She came and stood before me, and then dropped ot her knees, resting back on her heels. She lowered her head and extended her arms, wrists
crossed, the submission of the Gorean female. I did not immediately bind her, but walked about her, examining her as prize. I had not hitherto
understood her as so beautiful, and desirable. At last, after I had well stisfied myself as to her quality, I took a bit of binding fiber that had fastened
her ankles at the prow, and lashed her wrists together.

She raised her head and looked up at me, her eyes searching mine, pleading.

I spat down in her face, and she lowered her head, shoulders shaking, sobbing. Raiders of Gor, page 92

On Gor a woman normally travels only with a suitable retinue of armed guards. Women, on this barbaric world, are often regarded, unfortunately, as
little more than love prizes, the fruits of conquest and seizure. Too often they are seen less as persons, human beings with rights, individuals worthy
of concern and regard than as potential pleasure slaves, silken, bangled prisoners, possible adornments to the pleasure gardens of their captors.
There is a saying on Gor that the laws of a city extend no further than its walls.

She had not yet seen me. I leaned on my spear and waited.

The harsh, exogamous institution of capture is woven into the very fabric of Gorean life. It is regarded as meritorious to abduct one's women from a
foreign, preferably hostile city. Perhaps this institution, which on the surface seems so deplorable, is profitable from the standpoint of the race,
preventing the gradual inbreeding of otherwise largely isolated, self-sufficient cities. Few seem to object to the institution of capture, not even the
women who might seem to be its victims. On the contrary, incredibly enough, their vanity is terribly outraged if they are not regarded as worth the
risks, usually mutilation and impalement. One cruel courtesan in the great city of Ar, now little more than a toothless, wrinkled hag, boasted that more
than four hundred men had died because of her beauty. Outlaw of Gor, page 50-51

'I have my reasons for freeing you,' I said, 'but I am not sure that you would understand them,' and I added, under my breath, to myself, that I was
not altogether sure I understood them myself.

'My father,' she said, 'and my brothers will reward you.'

'No,' I said.

'If you wish, they are bound in honour to grant me to you, without bride price.'

'The ride to Thentis will be long,' I said.

She replied proudly, 'My bride price would be a hundred tarns.'

I whistled softly to myself - my ex-slave would have come high. On a Warrior's allowance I would not have been able to afford her. Tarnsman of Gor,
page 71

'If you wish to land,' said Sana, apparently determined to see me compensated in some fashion, 'I will serve you pleasure.'

It occurred to me that there was at least one reply which she, bred in the honour codes of Gor, should understand, one reply that should silence her.
'Would you diminish the worth of my gift to you?' I asked, feigning anger.

She thought for a moment and then gently kissed me on the lips. 'No, Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba,' she said, 'but you well know that I could do nothing that
would diminish the worth of your gift to me. Tarl Cabot, I care for you.'

I realised that she had spoken to me as a free woman, using my name. I put my arms around her, sheltering her as well as I could from the swift,
chilling blast of the wind. Then I thought to myself, a hundred tarns indeed! Forty perhaps, because she was a beauty. For a hundred tarns one might
have the daughter of an Administrator, for a thousand perhaps even the daughter of the Ubar of Ar! A thousand tarns would make a formidable
addition to the cavalry forces of a Gorean warlord. Sana, collar or no, had the infuriating, endearing vanity of the young and beautiful of her sex.
Tarnsman of Gor, page 72

I was a bit sad as I looked at the block. I knew that in such places private auctions were sometimes conducted, discreetly, for favored clientele, many
times slavers themselves. At such private auctions, conducted secretly, Gorean slavers sometimes find it convenient to dispose of important, High
Caste women without trace, sometimes even from the city of Ar itself, perhaps women who have lived proudly, luxuriously, not more than a pasang or
two from the rounded, wooden block from which they now find themselves, to their horror, being sold. Who knows what women, freshly branded,
hooded and braceleted, chained in the slave wagons, pass to and from Ar? Assassin of Gor, page 113

Nela, like most of the others at the baths, could talk of little but the startling disappearance, and presumed abduction, of Claudia Tentia Hinrabia, the
proud, spoiled daughter of the Administrator of the City. It seemed she had vanished from the central cylinder, in those portions of it devoted to the
private quarters of the Administrator and his family and closer associates, almost under the very noses of Taurentian guardsmen. Saphronicus, Captain
of the Taurentians, was reportedly, and understandably, beside himself with frustration and rage. He was organizing searches of the entire city and
surrounding countryside, and gathering all possible reports which might bear on the case. The Administrator himself, with his consort, and many others
of the high family, had locked themselves in their quarters, secluding themselves in their outrage and sorrow. The entire city was humming with the
news and a hundred rumors ran rampant through the alleys and streets and on the bridges of Glorious Ar. On the roof of the Cylinder of Initiates the
High Initiate, Complicius Serenus, offered sacrifice and prayer for the speedy return of the girl and, failing that, that she might be found slain, that she
might not be reduced to the shames of slavery. Assassin of Gor, page 158-159

I supposed it quite probable that Claudia Hinrabia had been abducted, though it would not be the only possible explanation for her absence. The
institution of capture is universal, to the best of my knowledge, on Gor; there is no city which does not honor it, provided the females captured are
those of the enemy, either their free women or their slaves; it is often a young tarnsman's first mission, the securing of a female, preferably free, from
an enemy city, to enslave, that his sisters may be relieved of the burden of serving him; indeed, his sisters often encourage him to be prompt in the
capture of an enemy wench that their own tasks may be made the lighter; when the young tarnsman, if successful, returns home from his capture
flight, a girl bound naked across the saddle, his sisters welcome her with delight, and with great enthusiasm prepare her for the Feast of Collaring.
Assassin of Gor, page 159

Kamchak, as a Tuchuk, could not bring himself to be quite as generous with the city's women, and the five thousand most beautiful girls of Turia were
branded and given to the commanders of Hundreds, that they might be distributed to the bravest and fiercest of their warriors; the others were
permitted to remain in the city or flee through the gates to seek their fellow citizens beyond the walls. Additionally, of course, beyond the free women,
numerous slaves had fallen into the hands of the warriors, and these, too, were sent to the commanders of Hundreds. The most marvellous set of the
latter were the beauties from the Pleasure Gardens of Saphrar of Turia. The girls of the Wagon Peoples, of course, who had been enslaved, were
freed; the others, however, save for some of Ko-ro-ba on whose behalf I spoke, would change their perfumed silks and their warmed, scented baths
for the hardships of the trek, the care of bosk, and the arms of warrior masters. Few it seemed to me, surprisingly perhaps, much objected to leaving
the luxurious delights of the gardens of Saphrar for the freedom of the winds and prairies, the dust, the smell of bosk, the collar of a man who would
master them utterly but before whom they would stand as human she’s individual, each different, each alone and marvellous and prized in the secret
world of her master's wagon.  Nomads of Gor, page 332

Out of the darkness came two men, warriors. Between them, face-stripped, was a woman, stumbling. Her arms, over her resplendent robes, were
bound to her sides with a broad leather strap. She was thrown to the feet of Targo. I, and the other girls, crowded about, but the guards pushed us
back with their spears. The woman struggled to her knees, but was not permitted to rise. Her eyes were wild. She shook her head, no. Targo then,
piece by piece, from the leather pouch at his belt, handed forty-five pieces of gold to the chief of the two men. The girls cried out in amazement. It was
a fantastic price. And he had not even assessed her! We realized then that she had been contracted for in advance. The two men took Targo's gold
and withdrew into the darkness.

