17 Savages of GorSavages of Gor
John Norman
Chronicles of Counter-Earth Volume 17
1      Kog and Sardak; The Parley in the Delta
How many are there? I asked Samos.
Two. he said.
Are they alive? I asked.
Yes, he said.
At the second Ahn, long before dawn, the herald of Samos had come to the lake 
like courtyard of my holding in many-canalled Port Kar, that place of many 
ships, scourge of Thassa, that dark jewel in her gleaming green waters. Twice 
has he struck the bars of the sea gate, each time with the Ka-la-na shaft of his 
spear, not with the side of its broad tapering bronze point. The signet ring, of 
Samos of Port Kar, first captain of the council of captains, was displayed. I 
would be roused. The morning, in early Spring, was chilly.
Does Tyros move? I asked blond-haired Thurnock, that giant of a man, he of 
peasants, who had come to rouse me.
I think not, Captain, said he.
The girl beside me pulled the furs up about her throat, frightened.
Have ships of Cos been sighted? I asked.
I do not think so, Captain, said he.
There was a sound of chain beside me. The chain had moved against the collar 
ring of the girl beside me. Beneath the furs she was naked. The chain ran from 
the slave ring at the foot of my couch, a heavy chain, to the, thick metal 
collar fastened on her neck.
It is not, then, on the business of Port Kar that he comes? I had asked.
I think perhaps not, Captain, said Thurnock. I think that the matters have to 
do with business other than that of Port Kar.
The small tharlarion-oil lamp he held illuminated his bearded face as he stood 
near the door.
It has been quiet, I said, for too long.
Captain? he asked.
Nothing, I said.
It is early, whispered the girl next to me.
You were not given permission to speak, I told her.
Forgive me, Master, she said.
I threw back the heavy furs on the great stone couch. Quickly the girl pulled up 
her legs and turned on her side. I, sitting up, looked down at her, trying to 
cover herself from the sight of Thurnock. I pulled her then beneath me. Ohh, 
she breathed.
You will grant him, then, an audience? asked Thurnock.
Yes, I said.
Oh, said the girl. Ohh!
Now, as she lay, the small, fine brand high on her left thigh, just below the 
hip, could be seen. I had put it there myself, at my leisure, once in Ar.
Master, may I speak? she begged.
Yes, I said.
One is present, she said. Another is present!
Be silent, I told her.
Yes, my Master, she said.
You will be there shortly? asked Thurnock.
Yes, I told him. Shortly.
The girl looked wildly over my shoulder, toward Thurnock. Then she clutched me, 
her eyes closed, shuddering, and yielded. When again she looked to Thurnock she 
did so as a yielded slave girl, pinned in my arms.
I shall inform the emissary of Samos that you will be with him in moments, 
said Thurnock.
Yes, I told him.
He then left the room, putting the tharlarion-oil lamp on a shelf near the door.
I looked down into the eyes of the girl, held helplessly in my arms.
What a slave you made me, she said.
You are a slave, I told her.
Yes, my Master, she said.
You must grow accustomed to your slavery, in all its facets, I told her.
Yes, my Master, she said.
I withdrew from her then, and sat on the edge of the couch, the furs about me.
A girl is grateful that she was touched by her Master, she said.
I did not respond. A slaves gratitude is nothing, as are slaves.
It is early, she whispered.
Yes, I said.
It is very cold, she said.
Yes, I said. The coals in the brazier to the left of the great stone couch had 
burned out during the night. The room was damp, and cold, from the night air, 
and from the chin from the courtyard and canals. The walls, of heavy stone, too, 
saturated with the chilled, humid air, would be cold and damp, and the defensive 
bars set in the narrow windows, behind the buckled leather hangings. On my feet 
I could feel the dampness and moisture on the tiles. I did not give her 
permission to draw back under the covers, nor was she so bold or foolish as to 
request that permission. I had been lenient with her this night. I had not slept 
her naked on the tiles beside the couch, with only a sheet for warmth, nor naked 
at the foot of the couch, with only a chain for comfort.
I rose from the couch and went to a bronze basin of cold water at the side of 
the room. I squatted beside it and splashed the chilled water over my face and 
body.
What does it mean, my Master, asked the girl, that one from the house of 
Samos, first captain in Port Kar, comes so early, so secretly, to the house of 
my Master?
I do not know, I said. I toweled myself dry, and turned to look upon her. She 
lay on her left elbow, on the couch, the chain running from her collar to the 
surface of the couch, and thence to the slave ring fixed deeply in its base. 
Seeing my eyes upon her she then knelt on the surface of the couch, kneeling 
back an her heels, spreading her knees, straightening her back, lifting her 
head, and putting her hands on her thighs. It is a common kneeling position for 
a female slave.
If you knew, you would not tell me, would you? she asked.
No, I said.
I am a slave, she said.
Yes, I said.
You had me well, she said, and as a slave.
It is fitting, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I then returned to the couch, and sat upon its edge. She then left the couch, 
that she might kneel on the tiles before me. I looked down at her. How beautiful 
are enslaved women.
Perhaps, I said, you might speculate on what business brings the emissary of 
Samos of Port Kar to my house this morning?
I, Master? she asked, frightened.
Yes, I said. You once served Kurii, the Others, the foes of Priest-Kings.
I told all that I knew, she exclaimed. I told all in the dungeons of Samos! I 
was terrified! I held back nothing! I was emptied of information!
You were then valueless, I said.
Except, perhaps, as I might please a man as a slave, she said.
Yes, I smiled.
Samos himself had issued the order of enslavement on her. In Ar I had presented 
the document to her and shortly thereafter, as it pleased me, implemented its 
provisions. She had once been Miss Elicia Nevins, of Earth, an agent of Kurii on 
Gor. Then, in Ar, a city from which once I had been banished, I had caught and 
enslaved her. In those compartments which had been her own in Ar she had become 
my capture, and had been stripped and placed in my bonds. In her own 
compartments, then, at my leisure, I had branded her and locked on her fair 
throat the gleaming, inflexible circlet of bondage. Before the fall of darkness, 
and my escape, I had had time, too, to pierce her ears, that the full degree of 
her degradation and slavery, in the Gorean way of thinking, be made most clear.
To Gorean eyes the piercing of the ears, this visible set of wounds, inflicted 
to facilitate the mounting of sensual and barbaric ornamentations, is 
customarily regarded as being tantamount, for most practical purposes, to a 
sentence of irrevocable bondage. Normally ear- piercing is done only to the 
lowest and most sensuous of slaves. It is regarded, by most Goreans, as being 
far more humiliating and degrading to a woman than the piercing of a girls 
septum and the consequent fastening on her of a nose ring. Indeed, such an 
aperture does not even show. Some slave girls, of course, are fixed for both. 
Their masters, thus, have the option of ornamenting their lovely properties as 
they please. It might be mentioned that nose rings are favored in some areas 
more than in others, and by some peoples more than others. On behalf of the nose 
ring, too, it should be mentioned that among the Wagon Peoples, even free women 
wear such rings. This, however, is unusual on Gor. The nose ring, most often, is 
worn by a slave.
These rings, incidentally, those for the ears and for the nose, do not serve 
simply to bedeck the female. They also have a role to play in her arousal. The 
brushing of the sides of the girls neck by the dangling ornament is, in itself, 
a delicate stimulation of a sensitive area of her body, the sides of her neck 
beneath the ears; this area is quite sensitive to light touches; if the earring 
is of more than one piece, the tiny sounds made by it, too, can also be 
stimulatory; accordingly, the earrings feel and movement, and caress, and 
sometimes sound, persistent, subtle and sensual, functioning on both a conscious 
and subliminate level, can often bring a female to, and often keep her 
indefinitely in, a state of incipient sexual readiness. It is easy to see why 
free women on Gor do not wear them, and why they are, commonly, only put on low 
slaves. Similar remarks hold, too, of course, for the nose ring, which touches, 
lightly, the very sensitive area of a girls upper lip. The nose ring, too, of 
course, makes clear to the girl that she is a domestic animal. Many domestic 
animals on Gor wear them.
The girl kneeling before me, once Elicia Nevins, once the lofty, beautiful and 
proud agent of Kurii, now only my lovely slave, reached for my sandals. She 
pressed them to her lips, kissing them, and then, head down, began to tie them 
on my feet. She was quite beautiful, kneeling before me, performing this lowly 
task, the heavy iron collar and chain on her neck.
I wondered what the emissary of Samos might wish.
Your sandals are tied, Master, said the girl, lifting her, head, kneeling 
back.
I regarded her. It is pleasant to own a woman.
Of what are you thinking, Master? she asked.
I was thinking, I said, of the first time that I put you to my pleasure. Do 
you recall it?
Yes, Master, she said. I have never forgotten. And it was not only the first 
time that you put me to your pleasure. It was the first time that any man had 
put me to his pleasure.
As I recall, I said, you yielded well, for a new slave.
Thank you, Master, she said. And while you were waiting for darkness, to 
escape the city, whiling away the time, you made me yield again and again.
Yes, I said. I had then, after the fall of darkness, deeming it then 
reasonably safe, bound her naked, belly up, over the saddle of my tarn and, 
eluding patrols, escaped from the city. I had brought her back to Port Kar, 
where I had thrown her, a bound slave, to the feet of Samos. He had had her put 
in one of his girl dungeons, where we had interrogated her. We had learned much. 
After she had been emptied of information she might then be bound naked and 
thrown to the urts in the canals, or, perhaps, if we wished, kept as a slave. 
She was comely. I had had her hooded and brought to my house. When she was 
unhooded she found herself at my feet.
Are you grateful that you were spared? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said, and particularly that you have seen fit to keep me, if 
only for a time, as your own slave.
Nothing so fulfills a woman as her own slavery.
After I had used her, I had put her with my other women. Most of these are 
available to my men, as well as to myself.
A girl is grateful, she said, that this night you had her chained to your 
slave ring.
Who is grateful? I asked.
Elicia is grateful, she said.
Who is Elicia? I asked.
I am Elicia, she said. That is the name my Master has seen fit to give me.
I smiled. Slaves, no more than other animals, do not have names in their own 
right. They are named by the Master. She wore her former name, but now only as a 
slave name, and by my decision.
I stood up, and drew about me one of the furs from the couch. I went to the side 
of the room and, with a belt, belted the fur about me. Also, from the wall, from 
its peg, I took down the scabbard with its sheathed short sword. I removed the 
blade from the scabbard and wiped it on the fur I had belted about me. I then 
reinserted the blade in the scabbard. The blade is wiped to remove moisture from 
it. Most Gorean scabbards are not moisture proof, as this would entail either 
too close a fit for the blade or an impeding flap. I slung the scabbard strap 
over my left shoulder, in the Gorean fashion. In this way the scabbard, the 
blade once drawn, may be discarded, with its strap, which accouterments, 
otherwise, might constitute an encumbrance in combat. On marches, incidentally 
and in certain other contexts, the strap, which is adjustable, is usually put 
over the right shoulder. This minimizes slippage in common and recurrent motion. 
In both cases, of course, for a right-handed individual, the scabbard is at the 
left hip, facilitating the convenient and swift across-the-body draw.
I then went again to the side of the fur-strewn, great stone couch, at the side 
of which, on the, tiles, chained by the neck, knelt the beautiful slave.
I stood before her.
She lowered herself to her belly and, holding my ankles gently with her hands, 
covered my feet with kisses. Her lips, and her tongue, were warm and wet.
I love you, my Master, she said, and I am yours.
I stepped back from her. Go to the foot of the couch, I told her, and curl 
there.
Yes, Master, she said. She then, on her hands and knees, crawled to the foot 
of the couch and, drawing up her legs, curled there on the cold tiles.
When I went to the door, I stopped and looked back, once, at her. She, curled 
there on the cold, damp tiles, at the foot of the couch, the chain on her neck, 
regarded me.
The only light in the room was from the tiny tharlarion-oil lamp which, earlier, 
Thurnock had placed on the shelf near the door.
I love you, my Master, she said, and I am yours.
I then turned about and left the room. In a few Ahn, near dawn, men would come 
to the room and free her, and then, later, put her to work with the other women.
How many are there? I asked Samos.
Two, he said.
Are they alive? I asked.
Yes, he said.
This seems an unpropitious place for a meeting, I said. We were in the remains 
of a half-fallen, ruined tarn complex, built on a wide platform, at the edge of 
the rence marshes, some four pasangs from the northeast delta gate of Port Kar. 
In climbing to the platform, and in traversing it, the guards with us, who had 
now remained outside, had, with the butts of their spears, prodded more than one 
sinuous tharlarion from the boards, the creature then plunging angrily, hissing, 
into the marsh. The complex consisted of a tarn cot, now muchly open to the sky, 
with an anterior building to house supplies and tam keepers. It had been 
abandoned for years. We were now within the anterior building. Through the 
ruined roof, between unshielded beams, I could see patches of the night sky of 
Gor, and one of her three moons. Ahead, where a wall had mostly fallen, I could 
see the remains of the large tarn cot. At one time it had been a huge, convex, 
cage like lacing of mighty branches, lashed together, a high dome of fastened, 
interwoven wood, but now, after years of disrepair, and the pelting of rains and 
the tearings of winds, little remained of this once impressive and intricate 
structure but the skeletal, arched remnants of its lower portions.
I do not care for this place, I said.
It suits them, said Samos.
It is too dark, I said, and the opportunities for surprise and ambush are too 
abundant.
It suits them, said Samos.
Doubtless, I said.
I think we are in little danger, he said. Too, guards are about.
Could we not have met in your holding? I asked.
Surely you could not expect such things to move easily about among men? asked 
Samos.
No, I granted him.
I wonder if they know we are here, said Samos.
If they are alive, I said, they will know.
Perhaps, said Samos.
What is the purpose of this parley? I asked.
I do not know, said Samos.
Surely it is unusual for such things to confer with men, I said.
True, granted Samos. He looked about himself, at the dilapidated, ramshackle 
building. He, too, did not care overly much for his surroundings.
What can they want? I wondered.
I do not know, said Samos.
They must, for some reason, want the help of men, I speculated.
That seems incredible, said Samos.
True, I said.
Could it be, asked Samos, that they have come to sue for peace?
No, I said.
How can you know that? asked Samos.
They are too much like men, I said.
I shall light the lantern, said Samos. He crouched down and extracted a tiny 
fire-maker from his pouch, a small device containing a tiny reservoir of 
tharlarion oil, with a tharlarion-oil-impregnated wick, to be ignited by a 
spark, this generated from the contact of a small, ratcheted steel wheel, spun 
by a looped thumb handle, with a flint splinter.
Need this meeting have been so secret? I asked.
Yes, said Samos.
We had come to this place, through the northeast delta gate, in a squarish, 
enclosed barge. It was only through slatted windows that I had been able to 
follow our passage. Any outside the barge, on the walkways along the canals, for 
example, could not have viewed its occupants. Such barges, though with the slats 
locked shut, are sometimes used in the transportation of female slaves, that 
they may not know where in the city they are, or where they are being taken. A 
similar result is obtained, usually, more simply, in an open boat, the girls 
being hooded and bound hand and foot, and then being thrown between the feet of 
the rowers.
I heard the tiny wheel scratch at the flint. I did not take my eyes from the 
things at the far end of the room, on the floor, half hidden by a large table, 
the area open behind them leading to the ruined tarn cot. It is not wise to look 
away from such things, if they are in the vicinity, or to turn ones back upon 
them. I did not know if they were asleep or not. I guessed that they were not. 
My hand rested on the hilt of my sword. Such things, I had reason to know, could 
move with surprising speed.
The wick of the fire-maker was now aflame. Samos, carefully, held the tiny flame 
to the wick of the now-unshuttered dark lantern. It, too, burned tharlarion oil.
I was confident now, in the additional light, that the things were not asleep. 
When the light had been struck, with the tiny noise, from the steel and flint, 
which would have been quite obvious to them, given the unusual degree of their 
auditory acuity, there had been only the slightest of muscular contractions. Had 
they been startled out of sleep, the reaction, I was confident, would have been 
far more noticeable. I had little doubt they were, and had been, from the first, 
clearly and exactly aware of our presence.
The fewer who know of the warrings of worlds, the better, said Samos. Little 
is to be served by alarming an unready populace. Even the guards outside do not 
understand, clearly, on what business we have come here. Besides, if one had not 
seen such things, who would believe stories as to their existence? They would be 
regarded as mythical or stories of wondrous animals, such as the horse, the dog 
and griffin.
I smiled. Horses and dogs did not exist on Gor. Goreans, on the whole, knew them 
only from legends, which, I had little doubt, owed their origins to forgotten 
times, to memories brought long ago to Gor from another world. Such stories, for 
they were very old on Gor, probably go back thousands of years, dating from the 
times of very early Voyages of Acquisition, undertaken by venturesome, 
inquisitive creatures of an alien species, one known to most Goreans only as the 
Priest-Kings. To be sure, few Priest-Kings, now, entertained such a curiosity 
nor such an enthusiastic penchant for exploration and adventure. Now, the 
Priest-Kings had be- come old. I think that perhaps one is old only when one has 
lost the desire to know. Not until one has lost ones curiosity, and concern, can 
one be said to be truly old.
I had two friends, in particular, who were Priest-Kings, Misk, and Kusk. I did 
not think that they, in this sense, could ever grow old. But they were only two, 
two of a handful of survivors of a once mighty race, that of the lofty and 
golden Priest-Kings. To be sure, I had managed, long ago, to return the last 
female egg of Priest-Kings to the Nest. Too, among the survivors, protected from 
assassination by the preceding generation, there had been a young male. But I 
had never learned what had occurred in the Nest after the return of the egg. I 
did not know if it had been viable, or if the male had been suitable. I did not 
know if it had hatched or not. I did not know if, in the Nest, a new Mother now 
reigned or not. If this were the case I did not know the fate of the older 
generation, nor the nature of the new. Would the new generation be as aware of 
the dangers in which it stood, as had been the last? Would the new generation 
understand, as well as had the last, the kind of things that, gigantic, shaggy 
and dark, intertwined, lay a few feet before me now? I think you are right, 
Samos, I said.
He lifted the lantern now, its shutters open.
We viewed the things before us.
They will move slowly, I said, that they may not startle us. I think that we, 
too, should do the same.
Agreed, said Samos.
There are tarns in the tarn cot, I said. I had just seen one move, and the 
glint of moonlight off a long, scimitar like beak. I then saw it lift its wings, 
opening and shutting them twice. I had not detected them earlier in the shadows.
Two, said Samos. They are their mounts.
Shall we approach the table? I asked.
Yes, said Samos.
Slowly, I said.
Yes, said Samos.
We then, very slowly, approached the table. Then we stood before it. I could see 
now, in the light of the lantern, that the fur of one of the creatures was a 
darkish brown, and the fur of the other was almost black. The most common color 
in such things is dark brown. They were large. As they lay, together, the crest 
of that heap, that living mound, marked by the backbone of one of them, was a 
few inches higher than the surface of the table. I could not see the heads. The 
feet and hands, too, were hidden. I could not, if I had wished, because of the 
table, have easily drawn the blade and struck at them. I suspected that the 
position they had taken was not an accident. Too, of course, from my point of 
view, I was not displeased to have the heavy table where it was. I would not 
have minded, in fact, had it been even wider. One tends to be most comfortable 
with such things, generally, when they are in close chains, with inch-thick 
links, or behind close-set bars, some three inches in diameter.
Samos set the lantern down on the table. We then stood there, not moving.
What is to be done? asked Samos.
I do not know, I said. I was sweating. I could sense my heart beating. My 
right hand, across my body, was on the hilt of my sword. My left hand steadied 
the sheath.
Perhaps they are sleeping, whispered Samos.
No, I said.
They do not signal their recognition of our presence, said Samos.
They are aware we are here, I said.
What shall we do? asked Samos. Shall I touch one?
Do not, I whispered, tensely. An unexpected touch can trigger the attack 
reflex.
Samos drew back his hand.
Too, I said, Such things are proud, vain creatures. They seldom welcome the 
touch of a human. The enraged and bloody dismemberment of the offender often 
follows upon even an inadvertent slight in this particular.
Pleasant fellows, said Samos.
They, too, I said, Like all rational creatures have their sense of propriety 
and etiquette.
How can you regard them as rational? asked Samos.
Obviously their intelligence, and their cunning, qualifies them as rational, I 
said. It might interest you to know that, from their point of view, they 
commonly regard humans as sub rational, as an inferior species, and, indeed, one 
they commonly think of in terms little other than of food.
Why, then, asked Samos, would they wish this parley?
I do not know, I said. That is, to me, a very fascinating aspect of this 
mornings dark business.
They do not greet us, said Samos, irritably. He was, after all, an agent of 
Priest-Kings, and, indeed, the first captain of the council of captains, that 
body sovereign in the affairs of Port Kar.
No, I said.
What shall we do? he asked.
Wait, I suggested.
We heard, outside, the screaming of a predatory ul, a gigantic, toothed, winged 
lizard, soaring over the marshes.
How was this rendezvous arranged? I asked.
My original contact was made by a pointed, weighted message cylinder, found 
upright two days ago in the dirt of my mens exercise yard, said Samos. 
Doubtless it was dropped there at night, by someone on tarnback.
By one of them? I asked.
That seems unlikely, said Samos, over the city.
Yes, I said.
They have their human confederates, he said.
Yes, I said. I had, in my adventures on Gor, met several of the confederates 
of such creatures, both male and female. The females, invariably, had been quite 
beautiful. I had little doubt that they had been selected, ultimately, with the 
collar in mind, that they might, when they had served their purposes, be reduced 
to bondage. Doubtless this projected aspect of their utility was not made clear 
to them in their recruitment. She who had once been Miss Elicia Nevins, now the 
slave Elicia in my holding, chained now nude by the neck to my slave ring, had 
been such a girl. Now, however, instead of finding herself the slave of one of 
her allies, or being simply disposed of in a slave market, she found herself the 
slave of one of her former enemies. That, I thought, particularly on Gor, would 
give her slavery a peculiarly intimate and terrifying flavor. It was an Ahn or 
so until dawn now. Soon, doubtless, she would be released from the ring. She 
would be supervised in relieving and washing herself. Then she would be put with 
my other women. She then, like the others, after having been issued her slave 
gruel, and after having finished it, and washed the wooden bowl, would be 
assigned her chores for the day.
We heard, again, the screaming of the ul outside the building. The tarns in the 
tarn cot moved about. The ul will not attack a tarn. The tarn could tear it to 
pieces.
We have been foolish, I said to Samos.
How so? asked Samos.
Surely the protocols in such a matter, from the point of view of our friends, 
must be reasonably clear.
I do not understand, said Samos.
Put yourself in their place, I said. They are larger and stronger than we, 
and quite possibly more ferocious and vicious. Too, they regard themselves as 
more intelligent than ourselves, and as being a dominant species.
So? asked Samos.
So, said I, naturally they expect not to address us first, but to be first 
addressed.
I, asked Samos, first speak to such as they, I, who am first captain in the 
high city of Port Kar, jewel of gleaming Thassa?
Correct, I said.
Never, said he.
Do you wish me to do so? I asked.
No, said Samos.
Then speak first, I said.
We shall withdraw, said Samos, angrily.
If I were you, I said, I do not think I would risk displeasing them.
Do you think they would be angry? he asked.
I expect so, I said. I do not imagine they would care to have been 
fruitlessly inconvenienced by human beings.
Perhaps I should speak first, said Samos.
I would recommend it, I said.
They it is, after all, said he, who have called this meeting.
True, I encouraged him. Also, it would be deplorable, would it not, to be 
torn to pieces without even having discovered what was on their minds?
Doubtless, said Samos, grimly.
I can be persuasive, I admitted.
Yes, agreed Samos.
Samos cleared his throat. He was not much pleased to speak first, but he would 
do it. Like many slavers and pirates, Samos was, basically, a good fellow.
Tal, said Samos, clearly, obviously addressing this greeting to our shaggy 
confreres. Tal, large friends.
We saw the fur move, gigantic muscles slowly, evenly, beginning to stir beneath 
it. As they had lain it would have been difficult to detect, or strike, a vital 
area. Sinuously, slowly, the two creatures separated and then, slowly, seemed to 
rise and grow before us. Samos and I stepped back. Their heads and arms were now 
visible. The light reflected back, suddenly, eccentrically, from the two large 
eyes of one of them. For an instant they blazed, like red-hot copper disks, like 
those of a wolf or coyote at the perimeter of a fire lit camp.
I could now, the angle of the lighting being different, see them, blinking, as 
the large, deep orbs they were. I could see the pupils contracting. Such 
creatures are primarily nocturnal. Their night vision is far superior to that of 
the human. Their accommodation to shifting light conditions is also much more 
rapid than is that of the human. These things have been selected for in their 
bloody species. When the eyes of the creature had reflected back the light, the 
light, too, had suddenly reflected back from its fangs, and I had seen, too, the 
long, dark tongue move about on the lips, and then draw back into the mouth.
The creatures seemed to continue to grow before us. Then they stood erect before 
us. Their hind legs, some eight to ten inches in width, are proportionately 
shorter than their arms, which tend to be some eight inches in width at the 
biceps and some five inches, or so, in width at the wrist. Standing as they 
were, upright, the larger of the two creatures was some nine feet tall, and the 
smaller some eight and a half feet tall. I conjecture the larger weighed about 
nine hundred pounds and the smaller about eight hundred and fifty pounds. These 
are approximately average heights and weights for this type of creature. Their 
hands and feet are six digited, tentacle like and multiply jointed. The nails, 
or claws, on the hands, are usually filed, presumably to facilitate the 
manipulation of tools and instrumentation. The claws, retractable, on the feet 
are commonly left unfiled. A common killing method for the creature is to seize 
the victim about the head or shoulders, usually with the teeth, and, raking, to 
disembowel it with the tearing of the clawed hind feet. Other common methods are 
to hold the victim and tear away the throat from between the head and body, or 
to bite away the head itself.
Tal, repeated Samos, uneasily.
I looked across the table at the creatures. I saw intelligence in their eyes.
Tal, repeated Samos.
Their heads were better than a foot in width. Their snouts were two-nostriled, 
fattish and leathery. Their ears were large, wide and pointed. They were now 
erected and oriented towards us. This pleased me, as it indicated they had no 
immediate intention of attacking. When such a creature attacks the ears flatten 
against the sides of the head, this having the apparent function of reducing 
their susceptibility to injury. This is a common feature of predatory 
carnivores.
They do not respond, said Samos.
I did not take my eyes from the creatures. I shrugged. Let us wait, I said. I 
was uncertain as to what alien protocols the creatures might expect us to 
observe.

The creatures stood upright now but they could function as well on all fours, 
using the hind legs and the knuckles of the hands. The upright carriage 
increases scanning range, and has probably contributed to the development and 
refinement of binocular vision. The horizontal carriage permits great speed, and 
has probably contributed, via natural selections, to the development of 
olfactory and auditory acuity. In running, such creatures almost invariably, 
like the baboon, have recourse to all fours. They will normally drop to all 
fours in charging, as well, the increased speed increasing the impact of their 
strike.
One is a Blood, I said.
What is that? asked Samos.
In their military organizations, I said, six such beasts constitute a Hand, 
and its leader is called an Eye. Two hands and two eyes constitute a larger 
unit, called a Kur or Beast, which is commanded by a leader, or Blood. 
Twelve such units constitute a Band, commanded again by a Blood, though of 
higher rank. Twelve bands, again commanded by a Blood, of yet higher rank, 
constitute a March. Twelve Marches is said to constitute a People. These 
divisors and multiples have to do with, it seems, a base-twelve mathematics, 
itself perhaps indexed historically to the six digits of one of the creatures 
prehensile appendages.
Why is the leader spoken of as a Blood? asked Samos.
It seems to have been an ancient belief among such creatures, I said, that 
thought was a function of the blood, rather than of the brain, a terminology 
which has apparently lingered in their common speech. Similar anachronisms occur 
in many languages, including Gorean.
Who commands a People? asked Samos.
One who is said to be a Blood of the People, as I understand it, I said.
How do you know that one of these is a Blood, asked Samos.
The left wrist of the larger animal bears two rings, rings of reddish alloy, I 
said. They are welded on the wrist. No Gorean file can cut them.
He is then of high rank? asked Samos.
Of lower rank than if he wore one, I said. Two such rings designate the 
leader of a Band. He would have a ranking, thusly, of the sort normally accorded 
to one who commanded one hundred and eighty of his fellows.
He is analogous to a captain, said Samos.
Yes, I said.
But not a high captain, said Samos.
No, I said.
If he is a Blood, then he is almost certainly of the steel ships, said Samos.
Yes, I said.
The other, said Samos, wears two golden rings in its ears.
It is a vain beast, I said. Such rings serve only as ornaments. It is 
possible he is a diplomat.
The larger beast seems clearly dominant, said Samos.
It is a Blood, I said.
There was a broad leather strap, too, running from the right shoulder to the 
left hip of the smaller of the two creatures. I could not see what accouterment 
it bore.
We have greeted them, said Samos. Why do they not speak?
Obviously we must not yet have greeted them properly, I said.
How long do you think they will remain tolerant of our ignorance? asked Samos.
I do not know, I said. Such creatures are not noted for their patience.
Do you think they will try to kill us? asked Samos.
They have already had ample opportunity to attempt to do so, if that were their 
intention, I said.
I do not know what to do, said Samos.
The occasion is formal, and we are dealing with a Blood, I said, One 
doubtless from the steel ships themselves. I think I have it.
What do you recommended? asked Samos.
How many times have you proffered greetings to them? I asked.
Samos thought, briefly. Four, he said. Tal was said to them four times.
Yes, I said. Now, if one of these beasts were to touch the hand, or paw, of 
another, the hand, or paw, of each being open, indicating that weapons were not 
held, that the touch was in peace, at how many points would contact be made?
At six, said Samos.
Such creatures do not care, usually, to be touched by humans, I said. The 
human analogy to such a greeting then might be six similar vocal signals. At any 
rate, be that as it may, I think the number six is of importance in this 
matter.
Samos then held up his left hand. Slowly, not speaking, he pointed in succession 
to four fingers. He then held the small finger of his left hand in his right 
hand. Tal he said. Then he held up the index finger of his right hand. Tal, 
he said again.
Then, slowly, the smaller of the two creatures began to move. I felt goose 
pimples. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
It turned about and bent down, and picked up a large shield, of a sort adequate 
for such a creature. It lifted this before us, displaying it, horizontally, 
convex side down. We could see that the shield straps were in order. It then 
placed the shield on the floor, to the side of the table, to their left. It then 
went back and again bent down. This time it brought forth a mighty spear, some 
twelve feet in length, with a long, tapering bronze head. This, with two hands, 
holding it horizontally, across its body, it also displayed, lifting it 
ceremoniously upwards and towards us, and then drawing it back. It then put the 
spear down, laying it on the floor, to their left. The shaft of the spear was 
some three inches in diameter. The bronze head might have weighed some twenty 
pounds.
They honor us, said Samos.
As we did them, I said.
The symbolism of the creatures action, the lifting of weapons, and then the 
setting aside of them, was clear. This action also, of course, was in accord 
with the common Gorean convention in proposing a truce. That the creatures had 
seen fit to utilize this convention, one of humans, was clear. I found this a 
welcome accommodation on their part. They seemed concerned to be congenial. I 
wondered what they wanted. To be sure, however, it was only the lighter colored, 
and smaller, of the two creatures, that with rings in its ears, which had 
performed these actions. It might, indeed, be, for most practical purposes, a 
diplomat. The larger creature, the Blood, had stood by, unmoving. Yet clearly 
these actions had been performed in its presence. This, then, was sufficient 
evidence of their acceptance on its part. I noted, the sort of thing a warrior 
notes, that the spear had been placed to their left, and that its head, too, was 
oriented to their left. It was thus placed, and oriented, in such a way that the 
Blood, which stood on the left, from their point of view, if it favored the 
right hand, or paw, as most such creatures do, rather like humans, could easily 
bend down and seize it up.
I see they have not come to surrender, said Samos.
No, I said. The shield straps, which had been displayed to us with the shield, 
the shield held convex side down, bad not been torn away or cut, which would 
have rendered the shield useless. Similarly the shaft of the spear had not been 
broken. They had not come to surrender.
The lips of the smaller of the two creatures drew back, exposing the fangs. 
Samos stepped back. His hand went to the hilt of his sword.
No, I said to him, quietly. It is trying to imitate a human smile.
The creature then detached, from the broad strap, which hung diagonally about 
its body, from its right shoulder to the left hip, an instrumented, metallic, 
oblong, boxlike device, which it placed on the table.
It is a translator, I said to Samos. I had seen one in a complex; some years 
earlier, in the north.
I do not trust such creatures, said Samos.
Some of them specially trained, I said, can understand Gorean.
Oh, said Samos.
The smaller of the two creatures turned to the larger. It said something to him. 
The speech of such creatures resembles a succession of snarls, growls, rasps and 
throaty vibrations. The noises emitted are clearly animal noises, and, indeed, 
such as might naturally be associated with a large and powerful, predatory 
carnivore; yet, on the other hand, there is a liquidity, and a precision and 
subtlety about them which is unmistakable; one realizes, often uneasily, that 
what one is listening to is a language.
The larger one inclined its huge, shaggy head, and then lifted it. The tips of 
two long, curved fangs, in the position of the upper canines, protruded slightly 
from its closed mouth. It watched us.
The smaller of the two creatures then busied itself with the device on the 
table.
Lowering the head is an almost universal assent gesture, in dictating submission 
to, or agreement with, the other. The dissent gesture, on the other hand, shows 
much greater variety. Shaking the head sideways, among rational creatures, may 
be taken as a negation of assent. Other forms of the nonassent gesture can be 
turning the head away from the other, sometimes with a gesture of the lips, 
indicating distaste, or even of ejecting an unwanted. Substance from the mouth, 
backing away, or lifting the head and extending the neck, sometimes baring the 
fangs and tensing the body, as in a variation on the bristling response.
To be sure, I said, it is extremely difficult for them to speak Gorean, or 
another human language. It was difficult for them, of course, given the nature 
of their oral cavity, throat, tongue, lips and teeth, to produce human phonemes. 
They can, however, sometimes in a horrifying way, approximate them. I shuddered. 
I had, once or twice, heard such creatures speaking Gorean. It had been 
disconcerting to hear human speech, or something resembling human speech, 
emanating from such a source. I was just as pleased that we had a translator at 
our disposal.
Look, said Samos.
I see, I said.
A small, conical, red light began to glow on the top of the machine.
The slighter of the two monsters then drew itself up. It began to speak.
We understood, initially, of course, nothing of what it said. We listened to it, 
not moving, in the dim, pale-yellowish, flickering light of the unshuttered dark 
lantern, amidst the dark, dancing shadows in that abandoned tam complex.
I remember noting the glinting of the golden rings in its ears, and the 
moistness of saliva about its dark lips and on its fangs.
I am Kog, came from the translator. I am below the rings. With me is Sardak, 
who is within the rings. I speak on behalf of the Peoples, and the chieftains of 
the Peoples, those who stand above the rings. I bring you greetings from the 
Dominants, and from the Conceivers and Carriers. No greetings do I bring you 
from those unworthy of the rings, from the discounted ones, the unnamed and 
craven ones. Similarly no greetings do I bring you from our domestic animals, 
those who are human and otherwise. In short, honor do I do unto you, bringing 
you greetings from those who are entitled to extend greetings, and bringing you 
no greetings from those unworthy to give greetings. Thus, then, do I bring you 
greetings on behalf of the Peoples, on behalf of the ships, and the Steel 
Worlds. Thus, then, do I bring you greetings on behalf of the cliffs of the 
thousand tribes. These words, and word groups, came forth from the translator, 
following intervals between the creatures inputs. They are produced in a flat, 
mechanical fashion. The intonation contours, as well as meaningful tonal 
qualities, pitches and stresses, from which one can gather so much in living 
speech, unfortunately, tend to be absent or only randomly correlated in such a 
formal, desiccated output. Similarly the translation, it seems, is often 
imperfect, or, at least, awkward and choppy. Indeed, it takes a few moments 
before one can begin to follow the productions of such a machine coherently but, 
once this adjustment is made, there is little difficulty in comprehending the 
gist of what is being conveyed. In my presentation of the machines output I 
have, here and there, taken certain liberties. In particular I have liberalized 
certain phrasings and smoothed out various grammatical irregularities. On the 
other hand, given the fact that I am conveying this material in English, at two 
removes from the original, I think that the above translation and what follows, 
is not only reasonably adequate in a literal sense, but also conveys something, 
at least, of the flavor of the original. On the other hand, I do not claim to 
understand all aspects of the translation. For example, I am unclear on the ring 
structure and on the significance of the references to tribal cliffs.
I think, Samos, I said, You are expected to respond.
I am Samos, said Samos, and I thank you for your cordial and welcome 
salutations.
Fascinated, Samos and I listened to what was, with one exception, a succession 
of rumbling, throaty utterances emanating from the machine. The machine 
apparently accepted and registered Gorean phonemes, and then scanned the 
phonemic input for those phoneme combinations, which expressed Gorean cognitive 
units, or morphemes. In this way, morphemes, per se, or linguistic cognitive 
units, at least as comprehended units, do not occur in the machine. With a human 
translator sound is processed, and understood morphemically, which understanding 
is then reprocessed into the new phonemic structures. With the machine the 
correlation is simply between sound structures, simpliciter, and it is the 
auditor who supplies the understanding. To be sure, a linguistic talent of no 
mean degree is required to design and program such a device. We did hear one 
Gorean word in the translation. That was the name Samos. When the machine 
encounters a phoneme or phonemic combination, which is not correlated with a 
phoneme or phoneme combination in the new language it presents the original 
input as a portion of the new output. For example, if one were to utter nonsense 
syllables into the device the same nonsense syllables, unless an accident or a 
coincidence occurred, would be played back.
The creatures, then, heard the name of Samos. Whether they could pronounce it or 
not, or how close they could come to pronounce it, would depend on the sound and 
on the capacity of their own vocal apparatus. This is different; it should be 
noted, with the names of the two creatures, Kog and Sardak. These names were 
given in Gorean phonemes, not in the phonemes of the creatures own language. In 
this case, of course, this made it clear that these two names, at least, had 
been programmed into the machine. The machine, doubtless, had been altered to be 
of aid to two particular individuals in some particular mission. Presumably 
Samos and I could not have pronounced the actual names of the creatures. Kog 
and Sardak, however, doubtless correlated in some fashion, given some type of 
phonemic transcription found acceptable by the creatures, with their actual 
names. There was probably, at least, a syllabial correlation.
I bring you greetings, said Samos, from the Council of Captains, of Port Kar, 
Jewel of Gleaming Thassa.
I saw the lips of the two creatures draw back. 1, too, smiled. Samos was 
cautious, indeed. What would the Council of Captains know of such creatures, or 
of the warrings among worlds? He had not identified himself as being among the 
party of those forces arrayed against the ravaging, concupiscent imperialism of 
our savage colleagues. I myself, whereas I had served Priest-Kings, did not 
regard myself as being of their party. My lance, in such matters, so to speak, 
was free. I would choose my own wars, my own ventures.
I bring you greetings, too, said Samos, from the free men of Port Kar. I do 
not bring you greetings, of course, from those who are unworthy to greet you, 
for example, from our slaves, who are nothing, and who labor for us, and whom we 
use for our sport and pleasure.
Kog briefly inclined his head. I thought Samos had done rather well. Slaves on 
Gor are domestic animals, of course. A trained sleen in a sleen market will 
usually bring a higher price than even a beautiful girl sold naked in a slave 
market. This is doubtless a function of supply and demand. Beautiful female 
slaves are generally cheap on Gor, largely as a result of captures and 
breedings. It is not unusual, in most cities, for a prize tarsk to bring a 
higher price than a girl. The girls understand this, clearly, and it helps them 
to understand their place in the society.
I speak on behalf of the Peoples, on behalf of the Steel Worlds, said Kog.
Do you speak on behalf of all the Peoples, on behalf of all the Steel Worlds? 
asked Samos.
Yes, said Kog.
Do you speak on behalf of all of those of the Peoples, of all of those of the 
Steel Worlds? asked Samos. This, I thought, was an interesting question. It 
was, of course, subtly different from the preceding question. We knew that 
divisions as to tactics, if not ultimate objectives, existed among parties of 
such creatures. We had learned this in the Tahari.
Yes, said Kog, unhesitantly.
When Kog had made his response to the question I was, by intent, watching not 
him but the other of the two creatures. Yet I saw no flicker of doubt or 
uneasiness in his eyes, nor any incipient lifting of the broad ears. It did, 
however, draw its lips back slightly, observing my attention. It had apparently 
found my attempt to read its behavioral cues amusing.
Do you speak on behalf of Priest-Kings? asked Kog.
I cannot, said Samos.
That is interesting, said Kog.
If you would speak with Priest-Kings, said Samos, you must go to the Sardar.
What are Priest-Kings? asked Kog.
I do not know, said Samos.
Such creatures, I gathered, had no clear idea of the nature of Priest- Kings. 
They had not directly experienced Priest-Kings, only the power of Priest-Kings. 
Like burned animals they were wary of them. Priest- Kings, wisely, did not 
choose to directly confront such creatures. Not a little of the hesitancy and 
tentativeness of the militaristic incursions of such creatures was, I suspected, 
a function of their ignorance of, and fear of, the true nature and power of the 
remote and mysterious denizens of the Sardar. If such creatures should come to 
clearly understand the nature of the Priest-Kings, and the current restrictions 
on their power, in virtue of the catastrophic Nest War, I had little doubt but 
what the attack signals would be almost immediately transmitted to the steel 
worlds. In weeks the silver ships would beach on the shores of Gor.
We know the nature of Priest-Kings, said Kog. They are much like ourselves.
I do not know, said Samos.
They must be, said Kog, or they could not be a dominant life form.
Perhaps, said Samos. I do not know.
The larger of the two creatures, during this exchange, was watching me. I smiled 
at him. Its ears twitched with annoyance. Then again it was as it had been, 
regal, savage, distant, unmoving and alert.
Can you speak on behalf of the men of the two worlds? asked Kog. This was a 
reference, doubtless, to the Earth and, Gor.
No, said Samos.
But you are a man, said Kog.
I am only one man, said Samos.
Their race has not yet achieved species unification, said the larger of the 
two creatures, to his fellow. His remark, of course, was picked up by the 
translator and processed, as though it had been addressed to us.
That is true, said Kog. I wondered, hearing this, beasts, either, had achieved 
species unification. I was inclined to doubt it. Such creatures, being 
territorial, individualistic and aggressive, much like men, would not be likely 
to find the bland idealisms of more vegetative organisms interesting, attractive 
or practical, Logical, and terrible, they would not be likely to find the 
fallacy of the single virtue, the hypothesis of social reductivism, alluring.
All creatures are not the same, nor is it necessary that they should be. Jungles 
may be as appealing to nature as gardens. Leopards and wolves are as 
legitimately ingredient in the order of nature as spaniels and potatoes. Species 
unification, I suspected, would prove not to be a blessing, but a trap and a 
bane, a pathology and curse, a societal sanitarium in which the great and strong 
would be reduced to, or must pretend to be reduced to, the level of the 
blinking, the cringing, the creeping and the tiny. To be sure, values are 
involved here, and one must make decisions. It is natural that the small and 
weak will make one decision, and the large and strong another. There is no 
single humanity, no single shirt, no correct pair of shoes, no uniform, even a 
gray one that will fit all men. There are a thousand humanities possible. He who 
denies this sees only his own horizons. He who disagrees is the denier of 
difference, and the murderer of the better futures.
It is unfortunate, said Sardak, speaking to Kog, that they have not achieved 
species unification. Else, once the Priest-Kings are disposed of, it would be 
easier to herd them to our cattle pens.
That is true, said Kog.
What Sardak said seemed to me, too, likely to be true. Highly centralized 
structures are the most easily undermined and subverted. Cutting one strand of 
such a web can unravel a world. One hundred and eighty-three men once conquered 
an empire.
Can you speak on behalf of the Council of Captains, of Port Kar? asked Kog.
Only on matters having to do with Port Kar, and then after a decision of the 
council, taken after consultation, said Samos. This was not exactly correct, 
but it was substantially correct. It seemed to me a suitable answer, under the 
circumstances. The creatures, of course, would not be familiar with council 
procedures.
You do, however, have certain executive powers, do you not? inquired Kog. I 
admired the creatures. Clearly they had researched their mission.
Yes, said Samos, guardedly, but they are not likely to be involved in matters 
of the sort with which we are here likely to be concerned.
I understand, said Kog. On behalf of whom, then, do you speak?
I speak, said Samos, rather boldly I thought, on behalf of Samos, of Port 
Kar, on behalf of myself.
Kog snapped off the translator and turned to Sardak. They conversed for a moment 
in their own tongue. Kog then snapped the translator back on. This time, almost 
instantly, the small, conical red light began to glow.
It is sufficient, said Kog.
Samos stepped back a bit.
Kog turned away, then, to a leather tube and, with his large, furred, tentacle 
like digits, with their blunted claws, removed the cap from this tube.
I suspected that the two creatures did not believe Samos when he protested to 
them that he could speak only on behalf of himself. At the least they would be 
certain that he would be significantly involved in the affairs of Priest-Kings. 
They would seem to have little alternative, then, to dealing with him.
