"Do you beg food, Free Woman," asked Hci.
"Yes, my captor," said Iwoso, humbly.
He then thrust pemmican into her mouth, as Cuwignaka had with Bloketu.
"Chew and swallow, Free Woman," he said.
Iwoso obeyed.
"Do you beg drink, Free Woman," asked Hci.
"Yes, my captor," whispered Iwoso.
In a moment, when Iwoso had finished, Hci stoppered the water bag. "You may now thank us for our food and drink," he said.
"Thank you for my food and drink, Master," said Bloketu to Cuwignaka.
"Thank you for my food and drink, my captor," said Iwoso to Hci. If a girl's thanks, in such circumstances, are not deemed sufficiently sincere, or
profuse, it is not clear if, or when, she will again be fed. Blood Brothers of Gor, page 420


“No!” she said, tensely. “I am free!” This seemed to me probably true, as she had been put in the gown, doubtless, at least for the time, to protect her
modesty.
“You must understand,” I said, “that we must make a determination on that matter.”
“Of course,” she said. The results of this determination could make an important difference in how she was treated and what might be, as a matter of
course, expected of her. A free woman in one thing, and a female slave is quite another.
I put her on her side and thrust up her gown, and turned her about, from one side to the other. In a moment or two I had checked the normal brand
sites for a Gorean female. The most typical brand site is high on the left thigh, high enough, under the hip, to be covered even by the brevity of a
typical slave tunic. In this way one often does not know what brand the girl wears. IN this way a bit of mystery, I suppose, might be thought to be
added to her.
The mystery in most cases, however, if one is truly interested, is usually no more than temporary. It is only necessary to lift her skirt. Sometimes bets
are mad on this matter. In such bets, of course, the odds are with he who wagers on the graceful, cursive, Kef. This is the most common Kajira brand.
“Kef” is the first letter in “Kajira,” the most common expression in Gorean for a female slave. It is sometimes, too, spoken of as the “Staff and fronds.”
This is doubtless because of a fancied resemblance to such objects. Also, of course, this involves an allusion to beauty under discipline, indeed, to
helpless beauty under absolutely uncompromising discipline. I also checked certain less common brand sites, such as the lower left abdomen, the
interior of the left forearm and the high instep area of the left foot. If there is such a mark on a girl, it would not be well to miss it. Imagine the
embarrassment of relating to a woman as though she were free and then discovering only later that she had been a legally imbonded slave all the
time! Too, how dreadfully perilous would such a deception be for the female! I would surely not wish to be the female who might be found out in such
a deception.
“Her body seems clear of brands,” I said. “Apparently she is free.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
I pulled her gown down from where I had thrust it up, above her breasts, for my convenience in examining her body for brands, and then I worked it
down, inching it, carefully, over her body and hips. It was thin and fit her closely. I did not wish to tear it. I then pulled its hem down to where it was
supposed to be, at about her ankles. I then made my final adjustments of the gown that her modesty might be as well protected, or about as well
protected, as such a flimsy garment permitted. To be sure, I did, here and there, pull it a bit more snugly about her body than was perhaps necessary.
This was excusable, of course. She was beautiful and bound.
I had made a stop at my own camp, incidentally, before coming to this place in the woods.
“As she seems to be free,” I said, “I will claim her, she in the modality of the free captive.”
“No!” she cried.
“Very well,” said Boots.
“No, no!” she wept, struggling in the ropes.
I knew this female.
I pulled her to a seated position. I looked into her eyes. “You are my captive.”
“Please, no!” she said.
“It is up to you, at least for the time,” I said, “to decide what sort of captive you will be.”
She looked at me, frightened.
I removed some metal from my pouch, that which I had brought from my camp, but moments ago, to this clearing in the woods. I dangled it, in its
small, sturdy rings and four heavy, close-set links, before her eyes. “Do you desire it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Close-chains.”
I put the shackles on her ankles. Her ankles were now shackled only some four inches apart. She had decided that she wished to be kept in honor and
modesty. To be sure, aside from the obvious consideration of the inflexible efficiency of the shackling itself, given the large number of ways in which a
woman may be used for a man's pleasure, the matter was primarily symbolic. Then ankle rings snug on her I removed the bonds of the brigands from
her ankles. Her ankles parted, to the brief extent permitted by the chain linkage of my shackles. Her wrists were still tied behind her. “How did you
come to be captured by the brigands?” I asked.
“My superiors were dissatisfied with me,” she said. “My lackeys were removed from me. I was put in a brief tunic, almost as though I might be a slave.
I was forbidden even to wear a veil. I was given a small purse of coins, one sufficient for my projected expenses, and instructed to report back to my
headquarters, alone and on foot.”
“Alone, and on foot?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, bitterly.
“It is my conjecture,” I said, “that they did not expect you to complete your journey successfully.”
“It seems they were right,” she said, bitterly.
I smiled. I did not think that her superiors were likely to be any more unaware of the dangers of Gorean highways than anyone else. A lovely woman,
scantily clad, not even veiled, alone, on foot, did not seem a likely candidate to travel the Gorean wilderness with impunity. Their instructions, it
seemed, had been, for most practical purposes, tantamount to an enslavement sentence. I did not think they expected to see her again, unless it
might be in the rag of a slave and a collar. Players of Gor, page 191-193