The Forkbeard turned and, facing the entrance of the hall, called out, “Bring forth the female.”
There was no sound in the great hall, save the crackle of the fires and torches.
The men, and the thralls and bond-maids, parted. From the doors to the hall, swung wide, now approaching came four figures, Ottar, who had
accompanied the Forkbeard to the thing, two of the Forkbeard´s men, with spears, and, between them, clad in rich robes of concealment, such as are
worn in the south, even to the veils, the figure of a girl.
These four stopped before the table, opposite the high seat of Svein Blue Tooth. The girl stood among the gold, and the heaped sapphires. Her robes
were marvously wrought, subtle, soft, and seeming almost in their sheens, like the jewels, to shift their colors in the light of the lamps and the
flickering torches. The robes were hooded; she was twice veiled, once in white silk and, under it, in purple silk.
“What mockery is this?” demanded the Blue Tooth, sternly.
“No mockery, my Jarl,” said the Forkbeard. He extended his hand toward the girl. “May I present to my Jarl,” he asked, “Hilda, daughter of Thorgard of
The girl reached to her hoods and brushed them back, freeing her hair, and then, pin by pin, she unfastened the two veils, one after the other, and
dropped them. --
“It is she,” whispered a man at the table of Svein BlueTooth. “I was once in the hall of Thorgard. It is she!´
“Are you-are you,” asked Svein Blue Tooth, “the daughter of Thorgard, Thorgard of Scagnar?”
“Yes, my Jarl,” she said.
“Before Thorgard of Scagnar had the ship Black Sleen,” said Svein, slowly, “he had another ship. What was its name ?”
“Horned Tharlarion,” she said. “He still has this ship, too,” she added, “but it does not now serve as his flagship.”
“How many oars has it?” he asked.
“Eighty,” said she.
“Who keeps the fisheries of Thorgard?” asked a man.
“Grim, once of Hunjer,” she said.
“Once in battle,” said Svein Blue Tooth, “I wounded Thorgard of Scagnar.”
“The scar,” she said, “is on his left wrist, concealed under a studded wristlet.”
Svein leaned back.
“In this same engagement,” she said, “he wounded you, and more grievously. You will bear the scar in your left shoulder.”
Bera flushed.
“It is true,” said Svein Blue Tooth.
“I tell you,” cried the man at the table, “it is Hilda, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar. I have been in his hall. It is she!”
The women of the north, commonly, do not veil them-selves.
“How were you taken?” asked Svein Blue Tooth.
“By trickery, my Jarl,” said she. “In my own compartments was I taken, braceleted and hooded.”
“How were you conveyed past guards?” asked the Blue Tooth.
“From the window of my compartments, braceleted and hooded, late at night, helpless, in darkness. I was hurled into the sea, more than a hundred
feet below. A boat was waiting. Like a fish I was retrieved and made prisoner, forced to lie on my belly in the boat, like a common maid. My captors fol-
There was a great cheer from the men in the hall, both those of Ivar Forkbeard and those of Svein Blue Tooth.
“You poor, miserable girl,” cried Bera.
“It could happen to any female,” said Hilda, “even you, great lady.”
“Men are beasts,” Bera cried. She regarded Ivar, and me, and his men, with fury. “Shame be upon you, you beasts!” she cried.
“Svein Blue Tooth, Jarl of Torvaldsland, meet Hilda, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar,” said Ivar. “Hilda, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar, meet Svein
Blue Tooth, Jarl of Torvaldsland.”
Hilda inclined her head in deference to the Jarl.
There was another great cheer in the hall.
“Poor girl,” cried Bera, “how you must have suffered!”
Hilda lowered her head. She did not respond to Bera. I thought she smiled.
“Never had I thought to have Hilda, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar, stand prisoner before me, before the high seat of my house,” said Svein Blue
“Before you I stand more than prisoner, my Jarl,” said she.
“I do not understand,” said Svein Blue Tooth.
She did not raise her head.
“You need not address me as your Jarl, my dear,” said Svein Blue Tooth. “I am not your Jarl.”
“But every free man is my Jarl,” she said. “You see, my Jarl,” said she, lifting her head proudly and pulling her rich, glistening robes some inches down
upon her shoulders, “I wear the collar of Ivar Forkbeard.”
The collar of black iron, with its heavy hinge, its riveted closure, its projecting ring of iron, for a chain or padlock, showed black, heavy, against the
whiteness of her lovely throat.
“You have dared to collar the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!” cried Bera to Ivar Forkbeard.
“My master does what he pleases, Lady,” said Hilda.
I wondered what Bera would say if she knew that Hilda had been put at the oar, and taught to heel; that she had been whipped, and taught to obey;
that she had been caress-ed, and taught to respond.
“Silence, Bond-maid!” cried Bera.
Hilda put down her head.
“To think,” cried Bera, “that I expressed solicitude for a collar-girl!”
Hilda dared not speak. For a bond-maid to speak in such a situation might be to invite a sentence of death. She shuddered.
In fury, Bera, lifting her skirt from about her ankles, took her way from the long table, retiring to her own quarters. Marauders of Gor page 199, 201

Mead was replenished in the drinking horn by a dark-haired bond-maid, who filled it, head down, shyly, not look-ing at me. She was the only one in the
hall who was not stripped, though, to be sure, her kirtle, by order of her master, was high on her hips, and, over the shoulders, was split to the belly.
Like any other wench, on her neck, riveted, was a simple collar of black iron. She had worn a Kur collar before, and, with hundreds of others, had been
rescued from the pens. The fixing of the Kur collar, it had been decided by Svein Blue Tooth, was equivalent to the fixing of the metal collar and, in
itself, was sufficient to reduce the subject to slavery, which condition deprives the subject of legal status, and rights attached thereto, such as the
right to stand in companionship. Accordingly, to her astonishment, Bera, who had been the companion of Svein Blue Tooth, discovered suddenly that
she was only one wench among others. From a line, as part of his spoils, the Blue Tooth picked her out. She had displeased him mightily in recent
years. Yet was the Blue Tooth fond of the arrogant wench. It was not until he had switched her, like any other girl, that she understood that their
relationship had under-gone a transformation, and that she was, truly, precisely what she seemed to be, now his bond-maid. No longer would her
dour presence deprive his feasts of joy. No longer would she, in her free woman’s scorn, shower contempt on bond-maids, trying to make them
ashamed of their beauty. She, too, now, was no more than they. She now had new tasks to which to address herself, cooking, and churning and
carrying water; the improvement of her own carriage, and beauty and attractiveness; and the giving of inordinate pleasure in the furs to her master,
Svein Blue Tooth, Jarl of Torvaldsland; if she did not do so, well she knew, as an imbonded wench, that others would; it was not, indeed, until her
reduction to slavery that she realized, for the first time, how fine a male, how attractive and how powerful, was Svein Blue Tooth, whom she had for
years taken for granted; seeing him objectively for the first time, from the perspective of a slave girl, who is nothing herself, and comparing him with
other free men, she realized suddenly how mighty how splendid and magnificent he truly was. She set herself diligently to please him, in service and in
pleasure, and, if he would permit it, in love. Bera went to the next man, to fill his cup with mead, from the heavy, hot tankard, gripped with cloth, which
she carried. She was sweating. She was barefoot. The bond-maid was happy. Marauders of Gor, page 277, 278