From the long, leather tube, Kog removed what appeared to be a large piece of 
closely rolled, soft-tanned hide. It was very light in color, almost white, and 
tied with string. There was a slight smell of smoke about it, probably from the 
smoke of the turl bush. Such hides may be waterproofed by suspending them from, 
and wrapping them about, a small tripod of sticks, this set over a small fire on 
which, to produce the desiderated smoke, the leaves and branches of the turl 
bush are heavily strewn.
Kog placed the roll of hide on the table. It was not rawhide, but soft-tanned 
hide, as I have suggested. In preparing rawhide the skin, suitably fleshed, is 
pegged down and dried in the wind and sun. The hide may then, without further 
ado, be worked and cut. This product, crude and tough, may be used for such 
things as shields, cases and ropes. Softening a hide, on the other hand, is a 
much more arduous task. In soft tanning, the fleshed hide must be saturated with 
fats, and with oils and grease, usually from the brains of animals. These are 
rubbed into the hide, and worked into it, usually with a soft flat stone. The 
hide is then sprinkled with warm water and tightly rolled, after which it is put 
aside, away from the sun and heat, for a few days. This gives the time necessary 
for the softening ingredients, such as the fats and oils, to fully penetrate the 
leather. The skin is then unrolled and by rubbing, kneading and stretching, 
hand-softened over a period of hours. The resulting product ranges from tan to 
creamy white, and may be worked and cut as easily as cloth.
You are familiar, are you not, asked Kog, with one known as Zarendargar?
Who is Zarendargar? asked Samos.
Let us not waste one anothers time, said Kog.
Samos turned white.
I was pleased that, outside, on the platform of this anterior building of the 
tarn complex, there were several guards. They were armed with crossbows. The 
iron bolts of these devices, weighing about a pound apiece, were capable of 
sinking some four inches into solid wood at a range of some twenty yards. To be 
sure, by the time the guards might be summoned into the building Samos and I 
might be half eaten.
Kog looked closely at Samos.
Zarendargar, said Samos, is a well-known commander of the steel worlds, a war 
general. He perished in the destruction of a supply complex in the arctic.
Zarendargar is alive, said Kog.
I was startled by this pronouncement. This seemed to me impossible. The 
destruction of the complex had been complete. I had witnessed this from pasangs 
across the ice in the arctic night. The complex would have been transformed into 
a radioactive inferno. Even the icy seas about it, in moments, had churned and 
boiled.
Zarendargar cannot be alive, I said. It was the first time I had spoken to the 
beasts. Perhaps I should not have but I had been in the vicinity of the event in 
question. I had seen the explosion. I had, even from afar, been half blinded by 
the light, and, moments later, half staggered by the sound, the blast and heat. 
The shape, height and awesomeness of that towering, expanding cloud was not 
something I would ever forget. Nothing could have lived in that blast, I said. 
Nor in the seas about it.
Kog looked at me.
I was there, I said.
We know, said Kog.
Zarendargar is dead, I said.
Kog then unrolled the hide on the table. He arranged it so that Samos and I 
could easily see it. The hair rose up on the back of my neck.
Are you familiar with this sort of thing? asked Kog of Samos.
No, said Samos.
I have seen things like it, I said, but only far away, on another world. I 
have seen things like it in places called museums. Such things are no longer 
done.
Does the skin seem to you old, asked Kog, faded, brittle, cracked, worn, 
thin, fragile?
No, I said.
Consider the colors, said Kog. Do they seem old to you? Do they seem faded to 
you?
No, I said. They are bright, and fresh.
Analysis, in virtue of desiccation index and molecular: disarrangement, 
suggests that this material, and its applied I pigments, are less than two years 
old. This hypothesis is corroborated by correlation data, in which this skin was 
compared to samples whose dating is known and independent historical evidence, 
the nature of which should be readily apparent.
Yes, I said. I knew that such beasts, on the steel worlds, possessed an 
advanced technology. I had little doubt but what their physical and chemical 
techniques were quite adequate to supply the dating in question to the skin and 
its paints. Too, of course, the nature of their historical evidence would be 
quite clear. To be sure, it would be historical data at their disposal, and not 
mine. I had no way of knowing the pertinent facts. That such beasts, on this 
world, carried primitive weapons was a tribute to their fear of Priest-Kings. 
Carrying such weapons they might be mistaken for beasts of their race who now, 
for all practical purposes, were native to Gor, beasts descended from 
individuals perhaps long ago marooned or stranded on the planet. Priest- Kings, 
on the, whole, tend to ignore such beasts. They are permitted to live, as they 
will, where they may, on Gor, following even their ancient laws and customs, 
providing these do not violate the Weapons Laws and Technology Restrictions. To 
be sure, such beasts usually, once separated from the discipline of the ships, 
in a generation or two, lapsed into barbarism. On the: whole they tended to 
occupy portions of Gor not inhabited by human beings. The Priest-Kings care for 
their world, but their primary interest is in its subsurface, not its surface. 
For most practical purposes life goes on on Gor much as though they did not 
exist. To be sure, they are concerned to maintain the natural ecosystems of the 
planet. They are wise, but even they hesitate to tamper with precise and subtle 
systems, which have taken over four billion years to develop. Who knows what 
course a dislodged molecule may take in a thousand years?
I looked at Kog and Sardak. Such creatures, perhaps thousands of years ago, had, 
it seemed, destroyed their own world. They now wanted another. The Priest-Kings, 
lofty and golden, remote, inoffensive and tolerant, were all, for most practical 
purposes, that stood between the Kogs and Sardaks, and the Earth and Gor.
This is, said Kog, to Samos, a story skin.
I understand, said Samos.
It is an artifact of the red savages, said Kog, from one of the tribes in the 
Barrens.
Yes, said Samos.
The Red Savages, as they are commonly called on Gor, are racially and culturally 
distinct from the Red Hunters of the north. They tend to be a more slender, 
longer-limbed people; their daughters menstruate earlier; and their babies are 
not born with a blue spot at the base of the spine, as in the case with most of 
the red hunters. Their culture tends to be nomadic, and is based on the 
herbivorous, lofty kaiila, substantially the same animal as is found in the 
Tahari, save for the wider footpads of the Tahari beast, suitable for 
negotiating deep sand, and the lumbering, gregarious, short-tempered, 
trident-homed kailiauk. To be sure, some tribes do not have the kaiila, never 
having mastered it, and certain tribes have mastered the tam, which tribes are 
the most dangerous of all.
Although there are numerous physical and cultural differences among these people 
they are usually collectively referred to as the red savages. This is presumably 
a function of so little being known about them, as a whole, and the cunning, 
ruthlessness and ferocity of so many of the tribes. They seem to live for 
hunting and internecine warfare, which seems to serve almost as a sport and a 
religion for them. Interestingly enough most of these tribes seem to be united 
only by a hatred of whites, which hatred, invariably, in a time of emergency or 
crisis, takes precedence over all customary con- and rivalries. To attack 
whites, intruding into their lands, once the war lance has been lifted, even 
long-term blood enemies will ride side by side. The gathering of tribes, friends 
and foes alike, for such a battle is said to be a splendid sight. These things 
are in virtue of what, among these peoples, is called the Memory.
The story begins here, said Kog, indicating the center of the skin. From this 
point there was initiated, in a slow spiral, to be followed by turning the skin, 
a series of drawings and pictographs. As the skin is turned each marking on it 
is at the center of attention, first, of course, of the artist, and, later, he 
follows the trail, of the viewer. The story, then, unanticipated, each event as 
real as any other, unfolds as it was lived.
In many respects, said Kog, this story is not untypical. These signs indicate 
a tribal camp. Because of the small number of lodges, this is a winter camp. We 
can also tell this from these dots, which represent snow.
I looked at the drawings. They were exactly, and colorfully done. They were, on 
the whole, small, and precise and delicate, like miniatures. The man who had 
applied the pigment to that hide canvas had been both patient and skillful. Too, 
he had been very careful. This care is often a feature of such works. To speak 
the truth is very important to the red savages.
This jagged line, said Kog, indicates that there is hung in the camp, the 
sawing feeling in the stomach. This man, whom we take to be the artist, and whom 
we shall call Two Feathers, because of the two feathers drawn near him, puts on 
snowshoes and leaves the camp. He takes with him a bow and arrows.
I watched Kog slowly turn the skin. The drawings are first traced on the skin 
with a sharp stick. Many of them are then outlined in black. The interior areas, 
thusly blocked out, may then be colored in. The primary pigments used were 
yellows, reds, browns and blacks. These are primarily obtained from powdered 
earths, clays and boiled roots. Blues can be obtained from blue mud, gant 
droppings and boiled rotten wood. Greens can be obtained from a variety of 
sources, in- earths, boiled rotten wood, copper ores and pond algae. The 
pigments, commonly mixed with hot water or glue, are usually applied by a chewed 
stick or a small brush, or pen, of porous bone, usually cut from the edge of the 
kailliauks shoulder blade or the end of its hip bone. Both of these bones 
contain honeycombed structures useful in the smooth application of paint.
This man travels for two days, said Kog, pointing to two yellow suns in the 
sky of the hide. On the third day he finds the track of a kailiauk. He follows 
this. He drinks melted snow, held in his mouth until it is warm. He eats dried 
meat. On the third day be builds no fire. We may gather from this he is now in 
the country of enemies. Toward the evening of the fourth day be sees more 
tracks. There are other hunters, mounted on kaiila, who, too, are following the 
kailiauk. It is difficult to determine their number, for they ride single file, 
that the prints of one beast may obscure and obliterate those of another. His 
heart is now heavy. Should he turn back? He does not know what to do. He must 
dream on the matter.
Surely, said Samos, it could be only a coincidence.
I do not think so, said Kog.
This hide, said Samos, could be nothing but the product of the crazed 
imagination of an ignorant savage. It might, too, be nothing more than the 
account of a strange dream.
The organization and clarity of the account suggests rationality, said Kog.
It is only the story of a dream, said Samos.
Perhaps, said Kog.
Such people do not distinguish clearly between dreams and reality, said Samos.
They distinguish clearly between them, said Kog. It is only that they regard 
both as real.
Please, continue, I said.
Here, in the dream, said Kog, indicating a series of pictographs which 
followed a small spiral line, we see that the kailiauk invites the man to a 
feast. This is presumably a favorable sign. At the feast, however, in the lodge 
of the kailliauk there is a dark guest. His lineaments are obscure, as you can 
see. The man is afraid. He senses great power in this dark guest. The kailiauk, 
however, tells the man not to be afraid. The man takes meat from the hands of 
the dark guest. It will be his ally and protector, the kailiauk tells him. He 
may take it for his medicine. The man awakens. He is very frightened. He is 
afraid of this strange medicine. The dream is strong, however, and he knows it 
cannot be repudiated. Henceforth he knows his medicine helper is the mysterious 
dark guest.
From where, asked Samos, does this man think he obtained this medicine 
helper?
Surely the man will think he obtained it from the medicine world, said Kog.
It seems an interesting anticipatory dream, I said.
Surely the dream is ambiguous, said Samos. See? The lineaments of the dark 
guest are unclear.
True, I said. Yet something of its size, and of its awesomeness, and force, 
particularly within a lodge, as evident.
You will also notice, said Kog, that it sits behind fire. That is the place 
of honor.
It could all be a coincidence, said Samos.
That is quite true, I said. Yet the matter is of interest.
The man may once have seen such things, or heard of them, and forgotten them.
That seems to me quite likely, I said.
But why, in the dream, in this dream, asked Samos, should the dark guest 
appear?
Possibly, I said, because of the mans plight and need. In such a situation a 
powerful helper might be desired. The dream, accordingly, might have produced 
one.
Of course, said Samos.
Considering the events of the next day, said Kog I think certain alternative 
explanations might be more likely. This is not, of course, to rule out that the 
man, in his quandary, and desperate straits, might not have welcomed a powerful 
ally.
What do you suggest? I asked.
That be, earlier, during the day, saw sign of the medicine helper, but only in 
the dream interpreted it.
I see, I said.
Even more plausibly, and interestingly, said Kog, I suspect that the dark 
guest, in that moonlit snow, actually appeared to the man. The man, hungry, 
exhausted, striving for the dream, betwixt sleeping and waking, not being fully 
aware of what was transpiring, saw it. He then incorporated, it into his dream, 
comprehending it within his own conceptual framework.
That is an interesting idea, I said.
But it is surely improbable that the paths of the man and the helper should 
cross in the vast, trackless wastes of the snowbound Barrens, said Samos.
Not if both were following the kailiauk, said Kog.
Why would the helper not have eaten the man? I asked.
Perhaps, said Kog, because it was bunting the kailiauk, not the man. Perhaps 
because if it killed a man, it was apprehensive that other men would follow it, 
to kill it in turn.
I see, I said.
Also, said Kog, kailiauk is better than man I know. I have eaten both.
I see, I said.
If the helper had visited the man, said Samos, Would there not have been 
prints in the snow?
Doubtless, said Kog.
Were there prints? asked Samos.
No, said Kog.
Then it was all a dream, said Samos.
Me absence of prints would be taken by the man as evidence that the helper came 
from the medicine world, said Kog.
Naturally  said Samos.
Accordingly the man would not look for them, said Kog.
It is your hypothesis, however, conjectured Samos, that such prints existed.
Of course, said Kog, which then, in the vicinity of the camp, were dusted 
away.
From the point of view of the man, then, said Samos, the dark guest would 
have come and gone with all the silence and mystery of a guest from the medicine 
world.
Yes, said Kog.
Interesting, said Samos.
What is perfectly clear, said Kog, is how the man viewed the situation, 
whether he was correct or not. Similarly clear, and undeniably so, are the 
events of the next day. These are unmistakably and unambiguously delineated. 
Kog then, with his dexterous, six- jointed, long digits, rotated the skin a 
quarter of a turn, continuing the story.
In the morning, said Kog, the man, inspired by his dream, resumed his hunt. A 
snow began to fall. I noted the dots between the flat plane of the earth and 
the semicircle of the sky. The tracks, with the snow, and the wind, became 
obscured. Still the man pressed on, knowing the direction of the kailiauk and 
following the natural geodesics of the land, such as might be followed by a 
slow-moving beast, pawing under the snow for roots or grass. He did not fear to 
lose the trail. Because of his dream he was undaunted. On snowshoes, of course, 
he could move faster through drifted snow than the kailiauk. Indeed, over long 
distances, in such snow, he could match the speed of the wading kaiila. Too, as 
you know, the kailiauk seldom moves at night.
The kailiauk in question, incidentally, is the kailiauk of the Barrens. It is a 
gigantic, dangerous beast, often standing from twenty to twenty- five hands at 
the shoulder and weighing as much as four thousand pounds. It is almost never 
hunted on foot except in deep snow, in which it is almost helpless. From 
kaiilaback, riding beside the stampeded animal, however, the skilled hunter can 
kill one with a- single arrow. He rides close to the animal, not a yard from its 
side, just outside the hooking range of the trident, to supplement the striking 
power of his small bow. At this range the arrow can sink in to the feathers. 
Ideally it strikes into the intestinal cavity behind the last rib, producing 
large-scale internal hemorrhaging he closely behind the left shoulder blade, 
thence piercing the eight-valved heart.
The hunting arrow, incidentally, has a long, tapering point, and this point is 
firmly fastened to the shaft. This makes it easier to withdraw the arrow from 
its target. The war arrow, on the other hand, uses an arrowhead whose base, is 
either angled backwards, forming barbs, or cut straight across, the result in 
both cases being to make the arrow difficult to extract from a wound. The head 
of the war arrow, too, is fastened less securely to the shaft than is that of 
the hunting arrow. The point thus, by intent, if the shaft is pulled out is 
likely to linger in the wound. Sometimes it is possible to thrust the arrow 
through the body, break off the point and then withdraw the shaft backwards. At 
other times if the point becomes dislodged in the body, it is common to seek it 
with a bone or greenwood probe, and then, when one has found it, attempt to work 
it free with a knife. There are cases where men have survived this. Much 
depends, of course, on the location of the point.
The heads of certain war arrows and hunting arrows differ, too, at least in the 
case of certain warriors, in an interesting way, with respect to the orientation 
of the plane of the point to the plane of the nock. In these war arrows, the 
Plane of the point is perpendicular to the plane of the nock. In level shooting, 
then, the plane of the point is roughly parallel to the ground. In these hunting 
arrows, on the other hand, the plane of the point is parallel to the plane of 
the nock. In level shooting, then, the plane of the point is roughly 
perpendicular to the ground. The reason for these different orientations is 
particularly telling at close range, before the arrow begins to turn in the air. 
The ribs of the kailiauk are vertical to the ground; the ribs of the human are 
horizontal to the ground.
The differing orientations may be done, of course, as much for reasons of felt 
propriety, or for medicine purposes, as for reasons of improving the efficiency 
of the missile. They may have some effect, of course, as I have suggested, at 
extremely close range. In this respect, however, it should be noted that most 
warriors use the parallel orientation with respect to both their war and hunting 
points. It is felt that this orientation improves sighting. This seems to me, 
too, to be the case. The parallel orientation, of course, would be more 
effective with kailiauk, which are usually shot at extremely close range, 
indeed, from so close that one might almost reach out and touch the beast. Also, 
of course, in close combat with humans, if one wishes, the perpendicular 
alignment may be simply produced; one need only turn the small bow.
Toward noon, said Kog, slowly turning the hide, we see that the weather has 
cleared. The wind has died down. The snow has stopped falling. The sun has 
emerged from Clouds. We may conjecture that the day is bright. A rise in 
temperature has apparently occurred as well. We see that the man has opened his 
widely sleeved hunting coat and removed his cap of fur.
I had not hitherto, before seeing this skin, said Samos realized that the 
savages wore such things.
They do, said Kog. The winters in the Barrens are severe, and one does not 
hunt in a robe.
Here, said Samos, the man is lying down.
He is surmounting a rise, said Kog. Surmounting it with care.
I nodded. It is seldom wise to silhouette oneself against the sky. A movement in 
such a plane is not difficult to detect. Similarly, before entering a terrain, 
it is sensible to subject it to some scrutiny. This work, whether done for 
tribal migrations or, war parties, is usually done by a scout or scouts. When a 
man travels alone, of course, he must be his own scout. Similarly it is common 
for lone travelers or small parties to avoid open spaces without cover, where 
this is possible, and where it is not possible, to cross them expeditiously. An 
occasional ruse used in crossing an open terrain, incidentally, is to throw a 
kailiauk robe over oneself and bend down over the back of ones kaiila. From a 
distance then, particularly if one holds in ones kaiila, one and ones mount 
may be mistaken for a single beast, a lone kailiauk.
Scouts are sometimes called sleen by the red savages. The sleen is Gors most 
efficient and tenacious tracker. They are often used to hunt slaves. Too, the 
scout, often, in most tribes, wears the pelt of a sleen. This pelt, like a 
garment, which is at one time both cowl and cape, covers both the head and back. 
It is perhaps felt that something of the sleens acuity and tenacity is thus 
imparted to the scout. Some scouts believe that they become, when donning this 
pelt, a sleen. This has to do with their beliefs as to the mysterious 
relationships which are thought to obtain between the world of reality and the 
medicine world, that, at times, these two worlds impinge on one another, and 
become one. To be sure, from a practical point of view, the pelt makes an 
excellent camouflage. It is easy, for example, to mistake a scout, on all fours, 
spying over a rise, for a wild sleen. Such animals are not uncommon in the 
Barrens. Their most common prey is tabuk.
And this, you see, said Kog, turning the hide, is what he saw on that bright 
and thawing morning.
It is what he said he saw, said Samos.
In the declivity below the rise there lay a slain kailiauk, dark in the snow. 
There could be no mistaking what, alert, huge, catlike, like a larl, crouched 
behind the kailiauk.
You see? asked Kog.
The dark guest, said Samos.
Clearly delineated, said Samos.
Yes, said Kog, seen clearly now, in its own form.
I could not speak.
Surely this is only the product of the imagination of the artist, said Samos.
Too, there are five riders of the kaiila, with kaiila lances, between the 
kailiauk and the dark guest, and the man.
These are the other hunters, those whose tracks were found, those who had also 
been following the kailiauk, said Samos.
Yes, said Kog.
The kaiila lance is used in hunting kailiauk as well as in mounted warfare. It 
is called the kaiila lance because it is designed to be used from kaiilaback. It 
is to be distinguished in particular from the longer, heavier tharlarion lance, 
designed for use from tharlarionback, and often used with a lance rest, and the 
smaller, thicker stabbing lances used by certain groups of pedestrian nomads. 
The kaiila lance takes, on the whole, two forms, the hunting lance and the war 
lance. Hunting lances are commonly longer, heavier and thicker than war lances. 
Too, they are often undecorated, save perhaps for a knot of the feathers of the 
yellow, long-winged, sharp-billed prairie fleer, or, as it is sometimes called, 
the maize bird, or corn bird, considered by the red savages to be generally the 
first bird to find food.
The point of the hunting lance is usually longer and narrower than that of the 
war lance, a function of the depth into which one must strike in order to find 
the heart of the kailliauk. The shafts of the kaiila lances are black, supple 
and strong; they are made of tem wood, a wood much favored on Gor for this type 
of purpose. Staves for the lances are cut in the late winter, when the sap is 
down. Such wood, in the long process of smoking and drying over the lodge fire, 
which consumes several weeks, seasoning the wood and killing any insects which 
might remain in it, seldom splits or cracks. Similarly, old- growth wood, or 
second-growth wood, which is tougher, is preferred over the fresher, less dense 
first-growth, or new-growth, wood.
After drying the shafts are rubbed with grease and straightened over the beat of 
a fire. Detailed trimming and shaping is accomplished with a small knife. A 
rubbing with sandstone supplies a smooth finish. The head, of metal, or of bone 
or stone, with sinew or rawhide, and also sometimes with metal trade rivets, is 
then mounted on the lance. Lastly, grips, and loops, and decorations, if 
desired, are added. The sinew and rawhide, before being bound on the lance, are 
soaked with hot water. The heated water releases a natural the water itself, of 
course, produces a natural shrinking and contraction in drying. The mounting, 
thus, is extremely solid and secure. The tarn lance, it might be mentioned, as 
is used by the red savages who have mastered the tarn, is, in size and shape, 
very similar to the kaiila lance. It differs primarily in being longer and more 
slender. These lances are used in a great variety of ways, but the most common 
method is to thrust ones wrist through the wrist loop, grasp the lance with the 
right hand, and anchor it beneath the right arm. This maximizes balance, control 
and impact. With the weight of a hurtling kaiila behind the thrust such a lance 
can be thrust through the body of a kailiauk. To be sure, the skillful hunter 
will strike no more deeply than is necessary, and his trained kaiila will slow 
its pace sufficiently to permit the kailiauk to draw its own body from the 
lance. This permits the lance to be used again and again in the same hunt.
Notice the manner in which the lances are held by the mounted hunters, said 
Kog.

The first one, said Samos, has his lance in the attack position.
He, then, will be the first to die, I said.
Of course, said Kog.
One of the other mounted hunters held his lance in his right hand, its butt 
resting on his thigh. From this position he could rapidly bring the lance to the 
attack position. He was, accordingly, the second fellow with whom the man must 
deal. A third mounted hunter held the lance across his body, it resting in the 
crook of his left arm. He was the third fellow to reckon with. The other two 
mounted hunters still wore their lances in their shoulder loops, slung across 
their back. They might be saved to last.
The man removes his bow from the fringed, beaded bow case, said Kog. He 
strings the bow. The bow, of course, is left unstrung until it is ready to be 
used. This conserves the resilience of the wood and the tightness and strength 
of the sinew string. From his quiver, said Kog, he extracts six arrows. Three 
he holds, with the bow, in his left hand. One he fits to the string. Two he 
holds in his mouth.
The first mounted hunter is prepared to attack, said Samos.
The man, on his snowshoes, descends the slope between himself and his enemies, 
said Kog, his arrow to the string.
The range and striking power of the small bow, while not negligible, do not 
compare with that of the peasant bow, or long bow. The red savage, accordingly, 
whenever possible, attempts to maximize the possibilities of an effective hit by 
decreasing the distance between himself and the target. This fits in, 
incidentally, with his glorification of close combat.
The most highly regarded battle exploit among most tribes, for which the highest 
honors are accorded, is not to kill an armed enemy but to touch or strike one 
with the open hand. The more danger and risk that is involved in a deed, on the 
Whole, the greater is the concomitant glory of accomplishing it. Killing the 
enemy, thus, in the heraldry of the red savages, ranks far beneath the besting 
of the enemy, and in a way that supposedly demonstrates ones greater prowess 
and courage. It is thus understandable that touching an armed enemy with the 
open hand counts among most tribes as a first coup. The second and third man to 
accomplish such a deed would then receive second coup and third coup. Killing an 
enemy with a bow and arrow from ambush, on the other hand, might be counted as 
only a fifth or seventh coup.
Needless to say, the counting of coup, which is reflected in the feathers and 
adornments to which one is entitled, is a matter of great importance to the red 
savages. Indeed, there are also, in many tribes, practical considerations, which 
also become involved in these matters. For example, it is unlikely that one can 
advance within a tribe, or become a leader or chieftain, unless one has 
frequently counted coup. Too, in many tribes many tribes, a man who has not 
counted coup is not permitted to mate. In other tribes, such a man, if he is 
over twenty-five, is permitted to mate, but he is not allowed to paint his 
mates face. Thus will her shame before the other women be made clear.
The institution of counting, or tallying, coup has several obvious effects on 
the structure and nature of the society of the red savages. In particular, it 
tends, on the whole, to arrange social hierarchies in such a way that the 
society is oriented toward aggressiveness and warfare, features, which tend to 
protect and preserve, in an almost natural harmony and balance, delicate 
relationships between food supplies, territories and populations. Viewed in this 
manner tribal warfare may be seen as an example of intraspecific aggression, 
with its attendant consequences in decentralizing and refining diverse 
populations. Too, if one regards these things as of any interest, the counting 
of coup and intertribal warfare lends color, excitement and zest to the lives of 
the red savages. They live in a world in which danger is not unknown. Surely 
they could live otherwise, but they have not chosen to do so. They live with the 
stars and the, winds, and the kaiila and kailiauk. They have not chosen to 
revere the fat-bellied, beer-drinking gods of more sedentary peoples. Too, of 
course, it should he noted that the counting of coup tends, statistically, to 
ensure that it is the stronger and healthier, the more alert, the more 
intelligent and sharper-sensed who will repro- duce themselves. This is in 
marked contrast to certain societies where it is the healthiest and finest who 
are sent off to war while the inferior and defective remain behind in safety, 
making money and multiplying themselves.
In most tribes, incidentally, a man who refuses to go on the warpath is put in 
womens clothes and given a womans name. He must then live as a woman. 
Henceforth he is referred to in the female gender. Needless to say, she is never 
permitted to mate. Sometimes she must even serve the members of a warrior 
society, as a captive female.
Interestingly enough, whites stand outside the coup structure. This is something 
that few of them will object to. It seems they are simply not regarded, on the 
whole, as being suitable foes, or foes worthy enough to stand within the coup 
structure. It is not that the red savages object to killing them. It is only 
that they do not take pride, commonly, in doing so.
Similarly a man of the high cities would not expect to be publicly rewarded for 
having speared a tarsk or slain an urt, Accordingly the red savage will seldom 
go out of his way to slay a white person; he commonly sees little profit in 
doing so; in killing such a person, he is not entitled to count coup.
The man, now, said Kog, is not fifty feet from the mounted hunters. In the 
soft snow he has descended the slope silently.
Surely the dark guest, as we may call him, that crouching behind the kailiauk, 
has seen him.
Of course, said Kog, but he has given no sign.
No sign, I said, which was read by the mounted hunters.
Yes, said Kog. His lips drew back, over his fangs. There are always signs. It 
is only a question of their delectability. They are as small, sometimes, as the 
dilation of a pupil.
The bow is drawn, said Kog.
The small bow has many advantages. High among these is the rapidity with which 
it may be drawn and fired. A skilled warrior, in the Gorean gravity, can fire 
ten arrows into the air, the last leaving the bow before the first has returned 
to the earth. No Gorean weapon can match it in its rate of fire. At close range 
it can be devastating. Two further advantages of the small bow that might be 
mentioned are its maneuverability and its capacity to be concealed, say beneath 
a robe. It can be easily swept from one side of the kaiila to the other. In this 
type of combat, incidentally, it is not unusual for the warrior to shield 
himself behind the body of his racing kaiila, and, circling the enemy, rise up, 
suddenly, to fire over the animals back or, sometimes, from beneath its neck: A 
heel over the animals back and a fist in its silken neck hair, or an arm thrust 
through a leather throat loop, provide the leverage needed for these feats.
To be sure, these folk are superb riders. A child is often put on kaiilaback, 
its tiny bands clutching the silken neck, before it can walk. Sometimes a strap 
dangles back for a few feet from the throat loop. This is to be seized by the 
warrior who may have been struck from his mount, either to recapture the beast 
or, using the strap, being pulled along, with the momentum of the racing steed, 
to vault again to its back. This strap, incidentally, is used more often in 
hunting than in warfare. It could be too easily grasped by an enemy on foot, 
with the result of perhaps impeding the movement of the kaiila or even causing 
it to twist and fall. Needless to say, it is extremely dangerous to fall from 
ones kaiila in hunting kailiauk, because one is often closely involved with 
numerous stampeding beasts, or the given beast one is pursuing may suddenly turn 
on one.
In hunting kailiauk the hunters usually scatter about, each selecting his own 
animals. Accordingly, ones fellows are seldom close at hand to rescue one. This 
is quite different from mounted warfare, where ones fellows are usually quite 
close and ready, in an instant, to sweep one up or help one to regain ones 
mount. The red savage does not take an industrial or arithmetical approach to 
warfare. He would rather rescue one comrade than slay ten of the enemy. This has 
to do with the fact that they are members of the same tribe and, usually, of the 
same warrior society. They will have known one another almost all of their 
lives; as children and boys they have played together and watched the kaiila 
herds in the summer camps together; they may even have shared in their first 
kailliauk hunt; now, as men, they have taken the warpath together; they are 
comrades, and friends; each is more precious to the other than even a thousand 
coups.
This explains some of the eccentricities of tribal warfare; first actual war 
parties, though common, are formed less often than parties for stealing kaiila; 
in this sport the object is to obtain as many kaiila as possible without, if 
possible, engaging the enemy at all; it is a splendid coup, for example, to cut 
a kaiila tether strap which is tied to the wrist of a sleeping enemy and make 
off with the animal before he awakens; killing a sleeping enemy is only a minor 
coup; besides, if he has been killed, how can he understand how cleverly he has 
been bested; imagine his anger and chagrin when he awakens; is that not more 
precious to the thief than his scalp; in actual warfare itself large-scale 
conflicts almost never occur. The typical act of war is the raid, conducted 
usually by a small group of men, some ten to fifteen in number, which enters 
enemy country, strikes, usually at dawn, and makes away, almost at soon as it 
came, with scalps and loot, sometimes, too, a woman or two of the enemy is 
taken; men of most tribes are fond of owning a woman of the enemy; male 
prisoners are seldom taken; because of their camaraderie and the sporting aspect 
of their warfare a group of red savages will usually refuse to follow even a 
single enemy into rock or brush cover; it is simply too dangerous to do so; 
similarly the red savages will almost never engage in a standing fight if they 
are outnumbered; often, too, they will turn their backs on even an obvious 
victory if the costs of grasping it seem too high; sometimes, too, a large 
number of red savages will retreat before an unexpected attack of a small number 
of enemies; they prefer to fight on their own terms and at times of their own 
choosing; too, they may not have had time to make their war medicine.
Even with the small bow, said Samos, surely he cannot expect to best five 
men.
It does not seem likely, I admitted.
He conceives himself to be in the presence of the medicine helper, said Kog. 
He is undaunted.
Turn the hide, I said.
The creature rotated the hide on the heavy table, in the light of the 
unshuttered dark lantern.
The first of the mounted hunters is dead, said Kog, he who had had the lance 
in the attack position. The kailla of the others, however, have bolted.
I nodded. I had feared this. The lofty, silken kaiila is an extremely alert, 
high-strung beast.
The second mounted hunter, he who had held the lance ready, is thrown from the 
kaiila to the snow. The man must, thus, in the instant, change his aim to the 
third mounted rider, he who held the lance across his body. He fells him. The 
dark guest acts. He leaps across the body of the slain kailiauk. He seizes the 
man who had fallen to the snow.
I did not care to look at that picture.
We may conjecture that the hunter in the snow has screamed, said Kog. The two 
other hunters, with their lances across their backs, bolt away. In the distance 
they turn to regard the kailiauk, the dark guest, the man. The dark guest leaps 
to the carcass of the kailiauk, its blood red in the snow. Nearby, in the snow, 
lies he who had been the second mounted hunter. His lance is broken. His body 
has been half bitten through. The dark guest throws back his head, scratches at 
his chest, lifts his clawed hands, challenges the other two mounted hunters. The 
blood of the second hunter is red about his jaws and on the matted fur of his 
chest. The other two hunters take their leave. Now the dark guest and the man 
are alone, with the kailiauk, with three riderless kaiila. The dark guest again 
crouches behind the kailiauk. The man puts away his bow and arrows. The dark 
guest invites him to the feast.
The story is an interesting invention, said Samos.
Turn the hide, I said to Kog.
The dark guest has left, said Kog. The man cuts meat from the kailiauk.
Kog again turned the hide.
The man returns to his camp, said Kog. He returns with three kaiila, on one 
of which he rides. The other two are burdened with meat from the kailiauk. Now 
there will not be hunger in his camp. He returns, too, with the hide of the 
kailiauk rolled before him, and three scalps. He will make a shield.
Again Kog turned the hide.
This is the shield that he will make, said Kog, indicating the last picture on 
the hide. This last picture was much larger than the other pictures. It was some 
seven or eight inches in diameter.
I see, I said.
Me shield bears, clearly delineated, the visage of the dark guest, the medicine 
helper.
Yes, I said. Do you recognize the pictures? asked Kog.
Yes, I said, it is Zarendargar, Half-Ear.
You cannot be sure, said Samos.
We, too, believe it to be Zarendargar, whom some humans call Half- Ear, said 
Kog.
He is, then, alive, I said.
It would seem so, said Kog.
Why have you shown us the pictures? I asked.
We wish your help,  said Kog.
To rescue him from the Barrens? I asked.
No, said Kog, to kill him.
This is preposterous, said Samos. This entire story is naught but the fantasy 
of a savage.
You will note, said Kog, that the story is unfolded on this hide.
So? asked Samos.
It is kailiauk hide, said Kog.
So? asked Samos.
The red savages depend for their very lives on the kailiauk said Kog.
He is the major source of their food and life. His meat and hide, his bones and 
sinew, sustain them. From him they derive not only food, but clothing and 
shelter, tools and weapons.
I know, said Samos. I know.
In their stories they revere, him. His images and relics figure in their 
medicine.
I know, said Samos.
Further, they believe that if they are unworthy of the kailiauk, be will go 
away. And they believe that this once happened, long ago.
So? asked Samos.
So said Kog, they do not lie on the hide of the kailiauk. It would be the 
last place in the world that they would choose to lie. On the hide of the 
kailiauk one may paint only truth.
Samos was silent.
Beyond this, said Kog, note that the image of the dark guest appears on the 
shield.
I see, said Samos.
It is a belief of the red savages that if they are unworthy, or do not speak 
the truth, that their shield will not protect them, it will move aside or will 
not turn the arrows and lances of enemies. Many warriors claim to have seen this 
happen. The shields, too, are made of the hide of the kailiauk from the thick 
hide of the back of the neck, where the skin and musculature are thick, to 
support the weight of the trident and turn the blows of other tridents, 
especially in the spring buffetings, attendant upon which follows mate 
selection.
I shall accept, said Samos, that the artist is sincere, that he believes 
himself to be telling the truth.
That much is undeniable, said Kog.
But the whole thing may be only the faithful report of a vision or dream.
The portion of the skin pertinent to the dream, or vision, said Kog, is 
clearly distinguished from the portion of the skin which purports to be 
concerned with real events. Further, we find little reason to believe that the 
artist could have been, or would have been, mistaken about the nature of those 
events, at least in their broad outlines.
The dark guest may not be Zarendargar, said Samos. The resemblance may be 
only a coincidence.
We do not find that a likely possibility, said Kog. The distances and the 
times, and the dating of this skin, the details of the representation, all these 
things, suggest that it is Zarendargar. Similarly fellows of our species, or 
their descendants, lapsed into barbarism, seldom roam the Barrens. There is too 
little cover and the heat in the summer is too severe.
The story on the hide takes place in the winter, said Samos.
That is true, said Kog, but game, in the Barrens, is scarce in the winter. 
Too, the land is too open, and tracks are difficult to conceal. Our people 
prefer wintering in forested or mountainous areas.
They will normally seek out such areas, I said.
Yes, said Kog.
It is your assumption, then, I said, that Zarendargar is in hiding.
Yes, said Kog, in the unlikely and dangerous terrain of the Barrens.
He knows that he will be sought? I asked.
Yes, said Kog. He knows that he has failed.
I recalled the destruction of the vast supply complex in the Gorean arctic.
I met Zarendargar, I said. It does not seem to me likely that he would be 
hiding.
How then would you explain his presence in the Barrens? inquired Kog.
I cannot, I said.
We have searched for him for two years, said Kog. This hide is our first 
clue.
How did you come by this hide? I asked.
It was received in trade, said Kog. It came, eventually, to the attention of 
one of our agents. Thence it was transported to the steel worlds.
It does not seem the sort of thing with which the artist would willingly part, 
I said.
Quite possibly not, said Kog.
I shuddered. The artist, doubtless, had been slain, his body left stripped and 
mutilated in the customary manner of the red savages. The object, then, through 
trade channels, would have come, I supposed, to one of the high cities, perhaps 
Thentis, the nearest of the large cities to the Barrens.
We seek Zarendargar, said Kog. We are his appointed executioners.
Yet there was something puzzling to me in these matters. I could not fully 
understand what it was. For one thing, I doubted that Zarendargar was in hiding. 
Yet, otherwise, I could not explain his presence in the Barrens. Too, I was not 
fully confident that the artist was dead. He impressed me as a competent and 
resourceful warrior. The skin, on the other hand, had apparently been traded. I 
was troubled by these things. I did not understand them.
His crime was failure? I asked.
It is not tolerated on the steel worlds, said Kog, not in one who is above 
the rings.
Doubtless he received a fair trial, I said.
Judgment was pronounced in accord with the statutes of the steel worlds, said 
Kog, by the high council, composed of seventy-two members elected from among 
the representatives of the thousand cliffs.
The same council was both judge and jury? I asked.
Yes, said Kog, as is the case in many of your own cities.
Zarendargar was not present at this trial, I said.
If the presence of the criminal were required, said Kog, it would make it 
impossible, in many cases, to pass judgment.
That is true, I said.
A limitation on judicial proceedings of such a sort would be intolerable, said 
Kog.
I see, I said.
Was evidence submitted in support of Zarendargar? I asked.
In a case of this sort, evidence against the court is inadmissible, said Kog.
I see, I said. Who, then, I asked, spoke on behalf of Zarendargar?
It is wrong to speak on behalf of a criminal, said Kog.
I understand, I said.
Due process of law, as you may see, said Kog, was strictly observed.
Thank you, I said, my mind is now satisfactorily relieved on the matter.
Kogs lips drew back over his fangs.
Even so, I asked, was the vote unanimous?
Unanimity constitutes an impediment to the pursuit of expeditious and efficient 
justice, said Kog.
Was the vote unanimous? I asked.
No, said Kog.
Was the vote close? I asked.
Why do you ask? asked Kog.
I am curious, I said.
Yes, said Kog, interestingly, it was.
Thank you, I said. I knew there were factions among these creatures. I had 
learned this, clearly, in the Tahari. Too, I suspected some of the council, even 
if they were not of the party of Zarendargar, would have recognized his value to 
the steel worlds. He was doubtless one of the finest of their generals.
There is no division here, I said, between the political and the judicial.
All law exists to serve the interests of the dominant powers, said Kog. Our 
institutions secure this arrangement, facilitate it and, not unimportantly, 
acknowledge it. Our institutions are, thus, less dishonest and hypocritical than 
those of groups which pretend to deny the fundamental nature of social order. 
Law which is not a weapon and a wall is madness.
How do we know that you are truly appointed to fulfill the edict of the 
council? I asked.
Do you doubt the word of one who is of the Peoples? asked Kog.
Not really, I said. I was just curious about your credentials.
You could not read them if we displayed them, said Kog.
That is true, I said. I was truly amazed at the patience, which the creatures 
exhibited. I knew they were short-tempered, even with their own kind. Yet Samos 
and I had not been attacked. They must need something desperately.
I swear to you on the rings of Sardak, said Kog, putting his paw on the two 
rings of reddish alloy on the left wrist Of Sardak.
That is good enough for me, I said, magnanimously. I had not the least idea, 
of course, of the significance of this gesture on the part of Kog, but I 
gathered, under the circumstances, that its import must be rather weighty. 
Sardak was, I was sure, Kogs Blood, or leader. If Kog swore falsely I gathered 
that it would then be up to Sardak to kill him. Sardak, however, did not move.
You are doubtless who you say you are, I admitted.
Even if we were not, said Kog, we could still do business.
Business? I asked.
Surely, said Kog. We are met here in the interest of our mutual profit.
I do not understand, I said.
Zarendargar is a dangerous enemy to human beings, said Kog.
He is a proven foe of Priest-Kings. He is your enemy. How fortunate, then, that 
we may conjoin our efforts in this matter. What a rare, welcome and felicitous 
coincidence do we here encounter. It is in your interest to have Zarendargar 
killed, and it is our business to kill him. Let us, thus, pool our forces in 
this common enterprise.
Why do you wish our help in this matter? I asked.
Zarendargar is in the Barrens, said Kog. This is a large and perilous 
country. It teems with red savages. To enter such a country and find him it 
seems to us useful to enlist the help of human beings, creatures of a sort which 
the red savages will understand to be of their own kind, creatures with whom 
they might be expected, for a price, to be cooperative. They are superb 
trackers, you must understand, and may find the search stimulating. Too, they 
may wish to rid their country of something as dangerous as Zarendargar.
They would hunt him down like an animal, and slay him? I asked.
Presumably, said Kog. And, humans, you see, would be useful in dealing with 
them.
I see, I said.
What is your answer? said Kog.
No, I said.
Is that your final decision? asked Kog.
Yes, I said.
Kog and Sardak suddenly howled. The table between us flung upwards. Samos and I, 
buffeted, stumbled back. The dark lantern, scattering flaming oil, struck a wall 
to the side of the room. Beware, Samos! I cried. I stood ready with the sword 
in the guard position. Kog hesitated, tearing at the boards with his clawed 
feet.
Guards! cried Samos. Guards! Burning oil was adhering to the rained wall to 
our right. I saw the eyes of the two creatures glinting like fiery copper 
plates. Sardak reached down and seized up the huge spear, which Kog had earlier 
placed to the side. Beware, Samos! I cried.
Guards, with crossbows, rushed into the room, behind us. With a cry of rage 
Sardak hurled the great spear. It missed Samos and shattered half through the 
wall some forty feet behind us. Kog hurled the shield towards us and, like a 
great, shallow, concave bowl, it skimmed through the air, between us, and broke 
boards loose near the roof behind us. Fire, cried Samos to his men. Fire!
With the titanic beating of wings the two tarns, the creatures mounted on them, 
took flight from the ruins of the tarn cot. I staggered back in the wind from 
the wings. I half shut my eyes against the dust and debris, which struck, 
against my face. The flames from the burning oil on the wall to my right leaped 
almost horizontally backwards, torn and lashed by the wind. Then they burned 
again, as they had a moment before. I saw the creatures mounted on the tarns, 
silhouetted against one of Gors three moons, fleeing over the marshes. They 
have escaped, said Samos.
Yes, I said. They had restrained themselves as long as they had been able to. 
What a titanic effort of will must have been necessary for them, creatures so 
ferocious and savage, to have control themselves as long as they had. They had 
done particularly well considering the numerous provocations to which, 
deliberately, I had subjected them to test the depth of their commitment to 
their mission and the depth of their need of human help.
Look at this, said one of Samos men, working loose the great spear from the 
wall.
And this, said another, lifting up the huge shield.
Samos men examined the spear and shield.
Forget what you have seen here this night, said Samos.
What were they? asked one of Samos men, standing beside me.
We call them Kurii, Beasts, I said.
2      I Will Go to the Barrens
It was a trick, said Samos, to lure you into the Barrens, where they might 
have slain you with impunity.
Samos and I rode inside the squarish, covered barge in which we had earlier come 
to the tam complex in the marshes. It was now shortly after dawn. We were making 
our way through the canals of Port Kar. Here and there, on the walks at the 
edges of the canal, men were moving about. Most were loading or readying small 
boats, or folding nets. I saw, through the small, slatted window near me, a 
slave girl drawing water from the canal, with a rope and bucket.
Surely so elaborate a hoax would not have been necessary if our destruction had 
been their only end in view, I said.
Perhaps, said Samos.
They might have attacked us almost immediately in the tarn complex, and 
presumably have made good their escape, I said.
True, said Samos. It was unlikely that we could have adequately defended 
ourselves against a sudden onslaught of such foes at that short a distance.
