Dancer of Gor

by John Norman

  I loved the tiny garment! It was the first that I had had since I had come to Gor. In it much of me was still bared, my legs, my hips to the waist, my shoulders, and so on, and it left little doubt about the lineaments of my form, but I loved it. No longer was I absolutely and starkly naked, save for a metal collar. I adjusted the strap on my right shoulder. The small, soft, rounded shoulders of a woman, incidentally, like the rest of a female, Gorean men tend to find very provocative. They seem to relish, and respond to, perhaps to a much greater extent than many of the men of Earth, the entire woman. They are likely to find exciting even such small details of a woman as her delicate ear lobes. That perhaps explains, at least in part, the momentousness of ear piercing to Goreans, which those of Earth take so much for granted. To the Gorean, the piercing of the woman's ear, with its analog of penetration, and the fixing in it of earrings, chosen by the master, ornamenting her for his pleasure, is an act of power and claimancy scarcely less significant than her branding and collaring. Free women, incidentally, seldom, if ever, bare their shoulders. Doing so is almost like offering themselves for the collar. "If you would be stripped as a slave, then be a slave," it is said. Similarly free women on Gor seldom, if ever, wear earrings, either of the natural or of any other variety, such as the clip variety. Earrings are regarded as being fit, rather, for slaves, and usually the lowest of slaves. Nose rings, interestingly, are not regarded in the same light. They are worn even by some free women, I understand, in the far south, the women of the Wagon Peoples there, as well as, generally, by the female slaves of such peoples. In short, Gorean men seem to find the whole woman exciting. To be sure, the shoulders, for example, lead to the delicious curvatures of the breasts, those, too, the property of the master, and thence to the waist and belly, and thighs, and the slave's helpless, delicate intimacies. The ear lobes, too, lead to the throat, and thence, beneath the collar, to the shoulders, and so on. Similarly, the foot leads to the ankle, and that to the lusciously rounded calf, and that upward to the thighs, and those, again, in their lovely softness, to the girl's exposed, hot, open, helpless, delicate intimacies. It is not unusual for a Gorean male, in his zest for females, to cover her entire body, bit by bit, with kisses and caresses, moving toward her helplessness. It is not easy to prevent these attentions, either, as you may well imagine, when you have been simply chained down for his pleasure. Sometimes you scream for him to hasten, begging him with every bit of your female helplessness to do so, but he, of course, will do as he pleases, for you belong to him or he has your use, and he is a free male, the master.

  I returned then to the foot of the dais, to stand there before Hendow, of the tavern of Hendow, on Dock Street, in Brundisium.

  "You are very beautiful," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said. I was elated that he had seen fit to give me a garment. Too, he had said that I was beautiful! I wondered if he liked me. I wondered if I could use that, and possibly manipulate him in some way. I decided I had better not try. He was not a man of Earth. He was a Gorean male.

  "Yes," he said, "you are very beautiful."

  I felt radiant. I did not think he would hurt me now. I did not know, though. The garment I wore, incidentally, was more modest, in its way, than the garment of red silk I had made for myself on Earth, that which Teibar had thrust in my mouth in the library, showing me that I was forbidden to speak. He had withdrawn it from my mouth only on the library table, when I had lain there before him on my back, before he had put the conical rubberized mask over my face, introducing the chemicals into it which had forced me to lose consciousness, a consciousness I had regained only on Gor, awakening to the blows of his whip.

  "Do you like the garment?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" I said. "Yes, Master!"

  "Take it off," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said, tears in my eyes. I stood then before him again, absolutely and starkly naked, except for a metal collar. I clutched the tiny garment in my hand. He could give me such a garment. He could take it away. I must put it on at his command. I must remove it at his command. I was his.

  Hendow, of the Tavern of Hendow, on Dock Street, in Brundisium, rose from the great chair. He stood on the dais, looming above me. In his hand he held the whip. I looked at the instrument of discipline, frightened.

  He then descended from the dais, and stood near me. I looked straight ahead, clutching the tiny garment. He was huge, next to me. I felt very tiny. He put the coils of the whip under my chin, and pressed up a little. I held my chin up. The nearness of his presence, and his virile, brutish masculinity made me terribly uneasy.

  "What is your name," he asked.

  "Whatever Master pleases," I said, quickly.

  I had not yet been named in this house. The words 'slut' or 'slave' served well enough to summon me. I trembled. I realized I might, in a moment, be named. Then that would be who I would be, as simply as that, like any animal.

  "Come here," he said, "and lie down, on your back, on this step."

  He had indicated the second step leading to the height of the dais. I complied.

  "Place your left foot on the first step," he said, "and put your right foot here, on the third step."

  I did so. This opened my legs.

  "Now," he said, "put your arms back, over your head."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "That exposes your armpits," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.

  He looked down at me. "What were you called in the house of your training?" he asked.

  "Doreen," I said.

  "Very well," he said, "you are Doreen."

  "Thank you, Master," I said, named. This had been my name on Earth. I wore it now, of course, only as a slave name. It could have been anything.

  "Doreen," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said, responding to my name.

