Dancer of Gor

by John Norman

  "My needs grow upon me, Master," I said. It was true. But, also today I was charged with seeing the square, the buildings, and the people of Market of Semris. It was as though I had suddenly found myself marvelously transported to the past, and one in which I must helplessly meet its conditions, and obey it, and on its own terms, and perfectly, not mine. Market of Semris might have been a town in Hellas or Latium. I was thrilled to be there, if only as a slave. I would not have traded the beautiful, marvelous world of Gor, even with its perils, for anything. Too I had not forgotten the monument and the frieze. I would never forget it. It had much excited me, in its style, beauty and graphicness, and in its simple, unquestioned, unevasive public representation, albeit in a political and commemorative context, of natural biological relationships.

  "Slave," said my master.

  "Master?" I asked. I turned to my back. I saw that his needs were upon him. I smiled at him, eager to please him. I lifted my arms to him.

  "To your stomach," he said.

  I obeyed. He would keep me well in my place.

  My master was Gordon, an itinerant musician. I was a street dancer.

  When he had finished he stood up.

  "Your slave," said a man, a tall fellow, in swirling robes, "is not without interest."

  I, of course, knelt immediately, being the subject of attention, of a free man.

  The fellow had been here for much of the afternoon, watching us. He had not, however, used me.

  "You are an Earth slut, are you not?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Her ears are pierced," he observed.

  "Yes," said my master.

  "She is an excellent dancer, for a street dancer," said the man.

  My master shrugged.

  "Perhaps she did not always dance in the streets," he speculated.

  "Perhaps," said my master, putting his flute again on his back.

  Usually the progression in such matters, of course, is from the street to the tavern, not from the tavern to the street. When the street dancer becomes good enough, she may aspire, of course, to be purchased by a taverner. Many of the finest tavern dancers, it is said, began on the back streets, on a leash.

  "Did she once dance in a tavern?" asked the fellow.

  "I do not know," said my master, uneasily. He actually did not know, I supposed. He had had a good buy on me, and he had not been interested in asking questions.

  "I think she was once a tavern dancer," said the man.

  "Perhaps," said my master. "I do not know." He made as though to go.

  "I think she is a stolen tavern dancer," said the man.

  "I bought her properly," said my master.

  "You have papers on her?" asked the man.

  "No," said my master.

  "You received stolen goods," said the man.

  "Not to my knowledge," said my master.

  "An investigation might nonetheless prove you have no legal hold on her."

  "Are you a magistrate, or a praetor's agent?" inquired my master, narrowly.

  "No," said the fellow.

  My master relaxed, visibly.

  "But I could always lodge a citizen's inquiry, and have the matter looked into," he said.

  "What do you want?" asked my master.

  "She is a hot slave, and is curvy, and beautiful," he said.

  "So?" asked my master.

  "Too, she dances well, and her ears are pierced," said the man.

  "So?" inquired my master.

  "What did you pay for her?" he asked.

  "That is my business," said my master.

  "Not much, I would suppose," said the man. "Stolen slaves seldom bring high prices, unless delivered to private dealers on contract, or to slavers, who know what to do with them, and where to sell them."

  "She is mine," said my master. "I have held her in my collar for a sufficient time."

  "I am prepared to accept that she is now yours," said the fellow. "For example, she seems clearly accommodated to your collar. The official recovery period is doubtless now passed."

  "Then our conversation is at an end," said my master, angrily.

  "Nonetheless it seems you might still count, officially, as a fellow who had received stolen goods," said the man.

  "Not to my knowledge, if at all," said my master.

  "Ignorance of the origin of the goods," said the man, "might indeed exonerate you from personal guilt in the matter."

  My master shrugged.

  "Still," said the man, "it might be of some interest to a praetor to hear you protest your innocence in the matter. He would be likely to be interested, too, in whom you bought the slave from, and such, and perhaps even where they obtained her."

  "What do you want?" asked my master, angrily.

  "I am prepared to be generous," said the man.

  "She is not for sale," said my master.

  "I have come from Argentum," he said. "I have come to Market of Semris looking for a certain type of slave. I think that your girl might be just what I need."

  "Are you a slaver?" asked my master.

  "No," he said. He looked down at me. "You are an exciting slut," he said.

  I put my head down.

  I did not want to be involved in this. In Gorean courts the testimony of slaves is commonly taken under torture.

  "She is not for sale," said my master.

  "I will give you five silver tarsks for her," said the man.

  My master seemed stunned. I myself could scarcely believe what I had heard. Such prices are not paid for street dancers.

  "Done!" said my master.

  I looked up, startled. I had been sold.

  I saw the coins, my price, change hands.

  "What is your name, my dear?" inquired my new master.

  "Whatever master pleases," I said.

  "What were you called?" he asked me.

  "Tula," I said. That was the name my former master, the itinerant musician, had given me.

  "You are now Tuka," he said, naming me.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "What is your name?" he inquired.

  "Tuka, Master," I said. I was now Tuka.

  "Whose slave are you?" he asked.