Hassan, the Bandit. Her companion prize, whose name was Tafa, was bound similarly before the saddle of one of Hassan's men. The soft interiors of
the thighs of both girls were bloodied, stained reddish brown, to the side of the knee but only one of them wore in her flesh, on the outside of her left
thigh, recently imprinted, the Tahari slave mark. She only, Zina, was, of now, a slave girl. Others of the men of Hassan led pack kaiila, containing in
their burdens goods taken from the caravan plundered four days ago. Tribesmen of Gor, page 152

I met her charge. She was not unskillful. I fended her blows. I did not lay the weight of my own steel on hers, that I not tire her arm. I let her strike,
and slash, and feint and thrust. Twice she drew back suddenly in fear, almost a wince, or reflex, realizing she had exposed herself to my blade, but I
had not struck her.
"You are not a match for a warrior," I told her. It was true. I had crossed steel with hundreds of men, in practice and in the fierce games of war, who
could have finished her, swiftly and with ease, had they chosen to do so.
In fury, again, she attacked.
Again I met her attack, toying with the beauty.
She wept, striking wildly. I was within her guard, the blade at her belly.
She stepped back. Again she fought. This time I moved toward her, letting her feel the weight of the steel, the weight of a man's arm. Suddenly she
found herself backed against a pillar. Her guard was down. She could scarcely lift her arm. My blade was at her breast. I stepped back. She stumbled
from the pillar, wild. Again she lifted the scimitar; again she tried to attack. I met her blade, high, forcing it down; she slipped to one knee, looking up,
trying to keep the blade away; she wept; she had no leverage, her strength was gone; I thrust her back, and she fell on her back before me on the
tiles; my left boot, heavy, was on her right wrist; the small band opened and the scimitar slipped to the tiles; the point of the blade was at her throat.
"Stand up," I told her.
I broke her scimitar at the hilt and flung it to a corner of the room.
She stood in the center of the room. "Put your rope on my neck," she said. "You have taken me, Warrior."
I walked about her, examining her. She stood, angrily, inspected.
With the blade of my scimitar I brushed back the slashed, left leg of her trousers. She had an excellent leg within.
"Please," she said.
"Remove your boots," I told her. In fury, she removed them. She then stood, barefoot, on the tiles in the center of the room.
"You will lead me barefoot before the Pashas?" she asked. "Is your vengeance not sweet enough, that you will so degrade me?"
"Are you not my prisoner?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Then I will do with you as I please," I told her.
"Oh, no!" she wept.
In a moment I told her to kneel. She knelt on the tiles, her head down, her head in her bands. She was stripped completely by my scimitar. Tribesmen
of Gor, page 329-330

"As a slave!" she cried. "You should have freed me!"
"As I recall," I said, "you begged to be freed."
"Yes!" she cried.
The men in the room looked at one another.
"I had not known, until that time," I said, "that you were, in the belly of you, a true slave girl."
She looked at me, angrily. She turned red.
On Gor it is said that only a true slave begs to be freed. That act, incontrovertibly, on Gor, more deeply than a brand and a collar, marks the individual
as a true slave. Who but such a true slave would beg to be freed? Such individuals, of course, are never freed, but, commonly, their nature now being
made undeniably clear, are put under heavier restraints and treated more harshly. When Talena, the daughter of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ar, had, in a
missive to him, begged her freedom, he had, on his sword and on the medallion of Ar, sworn against her the oath of disownment. As a consequence,
she was no longer of high birth, no longer his daughter. I had had Samos free her and transmit her to Ar. There she lived, free but of no status; she
was no longer recognized, in the sight of its Home Stone, as a citizen of Ar; she had not even the collar of a slave girl for her identity; she was kept
sequestered by Marlenus in the central cylinder, that his shame not be publicly displayed upon the high bridges of the city. Tribesmen of Gor, page 351

“Yes,” I said. “A girl of low caste, of a poor family, who is truly beautiful, a girl who cannot afford shelter in a protected area, is almost certain, sooner
or later, to find her neck ringed with a collar. As far as that goes, a girl of wealth and high caste, who is beautiful, is not out of danger. It is regarded
as great sport to take them.”
“A sport of men,” she said.
“Yes, to make beautiful women slaves,” I said.
“A delicious sport,” she said. Beasts of Gor, page 246

She seemed very small and helpless before the high desk.
“Please let me go,” she said. “I will be good.”
“The Lady Sasi, of Port Kar,” said the praetor, “in virtue of what we have here today established, and in virtue of the general warrant outstanding
upon her, must come under sentence.”
“Please, my officer,” she begged.
“I am now going to sentence you,” he said.
“Please,” she cried, “Sentence me only to a penal brothel!”
“The penal brothel is too good for you,” said the praetor.
“Show me mercy,” she begged.
“You will be shown no mercy,” he said.
She looked up at him, with horror.
“You are sentenced to slavery,” he said.
“No, no!” she screamed.
One of the guards cuffed her across the mouth, snapping her head back.
There were tears in her eyes and blood at her lip.
“Were you given permission to speak?” asked the praetor.
“No, no,” she wept, stammering. “Forgive me-Master.”
“Let her be taken to the nearest metal shop and branded,” said the praetor. “Then let her be placed on sale outside the shop for five Ehn, to be sold
to the first buyer for the cost of her branding. If she is not sold in five Ehn then take her to the public market shelves and chain her there, taking the
best offer which equals or exceeds the cost of her branding.”
The girl looked up at the praetor. The strap, in the hand of the guardsman, grew taut at her throat.
“This tarsk bit,” said the praetor, lifting the coin which had been taken from her mouth earlier, “is now confiscated, and becomes the property of the
port.” This was appropriate. Slaves own nothing. It is, rather, they who are owned.
The girl, the new slave, was then dragged stumbling away from the tribunal. Explorers of Gor, page 58-59