  "You are now to lie as you are," he said, "until you receive permission to change your position. You are to lie in this position, and very quietly. If you do not, it will be extremely dangerous for you. In particular, make no sudden moves."

  "Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.

  He then went to the side of the room, where there dangled three or four cords. I lifted my head a little to watch him. He drew on one of these cords. I saw a panel lift in the wall. It exposed a low opening, only about a yard in height. It was dark within this portal, but I saw, it stretching backwards, what appeared to be a low, dark tunnel. He then came back, and crouched down, near me, above me, on the third step.

  He put his whip aside, near him. He put his hand gently on my collar.

  "Master?" I asked.

  "Be quiet," he said.

  I lay there, quietly. Then, suddenly, I felt hair on the back of my neck rising.

  "Master!" I said.

  "Lie quietly," he said.

  I could now hear, from some distance down the tunnel, the sound of something approaching. It was coming rapidly. I heard snuffling noises. I heard panting. I could hear claws on the floor of the tunnel.

  "Lie quietly," cautioned my master, literally holding me in place, his hand gripping my collar.

  Then something burst into the room.

  Half choking, my head was forced back down, by the collar.

  "If you want, keep your eyes closed," he said.

  Whatever it was had apparently stopped just within the room.

  "It will take a moment for its eyes to adjust to the light," he said. "But it is done very quickly."

  The room was not brightly lit.

  "I think you will like Borko," he said.

  "What is it?" I whispered. My head was held down, back on the second step.

  "Keep your legs apart," he said. "It is a gray sleen. I raised it from a whelp. Ah, greetings, Borko! How are you, old fellow!"

  I would have screamed and reared up, but I was thrust back, helpless, half strangled, scarcely able to utter a sound, to the step. So our masters can control us by our collars. To my terror, then, pushing over my bod
y, to thrust its great jaws and head, so large I could scarcely have put my arms about them, into the hands and arms of my master, was an incredible beast. It had an extremely agile, active, sinuous body, as thick as a drum, and perhaps fourteen or fifteen feet long. It might have weighed a thousand pounds. Its broad head was triangular, almost viperlike, but it was furred. This thing was a mammal, or mammalian. Its eyes now had pupils like slits, like those of a cat in sunlight. So quickly then might its adaptive mechanisms have functioned. About its muzzle were gray hairs, grayer than the silvered gray of its fur. It had six legs.

  "Good lad!" said my master, roughly fondling that great, fierce head.

  "We have been through much together, Borko and I," said my master. "He has even, twice, saved my life. Once when I was struck, unexpectedly, by one foolishly thought to be a friend, the origin of this scar," he said, indicating good-humoredly the hideous, jagged tissue at the left side of his face, "I told Borko to hunt. The fellow did not escape. Borko brought part of him back to me, in his jaws."

  I watched in terror as my master, over my body, scratched and pulled, and shoved, at that great head. Clearly he was inordinately fond of that terrible beast, and perhaps it of him. I saw his eyes. He lavished affection upon it. He cared more for it than his girls, I was certain. Perhaps it was the only thing he trusted, other than himself, the only thing he knew that he could rely upon, other than himself, the only thing, of all creatures he knew, who had proved its love and loyalty to him. If this were so, then perhaps it was not incredible that he might bestow upon it a fondness, or love, which he, betrayed perhaps by men, might withhold from others, from men, and slaves.

  "Do you know what you and Borko have in common?" he asked me.

  "We are both your animals, Master," I said.

  "Yes!" he said. "And do you know who is most valuable?"

  "No, Master," I said.

  "Borko," he said, "is a seasoned hunting sleen. Even to strangers he would bring a hundred times what you would bring in the market."

  I was silent. I was frightened with those huge jaws, the two rings of fangs, the long, dark tongue, over me.

  "But I would not sell him for anything," he said. "He is worth more to me than ten thousand such as you."

  "Yes, Master," I whispered.

  "Borko!" he said, sternly. "Borko."

  The beast pulled back its head, observing him.

  "Learn slave," he said. "Learn slave."

  I then began to whimper. "Hold still," said my master.

  The beast then began to push its nose and muzzle about me, thrusting it here and there, about me. I now understood why I had been spread as I had, on the steps.

  "The sleen," he said, "and especially the gray sleen, is Gor's finest tracker. It is a relentless, tenacious tracker. It can follow a scent that is weeks old, for a thousand pasangs."

  I whimpered, the beast's snout thrust between my thighs, sniffing.

  "Please, Master," I whimpered.

  I felt it nuzzling then at my waist and breasts. It was learning me.

  "Do you know what the sleen hunts?" he asked.

  "No, Master," I said.

  "In the wild it commonly hunts tabuk and wild tarsk," he said, "but it is an intelligent beast, and it can be trained to hunt anything."

  "Yes, Master," I whimpered.

  He held back my right arm, further, exposing more the armpit.

  "Do you know what Borko is trained to hunt?" he asked.

  "No, Master," I said.

  I felt the snout of the beast then poking about my throat, and under my chin, to the side, and then at the side of my neck. My master then held my left arm back further, exposing the armpit to the beast.