  "Your slave, Master," I said.

  He pointed to his feet. I bent down and licked and kissed them.

  "To all fours, Tuka," he said.

  I rose up, to all fours.

  Tula and Tuka are extremely common slave names on Gor. In this respect they are like Lita and Dina. Indeed, there is even a brand called the "Dina," which resembles the Dina, or slave flower, a tiny, roselike flower. Girls who bear this brand are often called Dinas, and often, too, have that name. Names such as Tula and Tuka are sometimes used for a brace of female slaves, as the names go well together. Another such pair is Sipa and Sita. Such names, too, of course, may be used individually, and often are. I did not doubt that the name Tuka may have been suggested by its resemblance to Tula, my former name. This suggested that my new master was perhaps not really much interested in what he named me. He may have just wanted something to call me. On the other hand, it was a good slave name. Too, I supposed he liked it, or he would not have given it to me. Perhaps he had once known a girl named Tuka, probably a slave, but possibly a free woman, of whom he had been fond.

  My former master thrust his collar, the chain attached, higher on my neck, closer to the chin. He had its key in hand. My new master then, below the former collar, closed his own about my neck. I was now double collared. My former master then removed his collar, with the chain, from my neck. I had not been without a collar, even for an instant.

  My new master then turned about, with a swirl of those long robes, and began to make his way across the square. I hurried after him, heeling him. I was naked, of course. I had removed the ta-teera for my dance, and had not put it back on. My new master had bought me, not the ta-teera. That belonged to the musician, my former master. A new girl would presumably wear it soon, as some, it seemed, had be
fore me. I hoped that my new master would permit me clothing, at least in public. Even the tiny slave tunics and the scandalous ta-teeras are precious to a girl. Too, she is not insensible of how they show off her charms.

  "May I speak, Master?" I called after him, hurrying behind him.

  "Yes," he said.

  "May I inquire the name of my master?" I asked.

  "You will learn it soon enough," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. It was doubtless on my collar, but, obviously, without a mirror, I could not read the collar when it was locked on my neck. Too, even had I had a mirror, I could not read.

  He walked rapidly, purposefully.

  He had paid five silver tarsks for me. That was a great deal of money. My former master would have no difficulty getting another girl, or more than one, for such an amount.

  "Master paid a great deal of money for me," I said.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Am I worth so much?" I asked.

  "I think so," he said.

  "May I inquire for what purpose Master has purchased me?" I asked.

  "You will learn soon enough," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira," he reminded me.

  "Yes, Master," I said, frightened. But he did not turn about to strike me, or discipline me.

  I hurried along behind him. It was now late in the afternoon. The square was not crowded now. The public places and baths would soon be closed. I saw some men, some with clients in their train, leaving the square. I turned about, briefly. The square was very beautiful, even at this time of day. I did not see my former master. He had apparently left the square. I then turned about, again, and hurried even more rapidly after my new master. I did not want to lag too far behind, outside the normal heeling distance.

  18

  The Grating;

  The Garments

  "Over the grating, on the walkway," said the man.

  I dreaded leaving the tavern in this fashion.

  One of the men patted me on the behind. "Do not be afraid," he said. "They will soon be shipped out, to make room for others."

  The sunken, iron-walled pits were below the level of the basement, in which my own cell was. They were covered with locked gratings. My cell was not a kennel, but a cell. It was very well appointed, as cells for slave girls go. I could not stand fully upright in it, and I must leave it through a small gate, on my hands and knees, or belly, but it was large enough to move about in, and it was floored with carpet. In it, too, were furs. I had water and a wastes' bucket. Cushions had been permitted me, an incredible luxury. To be sure, I was sometimes ordered to kneel upon one, or another of them, usually while receiving instructions. In this cell, too, there was a mirror. Too, there were various tiny boxes, containing jewelry and cosmetics. There was also a trunk, for silks. I might prepare myself here for the floor, or for the dance. There was even a lamp outside the cell, affording light, when the men saw fit to have it lit. Sometimes, before fellows were brought past the cell, bound or chained, thence to be incarcerated in one of the pits, I would be instructed to lie seductively on the furs and cushions. At such times I was sometimes given chocolates to eat. "Let them have something pleasant to remember," had said one of the fellows, at one of these times. "We would not want them to forget you," had said another.

  I hastened across the grating. I heard howls of rage from beneath me. A hand reached up, grasping for me, through the grating. One of the men with me kicked it away from me. Its fist clenched, helplessly, in fury. I was then over the grating.

  "Your garments for the afternoon," said one of the fellows behind me, "are in the back hall, near the back entrance."

  When I was ready to leave the tavern one of the men would check the alley, to make certain that my departure would be unnoticed.

  19

  The Streets of Argentum;

  The Belly Chain and Disk

  "Sir," I said, "forgive me for daring to speak to you, but only the kindness of your countenance encourages my audacity."

  "Lady?" he inquired.

  "I am in desperate straits," I whispered piteously.

  "You are a beggar?" he asked.

  I put down my head, as though in shame.