“Unlock our bracelets,” begged the blond girl. She and the dark-haired girl had followed us to the edge of the river.
Kisu and I, and Ayari, were sliding our canoe, from which we had removed its camouflage, toward the water. The girls, Janice, Alice and Tende, with the
paddles and supplies, accompanied us.
Then we were at the edge of the water.
“Please,” begged the blond girl. She turned, that her wrists, enclosed snugly in the linked, steel bracelets, might be exposed to me. “Please unlock our
bracelets,” she begged. “Please, please!” begged, too, the dark-haired girl.
Kisu and Ayari thrust the canoe into the water. Janice, Alice and Tende, wading, placed the paddles and supplies in the canoe, and then, entering the
narrow vessel, assumed their places.
“Please free us,” begged the blond girl.
“They are only slave bracelets,” I said. “Free yourselves.”
“We cannot do so,” said the blond girl. “We are women, and have only women´s strength.”
I shrugged.
“Please,” she begged again.
“Did you think, noble free women,” I asked, “that you might do fully as you wished, that no penalties would be inflicted upon you?”
“You cannot leave us here!” she wept. She looked behind her, fearfully, at the jungle.
Turgus and I waded to the canoe, which Kisu and Ayari held steady in the water.
“Please,” begged the blond girl. “You cannot leave us here!”
I turned to face her. “You have lost,” I told her. I turned away.
‘There is another penalty which may be inflicted upon free women,” cried the blond.
I turned again to face her. “Do not even speak of it,” I said. “It is too degrading and horrifying. Surely death is a thousand times more preferable.”
“I beg that other penalty,” said the blond, kneeling in the mud on the shore. “I, too,” cried the dark-haired girl, kneeling. too, in the mud. “I, too!”
“Speak clearly,” I said.
“We beg enslavement,” said the blond, “Enslave us, we beg of you!”
“Enslave yourselves,” I said.
“I declare myself a slave,” said the blond, “and I submit myself to you as my master.” She put her head down to the mud. “I declare myself a slave,”
said the dark-haired girl, and then she turned to face Turgus, “and I submit myself to you as my master.” She then put her head down, like the blond,
to the mud.
“Lift your head,” I said to the blond. “Lift your head,” said Turgus to the other girl. The two girls lifted their heads, anxiously.
“You are now only two slaves,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” mid the blond. “Yes. Master,” said the dark-haired girl. They had declared themselves slaves. The slave herself, of course, once the
declaration has been made, cannot revoke it. That would be impossible, for she is then only a slave. The slave can be freed only by one who owns her,
only by one who is at the time her master or, if it should be the case, her mistress. The legal point, I think, is interesting. Sometimes, in the fall of a
city, girls who have been enslaved, girls formerly of the now victorious city, will be freed. Technically, according to Merchant Law, which serves as the
arbiter in such intermunicipal matters, the girls become briefly the property of their rescuers, else how could they be freed? Further, according to
Merchant Law, the rescuer has no obligation to free the girl. In having been enslaved she has lost all claim to her former Home Stone. She has become
an animal. If, too, she is sufficiently desirable, it is almost certain she will not be freed. As the Goreans have it, such women are too beautiful to be
free. Too, as often as not, city pride enters into such matters. Such girls, with other slave girls, both of various cities and with the former free women of
the conquered city, now collared slaves, too, will often be marched naked in chains in the loot processions of the conquering cities. It is claimed they
have shamed their former city by having fallen slave, and if they were good enough to be only slaves in the conquered city then surely they should be
no more within the walls of the victorious city. Such girls usually are marched in a special position in the loot processions, behind and before banners
which proclaim their shame. The people much abuse them and lash them as they pass. Such girls usually beg piteously to be sold to transient slavers.
It is hard for them to wear their collars in their own city. Explorers of Gor, page 408-409-410

In our journey downriver we had found the small people marching the talunas westward, to sell them. The talunas, stripped, were being marched in
tandem pairs, each pair fastened in the long coffle. Two forked sticks are lashed together. The fork of the first stick goes to the back of the neck of the
first girl. Another stick then is thrust crosswise under the chin of the first girl and tied on the fork, holding her in the fork. The fork of the second lashed
stick is before the throat of the second girl. Another stick then is thrust crosswise behind the neck of the second girl and lashed in place. The hands of
each girl are tied behind their backs. Each pair, bound and fastened in the sticks, is then added as a unit to the coffle. The second girl in one pair,
unless she is the last in the long line, and the first girl in the succeeding pair, unless she is the first in the long line, are fastened together by neck
ropes. Thus is the coffle formed.
When we found the talunas being herded along by the small people we had brought our vessels to shore.
We bought the entire band of captive talunas for a crate of beads and five pangas.
We relieved the caught beauties of the coffle and chained them, four to a bench, to certain of the thwarts of one of the galleys. Oars we then thrust in
their hands, four girls to one oar, that they might be able to move the levers. There were enough girls, in this arrangement, for five oars to a side with
one girl left over, who could carry food and water to her laboring sisters. A long chain was run lengthwise in the galley and fastened to rings at both
stem and stern. The left ankle of the extra girl, the fetch-and-carry girl, who was already in wrist rings, joined by a foot of chain, was then locked in
one of two ankle shackles, joined by about eighteen inches of chain. The right ankle shackle was then passed under the long chain and snapped shut
about her right ankle. She was thus, by her lovely legs and body, and shackled ankles, literally fastened about the long chain, w`ich served then as a
slave´s run-chain, permitting her movement, but strictly, by intent, controlling its scope. She might move back and forth, lengthwise in the galley, and
to the benches, performing her labors, but could not leave the vessel or, indeed, even touch its bulwarks. Too, it did not permit her to move as far as
its rudder. On this galley, the floating prison for the talunas, both those on the benches, chained to the thwarts, and the fetch-and-carry girl, we put
five askaris, one for the rudder, for the river galley is single ruddered, and four, should the girls at the oars require encouragement, or the fetch-and-
carry girl be in any way not completely pleasing, with whips.
“The river must be made safe,” had said Bila Huruma, when the right ankle of the fetch-and-carry girl, the last girl to be chained, had been snapped in
its shackle, fastening her by chain and body about the run-chain.
“What will you do with them?” I asked.
“I will have them sold in Schendi,” he said.
I think that many of the talunas did not realize that their labors at the oar were intended to be temporary. Before the first Ahn was out many were
sweating and moaning, with pain, begging that they might be released, to be taught the more typical, softer labors of the female slave. It was hard to
blame them for the oar of a river galley is normally drawn by a strong man. If the journey had not been downriver I do not think it would have been
practical to put them at oars at all. The fetch-and-carry girl, of course, scolded the talunas for their weakness. The next day, however, it was she
herself who sweated at an oar, crying out in pain under the whips of the vigilant askaris, while another took her place. She had not realized that the
fetch-and-carry girl would be changed daily. In this way no taluna would have to spend more than forty consecutive days at an oar. It had not taken
the original fetch-and-carry girl more than an Ahn at the oar, incidentally, before she, too, had begged to be relieved of its pain, that she might be
taught lighter duties, even those involving perfumes and silks, more fitting, more suitable, to the bodies and dispositions of female slaves. Explorers of
Gor, page 257-258

"You there, Female," called a pirate, his eye roaming the crowd, "step forth!"

