Magicians of Gor Read online

  Only too obviously was this a trained dancer, and yet, too, there was far more than training involved. Too, I speak not of such relatively insignificant matters as the mere excellence of her figure for slave dance, as suitable and fitting as it might be for such an art form, for women with many figures can be superb in slave dance, or that she must possess a great natural talent for such a mode of expression, but something much deeper. In the nature of her dance I saw more than training, her figure, and her talent. Within this woman, revealing itself in the dance, in its rhythm, its joy, its spontaneity, its wonders, were untold depths of femaleness, a deep and radical femininity, unabashed and unapologetic, a rejoicing in her sex, a respect for it, a love of it, an acceptance of it and a celebration of it, a wanting of it, and of what she was, a woman, a slave, in all of its marvelousness.

  "Tuka, Tuka!" called men.

  Men clapped their hands.

  The slave danced.

  Much it seemed to me, though there might be two hundred men about the circle, she danced for her master.

  Once he even indicated that she should move more about which, instantly, commanded, she did.

  "Tuka, Tuka!" even called some of the other slaves about the edges of the circle, sitting and kneeling there, unable to take their eyes from her, clapping, too. Teibar's Tuka, it seemed, was popular even with the other slaves, of which she was such a superb specimen.

  I watched her moving about the circle.

  "Aii!" cried men, as she would pause a moment to dance before them. I had little doubt she might once have been a tavern dancer. Such dancers must present themselves in such a fashion before customers. This gives the customer an opportunity to assess them, and to keep them in mind, if he wishes, for later use in an alcove.

  "Aii," cried another fellow.

  I speculated that she would not have languished for attention in the alcoves.

  "She is superb," said the fellow next to me.

  "Yes," I said.

  She was working her way about the circle.

  It was interesting to me that a master would dare to display such a slave publicly. I gathered that he was quite confident of his capacity to keep her. He must then, I suspected, be excellent with the sword.

  "Ah," said the fellow next to me.

  The dancer approached.

  How marvelous are the Gorean women, I thought. And I thought then, too, sadly, of the women of Earth, so many of them so confused, so miserable, so unhappy, women not knowing what they were, or what they might be, women trapped in a maze of ultimately barren artifices, women subjected to inconsistent directives and standards, women subjected to social coercions, women subjected to antibiological constraints, women forced to deny themselves and their depth natures in the name of freedom, women trying to be men, not knowing how to be women, women torturing themselves and others with their confusions, their inhibitions, their pain, their frustrations. But I did not blame them for they were the victims of pathological conditioning programs. Any beautiful, natural creature can be clipped and cut, and formed into monstrous shapes, torn from nature, and then instructed to rejoice in its mutilations and misshapenness. It was little wonder that so many of the women of Earth were so inhibited, so frigid, so inert, so anesthetic. That so many of them could even feel their pain was, I supposed, a hopeful sign. If their culture was correct, or judicious, why did it contain so much unhappiness and pain? In a body, pain is an indication that something is wrong. So, too, it is in a culture.

  Then the dancer was before me, and I was awed with beauty.

  I kept her there before me for a moment, not letting her move away, my gaze holding her.

  I wept then for the men of Earth, that they could not know such beauties. How utterly marvelous are the Gorean females! How utterly different they are from the women of Earth! How impossible it would be for a female of Earth to match them!

  I watched the dancer then move to the next fellow, and turn about.

  How well she swayed!

  How beautiful are women!

  Slaves are animals.

  And what a beautiful animal she was!

  As animals it is fitting that they be bought and sold, given away, or kept, as one pleases.

  As animals it is fitting that they be collared.

  She was collared.

  Her collar was typical of Gorean slave collars in the north, a light, flat, attractive, gleaming band, about a half inch to three-quarters of an inch in height. Such collars fit closely. They snap shut and are securely locked, the small, sturdy lock usually behind the back of the neck.

  Given the closeness of the collar’s fit, it cannot be slipped. Given the nature of its closure, it cannot be removed, save by its key or tools. The unauthorized removal of a collar is a capital offense.

  Women are extraordinarily beautiful in collars. It is no wonder men put them in them.

