubar himself. Their weapons leapt at the bound men, but never did the blows fall.
The dance would soon strike its climax. It could continue little longer. It could continue longer. The women would go mad with their need to strike and rape.
Suddenly the drum stopped and Hura stopped, her body bent backward, her head back, her long black hair falling to the back of her knees. She was breathing deeply, very deeply. Her body was covered with a sheen of sweat.
Hunters of Gor, page 197
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Then, about me, the panther girls, circling, swaying, began a slow stalking dance, as of hunters.
I lay in the center of the circle.
Their movements were slow, and incredibly beautiful. Then suddenly one would cry out and thrust at me with her spear. But the spear was not thrust into my body. Its point would stop before it had administered its wound. Many of the blows would have been mortal. But many thrusts were only to my eyes, or arms and legs. Every bit of me began to feel exposed, threatened.
I was their catch.
Then the dance became progressively swifter and wilder, and the feigned blows became more frequent, and then, suddenly, with a wild cry, the swirling throng about me stood for an instant stock still, and then with a cry, each spear thrust down savagely toward my heart.
I cried out.
None of the spears had struck me.
The girls cast aside the spears. Then, like feeding she-panthers they knelt about me, each one, with her hands and tongue, touching and kissing me.
I cried out with anguish.
I knew I could not long resist them.
Hunters of Gor, pgs. 138-139
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