The men holding the ship's pole frightened lowered it.

"Step forth!" said the pirate.

The woman shook her head, pressing back against the men.

"Unhood her, face-strip her," ordered the pirate

"Protect me, save me, please," she begged.

Her hood was thrust back. Her veil was torn away. She was lovely. The price she would bring would be good. I wondered why such a woman would
come to the wharves in a time of such danger. Surely she must have understood the peril to which she would be exposing herself.

Rogue of Gor, page 176

"In Port Cos," said he, "long ago, I wooed you with all the honors and dignities to be accorded to the free woman. Well did we grow acquainted, and
many were the long and intimate conversations in which we shared." His eyes then grew hard. "and in one of these," he said, "you uttered an
unspeakable confession, acknowledging your slave needs."
"I was so ashamed," she said, turning her face away.
"How could I take to my bed in honor one who had dared to confess her slave needs? Such girls I could buy at the market. We parted, naturally. But
our families, desiring the companionship, pressed us for explanations. That our honors might be protected, of course, yours that you had dared to
confess your slave needs, and mine, that I had been the scandalized auditor of so shameful an admission, we remained silent."
"But," said she, moist-eyed, "that our courtship not appear to have failed, and that our families not be disgraced, you agreed to proceed with the
companionship, this in accordance with your conception of your duty as an officer and a gentleman."
He looked down at her, not speaking.
"I did not wish to languish, scorned and neglected, in a cold bed, while you contented yourself with market girls. I fled the city."
"You are mistaken in at least one thing," he said. "I had not determined to proceed with the companionship because of family pressures. I am not so
weak. Similarly, my duties as an officer and a gentleman were not implicated in the matter."
"But, why then?" she asked.
"I wanted you," he said.
"But I have slave needs," she said.
"I thought long after our conversation," he said. "You had dared to confess your slave needs, and this had shamed you, and it had scandalized me.
But, why, I asked myself. Should not, rather, one be more ashamed by deceit than the truth? Can there truly be a greater honor in hypocrisy than in
honesty? It does not seem so. I then realized how bravely you had trusted me and revealed this to me. My outrage gave way to gratitude and
admiration. Similarly, I asked myself, why was I scandalized. Was this not connected with hidden fears of my own, that I might discover complementary
needs within myself, the needs to own and be a master? Your confession, so expressive and poignant, tended to undermine a deceit of free persons.
You had dared, it seemed, to break the code of hypocrisy. Had the gate to barbarism been left ajar? I regretted, for a time, the loss of the lie. We grow
fond of our myths. Yet our myths are like walls of straw. Ultimately they cannot protect us. Ultimately they must perish in the flames of truth:"
"You would have taken me," she asked, "knowing that I had slave needs?"
"Your slave needs," he said, "made you a thousand times more desirable. What man does not want a slave?"
She looked at him, startled.
"It was thus my intention to take you into honorable companionship," he said, "but, in the privacy of our quarters, away from the sight of the world, to
put you in a collar, and keep you as a slave, even to the whip."
She looked up at him, disbelievingly.
"But," he said, "such a farce will not now be necessary"
"I do not understand," she said.
"Strip," he said.
"There are others present," she protested.
His right hand, in a backhand blow, lashed forth, fierce and powerful, striking her from her knees to her side on the tiles. She rose to her hands and
knees and, blood at her mouth, regarded him, disbelievingly.
"Must a command be repeated?" he inquired.
Swiftly she tore away the slave tunic, stripping herself. He snapped his fingers and pointed to his feet. She crawled to his feet on her belly. She looked
up at him.
"I gather that you accept the gift," I said.
"I do accept it," he said, "and I thank you."
"I have called her Lola," I said, "but you may, of course, call her what you wish."
"You are Lola," he said to the slave.
"Thank you, Master," she said, named. She put down her head and, gently, kissed his feet.
"Lola," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"From the first instant, long ago, when I saw you in Port Cos, I wanted to own you."
"And from the first instant in Port Cos, so long ago," she said, "I wanted to be your slave."
"You now are," he said.
"'Yes, Master," she said.
"Here," I said. I threw Calliodorus an eighteen-inch black binding strap. It was identical to the one I had earlier given to Aemilianus.
"Thank you," grinned Calliodorus.
"Bind her well," I said.
"Have no fear," laughed Callidorus, "she will know herself bound."
There was then laughter, and Gorean applause, congratulating Calliodorus on his good fortune, and me on the loveliness and generosity of my gift.
Then again we sat down. The gift, nude and collared, curled lovingly on its side near him, its hand touching his knee. Guardsman of Gor, page 256-257

Do masters ever love their slaves?" she asked.
"Often," I said. Indeed, a female slave is the easiest of all women to love; too, of course, she is the most natural, of all women to love; these things
have to do with the equations of nature, in particular with those of dominance and submission. To a man a female slave is a dream come true. A free
woman, understandably, cannot even begin to compete with a female slave for a man's love. That is perhaps another reason why free women hate
their vulnerable, imbonded sisters. If a free woman would assure herself of a man's love she could not do better than, in effect, become his slave. She
can beg of him, if she senses in herself he true bondage of love, and enslavement ceremony, in which she proclaims herself, and becomes, his slave. In
their most secret and intimate relations thereafter she lives and loves as his slave. If a woman fears to do this she may, on an experimental basis,
resort to limited self-contracting, in which her documents will contain stated termination dates. Thus, by her own free will, she becomes a slave for a
specific period, ranging usually from an evening to a year. The woman enters into this arrangement freely; she cannot, of course, withdraw from it in
the same way. The reason for this is clear. As soon as the words are spoken, or her signature is placed on the pertinent document, or documents, she
is no longer a free person. She is then only a slave, an animal, no longer with any legal powers whatsoever. She is, then, until the completion of the
contractual period, unto the expiration date of the arrangement, totally subject to the will of her master. Blood Brothers of Gor, page 101, 102

"I am well aware of that, Master," she smiled. Sometimes a girl is captured in her own bed, raped and hooded, and carried to a market, all in the same
night. Blood Brothers of Gor, page 101, 102

Oh!" said Iwoso, wincing, as I pulled tight the knots on her wrists, fastening them back and on each side of the stout post.
"How dare you treat me like this?" asked Iwoso.
"Rejoice," I told her, "that you are not being bound in whipping position."
"Whipping position?" she said. "But I am a free woman!"
"It is not only slaves who may be whipped when their captors please," I told her.
She shrank back, her back against the post. To be sure, she was not tied with her belly against the post and her hands over her head, out of the way
of the lash, or kneeling, her hands tied in front of her, about the post, common whipping positions.
I then crouched down and roped her ankles, closely, to the post.
"I am a free woman," she said. "It is undignified from me to be tied to a post."
"Hci has decided it," I said.
"Hci!" she cried. "What right has he to decide such things?"
"He is your captor," I said.
"Oh," she said, frightened. I suspect that there were few things which the sly, clever Iwoso feared in this world, but, high among them, I had little
doubt, were the scarred face and fierce heart of Hci, of the Isbu Kaiila. Blood Brothers of Gor, page 397

