I caught a glimpse, between bodies, of a naked slave writhing in a net on the dancing floor. Four other slaves were dressed in such
a way as to suggest that they might be slave hunters, but their costumes were such as to leave no doubt as to their own sex, and
considerable charms. They were on their feet and had light staffs. They whirled about the captive, preventing her escape, and
exulting over her, pretending to prod and torment her. There was much skilled staff work in progress, the staffs often behaving in
unison, circling about, changing hands, striking on the floor together, seeming to poke at the victim, to strike her and such. It was a
version of the dance of the netted slave. Slave nets, of course, are used by many slavers, constituting standard items in their
hunting equipment. To be sure, they are usually used in rural areas, as when raiding small villages, and such. In a city, nooses, gag
hoods, chemicals, and such, are more often used. To be sure it is sometimes regarded as amusing to take a sophisticated urban
woman in a net, a device usually reserved for the acquisition of rustic maids.
I sat back from the dancing floor, my back to the wall, the musicians to my left.
“Paga, Master?” asked a girl, kneeling beside the low table, behind which I sat, cross-legged.
I regarded her. She was well made up, with lipstick, eye shadow, and such, a painted slave, as it is said. There was a pearl droplet
on a tiny golden chain, on her forehead. She was clad in a snatch of yellow slave silk. She was necklaced, as well as collared: Her
left arm was encircled with a serpentine ornament. Her wrists were heavy with bracelets. Two of these, one on each wrist, were
locked there. On them were snap rings. They could thus be joined, and she could not free herself from them. Her left ankle was
belled, these bells being attached to a locked anklet.
“Yes,” I said, but I would nurse that paga.
She rose to her feet humbly, head down, and then, with a swirl of slave silk and a flash of bells, turned and hurried to the paga
counter.
I studied the fellows in the tavern. I did not see any here who had been in the vicinity of our camp.
I had thought that they might make their move outside, in the alley. They had not done so.
The dance was coming to an end and the slave who had been “netted,” now well in custody, bound and leashed, was being
displayed by the “hunters” to the patrons. Now the captive knelt in the center of the dance floor, the “hunters” exultant about her.
Then, as the music swirled to a conclusion, the captive lowered her head, humbly. There was much Gorean applause, the striking of
the left shoulder with the palm of the right hand. There was then, suddenly, the snap-ping of a slave lash, and the “hunters” swiftly
stripped themselves, cast aside their staffs and knelt with the prisoner. Then one of the fellows from the tavern took the net and
cast it over the lot of them. No longer then were the hunters. Now, they, too, were only netted slaves. Then, to a passage of music,
all rose up, hunted and hunters, all now in the net, and, in the small, pretty running steps of hastening slave girls, hurried from the
floor. There was more applause. Vagabonds of Gor, page 400
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
Artist
Fabian Perez