I saw a man outside on the walk, a few yards away, mending a net. Ovoid, painted 
floats lay beside him. On my knees, rolled, was the hide, which had been 
displayed to us by Kog and Sardak in the tarn complex. We had retrieved it from 
the burning complex. Too, at our feet, dented, but still operational, as we had 
determined, was the boxlike translator. We had left the burning complex behind 
us in the marshes, its smoke ascending in the gray light of the morning. The 
huge shield and spear we had discarded in the marshes. The less evidence of such 
things about the better, we speculated, for men.
Do you think you should have gone with them? asked Samos.
No, I said.
It could, of course, said Samos, have been a portion of their plan that if 
Zarendargar had been successfully destroyed, they might then turn on you.
Yes, I said, or I on them.
That possibility would not be unlikely to occur to such creatures, said Samos.
No, I said.
You do not feel you should have gone with them, said Samos.
No, I said.
What do you think they will do now? asked Samos.
They will go to the Barrens, I said.
They will hunt Zarendargar, said Samos.
Of course, I said.
Do you think they will attempt to enlist the aid of men? asked Samos.
Doubtless, I said.
It is easy for me to understand why they came first to us, said Samos.
Of course, I said. Our aid might prove invaluable. Too, they would expect us 
to be as eager, as zealous, as they, to bring about the destruction of 
Zarendargar. The venture, presumably, would be one which would be in our common 
interest, one in which we could find a mutual profit.
It would also be easier for them, to approach us than many men, said Samos, 
for, from our wars, such as they, and their nature and intelligence, are not 
unknown to us.
That is true, I said.
They will have difficulty recruiting efficient aid, said Samos, for few white 
men are allowed to tread the Barrens, and those who are permitted to, encroach 
upon their fringes are normally permitted to do so only for purposes of trade.
I think it is fair to assume, I said, that they do not have an agent in the 
Barrens. If they had had such an agent then it is unlikely they would have 
approached us in the first place. Similarly the Barrens would seem to be an 
unlikely, desolate and profitless place in which to have placed an agent.
They must obtain new recruits, said Samos.
That seems likely, I said.
We have their translator, said Samos.
That is unimportant, I said. Doubtless they have another among their stores.
What of the red savages themselves? asked Samos.
Few red savages live outside of the Barrens, I said, and those who do would 
presumably be as unfamiliar with them as would be anyone else in their 
circumstances.
What of the red savages of the Barrens? asked Samos.
Such would have to be approached at their own risk, I said. From the hide we 
saw that the mounted hunters were apparently preparing to charge Zarendargar 
when they were interrupted by the mans attack.
But the translator, said Samos.
A bewildering complexity of tribal languages is spoken in the Barrens, I 
said, most of them unintelligible to native speakers of the others. I find it 
hard to believe that their translators would be prepared to deal with any one of 
those languages, let along several of them.
Zarendargar is then perhaps safe, said Samos.
Not at all, I said. Kurii are tenacious. With or without human aid we may be 
sure that they will not rest until they have found their quarry.
Zarendargar, then, is doomed, said Samos.
Perhaps, I said.
I glanced again outside the barge, through the now-opened slats of the small 
window.
On a gently inclined slope of cement leading down to the canal, the water 
lapping at her knees, there knelt a slave girl doing laundry. She wore her steel 
collar. Her tunic came high on her thighs. It is thought desirable for a female 
slave to work long hours at menial tasks. I smiled to myself. It is pleasant to 
own a woman, absolutely, in the Gorean fashion.
It is your belief, then, said Samos, that the skin is genuine.
Yes, I said, and from what I know of the red savages, I would conjecture that 
this skin is from the very beast whose image is portrayed upon it.
Ai, said Samos. Perhaps!
I think it is more than likely, I said.
I pity Zarendargar, said Samos.
He would not appreciate the sentiment, I said.
I moved on the low wooden bench, one of several aligned perpendicularly to the 
interior port wall of the enclosed barge. There was a similar set of benches 
aligned identically against the starboard wall.
These benches are uncomfortable, I said to Samos. My legs were cramped.
They are designed for women, said Samos.
There was room for five women on each bench. With my heel I kicked some light, 
siriklike slave chains back under the bench. Such chains are too light for a 
man, but they are fully adequate for a woman. The primary holding arrangements 
for women on the benches, however, are not chains. Each place on the bench is 
fitted with ankle and wrist stocks, and for each bench there is a plank collar, 
a plank which opens horizontally, each half of which contains five matching, 
semicircular openings, which, when it is set on pinions, closed, and chained in 
place, provides thusly five sturdy, wooden inserts for the small, lovely throats 
of women. The plank is thick and thus the girls chins are held high. The plank 
is further reinforced between each girl with a narrowly curved iron band, the 
open ends of which are pierced; this is slid tight in its slots, in its metal 
retainers, about the boards, and secured in place with a four-inch metal pin, 
which may or may not be locked in place. Each girl is held well in her place, 
thusly, not only by the ankle and wrist stocks, which hold her ankles back and 
her wrists beside her, but by the plank collar as well.
We are passing a market, said Samos. You had better close the window slats.
I glanced outside. The smell of fruit and vegetables, and verr milk, was strong. 
I also heard the chatter of women. Dozens of women were spreading their 
blankets, and their wares, on the cement. There are many such markets in Port 
Kar. Men and women come to them in small boats. Also, of course, sometimes the 
vendors, too, will merely tie up their boats near the side of the canal, 
particularly when the space on the cement is crowded. The markets, thus, tend to 
extend into the canal itself. The only fully floating market authorized by the 
Council of Captains occurs in a lakelike area near the arsenal. It is called the 
Place of the Twenty-Fifth of SeKara, because of the monument there, rising from 
the water. On the twenty-fifth of SeKara in Year One of the Sovereignty of the 
Council of Captains, the year 10,120 C.A. Contasta Ar, from the Founding of Ar, 
a sea battle took place in which the fleet of Port Kar defeated the fleets of 
Cos and Tyros. The monument, of course, commemorates this victory. The market 
forms itself about the monument. That year, incidentally is also regarded as 
significant in the history of Port Kar, because it was in that year that, as it 
is said, a Home Stone consented to reside within the city.
Please, said Samos.
I looked at the benches. Most of them were smooth, and, on many, the dark 
varnish was all but worn off. Slave girls are normally transported nude.
Please, said Samos.
Im sorry, I said. I closed the window slats by moving one of the slats. They 
can be most easily closed, of course, by moving the narrow, vertically mounted, 
central wooden lever, but this lever, as would be expected, is on the outside. 
The window is designed to be opened and shut from the outside. Too, it can be 
locked shut, and normally is, from the outside, when cargo is within. As I have 
earlier indicated the slave girl is normally transported in total ignorance of 
her destination. Keeping a girl in ignorance is commonly thought useful in her 
control and management. Too, it helps her keep clearly in mind that she is a 
slave. Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajira is a common Gorean saying. The girl 
learns quickly that it is not her business to meddle in the affairs of her 
master but, rather, to be beautiful, and serve him, abjectly and totally.
I do not wish too many to know of our early morning journey, said Samos.
I nodded. We were well known in Port Kar. There was little point in provoking 
the populace to idle speculations.
We are passing another market, I said.
Verr milk, Masters! I heard called. Verr milk, Masters!
I opened the slats a tiny crack. I wished to see if she were pretty. She was, in 
her tunic and collar, kneeling on a white blanket, spread on the cement, with 
the brass container of verr milk, with its strap, near her, and the tiny brass 
cups. She was extremely lightly complexioned and had very red hair.
Verr milk, Masters, she called. Slaves may buy and sell in the name of their 
masters, but they cannot, of course, buy and sell for themselves because they 
are only animals. It is rather for them to be themselves bought and sold, as the 
masters might please.
Will you make a report of this mornings business to the Sardar? I asked.
A routine report of all such contacts is to be made, said Samos.
Do you expect the Sardar to take action? I asked.
No, said Samos.
That, too, is my speculation, I said.
It is their custom in most such matters to let matters take their course.
True, I said.
Are you interested? asked Samos.
I was curious to hear your view, I said. It coincides with mine, as I had 
thought it would.
Why do you ask? asked Samos.
I was curious, I said.
Oh, said Samos.
We rode together for a time in silence, toward my holding, through the canals.
I met Zarendargar, in the north, I said.
That is known to me, said Samos.
He impressed me as a fine commander, and a good soldier, I said.
He is a terrifying and dangerous enemy, said Samos. Men and Priest-Kings 
would be well rid of him. Let us hope that the beasts we met this morning will 
be successful in their quest.
I looked again through the tiny crack in the slats. It was near the sixth Ahn. 
Small boats now moved about on the canal. Most were propelled by the swaying 
movement of a steering oar. Some, larger boats and light galleys, such as might 
be used in the Tamber Gulf or, abroad, on Thassa, were being rowed from thwarts. 
These vessels were singly or doubly ruddered. In negotiating the canals their 
long, sloping yards were lowered, being then fully or partially inboard, in 
either case being aligned with the keel. This was in accord with an ordnance of 
Port Kar.
The Council of Captains must meet in two days, said Samos. It is proposed 
that the Sa-Tarna quay in the south harbor be extended. What division of this 
will be borne by public expense remains moot. Too, if this license be granted, 
an exploitable precedent may be set. Already there is talk among the merchants 
in rep-cloth and the lumber and stone merchants.
We were now passing an open slave market. The merchant was chaining his girls on 
the broad, tiered, cement display shelves. One girl lay on her stomach, on her 
elbows, her head down, the heavy iron collar on her neck visible beneath her 
hair; a short, weighty chain of thick dark links connected this collar, by its 
collar ring, to a wide, stout ring, anchored deeply in the cement, almost 
beneath her chin; the chain was no more than six inches long; I gathered that 
she was being disciplined; another girl, a blonde, sat on her shelf with her 
knees drawn up, her ankles crossed, her arms about her knees; I saw her chain 
descend from her collar, disappear behind her right leg, and then reemerge from 
behind her right thigh, thence running to the ring to which she was attached; 
another girl, a long-haired brunet, on all fours, faced me, with glazed eyes, 
seemingly uncomprehendingly regarding the enclosed barge as it passed by in the 
canal; she had just been chained; it is common to put a woman on all fours for 
neck chaining; the slaver stepped away from her; neck chaining, incidentally, is 
common in a market for female slaves, as it is for she-sleen; several girls, 
standing, awaited their chaining, in turn, on the tiers; I could see the small, 
incisive brand marks on their left thighs, high, just below their left hips, 
they were in ankle coffle, their left ankles chained together; more than one of 
them shaded her eyes against the morning sun; it would be a long day for most of 
them, chained in the sun, on the hard, granular surfaces of the hot cement 
shelves.
These issues, said Samos, are subtle and complex.
The women were chained nude, of course, for that is the way that slave girls are 
commonly displayed for their sale, particularly in low markets, and, indeed, 
even in a private sale from one of the purple booths in the courtyard of a rich 
slaver there will come a time when the slave, even an exquisite, high slave, 
must put aside her silks and be examined raw, as though she were a common girl. 
The Gorean male is a practiced and wary buyer. He wishes to see, fully and 
clearly, and preferably at his own pace, and leisure, what it is for which he is 
considering putting out his hard-earned money.
I think that I would favor granting the license, said Samos, but that I would 
also insist on the restriction of the subsidy to such an amount that an attack 
by every mercantile sub caste in Port Kar on the public coffers will not be 
encouraged. That seems to me reasonable. The various sub castes, it seems to me, 
should be expected, on the whole, to rely on their own resources. Direct council 
support, for example, has never been petitioned by the Slavers.
I considered the Barrens. They are not, truly, as barren as the name would 
suggest. They are barren only in contrast, say, with the northern forests or the 
lush land in river valleys, or the peasant fields or meadows of the southern 
rain belts. They are, in fact, substantially, vast tracts of rolling grasslands, 
lying east of the Thentis Mountains. I have suspected that they are spoken of as 
the Barrens not so much in an attempt to appraise them with geographical 
accuracy as to discourage their penetration, exploration and settlement. The 
name, then, is perhaps not best regarded as an item of purely scientific 
nomenclature but rather as something else, perhaps a warning. Also, calling the 
area the Barrens gives men a good excuse, if they should desire such, for not 
entering upon them. To be sure, the expression Barrens is not altogether a 
misnomer. They would be, on the whole, much less arable than much of the other 
land of known Gor. Their climate is significantly influenced by the Thentis 
Mountains and the absence of large bodies of water. Prevailing winds in the 
northern hemisphere of Gor are from the north and West. Accordingly a 
significant percentage of moisture-laden air borne by westerly winds is forced 
by the Thentis Mountains to cooler, less-heated air strata, where it 
precipitates, substantially on the eastern slopes of the mountains and the 
fringes of the Barrens. Similarly the absence of large bodies of water in the 
Barrens reduces rainfall which might be connected with large-scale evaporation 
and subsequent precipitation of this moisture over land areas, the moisture 
being carried inland on what are, in effect, sea breezes, flowing into low 
pressure areas caused by the warmer land surfaces, a given amount of radiant 
energy raising the temperature of soil or rock significantly more than it would 
raise the temperature of an equivalent extent of water.
The absence of large bodies of water adjacent to or within the Barrens also has 
another significant effect on their climate. It precludes the Barrens from 
experiencing the moderating effects of such bodies of water on atmospheric 
temperatures. Areas in the vicinity of large bodies of water, because of the 
differential heating ratios of land and water usually have warmer winters and 
cooler summers than areas, which are not so situated. The Barrens, accordingly, 
tend to be afflicted with great extremes of temperature, often experiencing 
bitterly cold winters and long, hot, dry summers.
Another possibility, Samos was saying, would be a loan to the Sa-Tarna 
merchants, at a reduced rate of interest. Thus we might avoid the precedent of a 
direct subsidy to a sub caste. To be sure, we might then encounter resistance 
from the Street of Coins. Tax credits would be another possible incentive.
At the edge of the Thentis Mountains, in the driest areas, the grass is short. 
As one moves in an easterly direction it becomes taller, ranging generally from 
ten to eighteen inches in height; as one moves even further east it can attain a 
height of several feet, reaching as high as the knees of a man riding a kaiila. 
On foot, it is easier to become lost in such grass than in the northern forests. 
No white man, incidentally, at least as far as I know, has ever penetrated to 
the eastern edge of the Barrens. Certainly, as far as I know, none has ever 
returned from that area. Their extent, accordingly, is not known.
The issues are complicated, said Samos. I do not know, truly, how I should 
cast my vote.
Tornadoes and booming, crashing thunder can characterize the Barrens. In the 
winter there can be blizzards, probably the worst on Gor, in which snows can 
drift as high as the mast of the light galley. The summers can be characterized 
by a searing sun and seemingly interminable droughts. It is common for many of 
the shallow, meandering rivers of the area to run dry in the summer. Rapid 
temperature shifts are not unusual. A pond may unexpectedly freeze in EnKara 
late in SeVar, a foot or two of snow may be melted in a matter of hours. Sudden 
storms, too, are not unprecedented. Sometimes as much as twelve inches of rain, 
borne by a southern wind, can be deposited in less than an hour. To be sure, 
this rain usually runs off rapidly, cutting crevices and gullies in the land. A 
dry river bed may, in a matter of minutes, become a raging torrent. Hail storms, 
too, are not infrequent. Occasionally the chunks of ice are larger than the eggs 
of vulos. Many times such storms have destroyed flights of migrating birds.
What do you think? asked Samos.
I once shared paga with Zarendargar, I said.
I do not understand, said Samos.
We felt the barge turn slowly in the canal. Then we heard oars being drawn 
inboard on the starboard side. The barge, then, gently, struck against a 
landing, moving against the leather coils tied there.
We are at my holding, I said.
I rose from the low bench and went to the door and opened it, emerging near the 
stern of the barge. Two of my men were holding mooring ropes, one from the bow 
of the barge and one from the stern. I climbed to the rail of the barge and 
ascended from thence to the surface of the landing.
Samos, below me, came to the interior threshold of the cabin door.
It has been an interesting morning, he said.
Yes, I said.
I shall see you at the meeting of the Council in two days, he said.
No, I said.
I do not understand, said Samos.
Zarendargar is in great danger, I said.
We may rejoice in that, said Samos.
The Death Squad is already on Gor, I said.
It would seem so, said Samos.
How many do you think there are? I asked.
Two, said Samos.
Surely, I said, there would be more. I did not think only two Kurii would be 
sent to dispatch one such as Zarendargar.
Perhaps, said Samos.
I once shared paga with Zarendargar, I said.
Samos stepped forth onto the deck of the barge, at the stern. He looked up at 
me, startled. It seemed no longer was he concerned that our camaraderie of the 
morning might be noted. What madness do you contemplate? he whispered.
Surely Zarendargar must be warned, I said.
No! said Samos. Let him be slain as expeditiously as possible!
I do not think, in such a case, Kurii are inclined to slay expeditiously, I 
said.
It is none of your affair, said Samos.
Those affairs are mine which I choose to make mine, I said.
White men are not even allowed in the Barrens, said Samos.
Surely some must be, I said, if only to effect the graces and utilities of 
trade.
I looked over the low roof of the barges cabin to the canal beyond. A hundred 
or so feet away there was the small boat of an urt hunter. His girl, the rope on 
her neck, crouched in the bow. This rope is about twenty feet long. One end of 
it is tied on her neck and the other end is fastened on the boat, to the bow 
ring. The hunter stood behind her with his pronged urt spear. These men serve an 
important function in Port Kar, which is to keep down the urt population in the 
canals. At a word from the man the girl, the rope trailing behind her, dove into 
the canal. Behind the man, in the stern, lay the bloody, white-furred bodies of 
two canal urts. One would have weighed about sixty pounds, and the other, I 
speculate, about seventy-five or eighty pounds. I saw the girl swimming in the 
canal, the rope on her neck, amidst the garbage. It is less expensive and more 
efficient to use a girl for this type of work than, say, a side of tarsk. The 
girl moves in the water, which tends to attract the urts and, if no mishap 
occurs, may be used again and again. Some hunters use a live verr but this is 
less effective as the animal, squealing, and terrified, is difficult to drive 
from the side of the boat. The slave girl, on the other hand, can be reasoned 
with. She knows that if she is not cooperative she will be simply bound hand and 
foot and thrown alive to the urts. This modality of hunting, incidentally, is 
not as dangerous to the girl as it might sound, for very few urts make their 
strike from beneath the surface. The urt, being an air-breathing mammal, 
commonly makes its strike at the surface itself, approaching the quarry with its 
snout and eyes above the water, its ears laid back against the sides of its 
long, triangular head. To be sure, sometimes the urt surfaces near the girl and 
approaches her with great rapidity. Thus, in such a situation, she may not have 
time to return to the boat. In such a case, of course, the girl must depend for 
her life on the steady hand and keen eye, the swiftness, the strength and 
timing, the skill, of the urt hunter, her master. Sometimes, incidentally, a 
master will rent his girl to an urt hunter, this being regarded as useful in her 
discipline.
There are very few girls who, after a day or two in the canals, and then being 
returned to their masters, do not strive to be completely pleasing.
You need not warn Zarendargar, said Samos. He knows he will be sought. That 
we have, in effect, on the authority of one of the very beasts to whom we spoke 
this morning.
He may not know that the Death Squad has landed on Gor, I said. He may not 
know that they are aware of his general location. He may not know with whom it 
is that he will be dealing.
These things are his concern, said Samos, not yours.
Perhaps, I said.
Once, said Samos, he sent you forth upon the ice, to be slain by another 
Kur.
He did his duty, as he saw it, I said.
And now you would render him succor? asked Samos.
Yes, I said.
He might slay you, instantly, if he saw you, said Samos.
It is true he is an enemy, I said. That is a risk I must take.
He may not even recognize you, said Samos.
Perhaps, I said. This was, I supposed, a danger. Just as human beings often 
found it difficult to distinguish among various Kurii, so, too, many Kurii, 
apparently, often found it difficult to distinguish among various human beings. 
On the other hand, I was confident that Zarendargar would know me. I had no 
doubt but what I would recognize him. One does not forget a Kur such as 
Half-Ear, or Zarendargar, one who stood above the rings, a war general among the 
Kurii.
I forbid you to go, said Samos.
You cannot do that, I said.
In the name of Priest-Kings, he said, I forbid you to go.
My wars are my own, I said. I choose them as I please.
I looked beyond Samos to the boat and urt hunter in the canal. The girl climbed, 
shivering, into the bow of the boat, the wet rope on her neck. In the bow of the 
boat, crouching there, nude and shivering, she coiled, in careful circles, in 
the shallow, wooden rope bucket beside her, the central length of the rope, that 
between her neck and the bow ring. Only then did she reach for the thick woolen 
blanket, from the wool of the hurt, and clutch it, shuddering, about her. Her 
hair, wet, was very dark against the white blanket. She was comely. I wondered 
if she were being rented out for discipline, or if she belonged to the urt 
hunter. It was not easy to tell.
Most Gorean slave girls are comely, or beautiful. This is easy to understand. It 
is almost always the better looking women who are taken for slaves, and, of 
course, in breeding slaves, it is commonly only the most beautiful of female 
slaves who are used, these usually being crossed, hooded, with handsome male 
silk slaves, also hooded. The female offspring of these matings, needless to 
say, are often exquisite. The male offspring, incidentally, and interestingly, 
to my mind, are often handsome, strong and quite masculine. This is perhaps 
because many male silk slaves are chosen to be male silk slaves not because they 
are weak or like women, but because they are not; it is only that they are men, 
and often true men, who must serve women, totally, in the same fashion that a 
slave female is expected to serve a free master. To be sure, it is also true, 
and should be admitted in all honesty, that many male silk slaves are rather 
feminine; some women prefer this type, perhaps because they fear true men; from 
such a silk slave they need not fear that they may suddenly be turned upon, and 
tied, and taught to be women. Most women, however, after a time, find this type 
of silk slave a banality and a bore; charm and wit can be entertaining, but, in 
time, if not conjoined with intellect and true masculine power, they are likely 
to wear thin.
The feminine type of male silk slave, incidentally, for better or for worse, is 
seldom selected for breeding purposes. Gorean slave breeders, perhaps benighted 
in this respect, prefer what they take to be health to what they think of as 
sickness, and what they take to be strength to what they deem weakness. Some 
female slaves, incidentally, have a pedigreed lineage going back through several 
generations of slave matings, and their masters hold the papers to prove this. 
It is a felony in Gorean law to forge or falsify such papers. Many Goreans 
believe that all women are born for the collar, and that a woman cannot be truly 
fulfilled as a woman until a strong man puts it on her, until she finds herself 
reduced to her basic femaleness at his feet.
In the case of the bred female slave, of course, she has been legally and 
literally, in anyones understanding, bred to the collar, and in a full 
commercial and economic sense, as a business speculation on the part of masters. 
The features most often selected for by the breeders are beauty and passion. It 
has been found that intelligence, of a feminine sort, as opposed to the 
pseudomasculine type of intelligence often found in women with large amounts of 
male hormones, is commonly linked, apparently genetically, with these two 
hitherto mentioned properties. There are few male slaves with long pedigrees. 
Goreans, though recognizing the legal and economic legitimacy of male slavery, 
do not regard it as possessing the same biological sanction as attaches to 
female slavery. The natural situation, in the mind of many Goreans, is that the 
master set/slave relation is one, which ideally exists between man and woman, 
with the woman in the property position. Male slaves, from time to time, can 
receive opportunities to win their freedom, though, to be sure, usually in 
situations of high risk and great danger. Such opportunities are never accorded 
to the female slave. She is totally helpless. If she is to receive her freedom 
it will be fully and totally, and only, by the decision of her master.
You are, then, seriously, considering going to the Barrens? asked Samos.
Yes, I said.
You are a foolish and stubborn fellow, said Samos.
Perhaps, I said. I lifted the roll of kailiauk hide I carried. May I keep 
this? I asked.
Of course, said Samos.
I handed it to one of my men. I thought it might prove useful in the Barrens.
You are fully determined? asked Samos.
Yes, I said.
Wait, he said. He went back to the door of the enclosed cabin and re-entered 
it. In a moment he re-emerged, carrying the boxlike translator, which we bad 
brought from the tam complex. You may need this, said Samos, handing it to one 
of my men.
Thank you, Samos, I said.
I wish you well, he said.
I wish you well, I said. I turned away.
Wait! he said.
I turned back to face him.
Be careful, he said.
I will, I said.
Tarl, he said, suddenly.
I turned back to face him, again.
How is it that you could even think of doing this? he asked.
Zarendargar may need my assistance, I said. I may be able to aid him.
But why, why? he asked.
How could I explain to Samos the dark affinity I shared with one whom I had met 
only in the north, and long ago, with one who, clearly, was naught but a beast? 
I recalled the long evening I had once spent with Zarendargar, and our lengthy, 
animated conversations, the talk of warriors, the talk of soldiers, of those 
familiar with arms and martial values, of those who had shared the zest and 
terrors of conflict, to whom crass materialisms could never be more than the 
means to worthier victories, who had shared the loneliness of command, who had 
never forgotten the meanings of words such as discipline, responsibility, 
courage and honor, who had known perils, and long treks and privations, to whom 
comfort and the hearth beckoned less than camps and distant horizons.
Why, why? he asked.
I looked beyond Samos, to the canal beyond. The urt hunter, with his girl and 
boat, rowing slowly, was taking his leave. He would try his luck elsewhere.
Why? asked Samos.
I shrugged. Once, I said, we shared paga.
3      I Receive Information; I Will Travel Northward
Perhaps this one? asked the merchant.
I am trying to locate the whereabouts of a trader, one called Grunt, I said.
The blond-haired girl, nude, kneeling, shrank back against the cement wall. Her 
small wrists were bound tightly behind her, to an iron ring fastened in the 
wall.
She is not without her attractions, said the merchant.
Do you know where this fellow, Grunt, may be found? I asked.
Another girl, also blond, a long chain on her neck, also fastened to a ring in 
the wall, had crept to my feet. She then lowered herself to her belly before me. 
She held my right ankle in her small hands and began to lick and kiss softly at 
my feet. I felt her mouth and small, warm tongue between the straps on my 
sandals. Please buy me, Master, she whispered. I will serve you helplessly and 
well. The difference between slave girls are interesting. The first girl was a 
fresh capture, clearly. She had not yet even been branded. The other girl, 
clearly, had already known the touch of a master.
I think he has ventured north, along the perimeter, said the merchant.
Buy me, I beg you, Master! whispered, the girl at my feet.
I looked to the girl kneeling at the wall. Swiftly she put down her head, 
reddening.
That one, said the man, indicating the girl at the wall, was, formerly free. 
She was taken only five days ago. Not yet, as you note, is her thigh even 
marked.
Why not? I asked. Usually a girl is marked within hours of her capture. It is 
usually felt that, after her capture, there is little point in permitting any 
possibility that she might be confused with a free woman.
I want her deeply and cleanly branded, he said. An iron master travels among 
several of the smaller border towns. He is good at his business and has an 
assortment of irons, ranging from lovely and delicate to rude and brutal.
I nodded. It was not unusual for the border towns, along the eastern edge of the 
Thentis mountains, to be served by itinerant tradesmen and artisans. There was 
often too little work for them to thrive in a given town but an ample employment 
for their services and goods in a string of such towns. Such tradesmen and 
artisans commonly included some five to ten towns in their territory.
Do not fret, little beauty, said the man to the girl. You will soon be 
properly marked.
The girl lifted her head, and looked at me.
You see, said the man, she is already curious as to the touch of a man.
I see, I said.
What sort of brand would you like, little beauty? asked the man. Have no 
fear. Whatever brand you wear, I guarantee, will be unmistakable and clear.
She looked up at him. With the back of his hand he lashed her head to the side.
She then looked up at him, again, frightened. Blood was at her lip. Whatever 
brand you wish for me, Master, she said.
Excellent, said the man. He turned to me. That is her first, full, verbal 
slave response. She has had, of course, other sorts of slave responses and 
behaviors before this, such things as squirmings, strugglings, cringings, pain 
and fear, and behavioral presentations and pleadings, making herself pretty and 
holding herself in certain ways, presenting herself as a helpless, desirable 
female, trying to provoke the interest of attractive men.
The girl looked at him with horror, but I saw, in her eyes, that what he had 
said was true. Even unbranded, she was already becoming a slave.
Please, Master. Please, Master, begged the girl at my feet.
What sort of brand would you like, my dear? asked the man of the girl at the 
wall. Have no fear. I am now permitting you to express a preference. I shall 
then, as it pleases me, accept your preference, or reject it.
Her lip, now swollen, trembled.
Would you like a lovely and feminine brand, he asked, or a rude and brutal 
brand, one fit for a pot girl or a tendress of kaiila?
I am a woman, Master, she said. I am feminine.
I was pleased to hear this simple confession from the girl, this 
straightforward, uncompromising admission of the reality of her sex. How few of 
the women of my old world, I thought, could bring themselves, even to their 
lovers, to make this same, simple admission. What a world of difference it might 
make to their relationships, I speculated. Yet this admission, nonverbally, was 
surely made, and even poignantly and desperately, by many women of my old world, 
despite the injunctions and conditionings against honesty in such matters 
enjoined by an antibiological, politicized society. I hoped that upon occasion, 
at least, these admissions, these declarations, these cries for recognition and 
fulfillment, whether verbal or nonverbal, might in his kindness, be heeded by a 
male.
It is an interesting question, the relation between natural values and 
conditioned values. To be sure, the human infant, in many respects, seems to be 
little more than a tabula rasa, a blank tablet, on which a society, whether 
sensible or perverted, may inscribe its values. Yet the infant is also an 
animal, with its nature and genetic codings, with its heritage of eons of life 
and evolution, tracing itself back to the combinations of molecules and the 
births of stars. Thus can be erected conflicts between nature and artifice, 
whether the artifices be devised or blind. These conflicts, in turn, produce 
their grotesque syndromes of anxiety, guilt and frustration, with their 
attendant deleterious consequences for happiness and life. A man may be taught 
to prize his own castration but somewhere, sometime, in the individual or in the 
maddened collectivity, nature must strike back. The answer of the fool is the 
answer he has been taught to give, the answer he must continue to defend and 
beyond which he cannot see, an answer historically deriving from an ethos 
founded on the macabre superstitions and frustrated perversions of lunatics, an 
answer now co-opted to serve the interests of new, grotesque minorities who, 
repudiating the only rationale that gave it plausibility, pervert it to their 
own ends. The sludge of Puritanism, with its latent social power, bequeathed 
from one generation to the next, can serve unaccustomed masters. The only 
practical answer to these dilemmas is not continued suppression and censorship, 
but a society, a world, in which nature is freed to thrive. It is not a healthy 
world in which civilization is natures prison. Nature and civilization are not 
incompatible. A choice need not be made between them. For a rational animal each 
can be the complement and enhancement of the other. For too long has the world 
been under the domination of the grotesque and insidious. One fears mostly they 
may begin to believe their own lies. They think they herd sheep. It is possible, 
unbeknownst to themselves, they walk with wolves and lions.
The merchant regarded the girl at the wall. Under his gaze she straightened 
herself. Yes, he said. I see that you are feminine. Accordingly, you will be 
appropriately branded.
Thank you, Master, she said.
It will be the common Kajira mark, he said, indicating that you are 
beautiful, but only another slave girl.
Thank you, Master, she said. I thought the cursive Kef, sometimes referred to 
as the staff and fronds, beauty subject to discipline, would look well upon her 
thigh.
I am already branded, Master, said the girl at my feet. She looked up at me. 
It was true. She wore the Kef high on her left thigh, just under the hip. This 
is the most common brand site for a Gorean slave girl.
She bellies to you, said the man. She likes you.
Perhaps you have warned her that if she does not belly to the first man in the 
market she is to be whipped, I smiled.
No chuckled the man, but it is true that I have denied her the touch of a man 
for two days. The sexual relief of a slave girl, like her clothing and her 
food, is also something under the total command of the master.
The girl whimpered in frustration. No, Master, she wept. You are the sort of 
man to whom I would belly naturally. To see you is to want to belly myself 
before you.
Master, said the girl at the wall, addressing me, if I were not bound, I, 
too, would belly myself before you.
Excellent! said the merchant. This is the first time she has spoken so. 
Apparently you are the sort of man she regards as a desirable master.
I said nothing. A girl in a market knows she is to be sold. Accordingly she will 
often try to influence a man she finds attractive to buy her. If he does not buy 
her, she knows she may be bought by one who is worse. Most girls, of course, 
prefer to be bought by a man who is exciting and attractive to them, one whom 
they would find irresistible, one whom they would desire to serve, rather than 
by one who is gross and disgusting to them. To be sure, as slave girls, they 
would have to serve either perfectly. The decision as to whether the girl is to 
be purchased or not is, of course, in the final analysis, totally the mans In 
this respect the girl must wait, and is absolutely helpless. In this respect she 
has as little personal control over her fate as an inanimate, displayed object 
in an emporium on Earth.
The girl at the ring pulled against the bonds on her small wrists, leaning 
toward me. The girl at my feet looked up at me. I felt the chain on her neck 
across my right foot.
Have they names? I asked the merchant.
No, said the merchant, I have not yet named them.
The trader. Grunt I said, you speculate has ventured northward?
Yes, said the man.
I kicked back the girl at my feet. Whimpering, she crawled back to the wall, 
where she lay curled at its foot, watching me. The other girl, fastened by the 
wrists to the ring, shrank back against it. She looked at me with horror and 
fear, but, also, with another expression in her eyes, as well, one of 
fascination and awe. I think then she realized a little better than before what 
it might be to be a slave. She would be subject to discipline. Our eyes met. I 
saw in her eyes that she now realized that she, like any other slave girl, was, 
and would be, under total masculine domination. She shuddered, and looked down. 
I saw her tremble with fear and pleasure. I saw that she, properly trained, 
would make some man a superb slave.
The next town northward is Fort Haskins, I said. This lay at the foot of the 
Boswell Pass. Originally it had been a trading post, maintained by the Haskins 
Company, a company of Merchants, primarily at Thentis. A military outpost, 
flying the banners of Thentis, garrisoned by mercenaries, was later established 
at the same point. The military and strategic importance of controlling the 
eastern termination of the Boswell Pass was clear. It was at this time that the 
place came to be known as Fort Haskins. A fort remains at this point but the 
name, generally, is now given to the town which grew up in the vicinity of the 
fort, primarily to the west and south. The fort itself, incidentally, was twice 
burned, once by soldiers from Port Olni, before that town joined the Salerian 
Confederation, and once by marauding Dust Legs, a tribe of red savages, from the 
interior of the Barrens. The military significance of the fort has declined with 
the growth of population in the area and the development of tarn cavalries in 
Thentis. The fort now serves primarily as a trading post, maintained by the 
caste of Merchants, from Thentis, an interesting recollection of the origins of 
the area.
It will be my conjecture, said the man, that he whom you seek, the trader, 
Grunt, is bound not for Fort Haskins, but for Kailiauk.
Ali, I said. I should have guessed that. Kailiauk is the easternmost town at 
the foot of the Thentis mountains. It lies almost at the edge of the Ihanke, or 
Boundary. From its outskirts one can see the markers, the feathers on their tall 
wands, which mark the beginning of the country of the red savages.
I trust that you do not desire to kill him, said the man.
No, I smiled.
You do not wear the garb of the dark caste, nor do you have the black dagger 
painted upon your brow.
I am not an Assassin, I said.
Grunt is a peculiar fellow, and secretive, but, I think, inoffensive.
I do not wish him harm, I said. And I thank you for your help.
Are you on foot? asked the man.
Yes, I said. I had sold my tarn two days ago and begun to make my way 
northward on foot. The Kurii from whom we had obtained the story hide must, in 
turn, have obtained it from an operative somewhere in this area. I thought to 
attract less attention on foot than as a tarnsman.
If you wish to contact Grunt, I advise you to do so promptly. It is EnKara, and 
he will soon be entering the Barrens.
I attempted to press a tarsk bit into his hand, but he pushed it back.
I have done nothing, he smiled.
My thanks, I said. I turned to go.
Fellow, said he.
Yes? I said, turning again to face him.
A slave wagon is leaving on the north road at noon, be said. it could take 
you as far as Fort Haskins.
My thanks, I said.
It is nothing, he said.
I glanced again at the two blond slave girls. I glanced first at the one 
kneeling by the wall, her wrists bound to the ring behind her. In her bonds, she 
had learned she was a woman. It is difficult for a woman, stripped and bound, 
and owned by a man, not to be aware of her femininity. These symbols of, and 
expressions of, nature, are not hard to read. She understands them, and fully 
and well. I glanced then to the other girl, she lying by the wall, looking at 
me, the chain on her neck. Her psychophysiological distress, that of a slave 
girl, was clearly almost intolerable. Perhaps her master would give her to one 
of his attendants for the night. The desperation of her needs might then, for a 
time, be assuaged, until, in a few Ahn, irresistibly and compellingly, they 
would again arise within her. I glanced then again to the first girl. I smiled. 
She, too, once properly branded and collared, would come to know such needs. 
She, too, internally and subjectively, would come to know what it was, fully, to 
be a female slave.
I wish you well, I said to the man.
I wish you well, he said.
I then turned, and left.
4      We See Smoke; We Encounter Soldiers
I thrust my shoulder against the giant wooden wheel of the slave wagon.
I heard, ahead, the crying out of the driver, the snapping of his long whip over 
the backs of the two draft tharlarion harnessed to the wagon.
Pull, lazy beasts! he cried.
Knee deep in the mire I thrust, slipping, against the thick wooden wheel.
The wheel moved and the wagon, groaning, creaking, lurched upward and rolled 
forward.
I waded about the wagon and then attained the graveled surface and, running, 
caught up with the wagon, and drew myself up to the wagon box, beside the 
driver.
Why do you wish to find Grunt? asked the driver, a young man with shaggy hair, 
cut short across the base of his neck.
I am searching for something which may be in the Barrens, I said.
Stay out of them, warned the young man. It can be death to enter them.
Grunt comes and goes, as I understand it, I said.
Some, merchants and traders, are permitted, by some of the tribes, said the 
young man.
Of all, I said, I have heard that he is most welcome in the Barrens, and 
travels furthest within them.
That may be true, said the fellow.
Why is that, I. wonder, I said.
He speaks some Dust Leg, and some of the talk of other tribes, said the 
fellow. Too, he knows sign.
Sign? I asked.
Hand talk said the young man. It is the way the red savages of different 
tribes communicate among one another. They cannot speak one anothers languages, 
you know.
I would suppose not, I admitted.
Hand sign, I suspected was the key to the capacity of the tribes to unite and 
protect their territories against outside encroachment, that and what they 
called the Memory.
Various traders, I suspect, know Hand Sign, I said.
Several, said the young man.
But, too, he knows some of the tribal languages, I said.
Not so much, said the young man. A few words and phrases. The savages come 
sometimes to the trading points. We learn something of one anothers talk. Not 
much.
Communication is largely conducted in Sign, then, I said.
Yes, said the young man. He stood then and cracked the whip again over the 
backs of the tharlarion. Then, again, he sat down.
If various traders know Sign and some, too, have some smattering of some of 
these languages, what makes Grunt so special? Why is it he alone who is 
permitted to venture so deeply into the Barrens?
Perhaps the savages feel they have nothing more to gain from Grunt, laughed 
the young man.
I do not understand, I said.
You will, he said.
Can we see the boundary from here? I asked. We were now at the crest of a 
hill.
Not clearly, but it is out there, he said, pointing to our right. See, he 
asked, the low hills, the grassy hills, at the horizon?
Yes, I said.
They are on the other side of the boundary, he said.
When do we arrive at Fort Huskiness? I asked him.
Tomorrow morning, he said. We will camp tonight.
Master, said a soft, feminine voice, from behind timidly, may a lowly slave 
speak?
Yes, said the young man.
The wagon carried ten girls. The common Gorean slave wagon has a long bed, 
surmounted with rectangular frame, usually covered with blue-and-yellow canvas. 
A long, solid, heavy metal bar, hinged near the front, and locked in place at 
the rear, runs the length of the bed. The girls enter the wagon at the rear, 
crawling, their ankles chained, the bar between their legs. When the bar is 
locked in place their ankles, thus, are chained about it. This arrangement, 
while providing perfect security, permits them considerable latitude of 
movement. They may, for example, sit, or kneel or lie in the wagon bed, confined 
only by the chaining on their ankles. Here, however, near the perimeter, such 
luxuries were seldom available. The wagon on which I rode had, obviously, 
originally been intended for the transportation of sleen. It was little more 
than a sleen cage, of heavy, wooden poles, lashed together, its rear gate 
fastened with a chain and padlock, set a flat wagon bed. Because of the nature 
of the cage the 7 girls imprisoned within it were bound hand and foot.
Our bonds are cruelly tight, Masters, said the girl. We beg that they may be 
loosened, if only slightly.
The young man turned about, angrily, on the wagon box, and regarded the girl, 
who shrank back, on her knees, bound hand and foot, behind the bars.
Be silent, Slave Girl, he said.
Yes, Master! she said.
Rejoice that I do not stop the wagon and haul you out, each of you, and give 
you ten lashes apiece, he said.
Yes, Master! said the girl, struggling to move back on her knees from the 
bars.
Yes, Master. Yes, Master! said several of the other girls.
The young man then turned about, and gave his attention to the road and the 
tharlarion
I smiled. The men of the perimeter do not pamper their slaves. Indeed, not even 
a blanket had been thrown into the wagon bed to soften the blows of the 
springless cart, or to shield the flesh of the bound beauties from the splintery 
roughness of the sturdy planks on which they rode. It is common, of course, both 
in civilized areas and along the perimeter, to transport female slaves nude.
It is interesting, I said, that you do not have an armed escort.
You are not a highwayman, are you? he asked.
No, I said.
Women are generally cheap along the perimeter, he said.
Why should this be? I asked. That seemed to me surprising.
The perimeter has been stable for over a century, he said. Accordingly women 
are generally no more scarce here than elsewhere.
But why should they be cheap? I asked.
The savages, he said. They raid in the south and sell in the north. They raid 
in the north and sell in the south.
I nodded. The perimeter was thousands of pasangs long. There were various 
outlying farms, and many settlements and villages.
Do they sell all the items garnered in their flesh harvests? I asked.
No, he said. They take some with them, back into the Barrens.
What do they do with them there? I asked.
I do not know, laughed the young man. Doubtless they put them to good use.
Doubtless, I agreed. The red savages, I had no doubt, could find many useful 
employments for helpless, white female slaves.
At what time tomorrow morning should we arrive at Fort Haskins? I asked.
I am scheduled to deliver my freight to Brint, the Slaver, at half past the 
ninth Ahn, he said. You may, of course, wish to leave the wagon before that.
I nodded. It would be pointless to stay longer than necessary with the wagon. I 
would stay with it until it reached its destination only if that destination lay 
on the road to Kailiauk.
What is to be done with these slaves? I asked. Are they to be sold in Fort 
Haskins?
I think they are to be shipped west over the Boswell Pass, he said, to 
Thentis and, from thence, to be distributed to western markets.
They had better be given something to wear, I said, if they are to be carried 
over the pass.
They will be tied in hides, said the young man. Because the trading hides are 
cheap in places like Fort Haskins and Kailiauk.
There is another reason, a recent reason, why girls are so cheap in this area, 
said the young man.
What is that? I asked.
Barbarians, he said.
Barbarians? I asked.
Yes, he said, unskilled, untrained, raw, luscious little beasts, many of whom 
can speak almost no Gorean.
Where do they come from? I asked.
I do not know, he said. The source for their delivery to be somewhere in the 
vicinity of Kailiauk. They are not good for the market.
This information intrigued me. The delivery points for the slavers league with 
Kurii shifted about on the surface of Gor. This practice, doubtless, was 
intended to aid them to detection by Priest-Kings.
Are these barbarians commonly shipped west over the Boswell Pass? I asked.
Almost never, said the young man. They are generally taken south and, 
apparently, transported over the southern passes.
This new information confirmed my suspicions that these were indeed the fruits 
of slaving on Earth. If they were transported over the Boswell Pass they might, 
eventually, come to the attention of Clark of Thentis, a slaver of Thentis, had 
rendered services to Priest-Kings.
Interesting, I said. The vicinity of Kailiauk, with its nearness to the 
Barrens, seemed a remote and useful place for a delivery point. Too, this might 
explain how the story might have come to the attention of Kurii. They might have 
an agent in Kailiauk, or in its vicinity.
It is said that such barbarians, properly tamed and trained, make excellent 
slaves, said the young man.
I am glad to hear that, I said.
But I would not want to own one, said the young man.
Have you ever owned one? I asked.
No, he said.
Then you should not speak so soon, I said.
That is true, he said, laughing.
I myself thought the young man did not know what he was missing. Earth girls, 
brought to Gor after years of sexual starvation on Earth, finding themselves 
suddenly subjected to total domination, finding themselves absolute slaves, even 
to the market and the whip, the brand and the collar, the touch of an insolent 
master, finding themselves given no choice but to release and manifest their 
deepest and most and beautiful, most profound, most hitherto hidden female 
nature often made the most grateful, rapturous and perfect of slaves.
Still, said the young man, they are not good for the market.
That may be true, I said. It seemed to me not unlikely that an influx of 
barbarian females, in a given area, at a given time, might depress prices. To be 
sure, the slavers in league with the Kurii usually distributed these girls 
through out various markets. This made the females more difficult to trace back 
to their delivery points and, of course, tended, on the whole, to improve the 
prices one could receive for them.