She belonged to Samos, of course. It had been within the context of his capture rights that she had, as a free woman, of her own free will,
pronounced upon herself a formula of enslavement. Automatically then, in virtue of the context, she became his. The law is clear on this. The matter is
more subtle when the woman is not within a context of capture rights. Here the matter differs from city to city. In some cities, a woman may not, with
legal recognition, submit herself to a specific man as a slave, for in those cities that is interpreted as placing at least a temporary qualification on the
condition of slavery which condition, once entered into, all cities agree, is absolute. In such cities, then, the woman makes herself a slave,
unconditionally. It is then up to the man in question whether or not he will accept her as his slave. In this matter he will do as he pleases. In any
event, she is by then a slave, and only that.
In other cities, and in most cities, on the other hand, a free woman may, with legal tolerance, submit herself as a slave to a specific man. If he refuses
her, she is then still free. If he accepts her, she is then, categorically, a slave, and he may do with her as he pleases, even selling her or giving her
away, or slaying her, if he wishes. Here we might note a distinction between laws and codes. In the codes of the warriors, if a warrior accepts a
woman as a slave, it is prescribed that, at least for a time, an amount of time up to his discretion, she be spared. If she should be the least bit
displeasing, of course, or should prove recalcitrant in even a tiny way, she may be immediately disposed of. It should be noted that this does not place
a legal obligation on the warrior. It has to do, rather, with the proprieties of the codes. If a woman not within a clear context of rights, such as capture
rights, house rights, or camp rights, should pronounce herself slave, ‘simpliciter, then she is subject to claim. These claims may be explicit, as in
branding, binding and collaring, or as in the uttering of a claimancy formula, such as “I own you,” “You are mine,” or “You are my slave,” or implicit, as
in, for example, permitting the slave to feed from your hand or follow you. Players of Gor, page 21

There was much laughter here, at the apparent innocence of this action. This was extremely meaningful, of course, in the Gorean cultural context.
When a female places her clothing at the feet of a man she acknowledges that whether or not she may wear it, or other garments, or even if she is to
be clothed at all, is dependent on his will, not hers. Boots, in effect, in the context of the play, had tricked her into placing her clothing at his feet. This
is tantamount to a declaration of imbondment to the male. Players of Gor, page 119

There was laughter. He now had her kneeling naked at his feet, addressing him as “Master”. In the Gorean culture, of course, this sort of thing is very
significant. Indeed, in some cities such things as kneeling before a man or addressing him as “Master” effects legal imbondment on the female, being
interpreted as a gesture of submission. Players of Gor, page 139

"You could turn yourself in, to a slaver," I said.

"True," she said.

"You call upon him, dressed in your finest veils and robes of concealment," I said, "probably first having made an appointment. That would be common
courtesy. He may, after all, be a busy man. Then, in the privacy of his office, as he observes you strip yourself. You do this as gracefully and as well as
you can, without training. You reveal yourself to him completely. You are absolutely naked. He will presumable put you through some simple slave
paces, forming some conception of your capacity to move well before men. In the process of this, you are, of course, being assessed. You then, when
permitted, kneel. You them humbly beg his permission to bind yourseld into slavery before him, thereby making yourself a slave, and, in the context,
submitting yourself t him as your first master. You keep your head down, and await his decision. In your case, I am sure the decision would be

"Various things might happen. He might have you sign a slave document, in the presence of witnesses. As soon as your signature is on the document,
of course, you are a slave. On the other hand, he might proceed even more simply, He might merely have utter a formula of enslavement, though,
again, doubtless in the presence of witnesses, who might sign again a paper certifying their certifying their witnessing of your declaration. Let us
suppose you utter such a formula. The simplest is perhaps, 'I am a slave.' You are then a slave. He will perhaps then say,' You are my slave." This
claims you. You are then his slave. This is sufficient in the context you have been momentarily an unclaimed slave, who may be clamed by the first free
person who chooses to do so. Too, in this case, there are, of course, no counterclaims to be adjudicated. He is the first, so to speak. His claim
warranted, unchallengeable and legally indisputable. This is again done presumably in the presence of witnesses, who may be asked to certify their
witnessing of the action. You might then say, though it is not necessary in the context, for you are, anyway, by this time, clearly his slave, 'Yes Master,
I am your slave'. By this utterance you officially acknowledge him as your master. It is sometimes thought that this sort of thing is good from the
slave's point of view, that she hears herself say this. It is leally unnecessary, but it is something thought to be a psychological useful act on the part of
the slave. She, in this pronouncement, at any rate, clearly acknowledges that she knows who owns her. This too, of course, may be attested to in
writing by the witnesses. Mercenaries of Gor, page 417-418

Theft, or capture, if you prefer, conferred rights over me. I would belong to, and must fully serve, anyone into whose effective possession I came, even
if it had been by theft. The original master, of course, has the right to try to recover his property, which remains technically his for a period of one
week. If I were to flee the thief, however, after he has consolidated his hold on me, for example, kept me for even a night, I could, actually in Gorean
law, be counted as a runaway slave, from him, even though he did not technically own me yet, and punished accordingly. Analogies are that is not
permitted to animals to challenge the tethers on their necks, or flee the posts within which they find themselves penned, that money must retain its
value, and buying power, regardless of who has it in hand, and so on. Strictures of this sort, of course, do not apply to free persons, such as free
women. A free woman is entitled to try to escape a captor as best she can, and without penalty, even after her first night in his bonds, if she still
chooses to do so. If she is enslaved, of course, then she is subject to, and covered by, the same customs, practices and laws as any other slave. The
point of these statutes, it seems, it to keep the slave in perfect custody, at all times, and to encourage boldness on the part of males. After the slave
had been in the possession of the thief, or captor, for one week she counts as being legally his. To be sure, the original maser may attempt to steal
her back. A popular sport with young men is trying "chain luck." This refers to the capture of women, either free or bond, viewed as a sport. In war, of
course, women of this world, slave and free, like silver and gold, rank high as booty. Dancer of Gor, page 95-96