“The garments in which my superiors had placed me,” she said, “were removed by the brigands. They regarded them as inappropriate for a free
woman. They put me, instead, in the gown in which you now see me.”
“That was thoughtful of them,” I said.
“But it is so thin and flimsy!” she protested.
“Of course,” I said.
“I suppose it does mark me as a free woman,” she said, “and in that sense might perhaps raise my price somewhat in case they were readying me for
sale to a slave merchant.”
“Too,” I said, “with all due respect it is, in spite of its length and nature, rather flattering and revealing. Doubtless, too, it would give the merchant
pleasure to remove it from you in your assessment, thereby revealing your beauty, that then of a potential slave.”
“Yes,” she said, bitterly.

“Have no fear,” I said. “I will find you something else to wear.”
“Thank you,” she said. Players of Gor, page 193-194

“Perhaps you should feed our captive soon,” siad Boots. He referred to the free woman, the Lady Yanina, shackled and chained by the neck under my
wagon.
“Yes,” I said. “I will take her a plate of food when I am finished here.” One must show concern for her, of course. She was a free woman. Players of
Gor, page 212


“It was a good breakfast,” I said. “I had better take her some food now.”
“Yes,” said Boots. “You must not keep her hungry. You must show her consideration. She is a free woman.”
“Of course,” I said.
I slowly, carefully, piled a plate high with rolls, eggs and fried vulo strips. It had probably been a long time since the Lady Yanina had eaten. She had
been in the care of the brigands. She was probably quite hungry. I could always watch her feedings later, giving attention to their possible effect on
her figure. That would be if I decided, later, to turn her into a love captive, or, if it pleased me, a thousand times lower, nay, a thousand thousand
times lower, nay, even unaccountably times lower, nay not even on the same scale, a slave. Players of Gor, page 213

There, beneath my wagon, sitting down, her knees drawn up, was the Lady Yanina, once my captor. On her neck was an iron collar. By means of this
collar and its chain, the chain fastened about the wagon axle, she was secured in place.
I put down the plate of food. “Ankles,” I said.
She turned a little and, angrily, lowering her knees slightly, tugging the hem of her garment closely about her lower claves, extended her ankles
toward me. I checked the gyves. All was in order. There was no sign of the metal having been tampered with, for example, scratched about the lock, or
marked on the bands, as though having been struck futilely with a stone. Similarly her ankles were not cut or abraided as though she might have tried
to slip the iron from her fair limbs. Such an action, of course, would have been ludicrously irrational. The Lady Yanina was not a foolish, panic-stricken
Earth girl, new to bondage, its possibility scarcely having earlier entered her ken, frenziedly, absurdly trying to remove fetters from her body, but a
Gorean woman. She well knew that females locked in Gorean iron do not escape. Its stern, inflexible clasp is not designed to be eluded by she whom it
confines and ornaments. Women in such bonds must helplessly await the pleasure of their captors. I thrust back her ankles.
“As you can see,” she said, bitterly, “I continue to be held, perfectly.”
Her ankles looked beautiful, confined in the steel. Too, she had spoken the truth.
I then checked her collar, and the attachment points of the chain, both at the collar and at the double loop where it was fastened about eh axle.
“I am perfectly secured,” she said, angrily.
“I am sorry if chain check distresses you,” I said. “You comprehend its rationale, of course.”
“Yes,” she said, angrily.
“It is procedurally recommended by the caste of slavers,” I said.
“I am not a slave,” she said.