It will soon be time to camp, said the young man.
The slaves, I trust, I said, jerking my head back toward the lovely, bound 
inmates of the wagon, are on their slave wine.
Yes, laughed the young man.
Please, Master, begged the girl who had spoken earlier to the young man,
when we camp, tie my neck to a tree and untie my ankles. I desire to serve 
you.
No, I! cried another girl. I! cried another.
The young man laughed. He saw the girls desired to placate him. But, too, of 
course, to be honest, he was a handsome fellow, and they were bound female 
slaves. Carting such freight about does not pay high wages but there are fringe 
benefits connected with such work. If the girls are not virgins such a teamster 
commonly has his pick of the load.
My neck, too, can be tied to a tree, and my ankles, too can be untied, Master, 
said another of the girls, addressing me. She was a luscious blonde.
I slapped the wood of the wagon box with pleasure.
Look! said the young man, suddenly, pointing to our right. Smoke!
Almost at the same moment he rose to his feet and cracked his long whip over the 
backs of the tharlarion. Grunting, they increased their lumbering pace.
Twice more he cracked his whip. The girls, in the back were suddenly quiet. I 
gripped the edge of the wagon box. To our right, in a long, sloping valley, some 
two or three pasangs from the road, there were three narrow, slowly ascending 
columns of smoke.
Faster! Har-ta! cried the young man to the tharlarion.
Surely we must stop, I said. Perhaps we can render assistance.
It is too late, he said, by the time you can see the smoke. Everyone here, by 
now, would be dead, or taken.
One of the girls in the back cried out in fear. Naked, bound slaves, they were 
absolutely helpless.
Nonetheless, I said, I must make inquiries.
You will do so then by yourself, said the young man.
Agreed, I said. Stop the wagon.
Riders! said the young man. Ahead, on the road, there was a rolling cloud of 
dust. He jerked the tharlarion back. Grunting they scratched at the gravel of 
the road. They tossed their snouts in the nose straps. The young man looked 
wildly about. He could not turn the wagon on the narrow road. The girls 
screamed, squirming in their bonds.
They are soldiers, I said. I stood on the wagon box, shading my eyes.
Thank the Priest-Kings! cried the young man.
In moments a troop of soldiers, lancers and crossbowmen, mounted on kaiila, 
reined up about us. They wore the colors of Thentis. They were covered with 
dust. Their uniforms were black with sweat and dirt. The flanks of their 
prancing kaiila were lathered with foam. They snorted and, throwing back their 
heads, sucked air into their lungs. Their third lids, the transparent storm 
membranes, were drawn, giving their wild, round eyes a yellowish cast.
Dust Legs, said the officer with the men. The road is closed. Whither are you 
bound?
Fort Haskins, said, the young man.
You cannot remain here, and it would be dangerous to go back, said the 
officer. I think you are best advised to proceed to Fort Haskins as quickly as 
possible.
I shall do so, said the young man.
It is unusual, is it not, for the Dust Legs to be on the rampage? I asked. I 
had understood them to be one of the most peaceful of the tribes of the Barrens. 
Indeed, they often acted as intermediaries between the men of the settlements 
and the wilder tribes of the interior, such as the Yellow Knives, the Sleen and 
Kaiila.
Who are you? asked the officer.
A traveler, I said.
We do not know what has stirred them up, said the officer. They have taken no 
life. They have only burned farms and taken kaiila.
It is perhaps a warning, of some sort, I said.
It would seem so, said the officer. They did not, for example, attack at 
dawn. They came openly, did their work unhurriedly, and withdrew.
It is very mysterious, I said.
They are a peaceful folk, said the officer, but I would be on my way, and 
with dispatch. Sleen or Kaiila may be behind them.
One of the girls in the back whimpered in terror.
The officer, slowly, rode around the wagon, looking through the wooden bars at 
our bound cargo. The girls shrank back under his gaze, bound, inspected slaves.
I would be on my way as soon as possible, said the officer. I would not 
expect even Dust Legs to resist this cargo.
Yes, Captain! said the young man. The officer took his mount to the side and 
the soldiers, too, drew their kaiila to one side or the other. The young man 
then stood up, shaking the reins with one hand and cracking the whip with the 
other. Move, move, you beasts! he cried. The tharlarion lumbered into motion 
and the slack was taken up in the traces, and the wagon, creaking, lurched 
ahead. The girls were as quiet as tiny, silken field urts in the presence of 
forest panthers, being conducted in their cage between the ranks of the 
soldiers. In a few Ehn we were more than a pasang down the road. It was lonely, 
and dark. There was whimpering, and sobbing, behind us.
The slaves are terrified, I said.
We shall not camp, said the young man. We shall press on through the night. I 
shall, stop only, from time to time, to rest the tharlarion.
That is wise, I said.
It is not like the Dust Legs, he said.
That, too, would be my understanding of the matter, I said.
5      I Throw Stones on the Road to Kailiauk
I stepped aside, to the side of the road. It had rained early this morning. The 
road was still muddy. The men, some afoot, some on kaiila, with the clank of 
weapons and the rattle of accouterments, filed past me. I looked into the eyes 
of some of them. They were mercenaries. Yet they belonged to no mercenary 
company I recognized. Doubtless they had been hired here and there.
They wore various uniforms, and parts of uniforms, and carried an assortment of 
weapons. Some of them, I suspected, might even be men without a Home Stone. They 
were moving northward, as I was. They, I speculated, were bound for kailiauk. I 
took it there were about a thousand of them. This was unusually large for a 
mercenary force. It would require a considerable amount of money to hire and 
sustain such a force.
In the center of the road, approaching, between, and with, the lines, drawn by 
two tharlarion, was an ornately carved, two-wheeled cart. An officer, a bearded 
fellow with plumed cap, perhaps the captain of the mercenary company, beside 
this cart. On a curule chair, fixed on the high cart, under a silken canopy, 
proud and graceful, bedecked with finery, garbed in the ornate Robes of 
Concealment, sat a woman. Chained by the neck to the side of the cart, clad in 
rags, was a red youth.
Hold! said the woman, lifting her small, white-gloved hand as the cart drew 
near to me.
Hold! called the officer, turning his kaiila and lifting his hand.
Hold! Hold! called other officers. The lines stopped. The woman lowered her 
hand.
She regarded me. Tal, she said.
Tal, Lady, said I to her.
With one hand, nonchalantly, she freed her outer veil. Her features, then, were 
concealed but poorly by the second veil, little more thin a wisp of diaphanous 
silk. She did this, apparently, that she might speak to me more easily. She 
smiled. I, too, smiled, but inwardly. A master might have given such a veil to a 
slave as a joke. She was a vain woman. She wished me to see that she was 
stunningly beautiful. I saw that she might make an acceptable slave.
I see that you carry a sword, she said.
Yes, Lady, said I.
Who are you? she asked.
A traveler, a swordsman, I said.
This is the Lady Mira, of Venna, said the bearded officer. I am Alfred, 
captain of this company, mercenary of Port Olni. Venna is a resort town west of 
the Voltai, north of Ar. Port Olni is located on the north bank of the Olni 
River. It is a member of the Salerian Confederation.
Apparently you do not wish to reveal your name, said the woman.
The name of a lowly fellow, such as myself, I said, could surely be of no 
interest to so fine a lady.
Are you a bandit? she asked.
No, Lady, said I.
Can you use the blade hung at your hip? she asked.
After a fashion, Lady, I said.
We are hiring swords, she, said.
My thanks, Lady, I said. I do not wish to take fee.
Draw your weapon, said the officer.
I drew the blade quickly, smoothly, and stepped back. When a Gorean tells you to 
draw your blade, it is generally not wise to spend a great deal of time 
discussing the matter. He may have something in mind.
Attack him, said the officer to one of the men nearby.
Our blades had not crossed twice before the point of sword was at the fellows 
throat.
Do not kill him, said the officer hastily.
I resheathed my blade and the fellow white-faced, backed away.
A silver tarsk a month, said the officer. This was a handsome sum. I was sure 
it was more than most of the men about me were receiving.
Whither are you bound, Captain, I asked, and on what business!
We are going to Kailiauk, and are then going to enter the Barrens, he said. 
There are tribes to be subdued.
I do not understand, I said.
Surely you have heard of the depredations which took place yesterday? he 
asked.
Your forces were surely assembled before yesterday, I said.
He laughed. I supposed such forces might indeed enter the Barrens and wreak some 
havoc, perhaps falling upon some Dust-Leg villages. Too often it seems it is the 
peaceful and innocent who are slaughtered. In this a lesson may be found that it 
may not be prudential to be either too peaceful or too innocent. One does not 
survive with wolves by becoming a sheep. That is only a short cut to 
destruction.
There are thousands of savages in the Barrens, I said.
These men are professionals, he said. One such mercenary is worth a thousand 
half-naked savages.
I heard laughter about me.
They will flee, he said, at the very sound of our drums.
I said nothing.
Too long has the perimeter held, he said. We shall advance it, to the east. 
The banners of civilization are in our grasp.
I smiled. I wondered if barbarisms were civilizations which were not ones own.
Are you going to take a woman into the Barrens? I asked. Surely you can 
surmise what the red savages would do with such a woman?
I am perfectly safe, I assure you, laughed the Lady Mira. I wondered what she 
would feel like if she found herself naked and bound with rawhide, lying at the 
feet of lustful warriors.
The Lady Mira is of the Merchants, said the officer. She has been empowered 
to negotiate hide contracts with the conquered tribes.
Who is this? I asked, indicating the red youth, in chained by the neck to the 
side of the cart.
Urt, a Dust Leg, a slave, said the officer. We purchased him in the south. He 
can speak with Dust Legs, and knows sign.
The boy looked at me, with hatred.
How long was he a slave? I asked.
Two years, said the officer.
From whom was he originally purchased? I asked.
Dust Legs, said the officer.
It seems unlikely they would sell one of their own tribe, I said.
They are savages, said the officer.
You are not a Dust Leg, I said to the boy.
He did not respond to me.
You will trust your translations to such a fellow? I asked.
Our clearest speech, said the officer, will be with steel.
You have many men, I said. Your expedition must be very expensive. Had it 
been mounted by several cities I think I would have heard of it. Whence comes 
the gold for these numerous and manifold fees?
The officer looked at me, angrily.
We are sustained by the merchant council, said the woman. Our papers are in 
order.
I see, I said.
Seldom, said the officer, have I seen steel move as swiftly, as deceptively, 
as yours. My offer stands. Rations and a silver tarsk, one for each month of 
service.
Rations, and a golden tarsk, said the woman, looking down at me. Over her veil 
of light silk her eyes shone. She had made the offer without consulting the 
officer. She had obviously much authority and power. I wondered what she would 
look like, if reduced to helpless bondage,
My thanks, Lady, I said. But I am in my own service.
A position might be found for you, even in my intimate retinue, she said.
I am in my own service, I said.
Move on! she called, lifting her gloved hand, and sitting angrily back in the 
curule chair.
I stepped to the side of the road.
Forward! called the officer, lifting his arm. The lady looked at me, angrily, 
her gloved hands now clutching the arms of the curule chair. Then she lifted her 
head and looked directly ahead. Ho! called the officer. His arm fell. The 
lines of mercenaries then moved forward, with the wagon in their midst, 
northward, toward Kailiauk. I withdrew to the side and sat in some shadows, 
among rocks, to observe the lines. I estimated the number of men, and, 
carefully, counted the supply wagons. My conjectures were warranted. Considering 
the game presumably available in the Barrens there were several more wagons in 
the lines than would have seemed called for.
When the lines and wagons had passed I emerged from the rocks and, at a 
distance, followed them toward Kailiauk.
The merchants of Port Olni, of course, would not be sustaining the enormous 
expense of such an expedition. They were not intimately involved in the hide 
traffic and, if they had been, as merchants, their procedures, initially, at any 
rate, would have been mercantile and not military. They would surely have tried, 
at least in the beginning, to work through local traders or, say, Dust Legs 
themselves. I had, in my mind, no doubt as to what source on Gor had both the 
motivation and resources to mount such an expedition. Similarly I had little 
doubt as to who were the occupants of certain of closed wagons in the lines.
On the road to Kailiauk I threw back my head and laughed heartily. I, Tarl 
Cabot, had been approached by agents of Kurii, and asked to take fee! I had 
little doubt that Kog and Sardak, and others like them, scratched impatiently, 
twisted, uncomfortably, anxious to get on with their work, in wagons ahead of 
me. Such close confinements, voluntary and self-imposed, would surely be almost 
intolerable for them. I admired their discipline. I hoped that it would hold 
out. It was nice to know where they were.
I bent down and picked up a rock, and tossed it ahead of me, down the road. Then 
I continued on again, toward Kailiauk.
One additional thing I had noted about the forces ahead of me. There had been no 
slave wagons in the lines, nor, chained in throat coffle, trudging in the dust 
behind the supply wagons, any slave girls. That I took to be the doing, and a 
tribute to the power, of the Lady Mira of Venna. As a free woman she doubtless 
hated slave girls, the lascivious, shameless sluts who drove men wild with such 
desire for them. Too, doubtless it pleased her vanity to be the only woman among 
so many men. I had seen her features, concealed by only a wisp silk. I wondered 
what she might look like in dancing silk and a steel collar, perhaps kneeling 
before me, the shadow of my whip falling across her body. I thought then she 
might not seem so proud, not as a humbled, owned slave. The Kurii, I granted 
them, almost always chose female agents of incredible beauty. This is so, I 
gather, that when they have served their serious purposes, there is always 
something else that may be done with them.
I spun another rock down the road, after the lines and wagons.
I should not have demonstrated the skill with the sword that I had, I supposed. 
Indeed, I had resolved, as a part of a disguise, to pretend to only modest skill 
with the weapon, unless it proved necessary to do otherwise. As soon as the two 
blades had touched, however, I had seen what could be done, and had done it. The 
matter was reflexive as much, or more, than rational. The steel, as is often the 
case, had seemed to think for itself. But I did not regret what I had done. I 
chuckled. Let them see, said I to myself, the skill of one who had once trained 
in the martial courts of Ko-ro-ba. I laughed. I wondered what these agents of 
Kurii would if they had known that Tarl Cabot had been in their midst. But they 
would have no reason to suppose him in the vicinity of the Barrens. They would 
know only that they had encountered one who, obviously, was not unaccustomed to 
steel.
Once again I thought of the Lady Mira of Venna. Yes, I thought, she would look 
well, like any other beautiful woman, stripped and collared, crawling to the 
feet of a man.
6      Kailiauk
I looked down into the broad, rounded, shallow pit, leaning over the waist-high 
wooden railing. In the pit, about five feet below the surface of the ground, 
there were nineteen girls. They wore wrist and ankle shackles, their wrists 
having some six inches of play and their ankles some twelve inches of play. They 
were also chained together by the neck. None of them stood, for such a girl, in 
such a pit, is not permitted to stand, unless given an express order to do so. 
The pit was muddy, for it had rained in the morning. They looked up, some of 
them who dared to do so, at the men looking down at them, from about the 
circular railing, assessing their qualities as females. Did they look into the 
eyes of their future masters? They had not yet even been branded.
Barbarians, said the fellow next to me.
Clearly, I said.
There are two other pits, said the fellow. Did you see them?
Yes, I said. I have already perused their contents. It is pleasant to see 
naked, chained women, either slaves or those soon to be slaves.
I had spent a night on the road and had arrived in Kailiauk, hungry and muddy, 
yesterday, shortly after the tenth Ahn, the Gorean noon. Indeed, I had heard the 
striking of the time bar, mounted on the roof of the Administrators store, as I 
had approached the towns outskirts. In Kailiauk, as is not unusual in the towns 
of the perimeter, the Administrator is of the Merchants. The major business in 
Kailiauk is the traffic in hides and kaiila. It serves a function as well, 
however, as do many such towns, as a social and commercial center for many 
outlying farms and ranches. It is a bustling town, but much of its population is 
itinerant. Among its permanent citizens I doubt that it numbers more than four 
or five hundred individuals. As would be expected it has several inns and 
taverns aligned along its central street.
Its most notable feature, probably, is its hide sheds. Under the roofs of these 
open sheds, on platforms, tied in bundles, are thousands of hides. Elsewhere, 
here and there, about town, are great heaps of bone and horn, often thirty or 
more feet in height. These deposits represent the results of the thinnings of 
kailiauk herds by the red savages. A most common sight in Kailiauk is the coming 
and going of hide wagons, and wagons for the transport of horn and bones. The 
number of kailiauk in the Barrens is prodigious, for it affords them a splendid 
environment with almost no natural enemies. Most kailiauk, I am sure, have never 
seen a man or a sleen.
The Barrens are traversed by a large number of herds. The four or five 
best-known herds, such as the Boswell herd, he for whom the Boswell Pass is 
named, and the Bento herd and the Hogarthe herd, named after the first white men 
who saw them, number, it is estimated, between two and three million beasts. The 
tremors in the earth from such a herd can be felt fifty pasangs away. It takes 
such a herd two to three days to ford a river. It has occasionally happened that 
enemy tribes have preyed on such a herd at different points and only afterwards, 
to their chagrin and amusement, realized their proximity to one another. Besides 
these major herds there are several smaller, identifiable herds numbering in the 
hundreds of thousands of animals. Beyond these, as would be expected, are many 
smaller herds, the very numbers of which are not even calculated by the red 
savages themselves, herds often range from a few hundred to several thousand 
animals.
It is speculated that some of these smaller herds may be subherds of larger 
herds, separating from the major herd at certain points during the season, 
depending on such conditions as forage and water. If that is the case then the 
number of kailiauk may not be quite as large as it is sometimes estimated. On 
the other hand, that their numbers are incredibly abundant is indubitable. These 
herds, too, interestingly enough, appear to have their annual grazing patterns, 
usually describing a gigantic oval, seasonally influenced, which covers many 
thousands of pasangs. These peregrinations, as would be expected, tend to take a 
herd in and out of the territory of given tribes at given times. The same herd, 
thus, may be hunted by various tribes without necessitating dangerous departures 
from their own countries.
The kailiauk is a migratory beast, thusly, but only in a rather special sense. 
It does not, for example, like, certain flocks of birds, venture annually in 
roughly linear paths from the north to the south, and from the south to the 
north, covering thousands of pasangs in a series of orthogonal alternations. The 
kailiauk must feed as it moves, and it is simply too slow for this type of 
migration. It could not cover the distances involved in the times that would be 
necessary. Accordingly the herds tend not so much to migrate with the seasons as 
to drift with them, the ovoid grazing patterns tending to bend northward in the 
summer and southward in the winter. The smell of the hide sheds, incidentally, 
gives a very special aroma to the atmosphere of Kailiauk. After one has been 
there for a few hours, however, the odor of the hides, now familiar and 
pervasive, tends to be dismissed from consciousness.
Some of them are quite pretty, said the fellow next to me, looking down into 
the pit, his elbows on the railing.
Yes, I said. We stood within the compound of Ram Seibar, a dealer in slaves. 
It is a reasonably large compound, for he also handles kaiila. It is, I would 
estimate, something over three hundred feet square, or, say, a bit less than a 
tenth of a pasang square. It contains several slave pits but only three were now 
occupied. It also contains several larger and smaller wooden structures, 
primarily holding areas, barracks for men and various ancillary buildings. The 
entire compound is enclosed by a wooden palisade. On the largest building, the 
main sales barn, about seventy feet wide and a hundred and twenty feet in 
length, there flies the pennon of Seibar, a yellow pennon on which, in black, 
are portrayed shackles and a whip.
Do you know Grunt, the trader? I asked the fellow.
Yes, said he.
Is he in the vicinity? I asked.
I do not know, said the man.
I had sought this fellow in the various inns and taverns of Kailiauk. I could 
find no one who seemed to know of his whereabouts. Indeed, I had begun to 
despair of finding him.
This morning, at the Five Horns stables, in Kailiauk, I had bought two kaiila. 
Bridles, a saddle, various sorts of gear, supplies, and trading goods, too, I 
had purchased in the town, at the store of Publius Crassus, of the Merchants, 
who is also Kailiauks Administrator. Too I had purchased a short bow, modeled 
on the sort used by the savages, fit for clearing the saddle, and a quiver of 
twenty sheaf arrows.
In my opinion one of the mistakes of the white cavalries of the perimeter areas 
was their reliance on the crossbow, which is primarily an infantry weapon. It 
does, of course, have various advantages. It has considerable striking power, it 
may be kept ready to fire almost indefinitely, and, for most men, it is easier 
to fire with accuracy from the saddle than the straight bow. It will also, at 
short ranges, penetrate most of the hide shields used by the red savages.
Its major disadvantage is its slowness in rate of fire. The cavalry crossbow 
does have an iron stirrup in which the rider, without dismounting, may insert 
his foot, thus gaining the leverage necessary for drawing the cable back with 
both hands. If the rider is right handed he usually inserts his right foot in 
the stirrup and leans to the right in drawing the cable; this procedure is 
reversed, of course, usually, if the rider is left handed. While this procedure 
permits the rider to reload without dismounting and tends to improve, at some 
cost to striking power, the bows rate of fire, it still provides, in my 
opinion, no adequate compensation for the loss of rapidity of fire. I think it 
not unlikely that the red savage could discharge three to five shafts in the 
time a single quarrel could be set in the clumsier weapon. In my opinion, if the 
crossbow, of the lighter, more quickly loading type, had proved to be a superior 
missile weapon in the typical combats practiced in the Barrens the red savages 
would have had recourse either to it, or to something analogous to it. But they 
have not.
I opted, accordingly, taking them for my authorities in the matter, for a weapon 
similar in design to theirs, one which had, apparently, proven its usefulness in 
the abrupt, sudden and fierce engagements characteristic of war on the vast 
grasslands of the Barrens. Unable to find Grunt, I feared I must enter the 
Barrens alone. Already, early this morning, the Lady Mira of Venna, and Alfred 
of Port Olni, with their mercenaries, had left Kailiauk.
The fellow leaning on the rail turned to look at me. Why do you wish to find 
Grunt? he asked.
I wish to enter the Barrens, I said.
It is madness to do so, said he.
I shrugged.
It is unfortunate you did not come to Kailiauk a month ago, he said.
Why is that? I asked.
Settlers, armed, with two hundred wagons, crossed the Ihanke, he said. Men, 
women, children. There must have been seven or eight hundred of them. You could 
have accompanied them. There is perhaps safety in such numbers.
Perhaps, I said. Such a. party, however, I knew must travel slowly. Also, it 
would be impossible to conceal its trails and movements.
You are a big fellow, he said, and seem quick, and strong. Why did you not 
sign articles with the troops who left this morning?
I did not respond to him.
It was the largest mercenary band ever to leave Kailiauk, he said. You should 
have gone with them.
Perhaps, I said.
Im chained! Im chained! wept one of the girls in the pit below. She knelt, 
nude, in the mud. With her small hands, her tiny wrists in their close-fitting 
manacles, she seized the chain attached to the collar on her neck. She jerked it 
twice against the back of her neck. It cut at the back of her neck. Im 
chained, she wept, disbelievingly. Where am I? What has become of me? Where 
are my clothes? Who are these men? How is it that they dare to look at me? In 
what place do I find myself?
They cannot even speak Gorean, said the man beside me.
Barbarians, I said.
Yes, he said. The girl had spoken in English. This had confirmed my surmise as 
to their origin. I had come to Seibars market out of curiosity. I had heard he 
was the major dealer in Kailiauk for barbarian slaves. I did not know, but I 
suspected that he himself was not in league with Kurii, but merely purchased 
wholesale lots of such girls from one or more of their agents. Such girls, I 
gathered, from my conversations with the teamster with whom I had ridden to Fort 
Haskins, were sold at various points along the perimeter. I had, earlier in the 
afternoon, on one of my purchased kaiila, scouted the terrain north and south of 
Kailiauk. In my ride I had come to one place, sheltered among small hills, in 
which I had found scorched grass and several, rounded six-inch-deep impressions 
in the earth. It had been there, I speculated, that one of the steel ships of 
the Kurii had landed. Also there were wagon tracks leading away from the area, 
toward Kailiauk. I was less fortunate, at various small camps and outlying 
farms, in obtaining information as to the possible whereabouts of a white trader 
named Grunt. I did not approach the Ihanke, nor did I wish to do so, if 
possible, until I knew exactly what I was doing. I did not know, for example, 
even if it were guarded or not.
Even if such girls understood Gorean, said the fellow next to me, amused, 
they could probably not even understand what was required of them. They 
probably do not even know the hundred kisses.
They could be taught, I said.
That is so, he laughed.
Stand aside, Gentlemen, if you would, said a voice near us, that of a slavers 
man.
We stepped back and he, from a basket, hurled an assortment of scraps, such as 
crusts of bread and rinds of fruit, into the muddy pit. It was the refuse, the 
garbage, I gathered, from a meal of the slavers men.
In the pit the girls regarded the refuse with horror. Then I saw the small, 
chained hand of one reach forth toward a piece of roll. She picked it up and 
thrust it in her mouth. Another girl then reached to a bit of fruit. Another 
then snatched at a gravy-sopped wedge of yellow Sa-Tarna bread. Then, in an 
instant, in their chains, they scrambled in the mud after the garbage, twisting 
and shrieking, caught and restricted in their chains, scratching, and rolling 
and fighting, for the least of the tidbits cast to them by a free man.
They are slaves, said the man near me, as we returned to the railing.
Yes, I said. Too, I saw that their education had begun.
There is better stock inside, I hear, said the man, hidden away until the 
time of the sale, some even in the barbarian garments in which they were 
captured.
That is interesting, I said.
But they, too, said the man, will learn to take food on their belly.
Of course, I said. Then I turned away from the railing. I was angry that I had 
not been able to locate Grunt, the trader. In the morning, with or without him, 
I would enter the Barrens.
7      Ginger
Barbarians! Barbarians for sale! called the fellow, standing on the circular 
wooden platform, outside the opened gate of the large, palisaded enclosure.
From within I saw a nude woman, her hands tied behind her back, being dragged 
forth, each arm in the charge of a slavers man.
Barbarians for sale! call the fellow on the platform. He was a gross, 
corpulent fellow, and wore a long, opened, soiled shirt of blue-and-yellow silk. 
His leather trousers were fastened with a wide, triply buckled belt. To this 
belt was fastened a substantial, beaded sheath, apparently containing a stout, 
triangular-bladed dagger. He wore, too, kaiila boots, with belled, silver heel 
points, kaiila goads. In his hand there was a long, supple kaiila quirt of black 
leather, about a yard in length. His hair was bound back with strands of 
twisted, blue-and-yellow cloth. His caste, even in the town of Kailiauk, was 
that of the slavers.
The woman, her hands tied behind her, each arm in the rude grasp of the slavers 
man, was thrust to the height of the platform, beside the corpulent fellow.
In addition to our stock of fine merchandise, called the corpulent fellow, we 
have just received a new lot of barbarians!
These would be the same girls of whom I had seen several this afternoon, in the 
slave pits within the compound. I had come again, in the evening, after supper, 
to the compound of Ram Seibar. I thought I might look in on some of the sales. 
Afterwards I might go to a tavern, to have a cup of paga and see if I could rent 
a girl to take to my room for the night, to return her in the morning.
They have not yet been picked over, said the man. This little plum, juicy 
with pleasures for a master, he said, indicating the girl on the platform with 
him, with a gesture of his kaiila quirt, is one of the sorriest of the lot. 
This, in my opinion, was not true. I thought she would have ranked rather high 
among the girls. To be sure, the most luscious merchandise, presumably to be 
sold rather late in the evening, had probably not even been put in the pits.
Display her, Lads, said the fellow. The two slavers men thrust the woman 
forward, toward the crowd, and bent her backwards. She whimpered.
And this is one of the worst of the lot, said the fellow. The two slavers men 
turned the woman first to one side, and then to the other. Meat so fresh that 
it has not yet even been marked! said the fellow. That is enough, Lads, he 
said. They then turned the woman about and dragged her down the steps and back 
into the compound. If you would see more, said the man to those of us gathered 
about, about the outdoor platform, you must come within. Within you may buy 
her, and others like her, from the side blocks. Too, even more luscious 
merchandise you may seek from the central block in open bidding! I wondered if 
the woman knew that she was, in all likelihood, to be soon branded. In most 
Gorean cities it is illegal to offer an unbranded woman in a public sale. This 
is presumably in deference to the delicacy and sensibilities of free women. The 
brand draws a cataclysmic gulf between the Gorean free woman, secure in her 
arrogance, beauty and caste rights, and the stripped, nameless, rightless 
slaves, suitably vended as the mere lovely beasts they are in the flesh markets 
of this primitive, gorgeous world. Unbranded women, of course, may be sold 
privately, for example, as fresh captures to slavers, or, say to men who have 
speculated that they might find them of interest.
Barbarians! Barbarians for sale! now continued to call the fellow on the 
wooden platform outside the gate to the compound of Ram Seibar. In addition to 
our usual stock of fine merchandise, we have just received a new lot of 
barbarians. They have not yet been picked over. They will be put up for sale 
within the Ahn. Step within, Noble Gentlemen, and examine our offerings. 
Patronize the house of Ram Seibar! Free drinks! No purchase necessary!
I felt a small tug at my sleeve, and then felt my arm delicately held. I felt a 
soft cheek pressed against my arm. Master, whispered a voice. I looked down, 
and the girl, with loose, auburn hair, looked up. She smiled. Accompany me to 
Randolphs tavern, she said. I will give you much pleasure. About her throat, 
narrow, sturdy and closely fitting, was a steel collar. I stepped back, that I 
might see her better. She wore a short, fringed, beaded shirtdress. This came 
high on her thighs. It was split to her waist, well revealing the sweetness and 
loveliness of her breasts. It was belted upon her with a doubly looped, tightly 
knotted rawhide string. Such a string is more than sufficient, in its length, 
and in its strength and toughness, to tie a woman in a number of ways. She was 
barefoot. About her left ankle there was, about two inches high, a beaded cuff, 
or anklet. Her garb was doubtless intended to suggest the distinctive, 
humiliating and scandalously brief garment in which red savages are sometimes 
pleased to place their white slaves. One difference, however, must surely be 
noted. The red savages do not use steel collars. They usually use high, beaded 
collars, tied together in the front by a rawhide string. Subtle differences in 
the styles of collars, and in the knots with which they are fastened on the 
girls necks, differentiate the tribes. Within a given tribe the beading, in its 
arrangements and colors, identifies the particular master. This is a common way, 
incidentally, for warriors to identify various articles, which they own.
It is my hope that Master will find Ginger pleasing, she said.
Ginger? I asked.
Master? she asked.
Are you a barbarian? I asked.
Once, Master, she whispered. But I have been trained. I am no longer a 
stranger to my collar.
Watch out! cried a man.
Oh! cried the girl. I seized her and pulled her from the place where she 
stood. Two kaiila thundered past.
Make way! we heard. Make way! There was then the thudding of the clawed pads 
of kaiila, several of them, almost upon us. Ho! Ho! called their drovers, 
riding behind them, swirling their coiled rawhide ropes in the air. I and the 
others backed against the wall of the compound of Ram Seibar. The kaiila, 
perhaps a hundred and fifty of them, thundered past. I did not think such beasts 
should be run through the streets, but it sometimes pleases their drovers to do 
so. It had happened more than once since I had been in Kailiauk. The kaiila were 
presumably from the northern ranches and would be sold in Kailiauk, and in the 
towns to the south.
It is needless for that to be done in that fashion, said a fellow near me. 
There are shorter routes to the corrals and the wired pastures.
Individuals are sometimes injured, said another man.
The tavern girls live in terror of them, said another fellow.
I looked down at the girl in my arms. I saw that what he said was true. This 
pleased me. It was fitting that slave girls lived in terror of free men.
They do not come that often to Kailiauk, said a fellow, cheerfully.
When they come, said another, it is with a thirst for paga and the wenches of 
the taverns.
Who can blame them? said another.
The kaiila ranches, I supposed, were remote, desolate places. Land, which is 
suitable for farming, and in proximity to towns, is seldom, along the perimeter, 
put to the uses of grazing.
They are generally good fellows, said another man.
They spend their money freely, added another.
That is a point in their favor, said another.
A point in our favor, said another.
Some are dangerous and cruel. said another man.
Let us hope there will be no killings, said another.
Killings among such men, hot-tempered and aflame with paga, I supposed might 
occur not infrequently. Too often, I suspected, a suspicion of cheating at 
stones or disks, or a dispute over a slave, might lead to the flash of steel, 
the sudden movement of a knife.
You saved me, Master, said the girl, holding to me.
Perhaps to some extent, I said, I have protected the investment of your 
master. It is well to help a slave keep clearly in mind that she is only an 
article of property.
He had me cheaply, she smiled.
Perhaps I should not have bothered, I said.
But I am worth more now, she said.
Oh? I said.
Return with me to the tavern of Randolph, said she. I will show you. She 
then pressed her body against me, closely and lasciviously, and helplessly, in 
the manner of the female slave, that of the woman who knows herself completely 
subject to the will of men. She then put her arms about my neck and, standing on 
her toes, lifting her lips to mine, kissed me. I then, by the arms, held her 
from me. You kiss well, Slave, I told her, Thank you, Master, she said.
Is it true that you are a barbarian? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said. I was sold, even, from the house of Ram Seibar.
When? I asked.
Eighteen months ago, she said.
You are now no stranger to your collar, I said. The kiss of a slave girl is 
unmistakable.
No, Master, she said.
The central street seemed busy tonight, I said. I find it hard to believe 
that you have been sent forth to solicit business, the evening being such as it 
is, for the tavern of Randolph.
She looked at me, suddenly, frightened.
The fellow on the platform, at that time, began again to address the crowd. 
Barbarians! Barbarians for sale! he called. Enter now. The sales begin in a 
few Ehn. Buy at the house of Ram Seibar! Barbarians for sale, cheap and pretty!
Solicit elsewhere, I told her.
Please, Master, she said.
If you do not wish to use her, said a fellow standing nearby, do you mind my 
taking her?
Of course not, I said.
Lead me to the tavern of Randolph, said the man to the girl.
Master! said the girl to me.
Do you dawdle to obey, Slave? inquired the man.
No, Master, she cried, turning white, no!
Precede me, he said.
Yes, Master, she said.
As a slave girl, he said.
Yes, Master! she said. With a sob she began to precede him, and as a slave 
girl.
Barbarians for sale! Barbarians for sale, cheap and pretty! called the fellow 
on the platform.
I then went through the gate and entered the compound of Ram Seibar.
8      Grunt
I turned my attention from the apparently lovely young woman, though she was 
fully clothed, who was strung up by the wrists near the central block. Her 
ankles had also been crossed and bound, a slavers trick to accentuate the sweet 
curvatures of her hips and legs. A thong also ran from over the bonds on her 
ankles to an iron ring a few inches below her feet. This tends to prevent undue 
movement on the rope.
A distinction must be drawn between the side blocks and the central, or main, 
block, in a vending area. I shall describe the situation, specifically, as it 
exists in the sales barn of Ram Seibar. It is not untypical of the arrangements 
in many such places, particularly in outlying areas. To be sure, there is, it 
seems, from market to market, and from city to city, an almost infinite variety 
of ways in which women may be, and are, displayed and sold. This is not 
surprising since the institution of female slavery, on Gor, is both extremely 
successful and quite ancient.
In the central hall of the sales barn of Ram Seibar, which is open to the 
public, there are twenty-one blocks. Twenty of these are subsidiary blocks, or 
side blocks. These occur, aligned, ten to a side, along the walls, to the left 
and right, as one enters. They are spaced rather evenly, in order not to suggest 
distinctions among them. Too, they are placed a few feet out from the walls. At 
ones convenience, then, one may walk entirely about them. They are about a yard 
high and five feet in diameter. In the center of each there is an iron ring. The 
central block, which must be ascended by stairs, lies at the far end of the hall 
as one enters, opposite the door. It is about seven or eight feet in height and 
some twenty feet in diameter. Girls are seldom auctioned from the side blocks. 
Occasionally fixed prices are set on them. If this is the case the price is 
usually written on their body, either with a grease pencil or a lipstick. 
Usually, however, of course, they find themselves being bargained for. The girl 
usually hopes that her master will pay enough for her to convince him that she 
is of at least minimal value, and will not pay so much that he will be angry 
with the merchant, for in such a case he is almost certain to take his 
dissatisfaction out on her lovely hide. Side-block girl, in the argot of the 
slave girl, like pot girl and kettle-and-mat girl, is a term of 
disparagement. It must be admitted there is more prestige in being auctioned 
from a major, or central, block than there is in being casually purchased from a 
side block. One might as well be sold off a slavers public shelf, in a city, or 
out of a cage, or kneeling in the mud outside a village, from a slavers 
necklace. To be sure, a girl who is once sold off a side block may, in time, 
her femininity blossoming under the discipline of the whip and the harsh 
tutelage of masters, become a treasure, a slave so beautiful and desirable that 
men will pay fortunes to have her at their feet. I wandered over to the left 
wall to look at some of the side blocks.
I shall take this one, I beard a fellow say, and so simply was the girl sold. 
She was one of the few girls on whom Ram Seibar had set a fixed price. It was 
written on her back in lipstick, forty copper tarsks. She was one of the few who 
had been freshly branded. Her wrists were crossed and bound before her, in cruel 
loops of rawhide, and, by a tight loop encircling her body, cutting into her 
flesh, held tightly before her. Ibis was to prevent her from tearing at the 
brand. Hers were stained with tears. She, like the other girls on the side 
blocks, was fastened on her block. Uniformly they wore collars and chains, the 
chains some five feet in length and attached to the block rings. She saw money 
change hands. She knew she had been sold. She looked at her master, and 
shuddered. She saw that he was handsome.
When one girl was sold from a block a new one was put in her place.
How can you sell an unbranded woman? asked a fellow of a slavers man, 
indicating a freckled, fairly complexioned, red-haired barbarian kneeling 
frightened on a nearby block, the palms of her hands down on the wood. The black 
iron of her collar, and the chain, contrasted nicely with the lightness and 
texture of her skin.
Is she worth fifty tarsks to you? asked the slavers
Yes, said the fellow, slowly.
Immediately the slavers man removed a long piece of rawhide, about four feet in 
length, from his belt. He took the girls hands behind her, and, crossing them 
with one end of the rawhide, fastened them tightly, together. He then looped the 
rawhide about her belly, jerked it tight, and tied it to her bound wrists. The 
girl looked behind herself, frightened, her hands fastened closely at the small 
of her back. With a key he opened the girls collar and placed it, with its 
chain, on the block. He then seized the girl by the arms and slid her from the 
block, into the waiting arms of an attendant. Fifty tarsks for this freckled, 
little she-tarsk, he said. This will be the buyer, he said, indicating the 
fellow who had expressed an interest in the girl. The attendant nodded and, 
throwing the girl over his shoulder, left.
Pick her up in ten Elm, at the front entrance, said the slavers man to the 
prospective buyer. She will be branded.
The man nodded, and turned away.
I smiled to myself at the artifice involved in this transaction. The sale, 
technically, would not take place until after the young woman was branded. I 
watched her being carried out through a side entrance. I wondered if she knew 
she were being carried to the iron. This lot of barbarians, which I guessed as 
being in the neighborhood of seventy or eighty girls, had been, as nearly as I 
could determine, delivered only last night or this morning. Even now the 
majority of them had not been marked. This was a function, of course, of the 
brief amount of time they had been in the possession of Ram Seibar. It takes 
time to bring an iron to branding heat and the iron, of course, its head sinking 
and searing, burning, into the girls flesh, marking her, loses heat rapidly. A 
given iron, accordingly, must be reheated before being reapplied. This situation 
is further complicated by the fact that the iron, normally, is cleaned following 
each application, a procedure which further reduces its heat. The cleaning is 
important for the precision and clarity of the next marking. Thus, in effect, 
each girl is marked with a new, fresh iron.
The most common brand site in a Gorean slave girl is the outer side of the left 
thigh, closely beneath the hip. In this brand site the identificatory mark is 
thus placed high enough to be covered by the brief cloth of a common slave tunic 
and is available for convenient and immediate inspection if the tunic is lifted. 
The time it takes to brand several women can be reduced by the common expedient 
of heating several irons, but most iron masters will not work with more than two 
or three irons at a given time. Similarly, in a given house, normally only one 
fellow, at a time, attends to the branding. The rapidity with which the girls 
were being placed on sale, incidentally, is not unusual at the perimeter. This 
is, I think, in part a response to buyer pressure and, in part, the result of an 
unwillingness on the part of most perimeter slavers to devote time, or much 
time, to such niceties as diet, exercise and training. They reason, I suppose, 
that the master can manage, feed and train the girl, once he owns her, according 
to his own pleasures.
I shall take this one, said a short, stocky, broad-shouldered fellow, in a 
wide-brimmed hat. She has strong legs. Have her branded and put with the 
others.
The slavers man nodded. They did not even discuss price. I gathered that a 
limited-lot price must have been agreed upon earlier, perhaps with Ram Seibar 
himself. The slavers man did not seem hesitant to deal with him. I gathered he 
was well known in the area. He had bought more than one girl. Though the girls 
he purchased were comely, he did not seem, particularly, to be interested in 
that. He seemed to be buying them for some other reason.
As one girl, a branded one, was sold from a block down the way another girl, a 
blonde, was brought forward and flung on her hands and knees on the vacated 
block. A slavers man then locked the collar on her, with its chain, running to 
the block ring. She looked about herself, frightened. A fellow reached forth to 
touch her thigh. She struck at his hand and scrambled back. Dont! Dont! she 
cried, in English. Almost instantly a slavers man, a whip raised, was upon her. 
The men about the block stepped back, watching, as she, on her side, and 
twisting, writhed under her lashing. The slavers man then folded back the 
blades of the whip, under their clip, and hooked the whip, by its butt ring, on 
his belt. He then knelt her on the block, posing her. When the fellow again 
reached forth to touch her she did not resist. She had learned that she was the 
sort of woman whom men might touch when and as they pleased.
She contrasted interestingly with another girl, an auburn-haired girl, on the 
next block. The auburn-haired girl, cooperating and without the least 
resistance, assumed various postures and attitudes, following the indications of 
the various men about her block. She even permitted herself, without the least 
resistance, to be posed, and by hand, for their interest. She knelt now on the 
block, back on her heels, her knees spread, her back straight, her head back, 
her hands behind the back of her head. I had little doubt but what the situation 
of both of these girls would become even more clear to them once they were 
branded.
Noble Sirs! called a voice, that of the fellow in the soiled blue-and-yellow 
shirt who had, earlier, been advertising the sale outside the compound. Noble 
Sirs, he called. We are ready for the final auction of the evening!
This announcement was greeted with a murmur of interest and the men in the hall 
began to move toward the front of the room, to the vicinity of the central 
block. It was near the central block that the fully clothed, apparently lovely 
young woman was strung up by the wrists. She, it seemed, had been saved for 
last. During the course of the evening, from time to time, at irregular 
intervals, some fifteen or sixteen girls had been offered, in open bidding, to 
the crowd. Some of these, at least initially, had been clothed, though often in 
little other than panties and a brassiere. I had stayed to see this woman sold 
for I was curious to see if she was as beautiful as the delicate lineaments of 
her face suggested. She was a fairskinned, slender, willowy girl. She appeared 
to be sweetly breasted, with a small waist and lovely, flaring hips, doubtless 
nestling a luscious love cradle. She had, small wrists and ankles. They would 
look well in shackles. I saw that her eyes, when she opened them, in pain and 
terror, to look out on the crowd, were blue. Her hair was red, and bound back, 
rather severely, with a ribbon. She squirmed a moment in the bonds, and then 
hung still, near the central block. Her body, from what I could see of it, and 
judge of it, showed promise. It might prove adequate, I speculated, even for 
that of a pleasure slave.
I glanced back, and particularly to the left, at some of the side blocks. The 
side blocks were now deserted, the men having drifted forward, except by their 
occupants, now forgotten, kneeling or crouching upon them, their necks in their 
collars, fastened by their chains to the block rings. I smiled to myself. Some 
of the merchandise looked angry; no longer were they the centers of attention; 
they, though naked and chained, and on slave blocks, had been simply put from 
mind; they must remain behind, alone, precisely where they were, chained, while 
masters chose to ignore them, bestowing their attention on an item of at least 
temporarily greater interest. Already the merchandise was exhibiting the vanity 
of slaves. But let them rest content for, when the auction was done, men 
doubtless would drift back to their perusal; they would then be again subjected 
to the close scrutiny of masters; they would then be examined again,, and 
closely, to see if they might be of any interest.
I believe we are ready to proceed, called the gross, corpulent fellow in the 
soiled blue-and-yellow shirt. With his kaiila quirt he indicated the suspended 
girl. We have here the last item to be put up for auction this evening, a 
fairskinned, red-haired barbarian beauty.
We do not know if she is a beauty or not, called a man. Strip her!
But I hasten to assure you, continued the slavers man, giving no heed to the 
fellows enthusiastic contribution, that the market will remain open for yet 
another Ahn following this auction. You are then invited to reconsider with an 
eye for prospective purchase the trinkets and baubles strewn forth for your 
delectation upon our side blocks.
On with it! cried a man. Let us see her!
We have saved this barbarian beauty for last, said the slavers man. She will 
make a fitting conclusion to the auctions of this evening, such a splendid 
evening at the house of Ram Seibar! Behold her! Is your interest not whetted?
I could see, by glancing around, that the interest of several of the men was 
indeed whetted.