  She was beautiful.

  I regarded her.

  I was pleased.

  She was collared.

  She was well collared.

  Doubtless her collar identified her master. That is common with slave collars, and its appropriateness is obvious.

  How fortunate, I thought, the men of Gor, to have such slaves. How unfortunate the men of Earth, I thought, to be deprived of such. How well they had been trained from birth to deny themselves the rights of their masculinity, to do treason unto themselves.

  Would they never take unto themselves again the gifts, females, which nature had designed for them?

  I supposed not.

  I regarded again the slave.

  How utterly marvelous, again I thought, are the Gorean females! How utterly different they are from the women of Earth! How impossible it would be for a mere, inert female of Earth to match them!

  Poor, pathetic, impoverished, deprived men of Earth, I thought.

  How unfortunate that they have no women.

  I attended again to the dancer.

  No woman of Earth, I thought, could be so sensual, so vulnerable, so desirable, so needful, so female, so Gorean!

  Suddenly I was stunned. High on her left arm there was a small, circular scar. It was not, surely, in that place, and given its nature, the result of a marking iron. Indeed, it is by means of such tiny indications, fillings in the teeth, and such, that a certain sort of girl, for which there is a market on Gor, is often recognized.

  "She is not from Gor!" I said.

  "She is from far away," said the fellow next to me.

  "From a distant land," said another.

  "Called 'Earth,'" said another.

  "Yes," I said.

  "They make excellent slaves," said another. I wondered if this might not be true. The Earth female, starved for sexual fulfillment, suddenly plunged into the gorgeous world of Gor, subject to masculine pleasure, taught obedience, and such, might well, I supposed, after a period of adjustment and accommodation, rejoice in self-discovery, in her true liberation, in her finding herself at last in her place in nature, the beautiful and desirable slave of strong and uncompromising masters.

  "I think we should send an army there and bring them all back in chains," said another.

  "That is where they belong," said another.

  "Yes," said another.

  The mark on the girl's arm had not been the result of the imprint of a master's iron. It had been a vaccination mark. I had noted, too, interestingly, just before she had whirled away, that she was shy. I assessed her as being quite intelligent, extremely sensitive, and an excellent slave.

  She had now, as the music swirled to its finish, returned to move before her master. Then, the dance ended, men striking their left shoulders in Gorean applause, shouting their vociferous approval, some armed warriors striking their shields with spear blades, she sank to the ground, on her back, breathless, breasts heaving, covered with a sheen of sweat, before her master, her left knee raised, her head turned toward him, the palms of her hands, at her sides, vulnerably exposed.

  She had been superb.
My shoulder was sore where I had much struck it.

  Then with a sensuous, fluid movement she rose to her knees before her master. She spread her knees, widely. She regarded him, beggingly. The dance had much aroused her, and she was totally his, completely at his will, his pleasure and mercy.

  "Our gratitude, Teibar!" called a fellow.

  "Hail, Teibar!" called another.

  He called Teibar then waved to the men about, and turning about, took his way from the area of the circle. The slave rose to her feet and hurried after him, to heel him. More than one man touched her, and as a slave may be touched, as she moved through them, hurrying to catch up with her master. To even these touches I could see her respond, even in her flight. I saw that she was a hot slave, and one who would be, whether she wished it or not, uncontrollable, helplessly responsive, in a man's arms. Then she was with her master, seeming to heel him, but yet so close to him that she touched him, brushing against him. I had little doubt that she would soon be lengthily used, ravished with all the attention, detail and patience with which Gorean masters are wont to exploit their helpless chattels.

  After the dance of Tuka, men and slaves departed from the circle, many doubtless to hurry to their blankets and tents. I, too, though I had taken comfort earlier with the blond mat girl, was uncomfortable.

  "Use me, Master?" said a coin girl.

  I looked down at her, a small brunet, half naked in a ta-teera, a slave rag. About her neck, over her collar, close about it, was a chain collar, padlocked shut, with its coin box, and slot.

  "Master?" she smiled.

  I was angry. She had doubtless come to a circle, knowing that fellows in need, ones without slaves, such as I, might be found there. Her attitude seemed to me insufficiently respectful. She was not even kneeling.