“Chains, I suspect, do not much care whether it is a noble free woman whom they confine or a mere slave.”
“Are you satisfied?” she asked, insolently. “Do I pass chain check?”
“Yes,” I said. “You are perfectly secured.”
She looked frightened for a moment, and her tow hands closed on the chain dangling from her collar. She drew on it a moment, almost inadvertently,
and felt the tug at the collar ring. Then she removed her hands from the chain and regarded me, again the free woman, again insolent.
“See what you have given me to wear,” she said, angrily lifting the hem of the garment I had fashioned for her last night.
“I gathered you did not approve of the thin white gown the brigands had put you in,” I said. “Surely it had little purpose other than to display you well
for sale to a slaver and, in its piteousness, to invite its casual removal.”
“I am a rich woman,” she said, angrily. “I have status and position. In Brundisuim I hold high station, being a member of the household of Belnar, her
Ubar. I am highly intelligent. I am educated and refined. I have exquisite taste. I am accustomed to the finest silks, the most expensive materials. I
have my gowns, my robes, even my veils, especially made for me by high cloth workers!”
“I am not a high cloth worker,” I said, “but I did make it especially for you.”
“Your skills leave something to be desired,” she said.
“You are probably right,” I said.
“I wear only the latest fashions!” she said.
“Perhaps you could start a new fashion,” I said.
“How dare you dress me as you have!” she said.
“At least it is opaque,” I said.
“That is true,” she said, ironically.
“And it is long,” I said, “and thus protective of your modesty.”
“I am certain that I am grateful,” she said.
“And so what is your complaint?” I inquired. As she was a free woman, it seemed I should be concerned, at least to some extent, with any complaints
which she might have. A slave, of course, in distinction from a free woman, is not permitted complaints. She must try to obtain things in other ways, for
example, by humble requests while kneeling or lying on her belly before her master.
She cried out angrily and jerked in frustration at the chain on her neck.
“It conceals your figure, at least to some degree,” I said.

“You could at least have given me a belt,” she said.
“It will conceal your figure better, unbelted,” I said.
“Please,” she said.
“No,” I said.
She cried out in anger, in frustration.
“It is difficult to stand in close chains,” she said.
“There,” I said, not pleasantly, indicating a place beside the wheel, beside the wagon.
“Very well,” she said, rising, and clutching the wagon wheel, and pulling herself up, and around it. “One woman has been beaten in this camp this
morning. I have no desire to be the second.” These words interested me. A woman behaves very differently toward a man whom she knows is capable
of disciplining her and may, if it pleases him, do so, then toward one whom she knows she may treat with contempt and scorn with impunity.
“Turn,” I said. “Now, turn back.”
She clutched the wagon wheel to keep her balance, now again facing me.
“How can I be attractive in this?” she asked.
Last night, after bringing her to the camp, I had removed the offensive, light white gown from her body, that to which she, a free woman, so objected,
that in which the brigands to her dismay had insolently clothed her, and, from something I found in the camp, prepared her new garment. I had cut a
hole in the material for her head, and two more holes for her arms. I had then had her put her arms over her head and had pulled the garment down
over her body. She was then in it. She was then standing there, regarding me with rage. “Excellent,” I had said. I had then chained her by the neck
under the wagon and had gone to bed.
“I do not know,” I said, “but you are managing.”
“It is a sack!” she cried. “Only a sack!”
That was true. It was a long, yellow, closely woven Sa-Tarna sack. If there could have been any doubt about it such doubt would have been dispelled
by the thick, black, stencilled lettering on the bag, giving a bold and unmistakable account of its earlier contents, together with their grind and grade,
and the signs of the processing mill and its associated wholesaler.
“Am I to gather that you are dissatisfied?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, acidly.
“The yellow sets off your hair nicely,” I said. Perhaps if I enslaved her, I would put her in yellow slave silk. She was a beautiful woman.