Even clothed, laughed the auctioneer, is your interest not whetted?
That it is! laughed more than one man.
Let us see her! called another.
That the woman was being sold last in the auctions does not indicate, per se, 
that she was the most beautiful. On the other hand, it was undeniable that she 
was quite beautiful. Several of the girls I had seen auctioned off during the 
course of the evening, incidentally, had been quite extraordinary.
This woman, at any rate, was surely among the most beautiful. Some of the girls 
auctioned earlier had also presented to the buyers initially clothed, to one 
extent the other, their clothing then being removed, sometimes sardonically and 
ceremoniously, during the course of their sale. This was the only woman, 
however, who had been presented before the buyers strung up by the wrists.
A fair-skinned, red-haired barbarian beauty, called the auctioneer, highly 
intelligent, exquisitely refined and of delicate sensibilities, a woman on her 
own world doubtless of class and station - but on this world, our world of Gor, 
only a meaningless piece of slave meat, a girl who will learn to wear a collar, 
a girl who will learn to serve and obey, a girl who will learn to please, a girl 
who will learn that she belongs, and rightfully, to men!
Let us see her! called more than one man.
The auctioneer signaled to an attendant who, from aside of the hall, brought 
forth a shallow copper bowl, some two feet in diameter, filled with slender 
cylinders of oil-impregnated wood. In a moment, with a fire-maker, of flint and 
steel, he had ignited this wood. The girl looked at it. I do not think, at that 
time, she clearly understood its significance.
Let us see her! called a man.
But, of course! called the auctioneer. He hung the long black kaiila quirt on 
his belt.
The woman looked out on the crowd, miserably. She did not understand, fully, I 
am sure, what was going to be done to her. She was a barbarian, her freedom only 
recently terminated. She spoke no Gorean. She had been brought into the hall and 
strung up so cruelly by the wrists only after completion of the earlier 
auctions. Too, I had little doubt that her masters had kept her ignorant of 
their occurrence. She knew little more than the fact that she was being 
displayed before men, though for what reason and to what end, I conjectured, she 
scarcely dared speculate.
Shall we begin? inquired the auctioneer of the crowd. Shall we see if she is 
any good?
Yes! Yes! more than one man. I smiled to myself the auctioneer knew his 
business.
But first, said the auctioneer, behold the absurdity of these garments. They 
seem to be a cross between the garments of a free woman and those of a slave. 
Most obviously, from what I could see, the woman wore an attractive office 
dress, of a sort, which is often implicitly prescribed, particularly by female 
executives, for subordinate female employees regarded as too feminine to be 
considered for the executive class. That is very pretty, Jane. I like to see 
you wear things like that. Yes, Miss Tabor. This is also a useful way, of 
course, for the female executive to make it a clear to their male colleagues 
that such women, unlike themselves, are only females.
It was a long, brown, white-flecked shirred shirtdress, of some soft, smooth 
synthetic material, of mid-calf length. It had small, red, round buttons 
securing the long, exciting frontal closure and appearing, too, at the cuffs. It 
also had a brown, white-flecked, matching tie belt. About her throat was a 
single string of pearls, doubtless simulated, or they would have been removed 
from her by her first captors. She wore stockings or pantyhose. On her feet were 
black, shiny, high-heeled dress sandals, each secured, apparently, by a single, 
narrow black ankle strap. The fact that she was dressed as she was led me to 
believe that the woman worked in business and that she had been taken by the 
slavers on her way home from work. I think she could forget about the office. In 
the future she would have other duties.
Are these the garments of a free woman or of a slave? asked the auctioneer.
Of a slave, shouted men. Remove them!
The Goreans probably regarded them as the garments of a slave because of their 
smoothness and prettiness. Too, the shirred quality of the dress would permit it 
to move, and swirl, excitingly about her body, if she chose to move in certain 
ways. Too, the lower portions of her calves and her pretty ankles were revealed 
by the dress. That she wore slave garments was probably also suggested to them 
by the transparency and sheerness of the coverings on her legs and, of course, 
from the Gorean view, her footwear, so slight and pretty, with the black ankle 
straps, was such that it would be likely to be affected only by a woman begging 
for the collar.
She came to us this way, said the auctioneer. I myself have not yet seen 
her.
Let us see her, called a man.
I wonder if she is any good, said the auctioneer. Begin! Begin! shouted 
men.
Of course! laughed the auctioneer. He then went to the suspended girl and, 
thrusting up the ropes on her ankles, unbuckled the narrow, ankle-encircling 
black straps of her high-heeled dress sandals. He drew them from her feet and 
held them up, together, in his right hand. Note the straps he said. We are 
familiar with such straps, are we not?
Several of the men laughed. They resembled the small black straps, buckled, with 
which one occasionally binds the wrists and ankles of slaves, before, or while, 
one amuses oneself with them.
He then drew the large, triangular-bladed knife from the beaded sheath on his 
belt and slashed the straps and uppers of the sandals, discarding them then in 
the flaming copper bowl at the side.
She has pretty feet, he said. He then resheathed his dagger and, extending his 
hand, locked his fingers about the string of pearls on the girls throat. She 
cried out as he jerked them from her neck. She has a pretty neck, too, he said 
bending her head back by the hair.
Yes, said a man.
He then released her hair and, stepping forward, again addressed himself to the 
crowd. Doubtless some Master will won find something more suitable with which 
to enclose that lovely neck than a string of pearls, he speculated.
There was laughter.
Further,  said the auctioneer, lifting the pearls, these pearls have been 
examined. They are false. She wore false pearls.
There was an ugly response in the crowd. Goreans have a rather primitive sense 
of honesty.
What should be her punishment? asked the auctioneer.
Slavery! said several.
She is already a slave, said the auctioneer, though perhaps she does not yet 
know it.
Let the man who buys her then pay her back, said a man, punishing her well, 
and lengthily, for her fraud.
Is that agreeable? asked the auctioneer.
Yes, said several.
I am better than she is, said a feminine voice beside me. I felt my arm being 
gently taken. I looked down. I recalled her. I had encountered her outside the 
compound of Ram Seibar, before the sale. She was a barbarian slave, and a tavern 
girl. Her name was Ginger. I thought you were occupied, I said. She nibbled at 
my sleeve. He kept me for Ahn, she said, murmuringly, poutingly. He made me 
serve him well.
Excellent, I said.
I am not now occupied, Master, she said.
Do not listen to her, Master, purred a voice from my other side. Come with 
me, rather, to Russells tavern. I will make your night a delight. I looked to 
my left. A dark-haired girl was there. She, too, obviously, was a tavern girl, 
but she was garbed quite differently from Ginger. The taste or business sense of 
their masters, I gathered, differed. Slaves, of course, are garbed precisely as 
their masters please. I, too, am a barbarian, she said. I am Evelyn.
She wore a black, tight, off-the-shoulder bodice and a short, black, silk skirt, 
decorated with red thread and ruffles, and stiffened with crinoline. A black 
ribbon choker was placed behind the steel collar on her throat. A red ribbon, 
matching the decorations on her skirt, was in her hair. She had not been 
permitted stockings or footwear. Such things are normally denied the Gorean 
slave girl. Her costume, like that of Ginger, the short, fringed, beaded 
shirtdress of tanned skin, with the beaded anklet, intended to resemble the garb 
in which red masters sometimes saw fit to clothe their white female slaves, if 
permitting them clothing, suggested its heritage of other times and other 
places. Most Gorean garments, of course, of the sorts worn by humans, trace back 
to terrestrial antecedents. I looked at the white bosom of Evelyn, lifted, 
shaped and confined in the tightness of the bodice, for the interest of masters. 
What man, I wondered, would not wish to unlace or tear away that bodice, to 
subject its treasures, like the woman herself, to the ravishments of his mouth 
and hands.
Pay her no attention, Master, said Ginger. Come with me to the tavern of 
Randolph.
No, with me, to the tavern of Russell, said Evelyn.
Surely you two have sneaked in here, I said. I did not think Ram Seibar would 
wish girls soliciting in his hall, particularly during the course of a sale.
The worst that would happen is that we would be whipped from the room, said 
Evelyn.
But across the calves, said Ginger. That hurts.
Yes, said Evelyn, shuddering. I gathered they had, more than once, been thusly 
speeded from the hall by wrathful attendants.
Release me! cried the suspended girl, hanging by her wrists, before the crowd.
No, she said, no! The tie belt on her dress had then been jerked loose, its 
ends dangling, supported by their loops, beside her hips.
No, she said, no, no! But one by one, slowly, the auctioneers knife was 
cutting the buttons from the long, frontal closure of her dress. What do you 
want? she cried. What you doing? Then the last button had been cut away. 
What do you think I am? What are you doing to me? she said. The sides of the 
dress were then brushed back.
I do not think she is pretty, said Ginger.
No, I do not either, said Evelyn. You may even be prettier than she.
I am beautiful, said Ginger. It is you who might even, be prettier than she, 
my man-hungry little slave.
Man hungry? said Evelyn. I have heard how you bite your chains, how you whine 
to be released at night.
It is no secret in Kailiauk, said Ginger, the fingernail scratches in your 
kennel!
I cannot help it if men have released my slavery, said Evelyn, tears in her 
eyes.
They, too, have released my slavery, said Ginger, and fully.
I am more helplessly passionate than you said Evelyn.
No, you are not, said Ginger.
It is well known in Kailiauk that I am a better slave than you, said Evelyn.
I am a better slave than you, said Ginger, Slave Slut!
No, you are not, Slave Slut, hissed Evelyn.
Be silent, Slave Sluts, I said.
Yes, Master, said Ginger.
Yes, Master, said Evelyn.
Beneath the dress the girl was wearing a full, knee-length slip of white silk. 
The dress, then, by cutting with the knife, and ripping, was removed from her. 
It, too, was then thrown on the flames, following the dress sandals and pearls.
I saw, then, that the slip had small, over-the-shoulder straps. These were 
severed and then, cutting and ripping from the back, the auctioneer loosened the 
slip. It could now, at his least convenience, be removed from the girl. At the 
left knee it had a deep cocktail slit. This interested me, suggesting that the 
girl might have good slave potential. This slit, affording an exciting glimpse 
of the girls calf and lower thigh, was, of course, drawn to the attention of 
the audience by the auctioneer.
I wondered why the two tavern girls, Ginger and Evelyn, had sought me out. 
Obviously there were many men in Kailiauk. Indeed, at this time of the evening, 
it seemed strange to me that they would even be absent from the tavern. Surely 
this was the time of the evening when they might be expected to be applying 
themselves to the business of making a living for their masters, performing 
exquisitely, chained, in their alcoves. I dismissed the matter from my mind.
No, begged the suspended girl, please, dont!
The slip was then lifted away from her body.
A silver tarsk, said a man.
Excellent said the auctioneer.
This seemed to me an unusually high bid for a raw, untrained barbarian slave, 
particularly as an opening bid. On the other hand, I had noted that girls seemed 
to bring high prices in Kailiauk. Several of the girls had gone from the side 
blocks, for example, for prices ranging between thirty and fifty copper tarsks. 
In certain other markets these girls, in their current state of barbarity and 
ignorance, might have brought as little as seven or eight tarsks apiece. These 
prices, of course, were a function of context and time. In Kailiauk there are 
many affluent fellows, rich from the trade in hide and horn, and the traffic in 
kaiila. Furthermore, this close to the perimeter, only a few pasangs from the 
Ihanke, far from the normal loci of slave raidings, and slave routes, female 
slaves, particularly beautiful ones, are not abundant. Accordingly men, coming 
in from surrounding areas, are willing to pay high to have one in their 
blankets.
The girl now wore a brassiere, a garter belt and stockings. Too, beneath the 
narrow garter belt, in what was perhaps an indication of charming reserve, I 
could see silken panties.
She is not really ugly, said Ginger.
No, said Evelyn.
The girl watched in horror as the remains of her silken slip was cast upon the 
flames, causing them to spring up anew. Her Earth clothing, before her very 
eyes, piece by piece, was being destroyed. It was thus being made clear to her 
that she was making a transition to a new reality.
No, she said, Please, no.
The auctioneer freed her stockings from the hooks and buttons on the four garter 
straps. In a moment the auctioneer had drawn the stockings from her legs, 
slipping them underneath the ropes on her ankles and discarding them in the 
flames. Then, after viewing her for a moment, he stepped behind her. He undid 
the two-hook back closure on the garter belt. This article of clothing, too, 
then, in a moment, was cast into the flames. She then hung before us clad only, 
save for the ribbon binding back her hair, in her brassiere and panties.
Undo her hair! called a man.
Yes! called another man.
I smiled to myself. Yes, it was the exact time for the womans hair to be 
unbound. The hair of slave girls, incidentally, unless shaved or shortened as a 
punishment, is usually worn long. There is more, cosmetically, which can be done 
with long hair and such hair, too, is often useful in the performance of 
intimate duties for her master. Too, of course, it can be balled and thrust in 
her mouth, for use as a gag, either, save when one does not wish to hear her for 
a time, or, perhaps, if one wishes, to silence her cries in the throes of her 
submission spasms. Too, of course, she may be bound with it.
Of course. said the auctioneer. He then untied the hair ribbon, which had 
bound her red hair back so primly. He threw it in the fire. He then fluffed her 
hair and brought it forward, over her shoulders. He then brushed it back, behind 
her back, and smoothed it. He turned her on the rope, to the left and right, 
that men might see the cut and fall of the hair against her back. It was pretty. 
Then the auctioneer turned her so that she was, again, helplessly, exposed 
frontally to the crowd.
She is really quite pretty, said Ginger, irritatedly,
Yes. agreed Evelyn.
But not as pretty as I, said Ginger.
At least not so pretty as I, said Evelyn.
I smiled. I had little doubt the suspended girl would bring a higher price than 
either of them, though they both were, admittedly, obviously full and desirably 
luscious slaves.
Two silver tarsks, said a man.
Excellent, said the auctioneer.
The girl looked out on the crowd with fear and misery. Doubtless she hoped, 
against hope, that she had now been adequately dismayed to the crowd. Surely the 
brutes would not dare go further. That she had been brought clothed into the 
hall surely argued that her dignity and pride would continue to be respected, at 
least to the degree that she was now concealed. Too, had the fellow attending to 
her not now paused in his abusive, insolent labors? But then she glanced to the 
side blocks. There there were women, much like herself; they, fixed in place, 
wearing collars and chains, she could not help but note, were absolutely naked. 
But she, surely, was different from them! She was finer, and more delicate. 
Anyone could see that! Then she hung, relieved, in the ropes. The auctioneer was 
conferring with an attendant, to the side. Her ordeal, as she conceived it, was 
now concluded. The exposure and disgrace which had been visited upon the other 
girls was not to be her lot. She was better. She was different.
The attendant, to whom the auctioneer had been addressing himself, took his 
exit.
But did the girl not know that she was not different? Did she not know that she, 
too, was only a slave?
I wonder if she is beautiful, said Ginger.
As she is now clad, it is not difficult to speculate on the matter, said 
Evelyn.
Why dont they take off her clothes, so we can see, said Ginger.
Yes, said Evelyn.
I smiled to myself. These girls, at any rate, understood something of the nature 
of a Gorean market.
Were you a side-block girl? asked Ginger.
No, said Evelyn. I was auctioned.
I, too, said Ginger.
Were you brought in naked? asked Evelyn.
Yes, said Ginger.
I was, too, said Evelyn.
Do you think that they think she is better than us? asked Ginger.
Perhaps, said Evelyn. Men are fools.
No! cried the suspended girl, suddenly. Dont! Please! The auctioneer was 
behind her.
No she cried. I am a virgin I have never been seen by men! No! she cried. 
Her breasts were lovely. Would the last vestige of her modesty not be permitted 
her?
No, she pleaded. Please, no!
No! she cried, and then hung, helpless and sobbing in the ropes.
I saw that the stripped slave was beautiful.
Three tarsks, said a man.
Three five, said another. This was a bid of three silver tarsks and fifty 
copper tarsks. There are one hundred copper tarsks to one silver tarsk in 
Kailiauk. The ratio is ten to one in certain other cities and towns. The 
smallest Gorean coin is usually a tarsk bit, usually valued from a quarter to a 
tenth of a tarsk. Gorean coinage tends to vary from community to community. 
Certain coins, such as the silver tarsk of Tharna and the golden tarn of Ar, 
tend, to some extent, to standardize what otherwise might be a mercantile chaos. 
This same standardization, in the region of the Tamber Gulf and south, along the 
shore of Thassa, tends to be effected by the golden tam of Port Kar. Coin 
merchants often have recourse to scales. This is sensible considering such 
things as the occasional debasings of coinages, usually unannounced by the 
communities in question, and the frequent practice of splitting and shaving 
coins. It is, for example, not unusual for a Gorean coin pouch to contain parts 
of coins as well as whole coins. Business is often conducted by notes and 
letters of credit. Paper currency, however, in itself, is unknown.
Four! called out another man.
Five! cried out another.
But, Gentlemen, called the auctioneer, turning the girl on the rope, turning 
her left thigh to the crowd, restrain your bids! Can you not see that she has 
not yet even been branded?
Mark her! Mark her! called more than one man.
On the height of the central block I saw two attendants sliding out a branding 
rack . Another, its handles wrapped in heavy cloth, carried out a cylindrical, 
glowing brazier, from which protruded the handles of two irons. He placed this 
near the branding rack. At the same time the auctioneer freed the ankles of the 
girl from the ropes. He then freed the end of her wrist rope from its ring and 
the rope, sliding through the overhead ring, loosened. As it did so the 
attendant to whom the auctioneer had earlier addressed himself, now returned, 
supported the girl. I did not think she could stand. When the rope permitted it 
be lifted her in his arms. Her weight was nothing for him. The auctioneer then 
jerked the remainder of the rope through the overhead ring. The attendant then 
carried the girl, the rope trailing beside him, to the height of the central 
block. There, with the help of another fellow, he lowered her into the heavy 
rack, and spun shut the sturdy vises on her left and right thighs. She had been 
carried to the rack naked, her wrists bound before her. She winced, unable to 
move her thighs, dismayed doubtless at the perfect tightness with, which they 
were held. Her wrists were then freed of the rope and taken behind her where 
they were fastened to a sturdy metal pole, a portion of the rack, by dangling 
slave bracelets.
The fellow who had carried in the brazier now drew forth, holding it with two 
gloves, an iron. It was white hot.
The girl regarded it, wild-eyed.
No! she cried. Are you beasts and barbarians? What do you think I am? Do you 
think I am an animal! Do you think I am a slave!
The iron was leveled. It approached the circular aperture in the vise, through 
which, deeply into her fair thigh, it would be thrust, and held, burning and 
hissing, until its work was done, until the girl was marked, and well, as slave 
meat.
You are bluffing! she cried. You cannot be serious!
She then learned that the intention of the iron with respect to her body was 
quite real.
The vises were spun loose. Her hands were freed of the restraining slave 
bracelets, only then to be tied with a cord behind her. Dismayed and sobbing she 
was freed of the rack and put on her knees, head down, at the auctioneers feet. 
The rack and the brazier, the iron returned to it, were removed from the central 
block. The girl then, naked and kneeling, her hands bound behind her, at the 
auctioneers feet, lifted her head and looked wildly out at the crowd. She had 
been branded.
She does not know what has happened to her, said Ginger.
She knows, said Evelyn.
But she does not yet fully understand it, said Ginger.
No, said Evelyn.
But she will soon understand it, and fully, said Ginger, even so stupid a 
slave.
Yes, said Evelyn.
The auctioneer then removed the long, supple kaiila quirt from his belt. Twice 
he struck the girl across the back. She cried out in pain. Her education had now 
commenced. No time, now, would be lost in teaching her her condition. He dragged 
her to her feet by the hair and bent her backwards, displaying the bow of her 
beauty to the crowd.
I have a bid of five tarsks on this slut, he called. Do I bear more? Do I 
hear more?
Is she trained? called a man.
Train her yourself, called the auctioneer, to your own pleasures. It was 
understood, of course, that these barbarians were not trained. They had not yet 
been taught, as far as I could tell, even the proper modes of kneeling before a 
master.
Five five! called a man.
Good! Good! called the auctioneer, displaying the slave. Do I hear more?
Can she speak Gorean? called a man. I smiled. It was clearly understood that 
these barbarian slaves could not speak Gorean.
Train her like a sleen or a kaiila, on her hands and knees, said the 
auctioneer. She will soon learn what is required of her.
Pose her! called a man.
In what way, Noble Sir? inquired the auctioneer, obligingly. He then, 
following the instructions of the fellow, sat the girl down, near the front of 
the central block, her left leg under her, her right leg extended and flexed, 
her right side facing the fellow, her shoulders back, her head turned sharply to 
look at him. In this way the curves of her right leg, and the lines of her 
figure, are pleasantly displayed.
Imagine her in your collar! challenged the auctioneer.
Kneel her! called a man.
The auctioneer then knelt the girl near the front of the central block. She 
knelt back on her heels. Her knees were widely spread. Her back was straight, 
her head high.
Five seven! called a man.
Five seven! repeated the auctioneer.
Get her on her feet, so we can see her legs! called a man.
Belly her! called another.
Make her walk! called a man.
Kneel her, with her head to the ground! called another.
Put her through slave paces! called another.
I looked to the, side. One of the fellows there was the short, muscular fellow 
who wore the low, broad-brimmed hat. I recalled he had purchased at least four 
or five of the girls from the side blocks. They had been excellent females, in 
my opinion, but they had not seemed to be, at least on the whole, the choicest 
merchandise available to him, and for similar costs. It was almost as though he 
were purchasing them for some purpose other than that for which slave girls are 
commonly purchased. I did not, now, understand his apparent interest in the 
red-haired slave now being vended. She, surely, was the sort of woman that would 
be purchased, at least usually, to fulfill one of the more common purposes of 
slave girls.
Men are beasts, said Ginger.
Yes, said Evelyn.
There was the sound of a quirt lashing flesh. The red-haired girl cried out in 
pain.
She does not even know what they want her to do, said Ginger.
She is a stupid slave, said Evelyn,
She will learn, said Ginger.
We all learn, said Evelyn.
I had noted, during the course of the evening, that more than one of the 
attendants about, and the auctioneer, too, had noted the presence of the two 
tavern girls in the crowd. They had not taken any action, however, to eject 
them. I found this of interest. Perhaps they thought them to be with me and that 
I, so to speak, was answerable for them. Again I was puzzled as to why they 
would be clinging about me. As I had not volunteered to accompany one or the 
other of them back to her masters tavern they should have attempted, after a 
bit, to apply their beauty and enslaved wiles to the enticement of a more likely 
prospect. It was surely not their business to be standing about observing slave 
sales. Even now, perhaps, their masters had taken slave whips down from the 
walls, curious as to their absence.
I gave my attention again to the central block. By now the red-haired beauty had 
been put through several slave paces, such as were feasible for her, her hands 
bound with the cord behind her back. She now, trembling, lay on her belly, 
licking and kissing at the auctioneers kaiila boots.
Is she vital? called a man.
The auctioneer pulled her to her feet by the hair and turned her about, facing 
the crowd.
I heard some men shouting outside in the street. The two girls inched more 
closely to me.
The auctioneer, his quirt now hooked on his belt, stood behind the red-haired 
girt. He put his left hand in her hair, and pulled her head back, and placed his 
right hand on her right hip. She suddenly screamed and writhed, squirming. But 
she could not free herself from his grip. No, please! she screamed. No! she 
sobbed. Then she cried out, No! Oh, no! Then she sobbed. No! No! No! Yes! 
Yes! No. No. No! Then he released her, and she fell to her knees on the block, 
sobbing, crimson with shame.
Good, said the fellow near me, he in the broad-brimmed hat.
I smiled. The lovely new slave, even freshly branded, had, in the hands of the 
auctioneer, betrayed herself.
She will make a hot slut, said Ginger.
She will not be able to help herself, no more than we, said Evelyn.
I was inclined to agree with the tavern girls. Clearly the red-haired girl had 
strong slave latencies.
Six! called a man.
Six five! called another.
Six seven! called another.
Six eight! called another.
Six nine! called another.
There was now a commotion at the door. We heard shouting behind us. The 
auctioneer looked to the back of the room, angrily. Seven or eight men, in the 
boots and garb of drovers, thrust in the door. Two or three of them carried 
half-emptied bottles of paga. Two of them had drawn swords in their hands. The 
tavern girls seized my arms, trying to make themselves small, behind me. The 
men, I gathered, were drovers, members probably of the same crew that I had seen 
arrive earlier, those who had driven their kaiila, crying out and shouting, 
through the streets.
Gentlemen! cried the auctioneer. Do not break the peace! Sheathe your steel! 
There is a sale in progress.
There they are! cried a fellow, one of the drovers, pointing towards us. He 
was a young, dark-haired, rough-looking fellow. The tavern girls cried out with 
misery. I shook them loose from my arms. The fellow slammed his steel into his 
sheath and strode towards us. Another fellow, one who looked much like him, was 
but a foot behind him. They were, I assumed, brothers.
The Hobarts, said a man, from the Bar Ina.
The fellow in advance seized Evelyn by the arms and shook her viciously. I was 
afraid he might break her little, collared neck. I sought you at the tavern, 
he said to her, angrily. You knew we would bring stock to town this night.
And you, little slut, snarled the other, what of you? He seized Ginger by 
the hair with both hands and threw her cruelly to his feet. I was pleased to see 
that he knew how to handle a slave. She looked up at him, her head held up to 
face him, her small hands futilely on his wrists, tears in her eyes. Why were 
you not in the tavern of Randolph, awaiting me? he demanded.
I deemed now that I better understood why the two girls had not been at their 
respective taverns, why they, it seemed, in effect, under the pretense of 
soliciting business for the establishments of their masters, had been hiding in 
the sales barn of Ram Seibar. What I did not understand was why the personnel of 
the sales barn had not driven them away. The presence of two such luscious 
tavern girls at the sale might surely distract the attention of at least some of 
the buyers. This was the more puzzling as, in the past, I had gathered, they had 
been, in similar situations, driven from the premises, being lashed across the 
calves. This, then, was apparently not their first offense in such matters.
The first young fellow then spun Evelyn about and hurled her a few feet from 
him, toward the door. Precede me to the tavern, Slave, he said.
Yes, Master, she wept.
And you, said the other, throwing Ginger to her belly toward the door, get 
your ass to the tavern of Randolph.
Yes, Master, she said.
I saw two attendants, at the door, look at one another, tensely, uneasily. I did 
not understand this reaction. What was it to them if these two women were to be 
conducted back to their respective taverns, there to be returned to their 
intimate labors?
The first of the young fellows turned about, and glared at me. I observed the 
sheath. It was at his left hip. He was apparently right-handed. I observed the 
right hand. It did not tense to move toward the blades hilt.
He was obviously angry. I met his gaze, dispassionately.
The girls had now sought me out, I realized, hoping that I might provide them 
with some sort of shelter, or protection. I presumably seemed large, and strong. 
I carried a blade. Too, I was a stranger in town and would know nothing of the 
Hobarts, or the crew of the Bar Ina, or whoever it might be, that might be 
interested in them. In their way, given my lack of knowledge in these matters, 
they had been trying to take advantage of me. I found this irritating. They had, 
of course, seriously miscalculated in this matter. As I was not intending to 
take them to an alcove myself I would not have afforded them, no more than any 
other Gorean male, the least protection. They belonged totally to their masters 
and, more generally, to men. They were slave girls. Still, it would not have 
pleased me if this fellow, or fellows, these drovers, thought they were taking 
them away from me.
The fellow lashed out. What occurred then was done rapidly. I am not certain 
that all present clearly understood what was done. I caught his wrist and, 
twisting it, jerked him forward and off balance, at the same time kicking 
forcibly upwards. I then, bending his wrist back, thrust him to the side. The 
other fellow was caught with a backwards kick, his steel no more then halfway 
from its sheath. As I had not been facing him he had apparently been taken by 
surprise by this blow, by its direction, its nature and force. Untrained men 
often expect assaults to occur frontally. Various options in the martial arts, 
of course, are available to the practiced combatant. My blade was free from my 
sheath before his knees began to sag. I faced the drovers then, my blade drawn. 
He crumpled to the floor. Men quickly cleared space about us.
Well done! said the fellow in the broad-brimmed hat.
I faced five drovers, their steel drawn. Bottles were cast aside.
The first man who attacks, said the auctioneer, from the height of the central 
platform, is a dead man.
The drovers looked about. Attendants in the sales barn held leveled crossbows 
trained on them. The short, heavy quarrels lay in their guides. The cables were 
taut. Fingers rested on the triggers.
Angrily the drovers sheathed their steel. They gathered up their two fallen 
comrades and, supporting them, with dark looks, withdrew from the sales barn.
The two leading fellows there, said the man with the broad-brimmed hat, were 
Max and Kyle Hobart, from the Bar Ina. They will not make pleasant enemies.
I shrugged. I resheathed my steel.
The two tavern girls, auburn-haired Ginger and dark-haired Evelyn, frightened, 
began to move unobtrusively toward the door.
One moment, young ladies, called the auctioneer, pleasantly.
We are going, Masters, said Ginger, plaintively.
Perhaps not, said the auctioneer.
Masters? asked Ginger, frightened. Behind her there was the heavy ropish sound 
of heavy cordage being dropped. She spun about. The exit was blocked by the 
reticulated structure of a stout, hempen slave net. She caught with her fingers 
at the net, and then, frightened, looked back over her shoulder. Masters? she 
asked.
Evelyn immediately knelt. Please forgive us, Masters, she said. Please do not 
whip us!
Ginger then knelt, and swiftly, beside Evelyn. No, Masters, she said. Please 
do not whip us.
Who is your master? asked the auctioneer.
Randolph, of Kailiauk, said Ginger.
Russell, of Kailiauk, said Evelyn.
No, pretty little slaves, said the auctioneer. Your master is the house of 
Ram Seibar.
Master? asked Ginger.
You have been nuisances long enough, said the auctioneer.
Master? asked Ginger, frightened.
Two days ago you were purchased from your respective masters, said the 
auctioneer. You have now, as we anticipated, effected your self-delivery.
The girls looked at one another in terror.
Your time of being bothers to the house of Ram Seibar Is now at an end, said 
the auctioneer.
There was much laughter among the men at the rich joke played on the two slaves.
Remove their collars, said the auctioneer to an attendant. He removed the 
collars. The keys were correct. Doubtless they had been supplied by their former 
masters, probably at the time of the transactions effecting their purchase.
Get your clothes off, said the auctioneer.
Swiftly the girls complied. Ginger removed even the beaded cuff on her left 
ankle. Evelyn removed even the black-ribbon choker on her throat. They were then 
stark naked. Both, I saw, had been well branded.
They looked about themselves, frightened.
Their clothing, with the collars, was collected by an attendant. Such articles, 
doubtless, would be returned to their former masters.
We have here, for sale, laughed the auctioneer,  two of the prettiest tavern 
girls in Kailiauk. Should you doubt this, scrutinize them closely.
The girls shrank back. Men laughed.
We are willing to consider any bid over a silver tarsk for them, said the 
auctioneer. However, we encourage their buyers to see that their pretty, curved 
asses are removed from Kailiauk.
There was more laughter.
Can you communicate with these other slaves? asked the fellow in the 
broad-brimmed hat of the two stripped tavern girls. He indicated some of the 
girls on the side blocks.
Ginger approached one of the girls. Evelyn, too, approached her.
Do you speak English? asked Ginger in English.
Yes, yes! said the girl, startled.
What of the others who were with you? asked Ginger. Can they speak English?
Most, said the girl, as a second, if not a first language.
Ginger then turned to the fellow in the broad-brimmed hat. I can communicate 
with most of them, I think, she said, in Gorean. If there is a particular girl 
you are interested in I can interrogate her specifically.
The man pointed to the naked red-haired girl, her hands bound behind her, on the 
central platform.
Do you speak English? asked Ginger.
Yes, said the girl, pulling at her bonds, yes!
Yes, said Ginger to the man in the broad-brimmed hat, in Gorean.
He nodded. I could see that he was pleased by this. That seemed to be the woman 
he was interested in having understand him, and clearly. I did not think he was 
particularly concerned, truly, about communicating with the others. The uses to 
which he intended to put them, I gathered, did not require subtleties of 
communication. His desires with respect to their performances, I gathered, could 
be adequately conveyed by such means as the boot and whip.
What is the language in which you have been speaking to these women? he asked 
of Ginger.
English, Master, she said.
He indicated Evelyn. Does this slave, too, know this English? he asked.
Yes, Master, said Ginger.
Evelyn nodded. Yes, Master, she said.
I smiled. Two girls, doubtless, could train the red-haired barbarian more 
quickly than one. For example, they could work her in shifts.
You speak English  cried the girl on the side block, the collar and chain on 
her throat, what is this place and how did I come here!
This is the world called Gor, said Ginger, and you were brought here by 
spacecraft.
What manner of place is this, begged the girl, lifting the chain on her 
collar, and is this how they treat all women?
I shall not expatiate on what manner of place this is said Ginger, for you, 
yourself, shall soon learn, and well. And this is not how they treat all women. 
Women on this world, most of them, enjoy a status and freedom of which you, from 
Earth, cannot even conceive. Their raiment is splendid, their station is lofty, 
their mien is noble, their prestige is boundless. Dread them, and fear them----
The girl looked at her, frightened.
For you are not such a woman, said Ginger.
The girl clutched the chain, kneeling on the block.
No, said Ginger, you are not such a woman. You are less than the dust beneath 
their feet.
I---I do not understand, said the girl, stammering.
You are the sort of woman who will wear rags, said Ginger, who will rejoice 
if a crust of bread is thrust in your mouth.
I----I do not understand, said the girl.
You will learn the weight of bonds, the lash of the whip, said Ginger. You 
will learn to crawl, and bend, and obey.
The girl looked at her with horror.
You will learn that you are an animal, said Ginger.
An animal? said the girl, frightened.
Yes, said Ginger, and worth less than most animals.
What sort of woman am I then? asked the girl.
Can you not guess? asked Ginger.
The girl looked at her, terrified.
A female slave, said Ginger.
Let us now have a bid on the two tavern girls, called the auctioneer. We must 
have at least a tarsk apiece for them!
The girl shook her head numbly, disbelievingly. No, she
whispered. No.
Ginger regarded her.
It cannot be, said the girl.
It is, said Ginger.
Not a female slave, said the girl. She lifted the chain, disbelievingly, on 
her neck.
Yes, said Ginger.
No! said the girl. No! She clutched the chain on her neck in terror.
Yes, said Ginger.
The girl leaped suddenly to her feet and, crouching over, with the fullness of 
her small strength, began to tear wildly at the chain. No, she cried, not a 
female slave! No!
The men watched, with interest.
Then the girl, sobbing, her small hands raw, and cut, ceased her struggles.
I am chained, she said, numbly, to Ginger.
Yes, you are, said Ginger, adding, --Slave.
There was the sudden lash of the five-stranded Gorean slave whip and the girl 
cried out and sank down on the block, kneeling, with her head down, making 
herself as small as possible. Five times did the attendant lash her beauty. Then 
she lay on her stomach on the block, sobbing, the collar and chain on her neck, 
her fingernails tight in the wood. I will be good, Masters, she wept. I will 
be good.
Do I hear a bid on the tavern girls? asked the auctioneer.
Five copper tarsks apiece! laughed a man.
Ginger bit her lip, in anger. There was laughter.
Stand straighter Slave, said a man.
Ginger straightened her body, and lifted her head.
Miss, oh, please, Miss! called the red-haired girl, plaintively, on her 
knees, stripped, her hands tied behind her with the cord, from the central 
block.
Ginger was startled. The red-haired slave had spoken without permission. She 
turned to face her.
Am I, too, a slave? called the red-haired girl.
Ginger looked about, and sensed that she might respond, without being beaten. 
The experienced slave girl is very sensitive to such things.
We saw the auctioneer remove the kaiila, quirt from his belt.
Yes, said Ginger, You are all slaves!
And you? inquired the red-haired girl.
We, too, are slaves, said Ginger, indicating herself and Evelyn. Do you think 
free women would be so rudely stripped and brazenly displayed? We, and these 
others, are on sale! Do you doubt that we are slaves? See our brands! She 
turned her left thigh to the central platform. Evelyn, too, turned so that the 
red-haired girl might, as she could, observe her brand.
You are branded! said the red-haired girl. You are only branded slaves!
Consider the mark burned into your own lovely hide, said Ginger.
The girl regarded her own thigh, fearfully.
It is no different from that which we wear, said Ginger.
The girl regarded her with horror.
It marks you well, does it not? asked Ginger.
Yes, said the girl, in misery.
As ours do us, said Ginger.
Then I, too, am nothing but a branded slave! said the red-haired girl.
Precisely, said Ginger.
Then I, too, at least in theory, could be put up for sale, she said, aghast.
Bids have already been taken on you, said Ginger. You are up for sale.
No! cried the girl. I am Millicent Aubrey-Welles, of Pennsylvania. I cannot 
be for sale!
You are a nameless slave animal, being vended for the pleasure of Masters, 
said Ginger.
I am not for sale! cried the girl.
You are, said Ginger. And I, for one, would not pay much for you.
Wildly the red-haired girl tried to attain her feet but the auctioneer, his hand 
in her hair, twisted her and threw her on her belly before him. Twice he lashed 
her with the quirt Oh! she cried. Oh! He then stepped away from her. He 
laughed. She had squirmed well. Her body was obviously highly sensitive. This 
portended well for her quality as a slave. She lifted her head, wildly, to 
Ginger. I am truly to be sold? she begged.
Yes, said Ginger.
Oh! cried the girt, in pain, again quirted by the auctioneer. Oh! Oh! She 
had again spoken without permission. Then she lay quietly, scarcely moving, 
beaten, frightened, on the block. She did not care to feel the quirt again. I 
think, lying there, she now began, more fully and explicitly than she had dared 
before, to comprehend the actuality of her condition, that she might be, in 
fact, what she seemed to be, a lashed, soon-to-be vended slave.
What were these women inquiring of you? inquired a man, of Ginger.
They desired a clarification of their condition, Master, responded Ginger.
Are they dim-witted? asked the fellow.
I do not think so, Master, said Ginger. It is only that they come from a 
world which has not prepared them to easily grasp the nature of certain 
realities, let alone that they might find themselves implicated in them.
I see, said the man.
But do not fear, Master, said Ginger, we learn swiftly.
That is known to me, he grinned.
Ginger looked down, swallowing hard. It was true. On Gor, girls learned swiftly.
I saw the fellow in the broad-brimmed hat, behind Ginger and Evelyn, make a sign 
to the auctioneer.
If there is no one here now who wishes further to examine the tavern girls, 
prior to their sale, I will have them removed to a holding area, said the 
auctioneer.
Ginger and Evelyn, startled, exchanged glances. As no one spoke, the auctioneer 
nodded to two of the attendants. In a moment the girls, the upper left arm of 
each in the grasp of an attendant, were conducted, bewildered, through a side 
door from the hall.
The fellow in the broad-brimmed hat, I gathered, had influence in Kailiauk. He 
was, obviously, at any rate, taken seriously in the house of Ram Seibar.
When the heavy door had closed behind the tavern girls, he said to the 
auctioneer, One five apiece.
Are there any other bids? inquired the auctioneer.
There was silence in the room. It interested me that there were no other bids.
One five, agreed the auctioneer. One five, for each.
The fellow in the broad-brimmed hat then pointed to the girl on the central 
block. This did not surprise me. I had gathered that he might be interested in 
her. The purchase of the two tavern girls, further, I had surmised, was 
intimately connected with this interest. He wanted them, doubtless, to be used 
in her training, in particular, I supposed, with her training in Gorean. Other 
aspects of her training he might see fit to attend to himself. Needless to say, 
it is pleasant to train a beautiful woman uncompromisingly to ones most 
intimate pleasures. Further, there was no doubt that the girl on the block was a 
beauty. Yet, in some way, I still found his interest in her somewhat puzzling. 
She was, obviously, in complexion, coloration, refinement, figure and beauty, 
quite different from the other girls he had purchased. Perhaps he was a fellow 
with wide divergence in his tastes.
We have a bid on the slave of six nine, said the auctioneer. With his foot he 
moved her bound hands a bit upward on her back. He then stood with his right 
boot on the small of her back. Six nine, he said, looking at the fellow in the 
broad-brimmed hat.
Seven five, said the fellow.
The auctioneer then removed his boot from the prone body of the slave and, by 
the hair, pulled her up to her knees.
Seven five, said the fellow.
The auctioneer then, by the hair, pulled the girl to her feet. He then, with his 
quirt, indicated that the girl should suck in her gut and lift her head. She did 
so.
Very well, said the fellow in the broad-brimmed hat. Seven eight.
The auctioneer seemed hesitant.
Seven nine, then, said the fellow.
This, I took it, was the bid the auctioneer had been waiting for. It was an even 
silver tarsk, or an even hundred copper tarsks, of the sort common in Kailiauk, 
figured in multiples of ten, over the earlier standing bid of six nine.
Are there any other bids? called the auctioneer. I sensed there would not be 
any. Too, I did not think the auctioneer expected any. To be sure, it was 
doubtless his business to inquire explicitly into the matter.
The girl trembled, her chin obediently high.
No more bids were forthcoming. No one, it seemed, cared to bid against the 
fellow in the broad-brimmed hat. I found this of interest. I had not found this 
sort of thing before in a Gorean market.
Deliver her to the holding area, said the auctioneer, addressing himself to an 
attendant near the foot of the block. The fellow, then, climbed to the height of 
the block. She is yours, said the auctioneer to the man in the broad-brimmed 
hat. The attendant seized the girl by the arms. It was only then, I think, that 
the former Millicent Aubrey-Welles, from Pennsylvania, realized that she had 
been sold. She was conducted from the surface of the block.
That, said the auctioneer, concludes the final auction of the evening. Permit 
me to remind you all that the market is not yet closed. It remains open for 
another Ahn. Peruse now, if you would, in the time remaining before we close, 
the lovely morsels, dainties for your delectation, fastened on the slave plates 
to the sides. In a lesser house any one of them would doubtless be worthy the 
central block. Yet, here, in the house of Ram Seibar, in this house of prizes 
and bargains, no one of them is likely to cost you more than a silver tarsk!
I glanced about, at the girls on the side blocks. A few pretended to brazen 
indifference. Most, however, only too obviously, were terrified. I think there 
was not one among them who did not, now, understand that she was a slave. I
think there was not one among them who did not now realize that she might soon, 
and totally, belong to a man.
To the side blocks, please, Noble Sirs, invited the auctioneer, with an 
expansive gesture of his open hand, to the side blocks!
The men began to drift to the side blocks. Several went toward the block of the 
girl with whom Ginger had spoken. She had looked well under the attendants 
whip. Several of the girls whimpered. A womans first sale, I suspected, is 
often the hardest.
Come with me, said the fellow in the broad-brimmed hat. He then turned about, 
and went through a side door.
Puzzled, I followed him.
On the other side of the door we found ourselves in a holding area, a long, shed 
like structure ancillary to the main hall. It was wooden-floored and the narrow 
floorboards were laid lengthwise. About every five feet a linear set of these 
boards was painted yellow, thus, in effect, making long, yellow lines, parallel 
to the sides of the structure, on the floor. At the head and foot of these 
lines, also in yellow, were painted numbers.
On one of these lines, number six, there knelt, one behind the other, in tandem 
fashion, seven girls. They were barbarians, but they had been knelt in the 
position of pleasure slaves, back on their heels knees wide, hands on their 
thighs, backs straight, heads up.
You handled yourself well in the hall, said the fellow to me. It is my 
suspicion that you are no stranger to war.
I have fought, I admitted.
Are you a mercenary? he asked.
Of sorts, I said.
Why are you in Kailiauk? he asked.
I am here on business, I said, warily.
Are your pursuers numerous? he asked.
Pursuers? I asked.
You are doubtless in flight, be said. Would you give me a hand with these 
chains? He then bent down and, from some things, his, I gathered, near one 
wall, he had picked up several loops of light chain, with spaced, attached 
collars. He slung these loops over his left shoulder and joined me, near the 
last girl kneeling on the line.
He handed me a collar, at the chains termination. I clasped it about the neck 
of the last girl on the line. It closed, locking, with a heavy metallic click.
I am not in flight, I said.
The girl whimpered, collared and on the chain.
I see, grinned the fellow.
Why should you think I am in flight? I asked.
Skills such as yours, he said, do not bring their highest prices in the 
vicinity of the perimeter. He handed me another length of chain, with its 
collar.
Oh, I said. I added the next girl to the chain. The collars had front and back 
rings, were hinged on the right and locked on the left. This is a familiar form 
of coffle collar. The lengths of chain between the collars were about three to 
four feet long. Some were attached to the collar rings by the links themselves, 
opened and then reclosed about the rings, and some of them were fastened to the 
collar rings by snap rings. Another common form of coffle collar has its hinge 
in the front and closes behind the back of the neck, like the common slave 
collar. It has a single collar ring usually on the right, through which, 
usually, a single chain is strung. Girls are spaced on such a chain, usually, by 
snap rings. An advantage of the first sort of coffle arrangement is that the 
chain may, as girls are added or subtracted, be shortened or lengthened. A 
chain, which has been borne by fifty girls, would, of course, be impracticably 
heavy for five or six. An advantage of the second arrangement is that girls can 
be easily spaced on the chain, more or less closely together, and can be 
conveniently removed from, and added to, the chain. Which chaining arrangement 
is best for a given set of girls depends, of course, on the particular 
intentions and purposes of their master. The fellow in the broad-brimmed hat had 
opted, of course, for the first arrangement. This suggested to me that he 
expected girls, for one reason or another, to be subtracted from the chain.