  "Oh!" she cried, spinning to the side, cuffed.

  I snapped my fingers. "There," I said, pointing, indicating a place before me, "kneel there, facing away from me." Swiftly she crawled to the place, obeying. "On your belly," I snapped. Swiftly did she fling herself, a slave who might have been displeasing, in terror, to her belly. I seized her ankles and parted them, widely, pulling her toward me. "Perhaps you deserve a full lashing," I said. "No, please, Master!" she wept. "How much are you?" I asked. "Only a tarsk bit, Master!" she wept. I considered the matter. I could afford that. I dragged her back to me. She gasped, mine. "Oh!" she cried. "Oh! Oh!" Then I thrust her from me, and stood. She was then on her side, looking back at me. She was grasping. I kicked her, angrily, with the side of my foot. She winced. "Forgive me, Master," she wept. "I beg forgiveness!" "Perhaps you will learn manners," I said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Perhaps you will know enough next time to be respectful, and to kneel before men," I said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master!" I looked down upon her, angrily. I think she feared she might be again cuffed, or kicked. Then she crawled to my feet, and kissed them. Then she looked up at me. "Buy me," she begged, suddenly. "It is to a man such as you that I wish to belong!" I dragged her to her knees by the hair and, she sobbing, trying to hold me, thrust a coin, a tarsk bit, into the coin box. I then thrust her back to the dirt, on her side, and, turning about, angrily, left her. "Master!" she called after me. "Please, Master!" In a time I turned back to regard her. She was where I had left her, except that she was now kneeling. Her shoulders shook with sobs. She had the coin box, on its chain, lifted in her hands. Her head was down, and her hair fell about the coin box. She pressed her lips to it, again and again, sobbing. I did not think that she was a poor slave. I think rather that she merely needed a strong master.

  "Well done," said a fellow, passing me.

  I looked back at the girl again. She did have pretty thighs, well revealed in the ta-teera. But then I steeled myself against softness, and reminded myself that this was no time to acquire a bond maid, even one with a lovely little figure and pretty thighs, one who was now clearly ready to obey instantly, and with perfection.

  I looked to the lofty walls of Ar. Within them lay what danger, what treachery, what intrigue I dared not guess.

  "Oh!" said a slave, slapped below the small of the back by a peasant.

  "She is in the iron belt," said the fellow, looking at me, grinning.

  The girl hurried on.

  "Perhaps it is just as well," I said.

  He laughed.

  She looked well in the tunic.

  I passed a couple, the master enjoying his slave.

  I looked up at the moons of Gor. They have, it seems, an unusual effect on women. Sometimes female slaves, or captured free women, are chained beneath them. I do not know the nature of this effect. Perhaps it is merely aesthetic, for surely the moons are very beautiful. On the other hand the effects may also be psychological or biological. On the psychological approach the moons may have a profound subconscious effect on the female, an effect achieved through symbolism, a symbolism, in its waxings and wanings, clearly suggestive of feminine sexual cycles. But even more interestingly the effect on the female is possibly biological. There are many biological vestiges in the human being. One which is typical and interesting is the tendency of the skin to erupt in tiny protuberances, "goose bumps," when it is cold. This response presumably harkens back to a time when the human animal, or its forebear, had a great deal more hair than is now typical. This eruption of the skin would then lift hair from the flesh, thusly forming an insulating layer against the cold. So, too, the sight of the moons, and their rhythms, and such, so interestingly approximating the periods of feminine sexual cycles, may at one time have played a role in mating cycles. Perhaps the female came out into the moonlight, in her need, where she might be located and appraised, though not in the harsh light of day. Perhaps in the moonlight, away from darkness, with its dangers of predators and such, she cried out, or moaned, her needs, attempting to attract attention to herself, calling for the attentions of the male. Perhaps those which would seek to mate in the fullness of light distracted the group from feeding, or were too much fought over. Perhaps those who sought the darkness were not as easily found or succumbed to predators. Perhaps, in time, as a matter of natural selections, operative upon a relatively, at that time, helpless species, those tended to survive whose mating impulses became synchronized with the moons. This might explain why, even today, and doubtless numerous genetic codings later, codings obviously favoring frequent and aperiodic sexuality, some women are, so to speak, in addition, still "called by the moon." It would be a vestige, like the rising of hair on "goose bumps." Aside from this, it might be noted, of course, that the sexual cycles of various species do tend to be correlated with the cycles of the moon, presumably through one natural selection or another. The Kurii, for example, seem to have retained some vestiges along these lines, for in that species, as I understand it, it is not unusual for females to go to the mating cliffs in the moonlight, where, helpless in their sexuality, they cry out, or howl, their needs.