“This makes me look ridiculous,” she said.
“It is not unknown for free teen-age girls of poor families, in rural areas, to wear such garment,” I said. Also, of course, it was not unknown for such
girls to put themselves in the way of salvers that they might be caught, and carried to cities, to be sold. Too often, however, it seemed they were
merely sold to peasants in distant villages as sex and work slaves.
“I am not the simple, dirty, barefoot, unkempt, scrawny teen-age daughter of some destitute peasant in some out-of-the-way place,” she said. “I am
the Lady Yanina of Brundisium!”
“You are barefoot,” I said. Prisoners, as well as slaves, are often kept that way on Gor.
“This garment makes me look ridiculous,” she said.
“You might look a bit silly,” I said, “but you do not look all the ridiculous. Indeed, I have never seen anyone wear a Sa-Tarna sack better.”
“Thank you,” she said, in fury.
“You're welcome,” I said.
“Give me back the white gown,” she said, “that in which the brigands put me!” she said. “I prefer that!”
“That garment,” I reminded her, “is strikingly attractive. It excitingly sets off your beauty. No free woman would consider wearing such a garment
unless she was implicitly begging, pleading, for a collar. The brigands doubtless put you in it because it seemed an appropriate garment for a woman
they were preparing for a full enslavement.”
“I prefer it,” she said, angrily.
“Are you a slave?” I asked.
“No!” she said.
“Why, then, would you wish to wear it?” I asked.
“It is pretty,” she said, defensively.
H smiled. It was actually tauntingly, brazenly sensuous. “why would you wish to wear something pretty?” I asked
“To look nice,” she said.
“Why do you wish to look nice?” I asked.
“I think better of myself then,” she said.
“How do you know when something is pretty?” I asked.
“I just see that it is pretty,” she said, puzzled.
“Think more deeply,” I said.
“When it makes me attractive,” she said. “Then it is pretty.”
“It seems then that the test for prettiness is the enhancement of your appearance, and this is understood in terms of increasing your attractiveness.”
“Perhaps,” she said, cautiously.