  "Forgive me, Lady," he said. "These are hard times."

  I looked up, my eyes over the veil. "You are understanding," I whispered.

  "I was rude," he said. "I am sorry."

  "One such as you could not be rude," I said, half weeping. "Clearly, too, you are kind, and noble." He was also large and strong.

  "May I be of aid to you?" he asked.

  I turned half away from him, as though in confusion and shame. I had been taught to do such things. The men of my master had rehearsed them muchly with me.

  "Please," he said.

  "I should not have bothered you," I whispered.

  "Perhaps you need money," he said. "I am not a rich man, but I have a little."

  "Better death in the streets, or a collar, than that I should so demean myself, and my station, as to avail myself of your generosity."

  "Are you hungry?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Your robes, though worn and shabby, are well kept," he said.

  "I am of humble caste," I said. It made me nervous, of course, to say such things. For a slave to claim caste is a serious matter. Similarly, it would not be wise for her to be caught in the garments of a free woman. That, too, is a terribly serious offense.

  "What is your caste?" he asked.

  His caste, as I could see from his garments, was that of the metal workers.

  "Yours," I said. "That of the metal workers."

  "We share caste," he said. "Too," he laughed, "I may remind you that that is no humble caste. Where would the dwellers of cities be without us?" This was a way of saying, in the parlance of the caste, that the utilities and workings of metal were essential for a high civilization. Then he looked at me kindly, and spoke seriously, "You should not have hesitated for a moment to speak to me."

  "You are kind," I said. To be sure, much charity, and fraternal organizations, and even outings, and such, are organized on caste lines. Caste is extremely important to most Goreans, even when they do not all practice the traditional crafts of their caste. It is one of the "nationalities" of the Gorean, so to speak. Other common "nationalities," so to speak, are membership in a kinship organization, such as a clan, or phratry, a group of clans, or a larger grouping yet, a tribe or analogous to a tribe, a group of phratries, and a pledged allegiance to a Home Stone, usually that of a village, town or city. It seems that in the distant past of Gor these kinship allegiances were, in effect, political allegiances, or generated political allegiances, which, later, interestingly, as life became more complex, and populations more mobile, became separated. Kinship structures do not now figure strongly in Gorean public life, although in some cities divisions of the electorate, those free citizens entitled to participate in referenda, and such, remain based on them.

  "I have six tarsk bits with me," he said. "I will give you three."

  I recalled my training. I recalled, too, in my training, how one of my master's men had shoved the point of a dagger a quarter of an inch into my belly, below the navel, and informed me how he could spill my guts into his hand.

  "One would be more than enough," I said. "Honor could not permit me taking more."

  "Take two, then," he said.

  I took the two tarsk bits. I slipped them, as though thankfully, into the purse, on its two strings, dangling from my belt, hanging at my side. My master's men, of course, would gather them out later.

  "I wish you well," he said, and began to turn away.

  My hand stayed him.

  He looked at me, puzzled.

  "Please permit me to thank you," I said.

  "That is not necessary," he said.

  "I want to thank you," I said, "in the way of the female."

  "That is not necessary," he said.

&nbs
p; "I have been told, by others," I said, "that I am beautiful enough, even, to be a slave."

  "I would not doubt it," he said.

  "I am prepared to serve you," I said, "even as a slave."

  "I can find that in a tavern," he said. "You are a free woman, and are of my own caste."

  "Nonetheless," I said, "I am prepared to so serve you."

  "Some have made you serve as much, for their coins, haven't they?" he asked.

  I put my head down, as though shamed. "Yes," I whispered.

  "I am sorry," he said. "I should not have asked."

  I kept my head down.

  "You poor thing," he said. "What beasts, what scoundrels, they were."

  "They are men," I said, shrugging, "and I am a woman."

  "Have no fear," he said. "I shall not so abuse you."

  "But I want to so serve you," I said.

  He looked at me, puzzled.

  "It was not for nothing that I selected you out from the others," I said.

  "Ah," he said, softly. This pleased him. Actually I had selected him out because my master's men had, when he had passed, indicated that I should do so. The choice had been theirs, not mine.

  "Please," I said.

  He was a Gorean male. I did not doubt but what he would want me. It was a question of overcoming his inhibitions, connected with my supposed station, that of the free woman, my caste, his own, and perhaps some reservations about seeming to take advantage of my presumed straits.

  I backed a little into the alleyway, between the two buildings.

  "No," he said, softly. But he did not stop me as I there, gracefully, but with a certain seeming timidity, in the shelter between the walls, brushed back my hood, and lowered my veil.

  "You are beautiful," he said.

  My hair was combed back, and down, over my ears. It was tied in the back.

  He looked at me.

  For a moment I was afraid he knew.

  He lifted his hand a bit toward my throat, but then lowered it.

  I sensed what he had wished to do. I then drew away the robing at my throat.

  "Ah," he said, softly. There was no collar there. My throat was bare of a collar!

  I stood before him. I think that he found me beautiful. I was face-stripped before him. This is very meaningful to Goreans. His eyes shone.