  I passed a few fellows playing dice. There are many forms of dice games on Gor, usually played with anywhere from a single die to five dice. The major difference, I think, between the dice of Earth and those of Gor is that the Gorean dice usually have their numbers, or letters, or whatever pictures or devices are used, painted on their surfaces. It is difficult to manufacture a pair of fair dice, of course, in which the "numbers," two, three and so on, are represented by scooped out indentations. For example, the "one" side of a die is likely to have less scooped-out material missing than the "six" side of a die. Thus the "one" side is slightly heavier and, in normal play, should tend to land face down more often than, say, the "six" side, this bringing up the opposite side, the "six" side in Earth dice, somewhat more frequently. To be sure, the differences in weight are slight and, given the forces on the dice, the differential is not dramatic. And, of course, this differential can be compensated for in a sophisticated die by trying to deduct equal amounts of material from all surfaces, for example, an amount from the "one" side which will equal the amount of the "six" side, and, i
ndeed, on the various sides. At any rate, in the Gorean dice, as mentioned, the numbers or letters, or pictures or whatever devices are used, are usually painted on the dice. Some gamesmen, even so, attempt to expend the same amount of paint on all surfaces. To be sure, some Gorean dice I have seen to use the "scooped-out" approach to marking the dice. And these, almost invariably, like the more sophisticated Earth dice, try to even out the material removed from each of the surfaces. Some Gorean dice are sold in sealed boxes, bearing the city's imprint. These, supposedly, have been each cast six hundred times, with results approximating the ideal mathematical probabilities. Also, it might be mentioned that dice are sometimes tampered with, or specially prepared, to favor certain numbers. These, I suppose, using the Earth term, might be spoken of as "loaded." My friend, the actor, magician, impresario and whatnot, Boots Tarsk-Bit, once narrowly escaped an impalement in Besnit on the charge of using false dice. He was, however, it seems, framed. At any rate the charges were dismissed when a pair of identical false dice turned up in the pouch of the arresting magistrate, the original pair having, interestingly, at about the same time, vanished.

  I stayed to watch the fellows playing dice for a few Ehn. I do not think they noticed me, so intent they were on their game. The stakes were small, only tarsk bits, but one would not have gathered that from the earnestness of the players. A slave girl was kneeling nearby, in a sort of improvised slave brace, a short, stout pole, drilled through in three places. Her ankles were fastened to the pole, by means of a thong threaded through one of the apertures, near its bottom, her wrists by another thong passing through a hole a few inches higher than the bottom hole, and her neck by a thong passed through the aperture in the top part of the pole, behind her neck. There are many arrangements for the keeping of slaves, bars, harnesses, and such. I will mention two simple ones, first, the short, hollow tube, usually used with a sitting slave, whose wrists are tied, the thong then passing through the tube to emerge at the far end, where it is used to secure her ankles, and, second, the longer pole, drilled four times, used with a prone or supine slave, in which it is impossible for her to rise to her feet. Her ankles are fastened some six inches or so from one end, and she is then, of course, secured, in one fashion or another, back or belly to the pole, as the master might please, at suitable intervals, by the wrists, belly and neck, the pole usually extending some six inches or so beyond her head. The girl near the gamblers was apparently not a stake in the game. On the other hand, it is not unusual for female slaves, like kaiila and other properties, to serve as stakes in such games, as in races, contests and such. Indeed, in many contests, female slaves are offered as prizes. I had once won one myself, in Torvaldsland, in archery. I had subsequently sold her to a warrior. I trust that she is happy, but it does not matter, as she is only a slave.