“Attractiveness to what end?” I asked. “Attractiveness to whom?”
“I do not now,” she said, sullenly.
“Come now,” I encouraged her.
“I am a full-grown woman,” she said, angrily, “I like to be attractive to men!”
“You dress then,” I speculated, “in certain says, in order to be attractive to men.”
“Perhaps,” she said, angrily.
“She who is concerned with such matters,” I said, “she who dresses in certain ways in order to make herself attractive to men, she who dresses
herself in certain way in order that she may be pleasing to them, is, in her heart, a slave.”
“Then all females are slaves at heart,” she said, angrily.
“Yes,” I said.
“No!” she cried.
“And they will never be fully content,” I said, “until they are imbonded.”
“No, no, no!” she cried. “No! No!”
I let her cry out in misery, resisting my suggestions. It was good for her.
Then she wiped her forearm across her eyes. “You distract me from the issue,” she said. “The issue is my wardrobe.”
“Very well,” I said.
“Give me something else to wear,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“I am the Lady Yanina of Brundisium,” she said. “I do not wear sacks.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I will wear nothing for a grament before I will wear a sack,” she said.
“That can be arranged,” I said.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why are you drawing your knife?”
“To remove the sack from yo,” I said. “Nakedness in your chains is acceptable to me.”
“No,” she said, taking a step backward, clinging to the wagon wheel. “I will wear it!”
I sheathed the knife. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
I reached down and picked up the breakfast which I had put to the side before commencing her chain check.
“It is cold,” she said. “Take it away, and bring me another.”
“This is your breakfast this morning,” I said, “and your only breakfast this morning. Eat it, and as it it, or not, as it pleases you.”
“Are you serious?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Give it to me,” she said. I handed her the plate. She began to attack the food voraciously. she might have been a starving slave. I supposed that she,
like Lady Telitsia, had probably both been fed sparingly by the brigands, perhaps to conserve food, perhaps to slim their figures somewhat before their
projected sale.
I watched her eat. In the Tahari a woman is often stuffed with food for days before her sale, even force fed, if necessary. Many of the men of the
Tahari relish soft, pretty, meaty little slaves.
“Why are you looking at my ankles?” she asked.
“They are pretty,” I said. Too, the gyves, sturdy and snug, looked nice on them, both from the aesthetic point of view and from the point of view of
their significance, for example, that they were mine and that the beauty, confined, wore them. “Too,” I said. “I was thinking that perhaps I should
remove them, that you could be exercised.”
“Doubtless I am to be exercised in the tall grass or in the brush,” she said.
“Do not be apprehensive,” I said.
“I am to be held in honor,” she reminded me.
“At least for the time,” I reminded her.
“Yes,” she smiled, “at least for the time.”
“If you do not wish to be exercised,” I said, “I shall not force it upon you. You are a free woman. Not a slave.”
“I may continue to wear shackles,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “at least for the time.”
“Of course,” she said.
“Do you enjoy your breakfast?” I asked.
“It is cold,” she said.
“Do you enjoy it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Later,” I said, “I will give you something briefer and prettier to wear.”
“That will be nice,” she said.
“While we are performing,” I said.
“Performing?” she asked. “In what way?”
“You will see,” I said.
“I am not a performer,” she said. “I do not know anything about performing.”
“Your role will be difficult,” I said.

“I have had no experience in such matters,” she said.
“Do not fear,” I said, “you will do just splendidly.”
“I am not a slave,” she said.
“This role calls for a free woman,” I said, “otherwise it would not be nearly so interesting or impressive.”
“I see,” she said, pleased.
She wiped her plate with a crust of one of the rolls. She did not wish to leave a particle of food on that homely tin surface.
“Do you know the slave in camp, she called Lady Telitsia?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“She has not eaten yet,” I said.
“So?” asked the Lady Yanina.
“She is probably quite hungry by now,” I said.
“So?” she asked.
“I do not think her master would permit her to beg food until a certain free woman, a prisoner in the camp, was fed.”
“Probably not,” said the Lady Yanina. “Why are you bringing the matter up?”
“I thought it might be of interest to you,” I said.
“It is not,” she said.
“You were common captives of the brigands,” I said. “I thought you might have some concern for her.”
“No,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
The Lady Yanina looked at me, and smiled. She put the piece of crust in her mouth and nibbled on it, slowly. “Let her wait,” she said. “She is a slave.
Slaves are nothing.”
I did not gainsay the Lady Yanina, of course. What she had said was true. I had only brought up the matter as a form of test for her, to satisfy my own
curiosity. I wished to more exactly ascertain her self-image. It was, as I had expected, that of the lofty free woman, separating herself, at least
publicly, by dimensions and worlds from mere slaves. This was particularly interesting to me in view of the fact that she was herself, obviously, a highly
appropriate candidate for the collar. Did she think, truly, she was that different from the slave who, but Ehn ago, had been tied and lashed?
The Lady Yanina handed me the cleaned plate. I put it to one side. “If I had not eaten the breakfast, you would have taken it away, and not brought
me another, wouldn't you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“And you will keep me in this pathetic, degrading garment as long as it pleases you, won't you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.
“And if I give you trouble, or inconvenience you in any way, in spite of the fact that I am free, you will whip me, won't you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I have always had my own way with men,” she said.
“Are you sure you were dealing with men?” I asked.
“Perhaps not,” she said.
“Some women do not realize what men are until they must kneel before them and obey.”
“Do you find me attractive?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I want these shackles off,” she said, suddenly.
“Do you understand what you are asking?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
She averted her eyes. “I do not want to be chained under the wagon at night,” she said. “It is hard to sleep on the ground. It is uncomfortable. Too, it
is cold and miserable.”
“I see,” I said.
She looked up at me. “I am willing to do whatever is necessary to be permitted in the wagon, where it is warm and dry,” she said.
“Speak clearly,” I said.
“Remove my shackles,” she said. “I am ready to be kept as a full prisoner.”
With the key from my pouch I removed her shackles and then, too, removed the collar from her neck.
“Proceed me up the steps into the wagon,” I said.
She preceded me up the several steps. She drew the hem of her dress up about her calves, that she not trip. Then we were in side the wagon. I
locked her hands behind her back. I locked them there with slave bracelets. I did not have another form of manacles for her.
“Oh!” she said. I pulled up her garment and drew it up under her arms and over her breasts, and then hooded her with it. “Kneel here, facing the
door,” I said. “And wait.”
She knelt, braceleted, hooded, in the narrow space between the two bunks, facing the door. Players of Gor, page 214 to 221