If you are not now in flight, he said, I suggest that you consider its 
advisability.
I looked at him. He handed me another length of chain and a collar.
You should leave town, and soon, he said.
I put another girl on the chain.
Why? I asked.
The vanity of the Hobarts, a proud folk, he said, was much stung this night, 
and before female slaves. They will come with their men, with crossbows and 
swords. They will want their revenge.
I do not fear them, I said.
When do you intend to leave Kailiauk? he asked.
In the morning, I said.
Good, said he. I would not alter my plans.
I have no intention of doing so, I said. Martial dalliance was not germane to 
my mission.
Put her on the chain, said the fellow, handing me another collar and length of 
chain.
I added a blonde to the chain. He then handed me another chain segment and 
collar, unlooping it from his shoulder.
What are you going to do? he asked.
I have purchased some trade goods, I said. It is my intention to enter the 
Barrens.
That is dangerous, said he.
That is what I have heard, I said.
Do you know any of the languages? Do you know even No, I said.
Avoid them, then, he said.
I then added another girl to the coffle, a shorthaired, sturdy-legged brunet.
I am determined, I said.
The fellow lifted the girls short, dark hair. It will be difficult to braid 
this hair, he said, but it will grow.
I then, taking a collar and a length of chain from him, added the next girl to 
the coffle. She was also a brunet.
I am curious, I said, as to the nature of the girls you have purchased. These 
seven, though surely outstandingly attractive, seem to me to have been rather 
exceeded in beauty by several of the others, whom you did not choose to buy.
Perhaps, he grinned. He handed me another collar, and length of chain, 
unloosing it from his shoulder.
Please dont put me in a collar, said the seventh girl, looking up, tears in 
her eyes. She had spoken in English. She had light-brown hair. I put the collar 
on her throat, and locked it. She was then naught but another lovely component 
in the coffle. She put back her head, and choked back a sob.
Are you truly determined to enter the Barrens? asked the fellow.
Yes, I said.
How many kaiila do you have? he asked.
Two, I said, one to ride, another for the trade goods.
That is fortunate, said the fellow. No more than two kaiila are to be brought 
by any single white man into the Barrens. Too, no party of white men in the 
Barrens is permitted to bring in more than ten kaiila.
These are rules in Kailiauk? I asked.
They are the rules of the red savages, he said.
Then, said I, only small groups of white men enter the Barrens, or else they 
would be on foot, at the mercy of the inhabitants of the area.
Precisely, said the fellow.
Two slave girls, blindfolded, their hands tied behind them, were then thrust 
into the room. An attendant, holding them by the arms, brought them forward, and 
then, at the indication of the fellow in the broad-brimmed hat, knelt them down 
over the yellow line, in front of the hitherto first girl in the coffle. Both 
were frightened. They were Ginger and Evelyn. To whom have we been sold? 
begged Ginger. Where are we being taken? begged Evelyn. The attendant then, 
with his booted foot, kicked Ginger to her side on the floor. Then he took 
Evelyns hair in his left hand and with his right hand lashed her face twice, 
with the palm and then the back of his hand, snapping it from side to side. He 
then knelt them again, on the line. Forgive us, Masters, begged Ginger. 
Forgive us, Masters, begged Evelyn, blood at the side of her mouth.
I then, with materials supplied by the fellow in the broad brimmed hat, added 
Ginger and Evelyn to the coffle.
The three of them, together, said the attendant, come to ten nine. The other 
will be brought forward in a moment.
I saw the coins change hands.
The small wrists of Ginger and Evelyn pulled futilely at their bonds.
In a moment, as the attendant had suggested, the red-haired girl was introduced 
into the room.
She is a beauty, I said to the fellow in the broad brimmed hat.
That she is, he said, and, beyond that, it is the sort of girl she is. She 
will make a superb slave.
The girl, then, half stumbling, was brought forward. Rudely she was thrust down 
to her knees, where the fellow in the broad-brimmed hat indicated, at the head 
of the coffle. To her horror her knees were kicked apart. Her chin was then 
pushed up. In a moment she was fastened with the others.
I looked down at the red-haired girl. The man in the broad-brimmed hat lifted 
her hair, displaying it to me. It is long enough to braid, he said.
If one wished it, I said. I myself tended to prefer, on the whole, long, loose 
hair on a slave, tied back, if at all, with a headband or, behind the head, with 
a cloth or string.
He let her hair fall back, down her back.
She would bring a high price, I said, in almost any market with which I am 
familiar.
I will be able to get five hides of the yellow kailiauk for her, said the man,
Oh, no, Master! cried Ginger, suddenly, dismally. No. Master! protested 
Evelyn. Please, no! Please, no
The man in the broad-brimmed hat bent down and, one after the other, untied the 
wrists of Evelyn, Ginger and the red-haired girl. Ginger and Evelyn were 
trembling, half in hysteria. Yet they had presence of mind enough to place their 
hands, palms down, on their thighs. The palms of the red-haired girl, forcibly, 
her wrists in his grasp, were placed on her thighs. When her left hand wished to 
stray to her brand he took it and placed it again, firmly, palm down, on her 
thigh.
Yes, Master, whispered the girl, in English. I was pleased to see that she was 
intelligent. A fresh brand is not to be disturbed, of course.
The fellow in the broad-brimmed hat then removed the blindfolds from Ginger and 
Evelyn. Oh, no! wept Ginger. No, no! wept Evelyn. Not you, please! They 
regarded who it was who owned them, in dismay, and with horror. Yet, I think, 
but moments before, surely they had sensed, and surely feared, who he might be. 
Their worst fears had now seemed confirmed. I did not understand their terror. 
He seemed to me a genial enough fellow. Sell us, beloved Master! begged 
Ginger. Please, Master, begged Evelyn, we are only poor slaves. Take pity on 
us! Sell us to another! Make us pot girls! begged Ginger. Shackle us! Send 
us to the farms! We are only poor slaves, wept Evelyn. Please, please, 
Master, sell us to another! We beg you, Beloved Master. Sell us to another!
The house of Ram Seibar, said the fellow, amused, wishes you both taken from 
Kailiauk.
Several of the other girls now, I noted, were frightened and apprehensive. The 
red-haired girl, too, seemed frightened. They could not understand Gorean but 
the terror of the other slaves was patent to them. None of them, I noted, to my 
satisfaction, had dared to break position. Already, I conjectured, they had 
begun to suspect what might be the nature of Gorean discipline.
Master! wept Ginger.
Please, Master! wept Evelyn.
Position, snapped the man in the broad-brimmed hat.
Immediately the girls knelt back in the coffle, back on their heels, their knees 
wide, their hands on their thighs, their backs straight and heads lifted. Seeing 
this, the other girls, too, behind them, hurriedly sought to improve their 
posture. The red-haired girl, who could not see behind her, from the sound of 
the command, and the movements in the chain, reaching her through the back 
collar ring, fearfully sensing what was going on, straightened herself as well.
These two girls, the second and third, I said, indicating Ginger and Evelyn, 
seem quite disturbed to discover that you are their master.
It surely seems so, granted the fellow in the broad brimmed hat.
Why should they regard you with such terror, I asked, more than seems 
necessary on the part of a slave girl with respect to her master? It is natural 
for a slave girl, of course, to regard her master with a certain trepidation. 
She is, after all, an animal, who is owned by him, over whom he has total power. 
The rational slave girl will almost never intentionally displease her master. 
First, it is just too costly to do so. Secondly, for reasons that are sometimes 
obscure to men, these having to do with her being a female, she seldom desires 
to do so.
I do not think that it is I, personally, whom they regard with such terror, he 
grinned.
What then could be the source of such terror? I asked.
Who knows what goes on in the heads of pretty little slaves, he said.
You seem evasive, I observed.
Perhaps, he admitted.
Your coffle, I said, is striking, an assemblage of chained beauties. Yet I 
think there seems a rather clear distinction between the first three girls and 
the last seven, and, if I may say so, between the first and the second two.
Yes, he said, that is true. Observe the last seven girls. Do you know their 
nature? Do you know what they are?
What? I asked.
Pack animals, he said. They are pack animals.
I thought they might be, I said. The fellows itinerary now seemed clear to 
me. No more than two kaiila, I remembered he had said, may be brought in by any 
given white man.
And the first girl, I asked, is she, too, to be a pack animal?
She, too, will serve as a pack animal, he said, as will they all, but, 
ultimately, I have a different disposition in mind for her.
I see, I said.
She will be worth five hides of the yellow kailiauk to me, he said.
Then you will make a splendid profit on her, I said.
Yes, said he. A robe of yellow kailiauk, even in average condition, can bring 
as much as five silver tarsks.
I looked at the red-haired girl in the coffle, the former Millicent 
Aubrey-Welles. She did not even know she was the subject of our conversation.
And what of these other two? I asked, indicating Ginger and Evelyn.
By means of them I can communicate with the red-haired girl, he said. In 
their barbarous tongue they can make clear to her, and quickly, the nature of 
her condition, and the efficiency, intimacy and totality of the services that 
will be required of her. Too, they can teach her some Gorean, which will keep 
them all busy, and help me train her.
I see, I said.
He adjusted the remainder of the chains and collars on his shoulder. He had not 
come to the sales barn, apparently, knowing exactly how many girls he would 
purchase. It is difficult to anticipate such things accurately, of course, 
particularly when buying in lots. Much depends on what is available and what 
turns out to be the going prices, on a given night. The treks can be long, he 
said.
Treks? I asked.
Yes, he said.
I note, I said, that all of these girls are barbarians, even the second and 
third girl. Why have you not purchased some Gorean girls for your pack train?
For pack animals it is surely more appropriate to use meaningless barbarians 
than Gorean girls, he said.
Of course, I granted him.
But there is, of course, he grinned, another reason, as well.
What is that? I asked.
These barbarian girls will march along in their coffle as ignorant and innocent 
as kaiila, he said.
Whereas? I asked.
Whereas, he grinned, Gorean girls might die of fear.
Ginger and Evelyn moaned.
These slaves, I said, indicating the two former tavern girls, seem not 
totally ignorant.
Even these slaves, he said, indicating Ginger and Evelyn, ,who seem so 
transfixed with terror, do not even begin, I assure you, to have any idea as to 
what might lie before them.
The two girls shuddered. Their will, of course, was nothing. They, like the 
animals they were, must go where their masters pleased.
I take it that you, with your pack train, intend to enter the Barrens, I said.
Yes, said he.
Tomorrow morning? I asked.
Yes, said he.
You are, then, a trader? I asked.
Yes, he said.
I have sought along the perimeter for one named Grunt, I said.
That is known to me, he said.
None seemed to know of his whereabouts, or clearly, I said.
Oh? he said.
I found that unusual, I said.
Why? he asked.
This fellow, Grunt, I said, is presumably a well-known trader. Does it not 
seem strange, then, that no one would have a clear idea as to his location?
That does seem a bit strange, agreed the fellow.
It is my thought, I said, that this fellow, Grunt, has many friends, that he 
inspires loyalty, that these friends desire to protect him.
If that is so, he said, then this Grunt, in at least some respects, must be a 
lucky man.
Do you know him? I asked.
Yes, he said.
Do you know where he is? I asked.
Yes, he said.
Do you think you could direct me to his whereabouts? I asked.
I am he, he said.
I thought so, I said.
9      We Cross the Ihanke
It is here, said Grant, turning about on his kaiila. See the wands?
Yes, I said. We were now some two pasangs east of Kailiauk.
Here is one, said Grunt, and there is another, and another.
I see, I said, shading my eyes.
The grass was to the knees of the kaiila. It came to the thighs of the slave 
girls, in brief one-piece slave tunics, of brown rep-cloth, with deep cleavages, 
in throat coffle, bearing burdens on their heads.
The wand before us was some seven or eight feet high. It is of this height, 
apparently, that it may be seen above the snow, during the winter moons, such as 
Waniyetuwi and Wanicokanwi. It was of peeled Ka-la-na wood and, from its top, 
there dangled two long, narrow, yellow, black-tipped feathers, from the tail of 
the taloned Herlit, a large, broad winged, carnivorous bird, sometimes in Gorean 
called the Sun Striker, or, more literally, though in clumsier English, 
Out-of-the-sun-it-strikes, presumably from its habit of making its descent and. 
strike on prey, like the tarn, with the sun above and behind it. Similar wands I 
could see some two hundred yards away, on either side, to the left and right. 
According to Grunt such wands line the perimeter, though usually not in such 
proximity to one another. They are spaced more closely together, naturally, 
nearer areas of white habitation.
Grunt now turned back on his kaiila to look out, eastward over the broad grasses 
and low, rolling hills. The terrain beyond the wands did not appear much 
different from the terrain leading up to them. The hills, the grass, the arching 
blue sky, the white clouds, seemed much the same on both sides of the wands. The 
wands seemed an oddity, a geographical irrelevance. Surely, thrust in the earth, 
supple in the wind, with the rustling feathers, they could betoken nothing of 
significance. The wind was fresh. I shivered on the kaiila.
For those who might be interested in such things, we came to the wands in the 
early spring, early in Magaksicaagliwi, which is the Moon of the Returning 
Gants. The preceding moon was the Sore-Eye Moon, or Istawicayazanwi. Because of 
its uncertain weather, the possible freezes and storms, and its harsh winds, 
this month had been avoided by Grunt. The next moon was Wozupiwi, the Planting 
Moon, which term, in the context, I find extremely interesting. It seems to make 
clear that the folk of the area, at one time, were settled, agricultural 
peoples. That, of course, would have been before the acquisition of the kaiila, 
which seems to have wrought a local cultural transformation of the first 
magnitude. One often thinks of a hunting economy representing a lower, in some 
sense, stage of cultural development than an agricultural economy. Perhaps this 
is because, commonly, agriculture provides a stabler cultural milieu and can, 
normally, support larger populations on less territory. A single human being can 
be agriculturally supported by less than an acre of land. The same human being, 
if surviving by hunting, would require a territory of several square miles. 
Here, however, we seem to have a case where peoples deliberately chose the 
widely ranging, nomadic hunting economy over an agricultural economy. The 
mobility afforded by the kaiila and the abundance of the kailiauk doubtless made 
this choice possible, the choice of the widely ranging hunter, the proud and 
free warrior, over the farmer, denied distant horizons, he who must live at the 
mercy of the elements and in bondage to his own soil.
Grunt sat astride his kaiila, a lofty, yellow animal, looking eastward, out 
beyond the wands. Behind him there was a pack kaiila, laden with goods. A thong 
ran from the pierced nose of the beast to a ring at the back of his saddle. I, 
too, was astride my kaiila, a black, silken, high-necked, long fanged beast. To 
my saddle, too, was tethered a pack kaiila. Various goods were borne by our pack 
animals, both of the four-legged and two-legged varieties. My goods were all 
laden on my pack kaiila. Grunts goods, on the other hand, of course, were 
distributed over his eleven beasts of burden, the kaiila and the ten other pack 
animals. My goods, substantially, consisted of blankets, colored cloths, 
ribbons, mirrors and beads, kettles and pans, popular in the grasslands, hard 
candies, cake sugar and chemical dyes. Grunt carried similar articles but he, as 
well, as I had not, carried such items as long nails, rivets, hatchets, metal 
arrowheads, metal lance points, knife blades and butcher knives. The knife 
blades and long nails are sometimes mounted in clubs. The blades, of course, may 
also be fitted into carved handles, of wood and bone. The rivets are useful in 
fastening blades in handles and lance shafts. The metal arrowhead is a 
convenience. It is ready-made and easy to mount. It is not likely to fracture as 
a stone point might. Similarly it makes dangerous trips to flint-rich areas 
unnecessary. The butcher knives are usually ground down into a narrow, concave 
shape. They do not have the sturdiness for combat. They are used, generally, for 
the swift acquisition of bloody trophies.
I saw Grunt straighten himself in the high-pommeled saddle. He lifted the reins. 
He kicked back with his heels, suddenly, smiting the animal in the flanks. It 
started, and then, in its smooth, loping stride, crossed the line of the wands. 
Grunt rode some twenty yards ahead, and then pulled back the kaiila, twisting 
its head back with the reins, wheeling it about to face us. He loosened the 
long, coiled whip fastened with a snap strap at the right of his saddle, and 
rode back towards us, along the right side of the coffle of barefoot, scantily 
clad, neck-chained beauties. Hei! Hei! he called. He cracked the whip in the 
air, twice. He then rode about the rear of the coffle, and advanced, on his 
kaiila, along its left side. He was right-handed.
We are women, and only helpless slaves! cried out Ginger. Please, Master, do 
not take us across the line of the wands!
Reconsider, Master, we beg of you! cried out Evelyn.
Hei! Hei! cried Grunt.
Please, no, Master! cried out Ginger.
Please, no, no, Master! cried out Evelyn.
Then the whip lashed down. More than one girl cried out with pain. Then the whip 
fell, too, on Ginger and Evelyn. They screamed, struck.
Hei! Hei! called Grunt.
Yes, Master! wept Ginger.
Yes, Master! wept Evelyn.
Hei! Hei! urged Grunt.
The coffle, then, to the snapping of the whip, led by the terrified red-haired 
girl, the former Millicent Aubrey-Welles, from Pennsylvania, began to move 
ahead. Ginger and Evelyn, in their places, stumbled forward, red-eyed and almost 
numb with terror. Other girls, smarting from the pain and feeling the jerking of 
the chain on their collars, weeping, followed, they, too, in their appropriate 
places, precisely where their master wished them, places made clear by their 
collars and chains. Only Ginger and Evelyn, I surmised, had any inkling as to 
the nature of the place into which they were being taken, and they, too, in the 
final analysis, were only barbarians. They, too, at least as yet, would not be 
able to understand where they were being taken, what was being done to them, not 
fully, not yet in its full meaning. I thought it just as well that the girls, 
even Ginger and Evelyn, were substantially ignorant. This made it easier to 
march them across the line of the wands. I watched the girls, the burdens on 
their heads, their necks chained, moving through the tall grass. They were now 
crossing the line of the wands. I wondered if they could even begin to suspect 
the terrors into which they were entering. Yes, I thought to myself, it is 
better this way. Let them, for the time, remain ignorant. They would learn soon 
enough what it might mean, in such a place, in the place of the kailiauk and the 
high grasses, to be a white female.
Grunt, on his kaiila, had now taken his place at the head of the line, the pack 
kaiila behind him.
I looked at the red-haired girl, first in the coffle, the burden balanced with 
her small hands on her head. Grunt, I knew, had some special disposition in mind 
for her. Yet, now, she, like the others, served as a mere pack animal, one of 
the beasts of his coffle, bearing his goods.
No white man, I recalled, was to bring more than two kaiila across the line of 
the wands. No group of white men was to bring more than ton kaiila across that 
seemingly placid boundary.
The red-haired girl looked well in the coffle, moving in the grass, the chain on 
her neck, in the brief slave tunic. So, too, did the others. Slave girls are 
beautiful, even those who must serve as mere beasts of burden. Grunt, I 
recalled, in urging his coffle forward, had not struck the lead girl, his lovely 
red-haired beast, with the lash, as he had several of the others. He had chosen, 
for some reason, to spare her its stroke. This was, I suspected, because be had 
something more in mind for her than a burden and a place in the coffle. He had, 
clearly, something else in mind for her. He was apparently willing to take his 
time with her, and to bring her along easily and gently, at least for a time. 
This was, perhaps, because she seemed already to understand that it would be her 
business to please men, and that she was a slave. She would have to understand 
later, of course, what it was to be a slave, fully. That would be time enough 
for her to feel the boot and the whip.
It is here, Grunt had said.
I looked again ahead, out beyond that seemingly placid boundary, out beyond the 
wands.
I checked my weapons. Then I, too, urged my kaiila forward. In a few moments I 
and my pack kaiila, too, had crossed the line of the wands.
It is here, Grunt had said.
I pulled up the kaiila and looked behind me. Now I, too, had crossed that 
boundary marked by the supple-feathered wands. I saw the feathers moving in the 
wind. Now I, too, had crossed the Ihanke, Now I, too, was within the Barrens.
I urged my kaiila forward again, after Grunt and the coffle. I did not wish to 
fall behind.
10    I See Dust Behind Us
You are aware, are you not, I asked Grunt, That we are being followed?
Yes, he said.
It was toward the noon of our second day in the Barrens.
I trust that their intentions are peaceful, I said.
That is unlikely, he smiled.
Are we not yet in the country of the Dust Legs? I inquired. This was a 
perimeter tribe, which, on the whole, was favorably disposed towards whites. 
Most trading was done with Dust Legs. Indeed, it was through the Dust Legs that 
most of the goods of the interior might reach civilization, the Dust Legs, in 
effect, acting as agents, and intermediaries. Many tribes, apparently, would not 
deal on a face-to-face basis with whites. This had to do with the hatred and 
suspicion fostered by that tradition called the Memory. Too, it was often 
difficult to control their young men. Although small trading groups were 
welcomed in the country of the Dust Legs, such groups seldom penetrated the more 
interior territories. Too many of them had failed to return. Grunt was unusual 
in having traded as far east as the country of the Fleer and the Yellow Knives. 
Too, he had entered, at least once, the country of the Sleen and the Kaiila. 
Some of these territories, apparently, had scarcely been penetrated since the 
days of the first white explorers of the Barrens, men such as Boswell, Diaz, 
Bento, Hastings and Hogarthe.
Yes, said Grunt.
Why, then, do you conjecture that their intentions may be hostile? I asked.
They are not Dust Legs, he said.
We wheeled our kaiila about, and the coffle stopped. The girls put down their 
burdens, gratefully. We observed the dust in the distance, some pasangs across 
the prairie.
They are, then, I speculated, Fleer or Yellow Knives.
No, he said.
I do not understand, I said.
Observe the dust, he said. Its front is narrow, and it does not behave as 
though raised by the wind.
The wind direction, too, I said, would be incorrect.
Accordingly, said Grunt, you conjecture that the dust is raised by the paws 
of running kaiila.
Yes, I said.
In that you are correct, he said. What else do you note? he asked.
I do not understand, I said. I was growing apprehensive. It was early in the 
day. I had little doubt but what the distant riders could overtake us, and 
easily, before nightfall.
It is so obvious, said Grant, that you have noted it, but have not considered 
its significance.
What? I asked.
You can detect that dust, he said.
Yes, I said, of course.
Does that not seem to you of interest? he asked.
I do not understand, I said.
To raise dust like that, in this terrain, said Grunt, you must ride across 
draws, rather than avoid them, and you must ride in a cluster, where the dust 
will rise, cloudlike, rather than rise and fall, in a narrow line, swiftly 
dissipated by the wind.
What are you telling me? I asked.
Grunt grinned. If we were being followed by red savages, he said, I do not 
think that you, with your present level of skills, would be aware of it
I do not understand, I said.
That dust, he said, does not rise from the paws of the kaiila of Dust Legs, 
nor of Yellow Knives nor Fleer. It is not raised, at all, by the kaiila of red 
savages. They would not ride so openly, so carelessly, so stupidly. They would 
avoid, where possible, grassless, dry areas, and they would ride at intervals, 
in single file. This arrangement not only obscures their numbers but lowers and 
narrows the dust line.
White men, then, follow us, I said.
I thought they would, said Grunt.
They cannot be white men, I said. Observe the front of dust. That must be 
raised by fifteen or twenty kaiila.
True, smiled Grunt. They are fools.
I swallowed, hard. A law, imposed on white men entering their lands by red 
savages, had been violated.
Who are they? I asked.
I have had trouble with them before, smiled Grunt. I have been waiting for 
them.
Who are they? I asked.
They want you, he said. I thought they would follow this time. You are the 
bait.
I? I asked.
You came with me of your own free will, did you not? he asked.
Yes, I said, irritably.
Accordingly, he grinned, you cannot blame me.
I am not interested in blaming anyone, I said. I would just like to know what 
is going on.
They will also be interested in the second and third girls, he said.
I looked to Ginger and Evelyn, lying in the grass, exhausted, their burdens 
beside them.
They are the Hobarts, I said, and the men from the Bar Ina.
Yes said Grunt.
You said they would not make pleasant enemies, I said.
They will not, he said.
We cannot outrun them with the girls, I said. We must make a stand. I looked 
about, swiftly, for high ground or shelter.
No, said Grunt.
What, then, are we to do? I asked.
We shall continue on, as we were, said Grunt. We shall not even suggest, by 
our behavior, that we are aware of their approach.
I do not understand, I said.
To be sure, said Grunt, we should waste little time. He then rode his kaiila 
about the coffle of girls, cracking his whip, viciously. Several cried out in 
fear. They had already felt that whip, through the thin brown cloth of their 
slave tunics or across the backs of their legs. Hei! Hei! called Grunt. On 
your feet, you stupid sluts, you luscious beasts! Up! Up! Burdens up! Burdens 
up! Have we all day to dally? No, my luscious beasts, no! Burdens up! Burdens 
up! The girls scrambled to their feet, struggling to lift their burdens. The 
whip cracked again and a girl cried out with pain, one more tardy than the rest. 
Then she, too, gasping, tears in her eyes, stood ready in the coffle, the burden 
balanced on her head. On! said Grunt, with a gesture of his whip, wheeling 
about on his kaiila. On! With the sound of chains and collars, and some 
frightened sobbing, the neck-shackled beauties again took up the march.
I drew my kaiila alongside that of Grunt. I think we must either run, I said, 
abandoning the girls and the goods, or stop, and make a stand.
I do not think we should make a stand, said Grunt. We could kill the kaiila 
and use them, in effect, as a fort and shelter, but, even so, we would be 
severely outnumbered.
I said nothing. I feared his assessment of the situation was only too sound.
If we were red savages, said Grunt, we would run. Then, hopefully, when the 
pursuers were strung out, over pasangs, we would turn back on them and, two to 
one, one engaging, the other striking, finish them off. If this did not seem 
practical we might separate, dividing our pursuers, and meet later at a 
prearranged rendezvous, thence to return under the cover of darkness to recover, 
if possible, what we had lost .
That is interesting, I said. Indeed, that seems a sensible plan. Let us put 
it immediately into effect.
No, said Grunt.
Why not? I asked.
It is pointless, he said.
Why is it pointless? I asked.
It is pointless, he said, because we are in no danger.
I looked back at the approaching dust. We are not in danger? I asked.
No, said Grunt, not looking back. It is they, rather who are in danger, grave 
danger.
I think, I said, angrily, that we are fools.
No, said Grunt, quietly. It is they who are the fools.
11    Slave Instruction; It Seems We Are No Longer Being Followed
You seem apprehensive, said Grunt.
They should have caught up to us by now, I said.
I stood at the edge of our small camp, in a few trees, nestled beside a small 
stream. It was the late afternoon.
No, said Grunt. Put it from your mind.
I turned back to the camp.
Ginger and Evelyn had been freed from the coffle, to gather wood and cook, and 
attend to the chores of the camp. The collars and chains had been rearranged on 
the other girls, in such a way that, by an alternation of the position of snap 
locks and chain segments, a free collar was now at each end of the coffle. These 
collars had then been fastened about two small trees, thus confining the girls, 
other than Ginger and Evelyn, to the line between the two trees. Last night the 
coffle had been taken four times about a small, sturdy tree and then the collar 
of the first girl had been fastened to the collar of the last girl. That, too, 
would be, I supposed, the procedure tonight. There are many ways to keep a line 
of girls in place overnight, of course. A common way is to bind their wrists 
behind their backs and then place them on the ground, supine, the head of one to 
the feet of the other. A given girl, then, by thongs on her collar, is tied to 
the left ankle of the girl on her left, and to the right ankle of the girl on 
her right; similarly, the girl on her left is thonged, by thongs passing about 
her collar, to the given girls left ankle, and the girl on the given girls 
right is thonged, by thongs passing about her collar, to the right ankle of the 
given girl.
I am first girl, said Ginger, walking back and forth before the line of girls, 
kneeling before her, a switch in her small hand, and Evelyn is second girl. 
She indicated Evelyn. She spoke in English, a language held in common by the new 
barbarian slaves. Five spoke English natively; three were American, including 
the red-haired girl, and two were British; two of the other girls were Swedish, 
and the last girl, with the short, dark hair, was French. You will address 
myself, and Evelyn, as Mistress, she said. You will learn your lessons well, 
both those of the language and of service.
The girls looked at one another.
This is a switch, said Ginger, lifting the supple switch. She then struck one 
of the girls, one of the Swedish girls, with a stinging, slashing blow at the 
side of the neck.
This is a switch, repeated Ginger.
Yes, Mistress, said the red-haired girl, swiftly. I was pleased to see that 
she was quite intelligent. Yes, Mistress, said the other girls. Yes, 
Mistress! said the Swedish girl, tears in her eyes.
Evelyn and I, said Ginger, do not intend to do all the work of the camp 
alone. In time, some of you, at least, will be freed to assist in our labors.
The girls, quickly, glanced at one another.
Little fools! laughed Ginger. You are all little fools! Kneel straighter, 
little fools!
Quickly the girls complied.
Do not think of escape, she said. There is no escape for you.
Several of the girls reddened.
Consider your garb, said Ginger. It is distinctive. It is that of a slave.
Several of the girls looked down at the scanty, revealing cloth in which they 
bad been placed.
Similarly, you are barbarians, said Ginger. Even as you learn the language of 
masters, your accent will continue to betray you. Similarly, even should you 
learn to speak flawlessly such things as the fillings in your teeth and the 
vaccination marks on your arms will continue to mark you as barbarian. So, too, 
will such things as the fact that you have no Home Stone and no caste, and will 
be ignorant of a thousand things known to any Gorean. No, do not think that you 
can easily shed your barbarian origin.
Some of the girls looked at her, angrily.
Too, said Ginger, thrust up your tunics. Examine your left thighs!
The girls did so.
You are marked, said Ginger. You are branded.
The girls smoothed down their tunics, some of them with tears in their eyes.
So, said Ginger, put all hopes of escape from your mind. It is a meaningless, 
foolish dream, inappropriate in a Gorean slave girl. There is no one here to 
save you. There is no place to go, nowhere to run. If you should seem to escape, 
you will be picked up by the first man who finds you, who will then return you 
to your master, for punishment, or keep you for his own slave. You, there! On 
your belly!
The Swedish girl, frightened, she who had been struck previously, twisted in the 
coffle chain and put herself on her belly. The girls on her left and right 
knelt, frightened, heads low, collar chains taut, looking at her.
Ginger went to the girl and thrust up the tunic. See these tendons, she asked, 
at the back of each knee?
Yes, Mistress, said more than one, girl.
She laid the switch, cool and green, across the tendons. The Swedish girl 
shuddered.
It is a common punishment for a runaway girl, said Ginger, that these tendons 
are severed. The girl, then, can never stand again, but must, if she is 
permitted to live, drag herself about by her hands. Sometimes such girls are 
gathered up by masters and used as beggars, on street corners.
Several of the girls cried out with fear.
Ginger then rose to her feet and stepped away from the Swedish girl, who then, 
frightened, smoothing down her tunic, together with the girls on her left and 
right, resumed her original kneeling position.
You are barbarians, said Ginger. You have been brought to Gor to be slaves, 
and that is what you are, and it is all that you are. Do not forget it!
No, Mistress, said more than one girl.
In most cities and towns, said Ginger, you would even find your pretty necks 
fastened in locked, steel collars.
Like animals! protested a girl.
You are animals, said Ginger, and the sooner you understand that, the easier 
it will be for you. You are beautiful, owned animals.
Several of the girls shuddered.
And he who owns you, said Ginger, he to whom you belong, is your master.
Would he be our total master? asked the red-haired girl, looking at me.
Yes, your absolute and total master, said Ginger.
I gave no sign that I had understood the red-haired girls question.
But how can we be slaves? asked a girl.
Your question is stupid and foolish, said Ginger. You are slaves. It is as 
simple as that. Do not be misled by the myths and rhetorics of your former 
world. Indeed, even on that world slavery exists. Slavery, as you will learn, is 
a very real institution, and, further, it is one in which you are profoundly 
implicated. You are totally and legally, as well as in practical fact, the 
property of your master.
The girl shrank back, in horror.
My lessons for you today, said Ginger, are basically quite simple. I think 
they may be grasped even by intellects such as yours, those of slave girls. 
First, you are slaves, and that is all you are, nothing more, only slaves. 
Second, do not even think of escape. There is no escape for you. Slaves you are, 
my dears, and slaves you will remain.
More than one of the girls, her head in her hands, shrank back, weeping.
It seemed to me that Ginger had certainly spoken bluntly to the new barbarian 
slaves, but, still, I felt, on the whole, it had been appropriate for her to do 
so. It is kindest, I think, in the long run, to proceed rather along the lines 
that she had. The sooner a new slaves delusions are dispelled the better it is, 
normally, for all concerned.
Come now, my pretty slaves, said Ginger, kneel straight. Back straight, heads 
up. Back on your heels there! Spread those pretty knees. Yes, that is the way 
men like it. Put your hands, palms down, on your thighs. Good. Good Excellent!
The girls now knelt in the coffle as pleasure slaves.
Mistress, said a girl.
Yes, pretty slave, said Ginger.
You speak of men, said the girl.
Yes, said Ginger. You are female slaves. You now, in a general sense, belong 
to men.
Several of the girls looked at her, frightened.
Doubtless you were taught many idiotic things about both yourselves and men on 
your old world. Doubtless, in your hearts, perhaps late at night, in bed, or in 
the morning, or at odd, lonely moments, in spite of your educations and 
conditionings, your trainings, you recognized the falseness of these teachings.
I saw that several of the girls looked very frightened. I saw that they 
understood, only too well, what Ginger was saying.
You would understand, or sense, at such times, said Ginger, the meaning of 
your slightness, your beauty and your needs. You would have understood that you 
were yearning women, in effect without men. You would have understood then 
something of the grand themes of nature, of dominance and submission, and your 
own obvious, natural place in such an organic scheme. At such times, perhaps, if 
you dared, you might have longed for the hands of a master on you, a 
magnificent, ruthless male who could fulfill you, who would put you to his feet 
and own you, who would answer your deepest needs, who would command you, who 
would dominate you, absolutely, and ravish you for his merest pleasure, and at 
his least whim, who would force from you, to your joy, the totality of love and 
service you were born to bestow.
The girls looked at her, terrified.
On this world, said Ginger, there is no dearth of such men and you, my dears, 
are female slaves.
Are we not permitted resistance? asked a girl.
No resistance is permitted, said Ginger, unless it be the masters will. That 
is a subtle point. You will have to learn to tell when the master desires 
resistance, that he may crush it mercilessly, and when he does not.
Several of the girls swallowed, hard.
As female slaves, said Ginger, you will be, as a general rule, a rule on 
which your very life may depend, absolutely docile, totally obedient, and fully 
pleasing.
We would have to be anything, and do anything, then, fully, said a girl, that 
we are commanded.
Yes, said Ginger, and with the utmost talent, skill and perfection that you 
can muster.
Mistress, said the red-haired girl.
Yes, Red-haired- Slave, said Ginger.
Is the slave girl also, asked the red-haired girl, at the sexual mercy of her 
master?
Absolutely, and fully, and in every way, said Ginger.
Several of the girls gasped, shrinking back in their chains.
You will learn, said Ginger.
Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress, said the red-haired girl. She looked at 
me, and then, quickly, shyly, put her head down. In the brown slave tunic, with 
the chain on her neck, she looked almost demure.
Feed them, said Ginger.
Evelyn then threw each of the girls a piece of meat, throwing it to the grass 
before them. She removed these pieces of meat from the slender greenwood spit on 
which they had been roasted.
Do not use your hands, warned Ginger, slapping the switch in her left palm.
Yes, Mistress, said more than one of the girls.
I watched them, kneeling, leaning forward, palms down on the grass, heads down, 
eating at the meat.
A pretty lot, said Grunt, behind me.
Yes, I said.
The red-haired girl, eating at the meat, looked up at me, and then, shyly, again 
lowered her head.
See that girl, asked Grunt, the one with red hair?
Yes, I said.
She is a virgin, he said.
Oh? I said.
Yes, he said, I tested her body this morning.
I see, I said. I recalled that the girl, in the sales barn, had proclaimed her 
virginity. It had been done in the throes of the misery of her sale, when she 
had pleaded not to be brazenly exposed to the buyers. Her pleas, of course, had 
not been heeded.
It is unfortunate, I said, that she is a virgin.
Why? asked Grunt.
Because she is quite pretty, I said.
I do not understand, he said.
Her virginity will doubtless improve her price, I said.
Not in the Barrens, he said.
No? I asked.
No, said Grunt. They take virginity seriously only in their own women.
I see, I said.
If you were going to buy a she-tarsk, asked Grunt, would its virginity matter 
to you?
No, I said, of course not.
If she pleases you, he said, you may have her, or any of the others, if you 
wish.
Thank you, I said.
What are slaves for? he asked.
True, I grinned.
If you take her, however, he said, take her, the first time, with 
gentleness.
Very well, I said.
It will be time enough later for her to learn what it is to be a true slave, 
he said.
I understand, I said.
Grunt then turned away.
Grunt, I said. He turned about. He still wore the broad brimmed hat. I had 
never seen him without it.
Yes, he said.
The Hobarts, I said, the men who were following, what of them?
If they were still following us, he said, they would have arrived by now.
Yes, I said.
So they are no longer following, he said.
I am prepared to believe that, I said.
So put the matter from your mind, he said.
What became of them? I asked.
It is time to sleep now, he said.
What became of them? I asked.
We shall make a determination on that matter in the morning, he said. In the 
meantime, let us sleep.
Very well, I said.
12    I Learn Why We Are No Longer Being Followed; We Add Two Members to our 
Party
We saw a small gray sleen, some seven or eight feet in length, lift up its head.
We urged our kaiila down the slope, into the shallow declivity between two low 
hills.
My stomach twisted. We had smelled this before we had come upon it.
The sleen permitted us to approach rather closely. It was reluctant to leave its 
location. There were insects on its brown snout, and about its eyes. Its lower 
jaw was wet.
Hei! cried Grunt, slapping the side of his thigh.
The beast seized another bite and, whipping about, on its six legs, with its 
almost serpentine motion, withdrew.
It is clean work, said Grunt, the work of Dust Legs. This tribe I knew, in 
its various bands, was regarded as the most civilized of the tribes of the 
Barrens. In the eyes of some of the other tribes they were regarded as little 
better than white men.
This is clean work? I asked.
Relatively, said Grunt.
I sat astride the kaiila, surveying the scene. I counted some twenty-one bodies. 
They were stripped. There were no kaiila. Insects swam in the air above several 
of the bodies. One could hear their humming. Two jards, fluttering, fought in at 
opened abdominal cavity. Several yellow fleer stalked about and some perched on 
motionless limbs. Saddles and clothing cut to pieces, lay strewn about.
I moved the kaiila slowly among some of the bodies threading a path between 
them. It stepped daintily. It hissed and whined, uneasily. I did not think it 
was at ease in this place.
I see no kaiila, I said to Grunt, no weapons. I see little of value.
It was taken, said Grunt.
I looked down at the slashed bodies. Arrows, had apparently been pried loose 
from the flesh, that they might be used again.
Are things usually done in this fashion? I asked Grunt.
This is not bad, said Grunt. This is the work of Dust Legs.
They are the friendly fellows, I said, the congenial, pleasant ones.
Yes, said Grunt.
The tops of the skulls, and parts of the tops of the skulls, in the back, of 
several of the bodies were exposed. It was here that the scalp and hair, in such 
places, had been cut away. These things could be mounted on hoops, attached to 
poles, and used in dances. They could be hung, too from fringes, lodge poles, 
and parts of them, in twisted or dangling I could decorate numerous articles, 
such as shields and war shirts.
I do not understand all the cutting, I said, the slashing, the mutilation.
That sort of thing, said Grunt, is cultural, with almost all of the tribes. 
The tradition is an ancient one, and is largely unquestioned. Its origins are 
doubtless lost in antiquity.
Why do you think it is done? I asked.
There are various theories, said Grunt. One is that it serves as a warning to 
possible enemies, an attestation of the terribleness of the victors as foes. 
Another is that the practice is connected with beliefs about the medicine world, 
that this is a way of precluding such individuals from seeking vengeance later, 
either because of inflicted impairments or because of terrorizing them against a 
second meeting.
Surely leaving a litter behind like this, I said, Might serve as a warning.
True, said Grunt, but, too, I think it is generally under stood that this 
sort of thing produces fear not so much as a desire for revenge, at least among 
the savages themselves.
Your second theory you take most seriously, then? I asked.
Not really, said he. If ones objective was really to terrorize or to inflict 
vengeance-precluding injuries, then it seems that the corpses, regularly, would 
be blinded, or have the hands and feet cut off. On the other hand, those 
particular injuries are very seldom inflicted.
Why, then, do you think it is done? I asked.
I think, said Grunt, that it is done in the joy and lust of victory, that it 
ventilates powerful emotion, that it expresses vengeance and hatred, and, 
indeed, pleasure and life, and that it is done, too, to show contempt for the 
enemy and to humiliate him, thereby demonstrating ones own superiority.
I regarded Grunt
In short, said Grunt, it is done because it elates them and fills them with 
power and joy
I see, I said.
Surely you are familiar, as I suspect you are, with such carnage, with such 
practices? he smiled.
Yes, I said, I am. I was a warrior.
I thought so, said he.
I turned my kaiila to face Grunt.
Let us not, then, feel so superior to these gentle and kindly folk, he said.
Very well, I said.
Grunt laughed.
I looked about. It is a good thing we did not bring the girls, I said.
It was for this reason, said Grunt, that I left them in the camp!
I nodded. They, beautiful, frightened, half-naked slaves shackled by the neck in 
the Barrens, did not need to see this. Let them not be concerned, at least as 
yet, with what might be the fate of an enslaved white female in such a world.
There is not enough wood about to bum these bodies, I said. We shall have to 
bury them.
They are to be left as they are* said Grunt. It is the usual way of the 
Barrens.
We turned our kaiila about to leave this place.
Help, we heard. Please, help.
Grunt and I looked at one another.
Over here, said Grunt. He moved his kaiila to our left, and turned it.
He looked down, from the lofty saddle. He smote his thigh, and laughed. I urged 
my kaiila to his side.
Below us, half concealed in the tall grass, on their backs, lay the two fellows 
I recognized as the brothers, Max and Kyle Hobart. They were stripped and their 
hands were thonged behind their backs. They could not rise to their feet. Each 
wore a crude, single-position, greenwood leg-spreader.
It is a present to me, from my friends, the Dust Legs, laughed Grunt, the 
leaders of those who followed us.
A thoughtful present, I said. Now they are yours.
And a rich joke it is, too, laughed Grunt. See?
Yes, I said. Max and Kyle Hobart wore leg-spreaders. These are commonly 
reserved by the red savages for their white female slaves. They wore 
single-position leg-spreaders. One ankle, by thongs threaded through a pierced 
end, is fastened tightly to one end of the sturdy spreader. The other ankle is 
then pulled to a corresponding position at the other end of the pole where, by 
means of another thong passed through another hole, drilled at that point in the 
spreader, it is fastened securely in place. More sophisticated spreaders have 
several positions. In the simplest case a series of holes is drilled in the pole 
and the girls ankles are merely fastened on the pole at whatever separation the 
master desires. In more sophisticated devices, two, or even three, poles or 
boards are used, which can slide apart, and are fastened at given points by pegs 
or thongs. In this latter sort of device the girls ankles, fastened at the far 
ends of the pole or board, need not be untied and retied. One may then, in 
accordance with ones moods, and at ones convenience, regulate the distance 
between them.
These spreaders may be used in a variety of ways, of course. Sometimes they are 
used for the wrists, the pole or board then usually behind the girls back. Too, 
they may be used in concert with other devices. In the lodges of Warrior 
Societies, for example, as a portion of the amusements accompanying a feast, a 
girl may be richly used in one, her hands tied behind the back of her neck, in 
the draw cords, looped once or twice about her neck, of the sack drawn over her 
head. In this way she fears all the men of the society for she does not know who 
it was who was the most cruel to her. Too, she regards all the men of the 
society with mixed feelings of sensual uneasiness, for she does not know which 
one among them it was who made her yield most ecstatically, most abjectly, as a 
slave. This is thought good by the men for the camaraderie of the society. To be 
sure, eventually she is usually awarded to one or another of the society 
members. This will usually be either to he who was most cruel to her or to he 
who made her yield most abjectly, most rapturously. She will learn which it is 
when she, in the privacy of his own
lodge, after her labors, is ordered to his furs. Not unoften, incidentally, it 
turns out that these two fellows are the same that he who most cruelly and 
effectively dominated her as a master is also he to whom she yielded most 
abjectly as a slave.
Please, said the fellow called Max Hobart.
Please, said he called Kyle Hobart
You are stripped, said Grunt.
They took our clothing, said Max Hobart.
You wear leg-spreaders, laughed Grunt.
They put us in them! said Kyle Hobart.
As though you might be women, said Grunt.
Yes, said Max Hobart, squirming. He tried to rise. He could not, of course, do 
so.
Thus do the Dust Legs demean you , said Grunt, treating you as no more than 
women.
Please, moaned Max Hobart.