I thought of Petro Vacchi. How well he handled a woman! How well he had mastered me! I remembered that on the road a "gentlewoman," one from
Ar, had been mentioned. She, as I understood it, was to have been given to Aulus for the evening, that he might help her learn what it was to be a
female. Aulus, as I well knew, from when I had worn the rectangle of silk in his tent, was a strong master. I had little doubt but what the
"gentlewoman," lying at his feet in the morning, wide-eyed and sleepless, would recollect in chagrin and horror her responses of the preceding night.
Could she believe what she had done, and said? How she had begged and squirmed, and acted not at all like a free woman, but like a slave? How she
had behaved in his arms? How could she, a free woman, have acted like that? But perhaps she had not truly, ultimately, a free woman, as she had
hitherto supposed but really, truly, like so many women, those she had pretended not to really understand, and had held in such contempt, until now,
only a slave? Could that be? And could they teach her things, if she begged hard enough, that she might be more pleasing to such men, that they
might find her of interest and deign again to notice her? Regardless of such considerations how could she now, after what had been done to her, and
how she had acted, go back to being a free woman? Could she pretend nothing had happened? How could she hold her head up, again, now, among
free women? Would she not now cringe before them, and be unable to meet their eyes, like a runaway slave, thence to be seized by them and
remanded to a praetor? Now that she had known the touch of a man, such a man, how could she return, as though nothing had happened, to her
former self, with its haughty, barren pretenses of freedom? What authority or right had she any longer, given what she had learned about herself last
night, to claim that she was "free," except perhaps in virtue of the accident of an undeserved legal technicality? How could she ever again, given what
she now knew about herself, consider herself free? No longer had she a right to such a claim. She now knew, in her heart, that she was not truly free,
but, truly free, but, truly, a slave. That was what she was, and right that she be. No longer could she find it in her heart to pretend to be free, to play
again the role of a free woman, to enact once again what, in her case, could now be only a hollow mockery, an empty farce of freedom. Too, could she
any longer even dare to do so? Suppose others came to suspect, or even to know! What if they could read it somehow in her eyes, or body? It is a
great crime for a slave to pretend to be a free woman. Would they not simply take off her clothes and punish her, and then hand her over to a praetor,
for her proper disposition? Too, what could such a pretense gain her but the closing of doors on the truth of her being? But even if these things were
not true, she feared they were, she did not wish to perish of shame. No longer now, knowing what she now knew about herself, could she live as a
free woman. She must beg Aulus, when he awakened, for she did not dare awaken him for fear she might be whipped, for the brand and collar. No
longer could she be a free woman. It was now right that she be kept as a slave, and made a slave. Dancer of Gor, page 366-367

"But we were speaking of the former Lady Publia," I said. "She knows herself a slave, having said the words. Too, she knows that she, a slave, can be
freed only by a master. What will she make of these things? That, I take it, is your question?"

"Doubtless she would pretend she had never said the words," she said.

"That she would, in one way or another, attempt to conceal her true condition?"

.Yes," she said.

.Perhaps," I said. "But, of course, she would still, on her heart, know the truth, that she was a slave."

"Yes," she said.

"And that only a master could free her?"

"Yes," she said.

"Surely it might be difficult to live with such a hidden truth," I said. Perhaps it, irrepressible insistent within herm might finally require some resolution.
She must then take action, She might turn herself over to a praetor, hoping for mercy, as she had surrendered herself. Or perhaps she might solicit
some person to make active claim upon her, such as a claim, after certain intervals, superseding prior claims. Although there are various legal
qualifications involved which vary from city to city, effective, or active, possession is generally regarded as crucial from the point of view of the law,
such possession being taken, no other claims, forthcoming within a specified interval, as conferring legal title.  This is the case with a kaiila or tarsk,
and it is also the case with a slave. In such a case, presumably the woman would expect the master who has them put claim on her to free her. That
would presumably be the point of the matter. Otherwise she could simply submit herself to him as an escaped slave. Thus, in this fashion, she could
reveal her hidden truth, thereby alleviating her acute mental conflicts, and her sufferings, attendant upon its concealment, and by another, as she has
no legal power in the matter herself, be restored to freedom. To be sure, there are risks involved in this sort of thing. For example, when she kneels
before him, his slave, perhaps he will then simply order her to the kitchen or to his furs. No promise made to her has legal standing, no more than to a
tarsk. In this way, she, ostensibly seeking her freedom, may find herself plunged instead into explicit and inescapable bondage, and will doubtless,
too, soon find herself properly marked  and collared, to preclude the possible repetition and of any such nonsense in the future. Renegades of Gor,
page 274-275

I recalled the free female whose capture I had noted in Ar, that which had taken place in a street-level room in the Metallan district. Surely she must
have known the law. The consorting of a free female with another man's slave renders her susceptible to the collar of the slave's master. The net had
been cunningly arranged, that it might, when released, activated perhaps by springs or the pulling of a lever, fall and drape itself over the couch. It
was clearly a device designed for such a purpose. The net and the room doubtless constituted a capture cubicle, simpler perhaps, but not unlike those
in certain inns, in which a woman, lulled by the bolting on the doors, and feeling herself secure, may complete her toilet at leisure, bathing, combing
her hair, perfuming herself and such, before the trap doors, dropped from beneath her, plunge her into the waiting arms of slavers. Guardsmen and
magistrates, I had noted, had been in immediate attendance. She had had light brown hair and had been excellently curved. Yet I did not doubt but
what her figure, even then of great interest, would be soon improved by diet and exercise, certainly before she would be put up on the block. Players
of Gor, page 42

In many cities, such actions, attempting to spy on masters and slaves, disguising oneself as a slave, garbing oneself as a slave, even in the supposed
secrecy of one's own compartments, lingering about slave shelves and markets, even exhibiting an interest in, or fascination with, bondage, can result
in a reduction to slavery. The theory apparently that such actions and interests are those of a slave and that the female who exhibits them should,
accordingly, be imbonded. Players of Gor, page 50

I did not think the woman would be chosen. Like many free women, she had not taken care of her figure. Perhaps that was why she had not wished
to be bared before men. to be sure, if she were imbonded it was likely that masters would remedy her oversights in this area, enforcing upon her
exact, even merciless, regimens of diet and exercise. They would see that she was soon brought into prime condition, both with respect to physical
health and sexual responsiveness. Players of Gor, page 152

Quickly the girl thrust the lower portion of her left leg, lovely and curved, from the robe. On her left ankle was a narrow, locked slave anklet. Then,
quickly, she concealed her leg and ankle again within the robe. The slave collar, of one form or another, band or bar, or chain or lock, is almost
universal on Gor for slaves. On the other hand, some masters use a bracelet or anklet. Too, the slaves of others may wear as little to denote their
condition as a ring, the significance of which may be known to few. The bracelet, the anklet and ring are often worn (pg. 257) by women whose slavery
is secret, largely hidden from the world, though not, of course, from themselves and their masters. And even such women, when in private with their
masters, will usually be collared, as is suitable for slaves. Indeed, they will often strip themselves and kneel, or drop to all fours, to be collared, as
soon as they enter their master's domicile. There are many points in favor of the collar, besides those of history and tradition. The throat is not only an
ideal aesthetic showplace for the symbol of bondage, displaying it beautifully and prominently, but one which, because of the location, at the throat,
and the widths involved, is excellently secure. It also makes it easier to leash the female. Also, of course, by means of it and a rope or chain one may
attach her to various rings and holding devices. Some fellows even bracelet or tie her hands to it. The collar, too, of course, helps to make clear to the
slave, and others, her status as a domestic animal. Players of Gor, page 256-257

The bangles on my left ankle made a tiny sound, and I stopped, looking about. I was frightened. But no one saw. How pleased I was that I had not
been belled! Normally it is a new girl, or even a free woman, who is belled. Witness of Gor, page 3