"Now," he said, "for the moment ot two more you may think of yourself as Euphrosyne, as your mother was hitherto permitted for a time to think of
herself as Aglaia. In a time, of course, you may receive new names. 'Euphrosyne' is a name a bit too fine, I think for a slave. You will probably soon
become something else, perhaps a 'Puta' or a 'Sita'." In the meantime, you are, for our purposes, and for your own purposes, Four-three-seven. That
is your capture name, and you will think of yourself as only that. You may not inquire as to the former names of others nor reveal to them, even if they
should ask, your own. Similarly, you may not make inquiries pertaining to such things as their families, stations and castes, nor reveal to others, even if
asked, any such information pertaining to yourself. You are merely, and simply, the captive Four-three-seven. Your mother, incidentally, is Two-six-one.
You are now to think of her, as she is now to think of herself, as only that. She was more important then you, and thus has an earlier number.
Mercenaries of Gor, page 135-136


I regarded the women. For the past weeks, they had been going about their business, ignorantly, naively, unsuspectingly, totally unaware of how
they might be included as humble objects in the plans of masters. Doubtless, they had given much attention to the matters of their day, to their
various competitions, pursuits, vanities, occupations and concerns. All that time they did not know that already, in dried, indelible ink, their names were
recorded on seizure lists. I observed them. They knelt, chained. On the upper portion of the left breast of each was a number. It was the number
which had followed their name on the seizure lists. That number was theirs. It had been theirs for weeks. But only now, to their horror, did they learn
so, and find it literally inscribed on their bodies. Mercenaries of Gor, page 138-139


“Take me with you,” she begged.
“And if I take you with me as a free woman,” I said, “what conditions would you impose?”
“Few,” she said. “Only that I be treated with respect and dignity.”
“Come back!” she cried. “Come back!”
I turned to look back at her, across the sand. She was wild in the sand. She had not, however, broken position.
“I impose no conditions!” she cried. “None whatsoever!”
I returned to stand before her.
“I am a woman of Ar!” she said. “You are of Port Kar. Both of our cities are at war with Cos! We are allies, then!”
“You are a spy of Cos,” I said.
“I impose no conditions,” she said.
“If I take you with me,” I said, “I will take you with me utterly conditionlessly.”
“Agreed,” she said.
“As conditionlessly as a slave,” I said.
“Agreed,” she said.
“Moreover,” I said, “I would take you with me as a captive, a full captive.”
“I understand,” she said.
“And do you understand what it is to be a full captive?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You will be to me as though you might be a slave,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“You will be mine to do with as I please, completely,” I said.
“I understand,” she said.
“You may be given away, sold, rented, slain, anything.”
“I understand,” she said.
“And I may,” I said, “enslave you, or have you enslaved.”
“I understand,” she said.
“And,” I said, “I may, if I wish, abandon you in the delta.”
“I shall endeavor to be such, earnestly,” she said, “that you will not wish to do so.”
“You understand these things?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. Vagabonds of Gor, page 208