Please, begged Kyle Hobart. We are helpless!
Grunt, moving the reins of the kaiila, pulled the beasts head away. I followed 
him. The kaiila in the area of the perimeter, those ridden by white men, are 
generally controlled by a headstall, bit and reins, in short, by a bridle, not 
by a nose rope, as is cultural in the Tahari. Different areas on Gor give 
witness to the heritage of differing traditions. The bridle used by the red 
savages, incidentally, usually differs from that used by the white men. The most 
common form is a strap, or braided leather tie, placed below the tongue and 
behind the which two reins, or a teeth, tied about the lower jaw, from single 
double rein, a single loop, comes back over the beasts neck. The jaw tie, 
serving as both bit and headstall, is usually formed of the same material as the 
reins, one long length of material being used for the entire bridle.
Wait! begged Max Hobart. Wait!
Do not go! begged Kyle Hobart.
We will die, if left here! cried out Max Hobart. We have been tied by red 
savages! We cannot free ourselves!
Grunt stopped his kaiila. Exposure on the prairie, to die of thirst, or hunger, 
or of the predations of animals, is what they deserve, be said.
I shrugged. The decision in this matter seemed to me his.
Please! cried out Max Hobart, plaintively.
Yet, perhaps I could spare them this horror, mused Grunt. It would 
inconvenience me little to do so.
I do not suppose the Dust Legs would object, I said.
They left them in my keeping, said Grunt.
That is true, I said. What are you going to do?
Cut their throats, said Grunt.
I see, I said.
He brought his kaiila back to where the two men lay bound in the grass. I 
followed him. He tossed me the reins of his beast and, drawing his knife from a 
beaded sheath, slipped from the saddle to the ground. In an instant he crouched 
beside Max Hobart and, holding the fellows hair in his left hand, had his blade 
across his throat.
No! whispered Max Hobart, hoarsely. No! Dont kill me! Please, do not kill 
me!
Have mercy on us! begged Kyle Hobart.
Grunt looked up at me.
In this way, of course, said Grunt, I get nothing from them.
A poor bargain from the point of view of a merchant, I observed.
Do you think they might have some worth? asked Grunt.
Perhaps to someone, I said.
They seem two stalwart, handsome lads, said Grunt. I might, from someone, be 
able to get something for them.
That seems to be possible, I said.
Max Hobart lay back in the grass, gasping, the knife removed from his throat.
Grunt, from his saddlebags, removed two collars. He joined them, by means of 
snap locks, with a length of chain. He then put them on the necks of Max and 
Kyle Hobart
Slave collars! gasped Max Hobart.
Yes, said Grunt. Grant looked up at me. Their wrists are adequately thonged 
for now, he said. Later, in the camp, we shall provide them with proper 
manacles.
I nodded.
Are you going to make us slaves? asked Max Hobart.
For the time you may account yourselves mere prisoners, said Grunt. .It is 
when you are purchased that you will be truly slaves.
Do not put us in your coffle, begged Max.
You will be put at the end of the coffle, said Grunt.
You would chain us behind slave girls? asked Max.
You will surely admit that you are the least desirable of the elements in the 
coffle. Accordingly, you will be chained in the position of last girls.
Max moaned, lying in the grass.
I assure you, said Grunt, our friends, the red savages, both men and women, 
will find that quite amusing.
Please, begged Max.
But do not fear, said Grunt, you will not be expected to bear burdens.
Max regarded him, miserably.
It is the women who are the pack beasts, who will bear the burdens, said 
Grunt.
Max nodded, numbly.
You will discover that there are some advantages to bringing up the rear of the 
coffle, said Grunt. You may then, for example, observe the women before you, 
bearing their burdens. You are not, however, to so much as touch them, even 
though they are slaves. Do you understand?
We understand, said Max, miserably.
Yes, said Kyle.
Grunt looked about and found some shreds of shirts, which, cut to pieces, lay 
about in the grass. He tied some of these pieces together and bound them about 
the hips of the Hobarts. They regarded their new garments, decided for them by 
Grunt, with dismay.
We are not slave girls, protested Max.
The red savages, as you may not know, said Grant to me, though doubtless he 
was speaking primarily for the benefit of the Hobarts, are rather strict about 
the privilege of wearing the breechclout.
Oh? I said.
Yes, said Grunt. It is not permitted to women, even to their own women, nor, 
of course, is it permitted to slaves.
I understand, I said. The breechclout of the Barrens, incidentally, consists 
of a single piece of narrow material. This may be of tanned skin but, not 
unoften, is of soft cloth. It is held in place by a belt or cord. It commonly 
goes over the belt or cord in the back, and down and between the legs, and then 
comes up, drawn snugly tight, over the belt or cord in the front. In cooler 
weather it is often worn with leggings and a shirt. In warmer weather, in camp, 
it is usually the only thing that a male will wear.
For a slave, or a prisoner, to wear a breechclout might be regarded as 
pretentious or offensive, said Grunt, an oversight or indiscretion calling for 
torture or, say, for being set upon by boys on kaiila, with war clubs.
I understand, I said.
The Hobarts looked at one another. Their garments, like those of female slaves, 
would not be permitted a nether closure.
Grunt cut the thongs binding the ankles of the Hobarts to the leg-spreaders. On 
your feet, he said.
They struggled to their feet, chained together by the neck.
Grunt mounted to the high saddle of his kaiila. He looked down on them. You are 
my prisoners, he said, totally, and when sold will be slaves. You will be 
perfectly docile and totally obedient. At the least sign of refractoriness or 
insubordination on the part of either one of you, both will be slain. Is that 
clear?
Yes, said Max, miserably.
Yes, said Kyle.
That way lies our camp, said Grant, pointing. Move!
The two Hobarts, stumbling, the chain on their necks, proceeded in the direction 
indicated.
I turned about in the saddle to view once more the torn, bloodied grass, the 
motionless figures, the insects and birds, where, yesterday, in brief compass, 
carnage had touched the prairie.
Come along, said Grunt.
I am coming, I said.
He rode after the Hobarts.
In a moment I had urged my kaiila after him.
When he reached the Hobarts he unhooked his whip from its saddle ring and, 
throwing it out behind him, and then bringing it forward, he lashed them. 
Hurry! he called. Har-ta! Faster! Faster! Har-ta! Har-ta!
They hurried on before him, stumbling and gasping, helplessly herded, driven, 
responding to his will and the imperious strokes of his whip, neck-chained and 
bound, his enemies. I smiled. It is pleasant to have ones enemies in ones 
power.
I did not look back.
13    Blankets and Bonds; I Do a Favor for Grunt
I lay on one elbow.
When she reached my vicinity she knelt down, in the brief brown slave tunic.
She trembled. She did not speak.
I regarded her for a time. Her head was down.
I then lay back on my blankets, on the grass. I put my hands under the back of 
my head, on the folded saddle blanket beneath my head. The kaiila saddle and the 
kaiila quirt lay to one side. I looked up at the stars, and the three moons of 
Gor. It is difficult to convey the majesty of a Gorean night in the Barrens, 
because of the vastness of the sky and the depth of the blackness, and the 
contrasting brightness of the stars. The large extents of wilderness on the 
surface of Gor and the absence of large-scale artificial illuminations, of 
course, permit starlit nights, almost anywhere, to manifest themselves with a 
splendor that would be almost breath-taking to one accustomed to the drab, 
half-gray, polluted, semi -illuminated, dim, nocturnal atmospheres of Earth. In 
the Barrens, however, and in places such as the Tahari, probably because of the 
relative levelness of the terrain, horizon-to-horizon, these effects seem even 
more accentuated, even more stupendous, more spectacular, more unbelievable and 
astounding.
I did not speak to the girl. I did not wish to hurry her. I let her continue to 
kneel there in the grass, a few feet from me.
I heard one of the kaiila moving about on its tether, biting at the grass, 
pawing the turf.
I continued to regard the stars.
Master, she said.
Yes, I said. She had spoken in Gorean.
I have been sent to your blankets, she said.
I rose on one elbow, to regard her. Her lower lip trembled. She looked very 
lovely, in the brief brown slave tunic. Her throat was bare, having been 
released from the collar in the come.
I have been sent to your blankets, she whispered.
I understand, I said.
She tried, with her small fists, to pull together the sides of the tunic, to 
protect, as she could, the rounded, interior contours of her softness from the 
garments apparently thoughtless disclosure. I smiled. Did she not know it was a 
slaves garment? Did she not understand the statement that was made by that 
deep, V-shaped, plunging division in the tunic, terminating only at her belly, 
that the woman who ware it was owned by men, that she was a slave?
At a gesture from me she removed her hands from the sides of the garment and 
placed them on her thighs.
She then knelt there in the grass, and I looked at her.
She put her head down, not meeting my eyes. She, a new slave, was not yet used 
to being looked at, truly looked at, as a woman, by a Gorean master.
I continued to regard her.
I found her reserve charming.
She lifted her head, frightened.
At as little as a snapping of my fingers, she must strip herself and hurry 
naked, licking and kissing, to my arms.
It is pleasant to own women.
I do not know what to do, or what to say, she moaned, to herself, in English.
We had now been five nights in the Barrens. This woman, and the others, tutored 
by Ginger and Evelyn, had now picked up a smattering of Gorean. I was pleased 
with her progress in the language, and it seemed to me the best of her chained 
peers. Yet it was still, of course, piteously limited. The phrase which she had 
repeated more than once, I have been sent to your blanket, for example, had 
not been spoken as a slave girl in full cognizance of its meaning, humbly making 
it clear that her nearness to the male was not illicit, and begging him to 
consider her for his pleasure-use, but rather as though it might have been 
spoken by rote, merely a set of words committed to memory, and as though she was 
desperate not to forget it or mispronounce it. She had doubtless learned the 
phrase by repetition, from Ginger or Evelyn. Still, doubtless, they would also 
have taught her its meaning, or at least as much of its meaning as could be 
absorbed by a raw Earth slave in her present stage of training. She doubtless 
thus understood its meaning, but did not, presumably, understand it in its full 
meaning, as what it might mean, fully, to present herself as a Gorean slave girl 
for the pleasure of a master.
I cannot even speak your language, she said, miserably in English. I am 
stupid. I cannot remember anything. It is all gone from me!
I saw that in her terror the little Gorean that she knew had eluded her.
Forgive me, Master, she then said, suddenly, in Gorean. Forgive me, Master. 
Forgive me, Master.
I was pleased to, see that she could remember at least that much Gorean.
She put her head down, trembling.
I saw that I would not be able, at least for the time, to communicate with her 
in Gorean. Obviously the Gorean she knew was largely unavailable to her now and 
it was, moreover, extremely limited anyway in her current stage of linguistic 
development.
Forgive me, Master, she wept, in Gorean.
I smiled. That simple phrase had doubtless on many occasions, though not always, 
saved many stripped, collared slaves from fearful punishments.
Her shoulders shook. Her head was down.
It is not necessary, of course, to be able to communicate verbally with a woman 
to teach her that she is a slave. Women are highly intelligent. They quickly 
understand such as the chain and the whip. Indeed, much may be done with means 
so simple even as the stroke of a hand, the twisting of an arm, the manner in 
which her body is penetrated. Yes, she can learn much, even before she has 
learned to speak your language.
I considered the girl kneeling in the grass, trembling. I glanced to the nearby 
kaiila saddle, and the quirt. I could always strip her and throw her on her 
belly or back over the polished leather of the saddle. I might then, with the 
aid of the quirt, and caressing her, begin to induce in her some modicum of 
understanding concerning her condition.
I have been sent to your blankets, Master, whispered the girl, in Gorean, 
lifting her head.
She was not yet ready for the saddle and the quirt, I saw. Yet, if I assessed 
her correctly, I thought, it would not be long. She was good slave stuff.
I beckoned to her, gently.
Timidly the girl, on her hands and knees, crawled to me through the grass. I 
then took her in my arms and, gently, put her to her back beside me. She was 
tense. She made as though to lift her lips to me, timidly, but I put my hand 
over her mouth. She looked up at me, frightened. My band was tight over her 
mouth. She was held motionless. She could not begin to speak.
I speak your language, I said to her, very quietly. Her eyes widened. I had 
spoken in English. I did not let her speak. This is not particularly 
important, I said, but you are not, without my permission, to speak of it to 
anyone. Do you understand?
She nodded her head, as she could, my hand tight over her mouth. I then removed 
my hand from her mouth.
You speak English, she said, wonderingly.
Yes, I said.
Is it your intention to rescue me, and the other girls? she whispered. Oh! 
she said. Her head was forced back, my hand under her chin, my fingers tight at 
the sides of her jaw.
Where is your collar? I asked.
In the coffle, she said. In the coffle, what? I asked.
In the coffle Master! she said.
What are you? I asked.
I am informed I am a slave, she said, my hand tight under her chin. Oh! she 
said, her head forced farther back, my grip tightened.
What are you? I asked.
A slave! she said, tensely. I am a slave, Master!
Do you think, now, I asked, that you are to be rescued?
No, Master, she said. No, Master!
There is no rescue for you, I said, nor for the other on your chain.
No, Master, she said. We are slaves.
Does it disturb you to speak of your slavery in your native language? I asked.
No, Master, she said.
I looked down into her eyes. She averted her gaze. Why did you think I might 
consider rescuing you? I asked.
Were you not once of Earth? she asked.
Once, I said.
Surely then, she said, You must be sensitive to our plight, imbonded women of 
Earth.
Women of Earth have often been imbonded, I said. Bondage is no novelty for 
the Earth female. Her fittingness for the collar has long been recognized. On 
Earth at this very moment many women are held in public bondage, and many 
others, it is difficult to conjecture their number, serve in secret bondages. 
Too, throughout the course of human history, in the past, as well as today, many 
women have found themselves enslaved. Your predicament, or plight, if you 
please, is thus far from unique. You, and those with you, are merely another 
handful of slaves, imbonded females, merely new and fresh instances of a 
historically familiar commodity.
Yes, Master, she said.
I removed my hand from her throat and face. She gasped, fearfully, but did not 
stir from my side. Her breasts heaved, under the thin rep-cloth of the slave 
tunic.
You may now begin again, I said. Return to your original position. You may 
speak in English.
Yes, Master, she whispered. Fearfully she then crept from my side. In a moment 
she knelt as she had before, a few feet from me, in the grass
Master, she said.
Yes? I said.
I am a slave girl, she said. I have been sent to your blankets.
Excellent, I said. You are a pretty slave.
Thank you, Master, she said.
Approach, Slave, I said.
Yes, Master, she said, and, on her hands and knees, crawled to my side.
I then took her in my arms and, as I had before, put her to her back, beside me.
I am a virgin, she said.
I know, I said. The results of your bodys testing, shortly after your 
purchase, were made known to me by Grunt, your master.
Yes, Master, she said.
Such information is public among Masters, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I held the cloth of the slave tunic, moving it between my fingers. This is 
thin, flimsy cloth, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
It reveals you well, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
And you have pretty legs, I said.
Thank you, Master, she said.
You are tense, I said.
Forgive me, Master, she said.
Do you know what is to be done to you tonight? I asked.
I am to be deflowered, she said.
That is a ridiculous expression, I said. It is absurd. Rather, you are to be 
opened, an act which, in the case of a slave, is in the interest of all men.
Yes, Master, she said.
This is unlikely to be painful, I said, but, if it is, the pain will be 
brief, and the soreness will be temporary.
I understand, she said.
If you should prove unusual in some respect, although this is extremely rare, 
I said, we can, tomorrow, grind one of Grunts trading knives into a lancet.
I understand, she shuddered. This seemed to me better than leaving the matter 
to the red savages. They tend to be impatient in such respects, even with their 
own women. A homemade lancet, sterilized in boiling water, seemed to me 
preferable to a sharpened kailiauk bone or a whittled lodge peg.
But your penetration is, obviously, I said, only a mere technicality.
Obviously, she said, I thought a bit ironically.
But, I said, beyond that incidental triviality, do you understand why you 
have been sent to my blankets, what the purpose is from your point of view, what 
is the purpose on which you are to be intent?
Yes, Master, she said.
What? I asked.
I am to please you with my body, she said.
You do not understand, I said.
Master? she asked.
That is far too limited, I said. You are to please me with the wholeness of 
your womanhood, in the fullness of your slavery.
The Gorean master, then, she said, would desire, and own, all of me.
Yes, I said.
I had hoped it might be so, she whispered.
What? I asked.
Nothing, Master, she whispered.
It is only on your former world, if anywhere, I said, that a man is 
interested only in a womans body.
Yes, Master, she said.
And I doubt that, I said, even on that muchly perverted dismal orb.
Yes, Master, she said.
To be sure, I said, the bodies of women are not without interest, and they 
look well in slave chains.
Yes, Master, she said.
But you must understand that what wears the chains, so curvaceous, beautiful 
and helpless, is the whole woman.
I understand, Master, she said.
You do not have a name yet, do you? I asked.
No, she said. My master has not yet named me.
What was your former name? I asked.
Millicent Aubrey-Welles, she said. Oh! she said. Your hand!
Do you objects? I asked.
No, she said. I am only a slave. I may not object.
That is an unusual name, I said. My hand rested, softly, on her left thigh.
Such names are not unusual in the social stratum which once was mine, she 
said.
I see, I said.
My family is from the upper classes, the very upper classes, of my world.
I see, I said.
I now lie beside you in a slave tunic, she said. But I am an upper-class 
girl, a very upper-class girl. You must understand that.
Once you were, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
You are now only a nameless slave, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I smiled.
I was a debutante, she said.
I understand, I said.
We are used to consolidate family alliances, she said, and are given as 
awards, in matings to energetic young men, often rising in our fathers 
companies.
A form of slavery, I said, but without the honesty of the collar.
Yes, she said, bitterly.
Women have often been used for such purposes, I said.
My aunt told me that it was all that I was good for, she said.
Your aunt was mistaken, I said.
She gasped. My hand moved higher on her thigh.
She controlled her breath. My hand, now, was again still.
We, of course, she said, would be permitted our clubs, our activities, our 
parties, our affairs.
Yes, I said.
But it would be a meaningless existence, she said, meaningless. Oh! she 
said.
My fingers now rested on her brand. What is this? I asked.
My brand. she said.
You must be a slave, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
Your existence on Gor, I said, you will find far from meaningless. You will 
find it quite meaningful, I assure you.
She shuddered.
It is rather something else which you will find is meaningless on Gor, I said.
What, Master? she asked.
You, yourself, I said.
Me? she asked.
Yes, I said, for you will be only an article of property, a meaningless, 
purchasable trinket, a worthless bauble, an owned woman, a slave.
She looked at me with horror.
Surely you are aware that you may be purchased or sold, or bartered, or given 
away, or commanded , as men please, that you are naught but an imbonded woman, a 
totally meaningless slave?
Yes, Master, she moaned.
Did you wear a white gown, of ankle length, when you were presented as a 
debutante? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
My hand was now tight upon her brand. Say, I said, I am now naught but a 
branded slave on Gor.
I am now naught but a branded slave on Gor, said the girl.
I moved my hand upward, to her hip, and to the sweetness of her waist at the 
hip.
Your hand is high beneath my tunic, Master, said the girl
Do you object? I asked.
No, Master, she said. I am a slave. I may not object,
The clothing in which you were exhibited to the buyers, I said, which was 
removed for their interest, in your sale, did not seem to me the clothing of a 
debutante. It seemed to me rather the clothing of a girl, and a certain sort of 
girl, who works in an office.
I wished to avoid the imminent and obvious fate of the debutante, she said, 
to be bartered, for position and power on the marriage market.
This was the occasion, doubtless, in which your aunt expressed her view that 
such, in effect, was all you were good for.
Yes! she said. Oh! she said.
You have lovely curves, I said.
Are you warming me for my taking? she asked.
They would bring a high price, I said.
She moaned.
Your aunt, I said, surely had a very limited conception of your utilities. It 
probably never even entered her ken, for example, that you might one day be a 
scantily clad, branded slave.
Master? asked the girl.
On the other hand, I said, she knew you very well, and, in some way, may have 
been touching on something of importance.
I do not understand, said the girl.
I do not mean to insult you, a girl from Earth, I said, but you an obviously 
extremely feminine. You have, doubtless, a large number of female hormones in 
your body.
Master? she asked.
Your aunt was then, perhaps, trying to convey to you that your most congenial 
and appropriate destiny, what might be best for you, what might be most natural 
for you, would be for you to find yourself naked in the arms of a man.
As little more than a slaver she asked.
As perhaps no more than a slave, I said.
I cannot help it that I have a feminine face, that I have feminine body, she 
said. I cannot help it that I am feminine nine
Why would you want to help it? I asked.
It is wrong to be feminine! she said.
That is obviously false, I said. What is your next point?
I know that I am feminine, she wept. I have known for years, from my desires 
and feelings, even from before the interior truths of my reality manifested 
themselves so unmistakably , so unrepudiably, in my body, shaping and curving me 
for the destiny of the female, and for the lustful, appraising eyes of men.
I regarded her, not speaking.
I am afraid to be feminine! she said.
Why? I asked.
Because, she wept, I sense that it is, ultimately, to be the slave of men.
You desired to prove your aunt wrong, I said.
Yes, she said. I would prove that I was independent, that I was capable, that 
I could achieve success on my own. My talents would be obvious. I would be hired 
promptly. I would be rapidly advanced. I would become a female executive. That 
would show my aunt! That would show myself! That would show men!
What happened? I asked.
I took money and left home, she said. I scarcely informed my family as to my 
decision or whereabouts. I went to a great city. It is called New York. I rented 
expensive quarters. Confidently, I sought a significant position business.
And then? I asked.
Alas, she said, ruefully, I found my credentials sorely lacking. I could find 
no work of the sort in which I was interested. 
I see, I said.
After weeks of misery and frustration, she said, I contacted my family. A 
position was immediately arranged for me.
I see, I said.
It was not, however, at all, what I had hoped for, she said. I became, in 
effect, the secretary to a female executive, her girl in the office. She took 
charge of me and, in effect, prescribed my mode of dress and behavior.
It was largely due to her, then, I said, that you wore the attractive 
garments you did, when you were stripped for the buyers at the house of Ram 
Seibar?
Yes, she said, and she even prescribed that the pearls I wore must be 
synthetic, as being more befitting than real pearls a girl in my position.
I see, I said. Did you protest this?
I did not wish to lose my job, she said.
I see, I said. I was pleased to learn that she had not worn the false pearls 
of her own volition. That would surely mitigate her culpability in the matter, 
at least to some extent, in Gorean eyes. She had, of course, agreed to wear 
them. That they might regard as important. That agreement, of course, had been 
formed, in a sense, under duress. The Goreans, on the whole a fair folk, would 
doubtless take that into consideration. The degree of duress might be regarded 
as significant. The matter was surely subtle. Grunt, in any case, as I knew him, 
would not be interested in punishing her for that action, as it had taken place 
when she was free. That life was behind her now. Her whippings, now, doubtless, 
would be functions of such things as whether or not she was sufficiently 
pleasing as a female slave. Still, I would inform Grunt of this development. He 
would find it of interest. Masters find almost everything about their slaves of 
interest. Too, it would please him.
And so, she said, I continued to run her errands, to answer her telephone in 
a pretty voice, to do her biding, to bring her her coffee, to address her 
deferentially, to smile at her clients and walk in a certain way past them.
I understand, I said.
Doubtless she enjoyed having me do this, she said, bitterly, my station in 
society having been so superior to hers.
Perhaps, I said. I do not know.
It was to be made clear to all her colleagues, she said, angrily, that I was 
only a girl, fit for lowly labors and being pleasing to her superiors. Clearly I 
was a different sort of woman from her!
Perhaps you were, I said.
Dressed as I was, forced to behave as I was, she said, how could men see me 
as executive material?
Doubtless it would be difficult, I said.
Yes, she said.
You are very feminine, I said, perhaps you are not executive material.
She squirmed, angrily.
She well used my femininity, my meaninglessness, MY prettiness, she said, to 
highlight, to point up and accentuate, by contrast, her own quite different 
image, that of strength and competence, of decisiveness, of command, of 
authority and power.
I have seen such women naked, I said, in a collar, kissing the feet of men.
Oh? she said.
But they are not so beautiful as you, I said.
She was silent.
Do you feel that your treatment by her was motivated by some insecurity on her 
part, by fear for her position or status, that she may have seen you as a 
threat?
The girl was silent for a moment. Then she said, No, I do not think so.
That is interesting, I said.
I could not have begun to compete with her, she said.
You were not that sort of woman, I said.
No, she said.
Do you think she disliked you, or hated you? I asked.
I dont think so, really, she said, slowly.
Can you conceive it possible that she may have seen you rather more as you 
were, than as you saw yourself?
Master? she asked.
She may have dressed you as she did, I said, and treated you as she did, and 
made you do the things you did, for a very good reason.
Why? she asked.
Because you are feminine, I said.
She was angrily silent.
Did you enjoy doing the things you were told? I asked. Did you enjoy 
obeying?
Sometimes, she whispered.
Did you object, truly, to the clothing you were expected to wear? I asked.
No, she said, not truly. I like pretty clothes, and the, eyes of men on me.
As a Gorean slave girl, I said, you will often find the eyes of men on you, 
though whether or not you will be permitted clothing will be a function of the 
decision of your master.
Yes, Master, she said.
How were you taken? I asked.
After work, she said. It was dark. I was driving back to my building. I 
stopped at a red light. Suddenly, to my horror, a narrow chain was looped about 
my throat. Drive as I direct, said a male voice, from behind me. I could not 
scream. The chain was tight. I was terrified. He had been hidden in the car, 
behind the back seat. He tightened the chain a quarter of an inch. I could not 
breathe. I realized he could, if he wished, strangle me in an instant. A car 
honked behind us. The light has changed, be said. He relaxed the chain, 
slightly. Continue on this street, he said, in the outside lane, at a speed 
not exceeding twenty-five miles an hour. I pulled away from the intersection. 
You will obey all my directions, he said, immediately and to the letter, and 
you will address me as Sir.  Yes, I whispered. The chain tightened. Yes, 
Sir, I whispered, fighting for breath. The chain then relaxed, slightly.
You were already being taught to obey, and to treat men with respect, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.  Do not try anything foolish he said, such as 
stalling or damaging the vehicle, for I can slay in an instant, before I make my 
departure. Yes, Sir, I said. You may look in the rear-view mirror, if you 
wish. He said. You have my permission. I looked in the rear-view mirror, 
terrified. About my throat, closely looped, was a narrow golden chain. It was 
controlled by two narrow wooden handles, in his hands.
It was a girl-capture chain, I said. It is to be distinguished sharply from 
the standard garrote, which is armed with wire and can cut a throat easily. The 
standard garrote, of course, is impractical for captures, for the victim, in 
even a reflexive movement, might cut her own throat.
Whatever it was, she said, it was very effective. It controlled me 
perfectly.
Of course, I said. That is why it is used.
In a few moments, the man made an adjustment in the chain, spinning one of the 
wooden handles. He could the control it with one hand. He tightened it, half 
choking me and then released it, slightly. He had well displayed his power over 
me. He then released it a bit more. Thats better, isnt it, Baby? he asked. 
Yes, Sir, I said. Good, he said, we have a long drive ahead of us. We then 
drove on, I terrified, he giving me directions. From other can it would have 
seemed merely that a man, leaning forward, perhaps smiling, perhaps conversing 
with me, was in the back of my vehicle. If any saw the slender golden chain 
about my throat they did not, doubtless, conjecture its significance.
He was not masked? I asked.
No, she said.
A mask would have aroused suspicion, I said.
Yes, she said. Do not fear to look upon my face, you wish, he said, for 
you will not see it again, after you have been delivered. Delivered! I 
exclaimed. Yes, he laughed, delivered, my pretty goods. We then drove on. He 
let me engage in what, I suppose, are the standard threat and pleas of the 
captured girl, but, then, when he grew we of this amusement, he stopped me. A 
slight pressure on chain sufficed. We then continued to drive on. The terrain 
became more remote, more desolate. Soon we were driving on graveled roads. Then 
we were driving on dirt roads, dark and lonely lined with trees. I grasped very 
little of what was going on. I was terrified. The chain was on my throat. The 
beams from the headlights seemed wild on the road ahead of me. Slow down here, 
he said, and pull into those trees, an stop. I obeyed his commands. I switched 
off the car lights and turned off the car engine. I had delivered myself, though 
to whom, or what, or for what I had no idea. He took me from the car by the 
chain and soon I was in the hands of other men. He left, dropping the chain, 
with its handles, in the pocket of his jacket. I was thrown to my stomach in the 
grass. My hands were fastened behind me in some sort of metal restraining 
device. It was snug, and inflexible. My ankles were crossed and tied together 
with a short piece of rope. A metal anklet of some sort was fastened on my left 
ankle.
A girls identificatory anklet, I said. It is removed after her delivery to 
Gor.
A boxlike device was then placed near my head, she said. It was hinged at one 
end and, on the other side, where it opened, there were matched, semicircular 
openings. My head then, by the hair, was placed in this box, and it was closed, 
enclosing my head, and shutting snugly about my neck. This opening was then 
further closed by wrapping thick cloth about my neck and thrusting it up, so 
that it filled the space between my neck and the edges of the now closed 
semicircular openings.
Interesting, I said.
My head enclosed in the box, she said, I heard a car being driven away. It 
was doubtless my own, driven by the fellow with the chain.
That is quite likely, I said. He would wish to have means to return to the 
city and, of course, it would be important to abandon or dispose of the car far 
from the scene of the abductors rendezvous.
And I must remain behind, she said, bitterly.
Of course, I said. You were then only a delivered capture.
A gas was then entered into the box, she said. I tried to struggle. A mans 
foot held me in place. I lost consciousness I awakened, I do not know how much 
later, in a grassy field on this world, chained by the neck with other girls.
Interesting, I said. I do not know, but you may have been stored for a few 
days, perhaps even a few weeks.
Stored? she asked.
Yes, I said, perhaps hibernated. Then, when the order was complete, it could 
have been shipped in its entirety.
You speak of me as though I might be an object, she said, a mere commodity.
You are, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I thrust the slave tunic up and then, pulling her to a sitting position, I 
pulled it off, her arms rising, over her head.
Do you object? I inquired.
No, Master, she said. I may not object. I am a slave.
I cast the scanty garment to the side, on the grass.
Lie down, I told her, on your back, with your arms at sides, the palms of 
your hands up, facing the moons of Gor.
Yes, Master, she said.
Lift your left knee, slightly, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.
I stood and looked down at her.
I now lie exposed before you, as a slave, Master, she said.
Is that fitting and proper? I inquired.
Yes, Master, she said.
Why? I asked.
Because I am a slave, she said.
The answer is correct, and suitable, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
Are you a new slave? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
That is incorrect, I said.
Master? she asked.
The only sense in which you are a new slave, I said, is that it has not been 
long since your legal imbondment.
Master? she asked.
For years, you have been a slave, I said, only one who was not yet properly 
owned, a technicality recently remedied on Gor.
She looked up at me.
This is what, implicitly, in effect, your aunt was recognizing, I said, 
though perhaps not fully consciously. It seems to have been recognized even 
more clearly by your former superior, the female executive. She dressed you, and 
treated you, did she not, as, in effect, a slave?
Yes, said the girl, angrily.
I think, I said, in spite of other possible considerations and advantages 
which might have been involved in her behavior attitudes, she was trying to be 
kind to you, trying make it clear to you what you were, trying to encourage you 
to be true to your own nature.
Perhaps! said the girl, angrily.
You like pretty clothes, do you not, I asked, and like to be attractive to 
men.
Yes! she said.
On Gor, I said, as opposed to your world, It is customary to enslave slaves.
She looked up at me, angrily.
On Gor, I asked, have you been branded, and enslaved.
Yes, Master, she said.
Why? I asked.
Because I am a slave? she asked. Yes, I said.
She turned her head, angrily, to the side.
I looked down at her. She was exquisitely beautiful. I did not doubt but that 
Grunt could get five hides of the yellow kailiauk for her.
Look at me, Slave, I said.
She regarded me, quickly. Yes, Master, she said.
Slaves such as you, on Earth, I said, not legally imbonded, often use their 
beauty to their own advantage. It opens doors. It smoothes ways. It makes things 
easy for them. They use it to further careers, to buy wealth, and to belittle 
other women.
Yes, Master? she whispered.
But here, on Gor, I said, Things are quite different.
Yes, Master, she said.
Here, on Gor, I said, your beauty is owned, and fully, as are you.
Yes Master, she said.
To whom does your beauty belong, on Gor? I asked.
To the master, she said.
Yes, I said, and it is he, not you, my dear, who will decide what is to be 
done with it, fully, and how it is to be used.
Yes, Master, she said.
Your palms, I said, have them facing upward, to the moons of Gor.
Yes, Master, she said.
Have you had your slave wine? I asked.
Ginger, one of my Mistresses, she said, forced me to drink a bitter beverage 
by that name.
Why has your Master, Grunt, sent you to my blankets? I asked. Why has he 
himself not seen fit to open your slaves body to the pleasures of men?
I do not know, Master, she said.
I crouched down beside the naked body of the former Miss Millicent 
Aubrey-Welles, who had been a debutante, now that of a mere slave, supine on my 
blankets.
What are the duties of a slave? I asked.
They are complex, and manifold, Master, she said.
Speak generally, I said.
We are to be absolutely docile, she said, totally obedient and fully 
pleasing.
Are there any qualifications to that? I asked.
No, Master, she said, There are no qualifications. We are slaves.
And are you prepared to fulfill the duties of a slave? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said, and I must, Master, for I am a slave.
The answers are correct, and suitable, Slave, I said.
Thank you Master, she said.
I am to take your virginity, I said. You understand that?
Yes, Master, she said.
Would you prefer that your virginity would have been taken from you while you 
were a free woman? I asked.
No, she said, rather as a will-less slave, as I am now subject to the 
decision and imperious will of a strong master.
I held my hand, opened, a bit above her left breast. She arched her back, 
pressing that marvelous, lush contour of her enslaved softness against my hand. 
I did not move my hand. She lay back, tears in her eyes. You well know how to 
humiliate a slave, Master, she said. I smiled. The test had been an interesting 
one.
Do you think, in time, you will prove to be a hot slave? I asked.
Hot? she asked.
Yes, I said, responsive, sexually vital, owned, helplessly and uncontrollably 
passionate.
I do not know, Master, she said. What if I do not?
Then you will presumably be slain, I said.
She shuddered with terror.
But do not fear, I said. Most masters are patient. You will, most likely, 
have a month or more in which to develop the appropriate secretions and spasms!
She looked at me, with misery.
I do not think it is anything to worry about, really, I said. Most girls, 
under the circumstances, find very little difficulty in becoming passionate 
female slaves. Too, the entire Gorean milieu contributes to the development of 
passion in the female slave. She is dressed in a certain way, for example; she 
is commonly collared; she is subject to discipline; her performances are 
commanded, and subject to scrutiny and improvement, and so on. The main thing is 
to attempt to be fully pleasing to the Master, in every way. Too, you will 
commonly have a gauge of your progress; if your master is not pleased you will 
be beaten or whipped.
I see, whispered the girl.
I have seen girls such as you before, I said. They commonly develop into the 
hottest of slaves.
She trembled, frightened.
Remember, I said, it will be to your advantage to be a hot slave, and, 
indeed, the hottest slave you can be. This will make you more pleasing to your 
master, and to those to whom he, at his caprice, consigns you.
Yes, Master, she said.
The true wonder in these matters, I said, and what seems most delightful to 
me, is the way, gradually, the girls heat begins to develop from within, until 
she is transformed, in effect, into a needful slave. She is then, of course, not 
only legally and physically at the mercy of men, but needfully, as well.
How much a slave she would be then! exclaimed the girl.
No one claims that the Gorean slave girl has an easy lot, I said.
How piteous to be such a girl! she said. Surely men would have mercy on 
her!
Perhaps, I said, if she is sufficiently beautiful, and sufficiently 
pleasing.
Do you think I will develop such passion? she asked, frightened.
Yes, I said.
Do you think, then, she asked, that men might be moved to show me mercy?
You already begin to sense what you might become, do you? I asked.
Yes, she whimpered.
It is a good sign, I said.
Do you think that if I became such a girl, Master, men might show me mercy? 
she asked.
Perhaps, I said, if you were sufficiently beautiful, and sufficiently 
pleasing.
I would try to be both, she said.
You are a slave, arent you? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
I think it likely that you would be shown mercy, at least upon occasion, I 
said. But you, yourself, in a few weeks, will better know the answer to your 
question.
In a few weeks? she asked.
Yes, I said, when you find yourself on your knees at the feet of a man, or 
on your belly, crawling to him, to lick his feet, to beg his least touch.
I then, gently, began to caress her. In a few moments, interestingly, she began 
to moan.
I am a slave, she whimpered, looking up at the stars, the Gorean moons.
You may now request your fulfillment, I informed her.
I request my fulfillment, Master, she said.
I will be gentle with you this time, I said, but sometimes, you must 
understand, you will be used quite differently, for example, with contempt or 
scorn, or brutality, or cruel indifference, or, perhaps, with ruthless power.
Yes, Master, she said.
Similarly, I said, you will learn to serve in whatever position your master 
dictates and in whatever garb, or lack of garb, he pleases.
Yes, Master, she said.
And sometimes, too, I said, You may have to serve in bonds, even cruel bonds, 
such things as thongs, and cords and chains.
Yes, Master, she said.
And sometimes, too, I said, Willessly, even though your back and legs may 
still sting from his lash.
Yes, Master, she said.
You will learn to serve him whenever, wherever and however he wishes, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
And perfectly, I said.
Yes, yes, Master, she said.
For he is the Master, and you are the Slave, I said.
Yes, Master she said.
For you are nothing, and he is all, I said.
Master, she whispered.
Are you now prepared to be opened? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
I looked down into her eyes.
Open me, Master, she said. Open me, I beg you, as a slave, for the pleasures 
of men!
Very well, I said, and then, as she cried out softly, I opened her, a nameless 
slave, who had once been Miss Millicent Aubrey-Welles, from Pennsylvania, a 
debutante, for the pleasures of men.
Please, do not put me back so soon with the others, Master, she begged.
It is nearly morning, I said.
Please, Master, she said. She clutched me beneath the blankets, pressing her 
warm, vulnerable softness against me Please, she begged. The blood on the 
interior of her left thigh had now dried. When it was fresh I had taken some on 
my finger and forced it into her mouth, and onto her tongue forcing her to taste 
it. Yes, Master, she had whimpered. I had also traced the common Kajira mark, 
the common slave-girl mark that which was the same as her brand, on her thigh in 
the blood, and had then smeared its residue down and onto her left calf. In the 
morning I wanted to make sure that the other girls in the coffle were perfectly 
clear on how she had spent the night and what had been done to her.
Perhaps, I said.
Thank you, Master, she whispered, happily.
I put out my hand, to the side. The grass was cold with dew. It was still dark.
She kissed me, softly. How incredible do I find my current reality, she, 
marveled. Suddenly, it seems, I find myself a slave, and naked in the blankets 
of a master, on a world far from my own.
I said nothing.
And only, it seems, a common slave, she said.
Your reality is precisely what it seems, I assured her You are a slave, and 
only a common one.
Yes, Master, she said.
Your brand should tell you that, I said.
I am not familiar with Gorean brands, she said.
Yours is a common slave brand, I said. It marks most property girls. You 
share it with thousands.
I was of high station on my own world, she said, petulantly
Here, on Gor, I told her, Your station, your status, your prestige, are gone, 
taken with your name and freedom. Here you are only another slave, another 
domestic
I behaved as one, didnt I? she asked, rolling onto her back, looking up at 
the dark sky.
It was fitting and proper, I told her.
How shamed I am, she said.
Of your responsiveness? I asked.
Yes, she said.
I smiled. The third and fourth time I had used her she had yielded almost as a 
slave.
I cannot help it, she said, that I am responsive in the arms of a master.
You are not supposed to help it, I said.
I suppose if I had not been responsive, she said, you would have beaten me.
Yes, I said.
Truly? she asked.
Yes, I said.
I betrayed myself, she said.
Let us think clearly about this matter, I suggested.
Your assertion might be construed as meaning that you had committed some 
treason against yourself, or, perhaps, as meaning merely that you had revealed, 
or manifested, yourself. Let us consider, first, the matter of treason. A free 
woman might, possibly, feel that she had betrayed herself, in this sense, if she 
had so yielded to a man as to supply him with some perhaps subtle hint as to the 
latency of her slave reflexes. A slave girl, on the other hand, cannot commit 
treason against herself in this sense, for she is a slave. To commit this type 
of treason one must have a right, say, to deceive others as to ones sensuality, 
to conceal ones sexuality, and so on. The slave girl, an owned animal, under 
the command of her master, does not have this sort of right. Indeed, she has no 
rights. Accordingly, she cannot commit this sort of reason Her legal status 
precludes its possibility. She may, of course, rationally, fear the consequences 
of her responsiveness being discovered, thus increasing, perhaps to her terror, 
in a slave culture, her desirability. Similarly she may lie or attempt to lie, 
about her responsiveness, but she is then of course, merely a lying slave and, 
when found out, Will be treated accordingly.
Such treason, then, she said, can be committed only by a free woman.
Yes, I said. It is a luxury not permitted to the slave.
It is a function only of the free womans right to lie, and defraud, others? 
she asked.
Yes, I said. It is possible, of course, for the slave, subjectively, 
psychologically, to feel that she has committed this treason, for she may, 
mistakenly, be still regarding herself implicitly, as a free woman.
But she cannot, in fact, have committed it, because she is a slave? asked the 
girl.
Yes, I said.
I understand, Master, she said, bitterly.
You see, I said, you were still regarding yourself, implicitly, at least at 
the moment, as a free woman, or, perhaps better, more narrowly, as retaining at 
least one of the rights of a free woman.
I am not to be beaten, am I, Master? she asked.
Not at the moment, at least, I informed her.
Thank you, Master, she said.
The second sense in which you might have intended your remark about betraying 
yourself, though I think it was not the sense in which you did intend it, would 
be the innocent sense, quite appropriate for a slave girl, of revealing or 
manifesting significant aspects of your nature. In this sense, of course, a 
slave girl has no alternative other than to betray herself. She is under an 
obligation, and a quite harsh and strict one, to release, manifest and reveal, 
fully, and in all its depths and facets, the profundities of her nature, the 
fundities of her femaleness.
Yes, Master, she said.
I think now, I said, it is time to chain you with the others.
You can just take me and chain me with them, cant you? she said, angrily.
Yes, I said.
You took my virginity, she said. Does that not mean anything to you?
No, I told her.
It was, after all, she said, only the virginity of a slave!
Precisely, I said.
She squirmed angrily.
Are you angry? I asked.
Am I permitted anger? she asked, warily.
I will permit it, for now, I said.
Yes, she said, I am angry.
Your concern is not well-warranted, I said. Your having was merely the 
ungating of a slave, her breaching, her opening, an unimportant prefatory 
technicality in the history of her bondage.
Of course! she said.
Would you be so concerned about a boars opening of she-tarsk? I asked. She 
had seen animals of this sort in streets of Kailiauk, in the dawn of the day 
following her sale, when she and the others had been marched out towards the 
Ihanke. They are used, not unoften, in small Gorean towns, to scavenge garbage. 
Ginger and Evelyn had identified the animals for them. They had also informed 
them that, many towns, such an animal might, in a market, bring than they 
themselves.
I am the she-tarsk! she said. I am the slave!
Do you think that you are important? I inquired.
No, Master, she said.
There, you see, I said.
Yes, she said, I see. She lay back, angrily.
There was a narrow rim of light in the east now. The air was still damp, and 
chilly.
Do you respect me? she asked.
No, I told her.
She gasped, in misery.
Kiss me, I told her, fifty times, and well.
Yes, Master, she said, and began to kiss me about the face and neck. I 
counted the kisses. There were fifty of then
Then she lay down beside me.
You used me well, earlier, she said.
You are a mere slave, I said. It is simple to use a mere slave well.
Doubtless girls such as myself are often well used, she said.
Yes, I said.
And, we must submit, unquestioningly, to even our most brutal usage, she said.
Of course, I said. Are you distressed?
No, Master, she said. Not really. It is only that I am not used to being an 
animal, a slave.
I understand, I said.
In your use of me, she said, you did not give me not even for your use of 
me.
No, I said.
Was that deliberate? she asked,
Yes, I said.
A clever way to make clear to me that I was only fondled animal, helpless in 
your arms.
I did not speak.
I can scarcely begin to cope with my feelings, she said They are so troubled, 
so tumultuous.
Speak, I said.
I must lie there, she said. I could not escape. I must submit!
Yes, I said.
I was controlled. I was owned!
Yes, I said.
I was powerless, she said. How you dominated me!
You were used with great gentleness, I said, though also, to be sure, with 
firmness and authority, as befits a slave As for domination, you cannot yet even 
begin to suspect what it is for a woman to be dominated by a master.
She would be so owned, she whispered.
Yes, I said.
Can you understand my feelings of utter helplessness, and humiliation? she 
asked.
I think so, I said.
I have other feelings, as well, she whispered.
What? I asked.
I cannot believe how I yielded in your arms, she whispered.
You are merely a slave who yielded, I said. You have not yet begun to learn, 
as a slave, what is the nature of true slave yieldings.
Doubtless I will be taught, she said.
You are beautiful, I said. It is not unlikely.
I had never dreamed that sensations such as you induced in me could exist, she 
whispered.