  "It is trained to hunt men, and slaves," he said.

  "No!" I wept.

  I squirmed, but my master held me steady, by the collar and my left wrist, held back. The beast thrust its snout against me, there, in the armpit, and then sniffed along the interior of my left arm, and then along the left side of my body.

  I whimpered in terror.

  "Try not to be afraid," he said. "That might excite Borko."

  "Yes, Master," I whimpered.

  Then the beast drew back its head.

  "Doreen," said my master to the beast, slowly, clearly. "Doreen. Doreen."

  The beast again sniffed me.

  "Doreen," said my master, grinning, to the beast. "Doreen."

  I shuddered.

  The beast then drew back its head again.

  "Back, Borko," said my master, and the beast inched back, its eyes on me.

  I was shuddering. I dared not move.

  "Borko is trained to respond to a variety of signals," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I whispered.

  "He now knows you," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Whose are you?" he asked.

  "I am yours, Master!" I said, quickly.

  "Do not try to escape," he said.

  "No, Master!" I said. "I will not try to escape!"

  "Borko, go back to your kennel," he said. "Go, now!"

  The beast then backed off a few feet, and turned. In a moment, it had withdrawn through the low portal. My master went then to the cord which controlled the panel, and closed it. I was shuddering on the step. I did not move. I was almost too afraid to do so. Too, I had not been given permission to break position.

  "Kneel at the foot of the dais," he said. Swiftly I did so. I found I was still clutching the tiny garment I had been given. It had been clutched in the palm of my right hand, all the time. It was now wet with sweat. The prints of my nails were deep in it.

  He retrieved the whip and ascended to the height of the dais, where he took his place in the great chair.

  He looked down at me, the whip across his knees.

  "Perhaps now, Earth woman," he said, "you understand more clearly what your situation is on this world."

  I shuddered.

  "Do you understand, girl?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Stand," he said.

  I stood.

  "You may put on your garment," he said.

  Quickly I donned the tiny garment, and drew it down, as I could, about me.

  I stood there.

  "Yes," he said, "you are beautiful."

  "Thank you, Master," I said. I flushed with pleasure. I was valuable. Doubtless I would be a high slave.

  He stood. "Mirus!" he called. Mirus was one of his men. I knew him from the house. He had brought me to this chamber. In a moment, Mirus appeared through the door, that at the end of the carpet, that leading into this chamber. He approached, and took up a position a bit behind me and to my left.

  "She is lovely, isn't she?" my master asked Mirus.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Do you like your garment?" my master asked me.

  "Yes, Master," I said. I recalled the last time he had asked this I had been shortly thereafter ordered to remove it. He could do that again, and I would again be forced to disrobe, and instantly. Too, this time it would also be before Mirus. It is one thing to come naked before a man, and another to strip yourself, or be stripped, before him. Too, it is something else again, to do this, or have it done to you, before others. Mirus was not my master, but only my master's man. To be sure, I was a slave, and would have to obey. Coming nude before men, and stripping herself, or being stripped, before them are things such as a slave girl must expect. After all, what else could she expect? She is, after all, a slave. Indeed, sometimes girls are stripped in public, even in the squares, because masters are so pleased to show them off. Sometimes this occurs in heated discussions of the relative merits of different masters' girls, and the girls are ordered to disrobe on the spot, sometimes then being put through slave paces, there, on the very tiles of the squares and plazas, the matter being left to the acclamations or votes of the spectators, and woe to the girl who comes out second best in such a contest! Too, it is not uncommon, as a discipline, to send a girl out naked on e
rrands. In such a case she is often locked in an iron belt. Too, it is not unusual, in taverns, particularly lower taverns, as I would learn, for girls to be publicly naked. I was diffident, though, at this time, to remove my clothing before Mirus. I would have been embarrassed, or humiliated, to do so. I was not yet a brazen slave. I had not yet even been on the floor of the tavern. My attitude, of course, as I understood, was undoubtedly a bit irrational. Mirus, after all, had seen me naked. Indeed, he had never, really, seen me clothed. He was the one, incidentally, who had unhooded and ungagged me in this house. He had been pleased with my face. He had then unroped the blanket which had been tied about me, and opened it, folding it back, almost as though I might have been a present. "Superb," he had said, this pleasing me. "Are you white silk?" he had asked. "Yes, Master," I had said, shrinking back from him in the manacles. He had then taken me down to the basement, removed the manacles, put me on my hands and knees, and thrust me into my kennel, locking it behind me. Why, then, was I embarrassed, or humiliated, at the thought that I might now be ordered to disrobe in his presence? I was not sure. I supposed it was because I was not yet fully adjusted to my slavery. I was not yet a brazen slave. I had not yet, at that time, even been put out on the floor of the tavern. Perhaps I still thought, at that time, that the fullness of my beauty was, particularly, for my master, and not for others. I did not really stop to think, at that time, however, that Hendow was a tavern owner, and that, thus, the fullness of my beauty was not only for him, but, as he saw fit, or as it might please him, also for his customers.