“The marsh leech is edible,” I said. “At one time I did not know that.”
I tossed it away.
She regarded me with horror.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“I could never eat such a thing,” she said.
“If you are sufficiently hungry,” I said, “you will eat even less likely things.”
“Never,” she said.
“To be sure,” I said, “men have occasionally starved in the midst of many things which might most adequately have sustained life. One assumes, of
course, that this was the result less of fastidiousness than ignorance.”
She looked at me.
“Would you prefer to starve in the midst of plenty?” I asked.
“No,” she said, uncertainly.
“Such things, upon occasion,” I said, “might be the difference between life and death.”
“I understand,” she said, trembling.
“And if I tell you to eat them,” I said, “you will do so immediately and unquestioningly.”
She shuddered.
“Do you understand?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“And you will do so even if there is no nutritive need,” I said, “even if it is merely at my caprice, or for my amusement.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
I regarded her.
“Yes-captor,” she whispered.
“Perhaps you understand better now,” I said, “the disci-pline to which you are subject?”
“Yes, captor,” she said. The diet of the captive, as had now been made clear to her, is subject to the selection and regulation of the captor, as is that
of the slave to the master.  Vagabonds of Gor, page 236-237

“As a free captive,” I said, “you are subject to rescue. On the other hand, for most practical purposes, there is no rescue for a female slave, only a
change of masters.”
“True," she said.
“Suppose it were a kaiila,” I said. “If a fellow goes to considerable risk to steal a kaiila, and is successful in doing so, he is not going to turn it loose.”
“Of course not,” she said.
“On the other hand,” I said, “similarly, I can think of an obvious advantage which the female slave has over the free woman.”
“What is that?” she asked.
“In many critical situations,” I said, “such as the burning and sacking of cities, raids on caravans, and such, she, as she is a domestic animal, like the
sleen and tarsk, is much more likely to survive, to be permitted to live, to be spared, than the free female. She is property, obvious loot, obvious booty.
Indeed, her acquisition, like that of other wealth, gold, and such, may be one of the primary objects of such sackings or raids.” Vagabonds of Gor, page
271

“Captives,” I said, “are next to nothing, as slaves are nothing. The captive, and the slave, may be done with as one pleases. The captive, like the
slave, must accept usages of any sort to which captors, or masters, are pleased to subject them. Entitled to expect little if they are captives, and
nothing if they are slaves, let them rejoice if they receive anything. Be pleased that you were not beaten.”
“Yes my captor,” she said. Vagabonds of Gor, page 235

"How," asked the pit master, "is a female prisoner who is a free woman to address her jailer?"

"As 'sir'!" she cried.

"You seem, hitherto, to have omitted that courtesy." He observed. "'Sir,' 'sir,' 'sir,' she wept.

"You must understand," he said, "that in this place you are mine."

"Yes, sir!" she wept. Witness of Gor, page 275

"You seem to have learned something of what it is to be in the keeoing of men,' he sad.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Though henceforth,' said he, 'more indirectly."

"I do not understamd," she said.

"I am a free man," he said. "I have no intsetion continuing indefinitely to attend to you personally. Is is not as though you were my slave, a girl whise
hair I might comb, or in whose feeding and watering I might take some pleasure. Do you understand??"

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Unfortunately," he said, .

"we do not have free women to attend to such matters in the depths."

"I understand." She said.

"This, Janice,' said he, 'is the Lady Contazia, of the city of Besnit."

"Master," I whimpered in misery.

"Lady Constanzia,' said he, "the bond-maid, Janice.

"Janice," she said.

"Mistress," I said.

.You need not call her 'Mistress,'" said the depth warden. He then turned to the free woman. "Your care, for the most part, will be in her hands," he
aid. "Moreover, you will give her no trouble. And you will obey her."

"Yes, sir," she aid.

I marveled. Witness of Gor, pave 322
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
Female Captives