One of the reasons, too, why new girls, and sometimes free women, may be belled is that they may begin to understand what they are, or are likely to
become. Witness of Gor, page 3

It is said that sometimes slavers enter the boudoir of a free woman and scrutinize her in her sleep, in this considering what value, if any, she might
hold as a slave. Witness of Gor, page 309

Spies in one city ascertain, by rumor, and such, who are supposedly the most beautiful free woman of the city. One need not have recourse to rumors,
of course, where slaves are concerned. One need only look. These women, then, the allegedly beautiful free women, preferably of high birth and
considerable position, are regarded as prize game. They a re "Trophy catches," Tarnsmen draw lots and the winner sets out to obtain the particular
woman. If he has 'chain luck" he brings her back and presents her, stripped, to a committee of peers. They decide whether r not she is worthy to be a
slave girl in their city. Is she desirable enough, beautiful enough, to wear a collar in that city? One would not with her to reflect poorly on the city, of
course. There seems, incidentally, to be a general view among hostile cities that the women of the enemy belong to them in some sense that they are
already in some sense their slaves---it is then just a matter of bringing them into their rightful collars. The committee of peers, so to speak, in the
"trophy case," may either rule favourably or unfavourably, on the catch. Let is suppose they rule unfavourably. The woman in then placed in a coarse
sacklike garment, usually a sul sack with holes cut in for the head and arms, and returned scornfully, rejected, her wrists thronged behind her, to the
vicinity of her city. Occasionally this is done with a stunningly beautiful woman which is to say to the enemy, .even the most beautiful of your woman, is
not worthy of a collar in a city such as ours." Witness of Gor, page 404-405

"I believe this is the proper sum," I said. I placed two silver tarsks on the counter. "Indeed it is," said Strobius. He swept the coins from the counter
into his hand and put them in his apron. "There is your money, Fellow," said the free woman to Strobius, haughtily, as haughtily as she could manage,
still the helpless prisoner of his assistant's grip. "Yes, Lady," said he, bowing deferentially to her. "Perhaps now," she said squirming in the assistant's
grip, "you will have this ruffian unhand me."

He regarded her. She shuddered. Her Home Stone was not that of Lara, times were troubled, and Strobius was master in his own inn. Too, she had for
a time owed him money. Would he like to see her stripped and collared?

"Please kind sir," she said. Gorean men are sometimes slow to release their grip on the bodies of females. They enjoy holding them. They are men.

"Of course, Lady," said Strobius smiling, again bowing. He then signalled the fellow to release the woman, which he did. She then drew back angrily
and smoothed down her garments. Then straightening herself, she came regally to where I stood.

"My thanks, Sir," she said looking up at me. "It is nothing," I said. "I am grateful," she said. "Perhaps you would care to join me at my table," I
suggested. "There is little but sul porridge but I could order you a bowl," I said.

"One must make do in trying circumstances," she said, "with what there is." "Do you have any wine?" I asked Strobius. He smiled. "Yes," he said.
"Would you care for some wine?" I asked her.

Her eyes glistened over her veil. It had been some days, I gathered since she had been able to afford or had had wine. "Yes," she said, "it would give
me great pleasure to drink your wine." "Please go to the table," I said, indicating the table. "And I will made the arrangements." "Very well," she said
and turned away going to the table.

"Sul porridge," said Strobius, "is ten copper tarsks. I will charge you forty copper tarsks for the wine, two cups." "Very well," I said.

In a few moments he had had fellow bring a tray with the sul porridge and two cups of wine to the counter. I paid him. "Oh, by the way," I asked, "do
you have a packet of Tassa powder?" He grinned and reached under the counter. "Yes," he said handing it to me. "How much do I owe you for this?" I
asked. "For that one," he said, "it is free. Take it with the compliments of the house. "Very well," I said. Rogue of Gor, page 44- 45

She laughed merrily, and shoved at him playfully. " Do not insult a free woman, Sleen. She laughed.

There was much laughter, but there was an undercurrent of menace in the laughter which, I think, the girl did not recognize. Rogue of Gor, page 194
((The free woman was enslaved after sharing and drinking ka-la-na in a tavern.))

"I never dreamed, when I was free, that he could be such a man. Had I even unsuspected it I would have torn away my clothes and thrown myself to
his feet, begging his collar."

"Had you been free," I said, 'he could not have been such a man." Rogue of Gor, page 239

It amused me to see how gratefully she slipped the brief bit of scandalous, diaphanous yellow silk about her body, how pleased she was to do so,
though it was naught but a laughable mockery of a garment, one fit obviously only for a female slave. Some free women think they would rather go
naked than wear such a garment, but then they have not yet been made slaves. If they were slaves then they too, I believe would find it very
precious. Rogue of Gor, page 254

In most Gorean cities it is illegal to offer an unbranded woman in a public sale. This is presumably in deference to the delicacy and sensibilities of free
women. The brand draws a cataclysmic gulf between the Gorean free woman, secure in her arrogance, beauty and caste rights, and the stripped,
nameless, rightless slaves, suitably vended as the mere lovely beasts they are in the flesh markets of this primitive, gorgeous world. Unbranded
women, of course, may be sold privately, for example, as fresh captures to slavers, or, say to men who have speculated that they might find them of
interest. Savages of Gor, page 101

Contrariwise, almost no free woman would bare her legs. They would not dare to do so. They would be horrified even to think of it. The scandal of
such an act could ruin a reputation, It is said on Gor that any woman who bares her legs is a slave. Indeed, in some cities a free woman who might be
found with bared legs is taken in hand by magistrates, tried and sentenced to bondage, After the judge's decision has been enacted, its effect carried
out upon her, reducing her to the status of goods, sometimes publicly, that she may be suitably, disgraced, sometimes privately, but a contract slaver,
that the sensitivities of free women in the city not be offended, she is hooded and transported stripped and chained, freshly branded and collared, a
property female, slave cargo, to a distant market where, once sold, she will begin her life anew, fearfully, as a purchased girl, tremulously as the
helpless and lowly slave she now is. Mercenaries of Gor, page 69

Certainly, however, not all women are legal slaves. Many women are free, legally, whether it is in their best interests or not. Such dances, then, "slave
dances," at least on Gor, are not for such women. If a "free woman," that is, one legally, free, were to publicly perform such a dance on Gor she would
probably find herself in a master´s chains by morning. Her "legal freedom," we may speculate, would prove quite fleeting. Dancers of Gor, page 172

Some free women, captured, when such stuff is thrown to them, profess to prefer death to putting it on, but when the choice is that which is acturally
offered to them they put it on quickly enough. too, such women, it si said, make excellent slaves. But Goreans believe, of course, that any woman,
properly handled, becomes an excellent slave. Dancers of Gor, page 225
All rights reserved.
This research is done on the series of books written by John Norman, the comments in italics are mine and my point of view.
Woman of Gor
Free Women of Different Cultures
Free Women of Gor
Capture and Enslavement of Free Women