They were largely the result of your own initial responsiveness, I said, plus 
the fact that you realized you were I a slave. They cannot even form a sound 
basis, I would suppose, on which you could begin to even remotely conjecture the 
nature of the feelings and sensations which lie before you. Beyond the 
sensations which you have hitherto experienced lie infinite horizons.
I am afraid, she said.
To your feelings of humiliation and helplessness, then, I said, we may also 
add the emotion of fear.
But I have other emotions, other feelings, too, Master, she said.
Oh? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
What? I asked.
Eagerness, she said, pleasure, curiosity, excitement, sensual arousal, a 
desire to please, a desire to serve, a desire to be owned and mastered, a desire 
to be true to my basic and radical femaleness.
I see, I said.
Never before tonight, she said, have I, now only a nameless slave, felt so 
much in contact with my femininity. I have learned tonight that being a woman is 
a real thing to be. It is not a biological triviality. It is not an 
insignificant, regrettable concomitant of a genetic lottery. It is something 
real and important in itself, something precious and wonderful
I agree, I said.
And it is not to be a man, she said.
No, I said. I do not think so.
Strange, she said, that I should have learned this only stripped, and in the 
arms of a master, and on a world far from my own.
Oft is not strange that you should learn this on a world far from your own, I 
said, for your world is like a distorting lens, perverting even the most 
conspicuous lineaments of biological reality, nor is it strange that you should 
learn it as a stripped slave. Your stripping, particularly as it was done by a 
man, or at the command of a man, should put you in touch with certain female 
realities, such as your beauty, and its softness, and its subject ability to 
male domination; it should also, through exposure, and through various, subtle 
skin stimulations, heighten your vulnerability and sensitivity; this will enable 
you to feel more keenly and enable you to understand, more clearly, certain 
basic truths, such as the differences between men and women, and that you, 
whatever you are, are not a man.
Yes, Master, she said.
Lastly, and most importantly, I said, you find yourself a slave. Female 
slavery is the institutionalized expression, in a civilization congenial to 
nature, of the fundamental biological relationship between the sexes. In the 
institution of female slavery we find this basic relationship recognized, 
accepted, clarified, fixed and celebrated. A civilization, you see, need not 
inevitably be a conflict with nature. A rational, informed civilization can 
even, in a sense, refine and improve upon nature; it can, so to speak, bring 
nature to fruition. Indeed, a natural civilization might be the natural 
flowering of nature itself, not an antithesis to nature, not a contradiction to 
nature, not a poison nor a trammel to it, but a stage or aspect of it, a form 
which nature itself can take.
I fear even to understand such thoughts, she said, let alone consider whether 
or not they might be true.
Consider the case of the female slave, I said. She was once a primitive, 
brutish female, innocent of legalities but, in effect, owned. She is now, 
commonly, a collared, imbonded beauty, properly marked as merchandise, 
effectively displayed and marketed, and owned in the full right of law.
Yes, Master, said the girl.
Who can doubt but what here civilization, as natures refinement or expression, 
has wrought an improvement?
Surely, no one, Master, whispered the girl.
Too, you will note that civilization has increased the control of the girls and 
the effectiveness of bondage, the marking, the identification of masters, the 
papers of sale, and so on. Escape, then, for all practical purposes, becomes 
impossible.
Yes, Master, she said.
And you are such a girl, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I am now going to put you with the others, I said. I stood up, thrusting the 
blankets to one side. She drew her legs up, feeling the coldness of the air. I 
looked down at her, she looking up at me. She was very beautiful.
I am at your feet, she said.
How do you feel? I asked.
Very feminine, very female, she said.
How do you explain these feelings? I asked.
That I am a woman, at the feet of a strong man, she said, one who dominates 
me, one who masters me, one whom I must obey.
You do not speak like a woman of Earth, I said.
I have learned much on Gor, she said, and I have learned much this night.
I looked down at her, arms folded.
She put out her fingers, touching the dark blankets. Then, spinning, she looked 
up at me. It is where we belong, isnt it, Master? she asked.
Yes, I said.
I have always known it in my heart, she said, but I never thought it would 
come true.
I went to pick up her tunic. I felt the blades of wet, cool grass cut at my 
ankles. I tossed her the tunic. She knelt, holding it. It was tiny, in her 
hands. On it, dark and wet, moist in its fibers, were the marks of dew.
She clutched the tunic, looking at me. She did not draw it on.
I am no longer a virgin, Master, she said.
That is known to me, I assure you, I said.
I am now only a full and opened slave, she said, no different from other 
girls, one, like them, readily available at the masters least desire.
Yes, I said.
I am not sore, Master, she said.
I nodded.
But that does not make any difference, does it? she asked.
No, I said.
Master, she whispered.
Perhaps now you should garb yourself, I said.
This is garb? she asked, smiling, holding out the tunic. It is scarcely a 
scanty rag.
It leaves little doubt as to your charms, I admitted.
It does not even have a nether closure, she said.
It is not supposed to, I said. Do you know why?
That I may be reminded that I am a slave, she smiled, that my vulnerability 
may be heightened, that I may be invaluable to masters.
Ginger and Evelyn have taught you that, I said.
They have taught us many things, she said.
What about intimate secrets of slave love-making? I asked.
No, Master, she said.
The little she-sleen are doubtless guarding such secrets from you, I said. I 
shall speak to Grunt in the morning. It will not prove to be in their interest 
to persist in this particular reticence.
Yes, Master, she said, frightened.
They will teach you, and the other jewels on the coffle, all they can, and 
quickly, I said. Failure will be cause for severe discipline.
Yes, Master, she whispered.
An ignorant free woman is a commonplace, I said. An ignorant slave is an 
absurdity.
You mean I am actually to be taught how to please man, trained? she asked.
Yes, I said, trained, as the lovely animal you are.
She looked at me, frightened.
And I advise you to learn your lessons well, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
You are doubtless familiar, from your former world, with arts such as sewing 
and cooking, commonly thought appropriate for women, I said.
Of course, Master, she said.
Can you cook and sew? I asked.
No, Master, she said. Such arts, I thought, were for lower women.
You will learn them, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
But beyond such arts as cooking and sewing, arts commonly thought appropriate 
for women, arts with which you are familiar, there are, obviously, many other 
arts. It should thus come as no surprise to you that among these other should be 
certain delicate, delicious and intimate arts, particularly appropriate to the 
female slave.
I suppose not, Master, she said.
You are not a wastrel free woman, I said. You are a slave. You must earn your 
keep.
She trembled.
Why do you think you were purchased? I asked.
She put her small hand before her mouth, fearfully.
Take your hand away from your mouth, I said. I would see the lips of the 
slave.
Swiftly she lowered her hand.
Straighten your back, I said.
She did so.
The free woman, I said, lies down, and waits to see what will happen. The 
female slave kneels beside her master, and begs to please him. The free woman 
deems it sufficient that she should exist, the slave girl, on the other hand, is 
expected not only to exist, but to excel; indeed, she fears only, commonly, that 
she may not be sufficiently marvelous for her master. It is little wonder that 
most men find the free woman, in her inertness, her ignorance and arrogance, 
boring. It is little wonder that most men prefer to order her rival to their 
furs, the helpless, collared, curvaceous, lascivious, feminine slave.
I was once a free woman, said the girl.
There is hope for the free woman, I said. She may put in a collar, and 
stripped, and made subject to the whip. She may then, enslaved, be trained, too, 
for the pleasure of men.
Yes, Master, whispered the girl.
Training, then, should not come as a surprise to you, I said. It is quite 
natural for female slaves to be given training.
Yes, Master, she said.
Expect, then, to be trained, I said.
I shall, Master, she said.
I regarded her.
Suddenly she flung herself on her belly across the dark blankets. She reached to 
my left ankle and holding it with her small hands, began to kiss at my foot. 
Slaves may beg to please their masters, may they not? she asked.
Yes, I said.
I beg to please my Master, she said. Her lips were warm and soft on my foot.
I am not your master, I said.
All free men are my masters, she said, as all free women are my mistresses.
That is true, I granted her.
I beg to please you, as my Master, she said, and, indeed, tonight, in these 
blankets, you are my master, for it is you who have opened me and to whom I have 
been consigned in these hours for your pleasure.
It was true. I was her current use-master. In these hours, in my blankets, she 
must be to me as my own slave. In these hours, in my blankets, for all practical 
purposes, I owned her.
I felt her tongue.
Consider me, she whispered, for your renewed pleasure.
It is pleasant, as you might well imagine, receiving such attentions from a 
woman. It is particularly pleasant, I assure you, when she is a slave, for then 
she is owned, and you in do with her what you wish.
Please, Master, she begged.
Perhaps, I said.
Slaves such as I are not trained only by women, are we, Master? she asked.
No, I said. Many Goreans believe that the finest of slave trainers are men, 
and that only a man with a whip, and total power over a woman, can properly 
teach her to be slave.
Do you have a whip, Master? she asked.
My belt will do, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.
But, in my opinion, I said, This is over simple. I believe that other women, 
particularly if they are slaves themselves can be superb slave trainers. Many 
slave houses, of course, maintain both male and female trainers. My own theory 
that if a girl is to have but one trainer, it is doubtless best for that trainer 
to be a man, for the girl, in her bondage, is a] most certain to have to relate 
primarily to men, to please placate and serve them, and so on. On the other 
hand, I think it is also undeniable that a girl can learn much from another 
girl, one who has survived, and is surviving, as a slave.
Surviving? she asked.
Yes, I said, for the slave girls who are not pleasing are commonly killed.
She put the side of her head fearfully down on my foot.
Be pleasing, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.
But most girls, I said, not only survive as slaves, but thrive as slaves.
Master? she asked.
Yes, I said. You may find this hard to grasp now, but most girls, as you will 
learn, once they discover its authenticity and inescapability, blossom joyously, 
submitted, in their bondage; in it they occupy their place in nature; in it, 
subject to the authority and power of strong men, owned and mastered 
uncompromisingly as mere slaves, they obtain their deepest biological 
self-realization, their ultimate fulfillment. In it, in their place in nature, 
they become women, as outside of it, they cannot. As the true woman is the true 
slave, no woman can become a true woman who is not a true slave.
Men and women, then, she said, are not the same.
No, I said. Men are the masters. Women are the slaves. Your world has taught 
both sexes to strive for what are, in effect, masculine, or neuteristic, values. 
This produces unhappiness and frustration for both sexes. Hormonally normal 
women find it difficult or impossible to achieve happiness through the adoption 
of, in effect, transvestite values. Similarly this perversion of values 
complicates or precludes, for the glandularly normal male, the achievement of a 
natural biological fulfillment. Both sexes, then, frequently fail to obtain 
happiness, or fall far short of the happiness of which they are both capable, 
that happiness which is a consequence of maintaining a biological fidelity to 
their separate natures.
The lies, the hypocrisies, the pretensions of pseudo-masculinity will not be 
permitted to me on Gor, will they, Master? she asked.
Not in the least, I told her, for you are a slave.
Yes, Master, she said.
Does this displease you? I asked.
No, Master, she said.
Does it please you? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
Even the girl who does not have a female trainer, I said, will often seek out 
more experienced girls, to beg them for their intimate counsels and their 
secrets of love and beauty. Sometimes she purchases these by such tiny gifts, of 
food and such, as may be within her province, or by performing portions of the 
others labors, and so on. Indeed, much of the chitchat of slave girls, in their 
gatherings, has to do, in one way or another, with the pleasing of masters.
It is in our best interest to fulfill our duties well, she said.
But the best trainers you will have, I said, will be your particular masters, 
and yourself. There is a specific magic, so to speak, and chemistry, between 
each master and each slave. Each master is different, and, so, too, deliciously, 
is each Slave. Each master will train his own girl according to his own 
interests and tastes, and each girl, in the private and intimate context of the 
particular master/slave relation, by means of her intelligence and imagination, 
owned, will train herself to be his special slave, specifically and personally.
I understand, Master, she said.
But, even given the uniqueness of each bondage relation, I said, there are 
still certain common denominators in all such relations, which must not be lost 
sight of, such as the legal status of the slave, that she is, ultimately, only 
an article of property, that she is liable to discipline and punishment, and 
that she is totally subject to the will of the master.
Yes, Master, she said.
But beyond this, I said, Beyond the concern with an individual master, you 
will learn, more generally, how to be pleasing to men. You may be sold to a 
stranger, or given to one, or fall into the hands of a stranger, or group of 
strangers. You may know little or nothing of your master, or masters, other than 
the fact that he holds total power over you, and he may know little or nothing 
of you, other than the fact that your lovely hide is marked with the brand of 
the female slave. You thus begin again, anew, your struggle to convince a master 
that there may be some point in keeping you about, that there may be some point 
in putting a bit of gruel in a bowl, or hollowed stone, for you, or thrusting a 
crust of bread in your mouth. You attempt to convince him of this, of course, 
even though he is unknown to you, even though he is a total stranger to you, by 
serving him, and superbly, as a female slave. Do you understand what I am 
saying?
Yes, Master, she said, that I must learn, in general, how to be pleasing to 
men.
Yes, I said, this any slave girl must learn, such things as the kisses, the 
touches, the squirmings, the thousand submissions.
Yes, Master, she whispered.
But, do not fear, I said, Such modalities are not learned in vain. They will 
be required of you even by a love master, and, indeed, he will doubtless require 
them from you with a harshness, an amplitude and exactness far beyond that of a 
more casual owner.
But, why, Master? she asked.
Because you are, I said, in the final analysis, as he will wish you to 
remember, only his slave. Too, do you think he would require less from you, a 
love slave, than from some more common girl chained at his feet?
No, Master, she said.
Are you silent? I asked.
It seems strange to think of serving a love master with the same proficiencies 
with which I must serve any other man, as a mere slave, she said.
Your skills and talents are surely as much, or more, at his disposal, as they 
are at the disposal of any other male, I said.
True, she said.
Do you object? I asked.
No, Master, she said. I would want to serve my love master, to the best of my 
ability, with whatever skills or talents I might have.
And he would see that you do so, I said.
Yes, Master, she said. Suddenly she sobbed.
What is wrong? I asked.
I am so frightened, she said. This world terrifies me, and on it I am only a 
naked slave. I do not know what to do. I am afraid. I am so ignorant. I know 
nothing. I am so frightened. I am only a slave.
You speak truly, ignorant slave, I said. Did she expect me to comfort her?
She turned her head to the side, and laid her left cheek on the blankets at my 
feet. Please put your foot on my neck, Master, she said.
I did so, with just enough pressure that she could feel its weight, and that of 
my body.
You could now, she said, with one motion of your foot, kill me.
Yes, I said.
Please do not kill me, Master, she said. Instead, take pity on me, I beg of 
you, and find me pleasing.
I took my foot from her neck. I shall inspect you, I told her. You may kneel 
before me.
Swiftly she rose from her stomach to kneel before me.
Knees wide, I told her, back on heels, stomach in, head high, hands on 
thighs, shoulders back, breasts thrust out.
I moved her hair back, behind her shoulders, and smoothed it out. It would not, 
thus, interfere with my view. I appraised her, slowly, carefully. It is not 
impossible, I told her, at length, that a man might find you pleasing.
Make me please you, she begged.
Rather, I said, I shall permit you to beg to please me, and as a slave.
I beg to please you, Master, she said.
As a slave? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said, I beg to please you and as a slave.
But you are untrained, I said, scornfully.
Train me, she begged, tears in her eyes.
I regarded her, dispassionately.
Train me, Master, she begged. Train me, please, Master!
Take your hair from behind your left shoulder, I said, and hold it before, 
and against, your lips. Part of the hair keep before your lips and against them. 
Another part of the hair, the center strands, take back between your lips, so 
that you can feel it on the soft interior surfaces of your lips. A portion of 
this same hair take then back against your teeth, and a portion of that back, 
between the teeth. Now purse your lips and, while remaining kneeling, rise from 
your heels, and lean forward, gently and submissively.
And thus began the training of a nameless slave on the plains of Gor.
In a few moments I thrust her back to the blankets.
Do I train well, Master? she asked.
Yes, I said, Pretty slave. You are an apt pupil, and you train well.
She snuggled against me.
It is a tribute to your intelligence, I said.
Thank you, Master, she said.
And to your genetic predisposition to slavery, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
A womans acquisition of slave arts follows a steep learning curve, far beyond 
what would be expected was the template, or readiness, for these arts not 
intrinsic to her nature. She learns them far too swiftly and well not to be, in 
effect, a born slave.
Oh! she said, and then I again took her.
This time the slave squirmings of her, though inchoate and rudimentary, were 
unmistakable.

How long has it been since you were a virgin? I asked.
A thousand years, she smiled. I think perhaps ten thousand years.
Do you feel now less than you were before, I asked, less important, somehow 
less significant?
No, she said, I feel ten thousand times more important, more significant, 
than I was before.
Virginity, as I understand it, in English, I said, is sometimes spoken of as 
though it might be something which could be lost. In Gorean, on the other hand, 
it is usually conceived of as something which is to be outgrown, or superseded.
Interesting, she said.
What, in English, I asked, is a woman who is not a virgin?
She thought for a moment. A nonvirgin, I suppose, she said.
This type of distinction is drawn in various ways in Gorean, I said. The 
closest to the English is the distinction between glana and metaglana. 
Glana denotes the state or virginity and metaglana denotes the state 
succeeding virginity. Do you see the difference?
Yes, she said, in Gorean virginity is regarded as a state to be succeeded.
Another way of drawing the distinction is in terms of falarina, and 
profalarina. Profalarina designates the state preceding falarina, which is 
the state of the woman who has been penetrated at least once by a male.
Here, she said, the state of virginity is regarded as one which looks toward, 
or has not yet attained, the state of falarina.
Yes, I said. In the first case, virginity is seen as something to be 
succeeded, and, in the second, it is seen as something which is conceived of as 
merely antedating the state of falarina. It takes its very meaning from the fact 
that it is not yet falarina.
Both of these situations are quite different from the English said. In 
English, as I see now, interestingly, virginity is spoken of as a positive 
property, and nonvirginity, in spite of its obvious and momentous importance, 
and even its necessity, presumably, for the continuation of the species, seems 
to be regarded as being merely the absence of a property, or the privation of a 
property.
Yes, I said. It is as though the whole spectrum were divided into the blue 
and the nonblue. Properly understood the nonblue is every bit as real, and is 
even more extensive and variegated than the blue.
Yes, she said.
It is thus that pathological conceptions, ingrained in common speech, can 
produce distorted notions of reality, I said..
I understand, Master, she said.
In Gorean, as not in English, I said, the usual way, however, of drawing the 
distinction is in terms of glana and falarina. Separate words, these, are 
used for the separate properties or conditions. Both conditions, so to speak, 
are accorded a similar status. Both are regarded as being equally real, equally 
positive, so to speak.
Yes, Master, she said.
Sometimes, metaphorically, in English, however, I said, a distinction is 
drawn between the virgin and the woman, a distinction which is almost Gorean in 
tone. Strictly, of course, in English, one might be both a woman and a virgin.
Do Goreans speak freely of these things? she asked.
Free persons do not commonly speak freely of them, I said. For example, 
whether a free woman is glana or falarina is obviously her business, and no one 
elses. Such intimate matters are well within the prerogatives of her privacy.
Such matters, however, I suspect, she said, are not within the prerogatives 
of a slaves privacy.
No, I said. Such matters are public knowledge about slaves, as much as the 
color of their hair and eyes, and their collar size.
And my most intimate measurements? she asked.
Public knowledge, I assured her, if anyone should be interested.
What privacy am I permitted, then? she asked.
None, I told her.
And what secrets? she asked.
None, I told her.
I see, she said.
You perhaps now understand, a little better than before; I said, What it will 
be to be a slave.
Yes, Master, she said.
Your opening, for example, is not to be kept a secret, I said.
The blood you smeared on my leg will see to that, she smiled.
Do you fear the criticism, the derision, or ridicule, of the other girls? I 
asked.
I fear only, she said, that I may not have sufficiently pleased my master.
Excellent, I said.
As they, too, soon shall fear, she said.
Yes, I said. I wondered if she knew how truly she spoke. The girls on a chain, 
once opened and made to serve, usually begin to compete among themselves, and 
soon, to see who can serve the masters best, and those who do not enter 
earnestly into this competition, it might be mentioned, are usually the first to 
be fed to sleen.
I was glana, she smiled. Now I am falarina.
I put my hand, forcibly, over her mouth. Then I removed it from her mouth. Such 
expressions, I said, are commonly to be spoken of, and by, free persons. They 
are not to be applied to slaves, any more than to tarsk sows.
Yes, Master, she said.
You were white silk, I said. Now you are red silk.
We are not even entitled to the same words as free persons in such matters? 
she asked.
No, I told her.
I understand, Master, she said, tears in her eyes.
Even here, however, I said, you will note that both words suggest a similar 
status. Both notions are equally positive, both properties are conceived of as 
being equally real.
That is true, she said.
To be sure, I said, white in the context of white-silk girl tends less to 
suggest purity and innocence to the Gorean than ignorance and naivety, and a 
lack of experience. Red, in the context of red-silk girl, on the other hand, 
connotes rather clearly, I think, experience. One expects a red-silk girl, for 
example, not only to be able to find her way about the furs, but, subject to the 
whip, owned and dominated, perhaps chained, to prove herself a sensuous treasure 
within them.
I am red-silk, she said. Have me.
Perhaps, I said. I began to touch her, gently.
Ohhh, she said, yes.
Do you like that? I asked.
Must I respond to such a question? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Yes, Master, she said. I like it. She closed her eyes. Oh, yes, she said, 
I like it.
Master, she said, looking up at me.
Yes, I said.
More than once tonight, she said, you have mentioned binding, or chaining.
Yes, I said.
I would fear to be bound or chained, she said.
All the more reason to bind or chain you, I said.
She shuddered.
Master, she said.
Yes, I said.
Why would you bind a woman who is a slave? she asked. She knows that there is 
no escape for her. She is not going to run away. She knows that you may do with 
her as you please.
It holds her in a given position, I said, for your leisured work upon her 
body.
That is true, she said.
But the primary reasons, I said, are, as you might suspect, psychological, 
both from the point of view of the master and the slave. She, chained, or bound, 
is helpless. She knows that she might, at the masters whim, be slit like a 
larma. This increases her terror, her vulnerability, her desire to be found 
pleasing. This makes her feel more slave like and, accordingly, more ready to 
respond to the touch of the master. From the masters point of view, of course, 
this is also stimulating. It is pleasant for a man to have absolute power over a 
woman, to have her bound or chained in a position of his choosing, and to know 
that she must submit to whatever be chooses to do to her. In this situation the 
equations of nature, those of dominance and submission, are intensified. This is 
felt by both the master and the slave. Too, to be sure, there is, for 
physiological reasons also, commonly, some boosting of the females responses, 
as the result of the binding, the restraint. The orgasmic spasms, somewhat 
restricted, or, perhaps better, channeled, regulated and controlled, confined 
within the parameters set by the master, must then seem more intense, more 
concentrated.
I see, she whispered.
But the main thing, in my opinion, I said, is the psychological effect on the 
woman, the bringing home to her, I in clear, forcible and undeniable terms, the 
reality of her situation, that she is helpless, that she is at his mercy, that 
she, regardless of her will, is now his to do with as he pleases, that she is 
owned, that she is his slave, and that he is her master.
I would be terrified to be bound, she said.
I saw that she wished to be bound.
I continued to caress her.
Master, she whispered.
Yes, I said.
Bind me, she whispered.
Do you beg it? I asked.
Yes, she whispered. I beg to be bound.
Kneel, I told her, quickly.
Swiftly then did she kneel, and looked at me, frightened.
I have changed my mind, she said.
Do not break position, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.
I went to my saddlebags, with the kaiila saddle, and withdrew two fairly short 
lengths of soft, pliant, braided black leather, each about twenty-five inches in 
length.
I pulled back her right wrist a bit and tied it to her right ankle. I left her 
about six or seven inches of slack between wrist and ankle. This is a common 
open-legged tie, I said. It is not good for general security, but it is a 
good, and familiar, slave tie. I then fastened her left wrist to her left 
ankle, as I had done with her right wrist and-ankle. When finished with you, I 
said, I might simply bind your wrists behind you and tie your ankles together. 
That is a familiar and effective security tie. If you had not been sufficiently 
pleasing I might pull up your bound ankles and tie them to your wrists. Your 
neck, of course, might always be tied to a stake, or bound to a tree.
I then stood up and stepped back, to observe my handiwork. An advantage of this 
tie, I said, is that a girt may kneel in it comfortably for hours, perhaps 
beside a masters chair, while he works, and is not yet ready for her.
She pulled a little, almost surreptitiously, at the leather on her wrists, 
leading back to her ankles.
Is this all? she asked, timidly.
I see that there are potentialities of this tie which, as yet, you have not 
discerned, I said.
I then took her by the hair and threw her forward on the blankets, on her belly.
Struggle, I told her.
She did so, helplessly. Then she ceased her struggles.
An interesting perspective on a woman, I said. Too, bound in this position 
she is seldom in doubt as to the fact that she is a slave. Too, in time, it can 
be quite painful. She groaned, and I, mercifully, thrust her to her side. She 
looked up at me, frightened. Whereas this tie, I said, is not good for 
general security, it is quite adequate for specific security, namely, security 
in a specific situation, in this case, in the presence of the master or a 
keeper. For example, under observation, you cannot very well employ your right 
hand in the attempt to undo the knot on your left ankle. If the tie, of course, 
is accomplished with chains, then it is also adequate for a general security, an 
aesthetic and delicious general security, a chain neck leash being added, 
naturally, to restrict movement. I then put her on her back. Her knees were 
drawn up and her hands held helplessly at her sides. Now, I said, I think you 
can see one of the main virtues of this, tie. The woman is quite helpless, 
absolutely, and there is not the least impedance to the masters approach.
She seemed to shrink back in the bonds.
Please, untie me, she said.
I thrust apart her knees.
Oh! she said.
I held her knees apart, not permitting her to close them.
I do not want to be tied like this! she cried. I did not know it would be 
like this. I am too helpless! Please, untie me! Free me! Loosen my bonds! Do not 
keep me tied like this! No! Please!
I regarded her.
She looked at me in fear. She squirmed, helplessly.
What do you know of me? I asked her.
Nothing, she said, only that you are my master.
What might I do to you? I asked.
Anything, she said.
I withdrew my hands, permitting her to close her knees, which she did, 
immediately, clenching them fearfully together.
You have tied me like a pig, she said.
The pig, I said, is not a Gorean animal. To be sure, you are trussed rather 
like a she-tarsk.
You have tied me, then, she said, like a she-tarsk!
Do not flatter yourself, I said, that you enjoy a status as high as either 
that of the pig or she-tarsk. Your status is lower than that of either. It is 
that of the female slave.
You have bound me, then, she said, as a slave!
Now you speak the truth, I informed her.
What are you going to do with me? she asked.
Whatever I wish, I said.
She moaned. She pulled weakly at her wrist tethers, fastening her wrists to her 
ankles.
Do you begin to sense now, I asked, what it might for a woman to be bound by 
a man?
Yes, Master, she whispered.
Can you escape? I asked.
No, Master, she said.
Are you powerless? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said. I am powerless, totally.
What will be done to you? I asked.
I do not know! she wept. I am helpless. I am a slave. I am at your mercy. It 
is you who will decide what is to be done with me.
Perhaps I will whip you, lashing you with my belt, I said. Perhaps I will 
kick you, again and again. convincing you of your worthlessness. Perhaps I shall 
kneel across your body, slapping you, methodically, again and again, until you 
beg for mercy. Perhaps I shall merely, for my amusement, beat you senseless.
Please, Master, no, she said.
Perhaps it shall be the quirt, I said. Perhaps I shall us the quirt on you, 
lengthily, as on a recalcitrant she-kaiila.
No, Master, she said. Please, no, Master!
Are you recalcitrant? I asked.
I am not recalcitrant, she said. I am docile, and obedient. I am ready to 
please you, and I desire to please you.
Perhaps I will butcher you, I said. Perhaps I will take you.
She looked at me, in horror.
Would you prefer to be butchered or taken? I asked.
Taken, Master, she said. I beg to be taken.
The taking of a free woman, I asked, in which, to some extent, her dignity, 
pride and status are respected, or the taking of a slave?
I am a slave, Master, she said. I beg that of a slave.
I looked at her knees, clenched closely together. Spread your knees apart, 
widely, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.
Now beg, I told her.
I beg, she said.
In moments it was necessary to thrust her hair, balled and wadded, into her 
mouth, and I put my hand, too, over her mouth. Her eyes were wild. She kicked 
wildly at the pliant, braided black leather, again and again. Then, mercifully, 
I unbound her limbs and I let her straighten her trembling in the blankets. With 
one finger I pulled the wet hair from her mouth. She was gasping, and 
shuddering. I held her closely for a few minutes that she might, while thus 
warmed and sheltered, make some adjustment to this new dimension, which she had 
discovered in her being.
What was it? she whispered.
It was a small one, I reassured her.
What was it? she whispered.
It was the first, I think, of your slave orgasms, I said. I then rose from her 
side and threw her the tiny slave tunic. Put it on, I said. She did so, and I 
then lifted her gently in my arms and carried her to the chain. I put her down 
there, on her side, softly, in the grass. When I lifted the opened collar to 
place it about her throat, she put her hands on my wrists, and softly kissed my 
hands. She looked at me, her eyes wondrous, and soft.
I did not know it could be like that, she said.
It was only a small thing, I said.
There could be more? she asked.
You have not yet begun to learn what it can be, to be a slave, I said.
She looked at me, frightened.
I then snapped the collar about her throat.
Do you know, ultimately, I asked, Who will prove to be your one best 
trainer?
No, Master, she said.
You, yourself, I said, the girl, herself, eager to please, imaginative and 
intelligent, monitoring her own performances and feelings, striving lovingly to 
improve and refine them. You yourself will be largely responsible for making 
yourself the superb slave you will become.
Master? she asked.
The collar, I said, touching it, is put on from without, but what it 
encircles, the slave, comes from within.
Master? she asked.
Slavery, I told her, true slavery, comes from within, and you, my lovely 
little red-haired beast, I assure you, as was evidenced by your behavior and 
performances this night, are a true slave. Do not fight your slavery. Allow it 
freely and spontaneously, candidly, sweetly and untrammeled, to manifest itself. 
It is what you are.
Yes, Master, she said.
It, too, I said, will save you many bouts with the lash.
Yes, Master, she said.
I then turned about and left her, on the chain. Master! she called, but I did 
not turn back. She would stay there, on the coffle, where I bad put her. She was 
only a slave.
I returned to my blankets and lay down again, to sleep for a few Ehn before the 
camp began to stir.
Nothing of importance had transpired. I had merely done a favor for Grunt, my 
friend, opening a slimly bodied, red-haired girl for him, one of his slaves.
To be sure, she was pretty, and first on the coffle.
14    It is a Good Trading; Pimples; I Learn Something of the Waniyanpi; Corn 
Stalks; Sign; Grunt and I Will Proceed East
The red-haired girl cried out in pain and fear, struck from her knees back in 
the grass by the plump, scornful woman of the red savages, a sturdy-legged 
matron of the Dust Legs. She looked up at her in terror. Slave girls know that 
they have most to fear from free women.
Wowiyutanye! hissed the Dust-Leg woman at the frightened girl lying on her 
side in the grass before her.
Yes, Mistress, said the girl in Gorean, uncomprehendingly.
The men at the trading point scarcely paid them any attention.
I sat nearby, a blanket spread out before me, on which I had spread out various 
of the trade goods, mostly mirrors, dyes and beads this afternoon, which I had 
brought into the Barrens.
The Dust-Leg woman threw the girl to her right side in the grass and pulled up 
the tunic on her left thigh. The girl, terrified, did not resist. Inahan! 
called the Dust-Leg woman to the others about, pointing to the brand on the 
girls thigh. Guyapi!
Ho, said one of the men, agreeably. Inahan, agreed another.
Winyela! announced the woman.
Inahan, said more than one man.
Cesli! said the woman scornfully to the girl.
Please do not hurt me, Mistress, said the girl, in Gorean.
Ahtudan! cried the woman at her, angrily, and then she spat upon her.
Yes, Mistress, said the red-haired girl. Yes, Mistress! She then pulled up 
her legs and looked down, into the grass.
The Dust-Leg woman turned away from her and came over to where I sat behind the 
blanket. She beamed at me. The Dust Legs, on the whole, are an affable, 
openhearted and generous people. They tend to be friendly and outgoing.
Hou, said the woman to me, kneeling before the blanket.
Hou, said I to her.
It is difficult not to like them. Most trading is done with them. They tend to 
be the intermediaries and diplomats of the western Barrens.
The woman opened a rectangular hide envelope, a parfleche, slung on a strap over 
her shoulder. In it were various samples of beadwork and some small skins. She 
put some of these things on her edge of the blanket.
Hopa, I said, admiringly. Hopa.
She beamed, her teeth strong and white in her broad, reddish-brown face.
She pointed to a small mirror, with a red-metal rim. I handed it to her.
I glanced back. Behind us and to the side the red-haired girl, timidly, 
frightened, had resumed a kneeling position. I do not think that she had 
personally offended the Dust-Leg woman. I think it was rather that the Dust-Leg 
woman simply did not entertain any great affection for white female slaves. Many 
women of the red savages, in spite of the wishes of their men, do not approve of 
such soft, curvaceous, desirable trade goods being brought into the Barrens.
The Dust-Leg woman carefully examined the small mirror. I looked beyond her, to 
a few yards away; where several kailla of the visiting Dust-Legs, were tethered. 
There, with the animals, a two-legged one, and lovely legs they were indeed, 
doubtless by the paws of her masters beast. She wore a brief garment of 
fringed, tanned skin, rent and stained, doubtless a castoff from some free 
womans shirtdress, shortened to slave length. She was wet with sweat and dark 
with dust. Her hair, which was dark, was wet, and tangled and matted. Her legs, 
bloodied and muchly scratched, were black with dust and sweat. Here and there 
one could see where the trickle of perspiration had run through the dust. On her 
thighs where she had rubbed her hands the dust was streaked in wet smears. She 
had been run beside her masters kaiila and apparently not slowly.
Grunt was engaged in conversation with four or five of the Dust-Leg men. Then he 
rose to his feet, and went to his stores, to bring forth a fine hatchet.
The female slave of the Dust Legs, kneeling by the kaiila, wore a beaded collar, 
about an inch and a half in height. It was an attractive collar. It was laced 
closed, and tied snugly shut, in front of her throat. The patterns in the 
beading were interesting. They indicated her owner. Similar patterns are used by 
given individuals to identify their arrows or other personal belongings. It is 
particularly important to identify the arrows, for this can make a difference in 
the division of meat. It is death to a slave, incidentally, to remove such a 
collar without permission. Furthermore the collar is fastened by what is, in 
effect, a signature knot, a complex knot, within a given tribal style, whose 
tying is known only to the individual who has invented it. It is thus, for most 
practical purposes, impossible to remove and replace such a collar without the 
master, in his checking of the knot, by untying and retying it, being able to 
tell. Suffice it to say, the slaves of the red savages do not remove theft 
collars. The girl kept her head down. She apparently was not being permitted to 
raise her eyes at the trading point. She might, thus, if the master wished, have 
come and gone from the trading point without having seen anything or recognized 
anything, unless perhaps the grass between her knees and the paws of her 
masters kaiila. Gorean slaves, incidentally, wherever they may be found, say, 
in the cities or in the Barrens, are generally kept under an iron discipline. It 
is the Gorean way.
Two, said the Dust-Leg woman, in Gorean, holding up two fingers. She indicated 
the mirror, now lying before her, and two beaded rectangles, drawn from her 
parfleche. This type of beadwork is popular in curio shops in certain Gorean 
cities, far from the perimeter; it may also be fashioned by leather workers into 
various crafted articles, such as purses, pouches, wallets, belt decorations; 
envelopes and sheaths. Interestingly this type of article is more popular away 
from the perimeter than near it. It is not merely that it is more common nearer 
the perimeter but, I think, that it serves as a reminder, near the perimeter, of 
the reality and proximity of the red nations, whereas these same nations, or 
tribes, far from the perimeter tend to be regarded not only as remote but as 
almost mythical peoples. The ear-splitting cry of a Kaiila warrior, for example, 
has seldom awakened a good burgher of Ar from his slumbers.
Five, I suggested to the Dust-Leg woman. I recalled that Grunt had, two days 
ago, at another trading point, received five such rectangles for a similar 
mirror. I smiled when I made this suggestion to the Dust-Leg woman. In such 
trading, it is a good idea, on both sides, to smile, a great deal. This makes 
the entire exchange, if one takes place, a good deal more pleasant for both 
parties. Not only are tensions eased but vanities are less likely to become 
involved in the trading. It is easier, if one is smiling, to get a little less 
than one would like, or to give a bit more than one might otherwise choose to. 
Concessions, thus, for both sides, are less like defeats and more like favors 
bestowed on friends. In the long run, this increases the percentage of mutually 
satisfactory bargains, and the individual who has found dealing with you 
satisfactory, of course, is more likely to deal with you again. He becomes, in 
effect, a customer. It is better to make less profit on a customer and have him 
come back than make a higher profit and not see him again. These, at any rate, 
were the sentiments of Grunt, who seemed popular with the Dust Legs, and, as far 
as I can tell, they are substantially sound.
I glanced again to the white female slave of the Dust Legs, kneeling, eyes down, 
in her beaded collar, by the kaiila. I thought if she were washed and combed she 
might not be unattractive. It was easy to see why Dust-Leg men might find such 
goods of interest. It might be pleasant to have such a lovely animal about, to 
cook ones meat, to keep ones lodge and please one, humbly and obediently, in 
the furs. I could also see why Dust-Leg women could view such a commodity with 
distaste and contempt. How could they, free, begin I compete with a slave? How 
could they even begin to do it unless they, themselves, also became slaves?
Two, said the Dust-Leg woman.
Five, I said. My interest in the Barrens, of course, was not in trading. As 
far as I was concerned I might have give the woman the mirror. On the other 
hand, I realized, and Grunt had made it clear to me, too, that one must not 
insult the red savages nor deal with them unrealistically, particularly in the 
light of other traders and merchants who might follow me. If I gave away goods, 
or traded them too cheap this would suggest that I was delivering cheap or 
inferior merchandise, an inference it would not be in our interest for red 
savages to draw. Too, if they thought the goods sound, they might think they had 
been paying too highly for them in the past, or expect that future dealers would 
deal with them similarly, which, of course, they not be likely to do, nor be 
able, realistically, to afford to do.
One of the Dust-Leg men was examining, with great care the hatchet which Grunt 
had shown him. Grunt excused himself and rose to his feet. One does not hurry 
red savages in their perusals of products.
Grunt went again to his stores and brought forth some packages, wrapped in waxed 
paper. Canhanpisasa, said Grunt. Canhanpitasaka. Canhanpitiktica. He then 
began pass out, to the Dust-Leg men and women about, pieces candy, lumps of cake 
sugar and flakes of dried molasses. The woman with whom I was dealing, too, 
received a palmful of molasses flakes. She smacked her lips. Grunt and she then 
exchanged what I took to be appropriate civilities and compliments.
She pointed to Grunt. Wopeton, she said. Akihoka, Zontaheca.
I looked at Grunt. I knew one of his names among red savages was Wopeton, which 
means Trader, or Merchant.
She says I am a skillful and honest fellow, he said.
Hopa! Wihopawin! he said to her.
The plump woman doubled over, laughing. Hopa, I knew meant pretty or 
attractive.
Wawihaka! Wayaiha! she laughed.
I told her she was a pretty woman, said Grunt, and now she is teasing me. She 
says I am a joker, one who makes others laugh.
Two, said the Dust-Leg woman to me.
Five, I said to her.
Grunt looked about, the sweets in his hand. He saw a red youth near the men, 
sitting together. He motioned him to come closer. The lad wore a shirt, leggings 
and a breechclout, so much perhaps because he was visiting at a trading point. 
Grunt offered him some of the sweets. The young man shook his head, negatively. 
He was eyeing the red-haired girl.
Ah! said Grunt. Then he turned to the red-haired girl Strip, he told her. 
Swiftly, unhesitantly, a slave, frightened, she did so. Be flattered, said 
Grunt to her. Our young visitor finds you of greater interest than some bits of 
molasses. He then put his boot squarely in her back and thrust her forward, on 
her belly, before the young man. Please him, he said.
Master? she asked.
Rise to your knees before him, he said. Remove his breechclout with your 
teeth. Attempt to interest him in you.
Yes, Master, she wept. But it would not be the first time she had pleased one 
of Grunts visitors.
Grunt watched the girl struggle to her knees. He replaced the sweets, wrapping 
them, carefully in his pouch.
The girl looked up, frightened, at the red youth.
Four, I said to the Dust-Leg woman. I supposed I should have actually set my 
original price higher. Already I would obtain less for the small mirror than 
Grunt had for a comparable item the day before yesterday.
Winyela, said the Dust-Leg woman, in disgust, glancing behind me to the 
red-haired girl.
I glanced back. Frightened, and humbly, and delicately she was pleasing the 
youth. I had little doubt but what he would find her of interest.
Winyela, said the Dust-Leg woman, and spat into the grass,
A few yards away, near the kaiila, the white slave girl of the Dust Legs kept 
her head down, not daring to raise it.
Grunt had now gone back to the coffle, where most of his girls huddled together, 
the chain on their necks, and removed Ginger, and Ulla and Lenna, the two 
Swedish girls, from the chain. All of the girls in the camp, with the exception 
of the red-haired girl, had now been named. In each case their former Earth name 
had been put on them, but now, like a brand, by their masters decision, as a 
slave name. The two Americans, beside the red-haired girl, were Lois and Inez; 
the French girl was Corinne; the two English girls were Priscilla and Margaret. 
That the red-haired girl had not been named as yet was not a function of the 
fact that either Grunt or myself saw any difficulty with Millicent as a slave 
name. The former debutantes name seemed to us quite suitable for a slaves 
name. It was rather that he did not yet wish her to be named. She was to 
continue, for the time, as a nameless slave. The object of this was to lower her 
standing in the camp, and to assist in her training. Granting her in hospitality 
to various of his guests had a similar object. Grunt now came forward, Ulla and 
Lenna bent over, one on each side of him, their hair in his hands. Ginger 
followed, a pace or two behind. Five of his girls were, now, not in the coffle, 
four of these being the red-haired girl, and Ginger, and Ulla and Lenna. The 
other was the English girl, Margaret, whom he had put naked, her legs pulled up, 
under a kailiauk hide, on the grass.
Grunt threw both of the girls to their knees near the sitting men. He then 
jerked their tunics from them. Bring your hair forward, over your breasts, he 
said. Cover yourselves, as best you can. His commands were translated, rapidly 
and expertly, by Ginger. The two girls complied immediately. They covered 
themselves, as they could, with their hair. They crossed their hands and covered 
their breasts. They clenched their knees together. They put their heads down.
The seated men laughed. It amused them to see slaves in such postures. Did they 
think they were free women, before captors? Yet, too, I think there were few 
there who were not aroused seeing the women in this position. Such a position, 
in its pathetic pretense to modesty, begs to be rudely terminated; it taunts the 
master, in effect, to the ensuing and uncompromising exposure of the slave. Such 
a position, if prolonged more than a few moments, can become a nuisance or 
inconvenience to the master. It is, thus, seldom lengthily tolerated. Its 
primary value, and there is little other reason for permitting the slave to 
assume it, is to lead her to believe, and hope, that she may be accorded some 
tiny particle of dignity or respect, an illusion which then, to her shame and 
humiliation, may be totally shattered by the master.
Grunt then drew in the grass, with the heel of his boot, a circle, some ten feet 
or so in width.
He then looked to the Dust Legs. One of the men stood up and pointed to Ulla. 
Grunt then ordered her to stand in the circle, orders conveyed by Ginger, which, 
frightened, half crouched over, she did.
I saw that the red youth now had the red-haired girl on her back in the grass.
Resist, to the best of your ability, said Grunt to Ulla. She nodded her head, 
frightened, hearing the translation from Ginger.
The Dust Leg then, with a rawhide thong, stepped into the ring in the grass. 
Ulla tried to resist him, as best she could, but, in a moment, bruised and 
vomiting, he not having been gentle with her, she was on her belly in the grass, 
her hands being jerked behind her and tied. He then put her on her back on the 
grass, pulling her up so that she rested on her elbows. He kicked her legs 
apart.
Eca! Eca! said the other men.
Eca! agreed Grunt, heartily.
You, Lenna, my dear, now, said Grunt. Into the circle! Fight! Fight!
Ginger translated this, but I think Lenna needed little in the way of 
translation.
Clearly Lenna did not wish to be abused, as had been Ulla. On the other hand she 
knew she must obey, and to the best of her ability.
Another red warrior leaped into the circle, a bit of rawhide thong loosely in 
his mouth. Lenna struck wildly out at him and he seized her wrist turning her 
about and thrusting her wrist high and painfully behind her back. She screamed. 
I feared be would break her arm. Then he kicked her feet out from under her and 
she was on her belly. He then seized her by the hair with both hands and yanked 
her up on her knees and bent her backwards, until her head was at the grass, 
exhibiting the bow of her captured beauty for his fellows. Then he threw her 
forward, again, on her belly, and, in a moment, kneeling across her body, had 
lashed her wrists tightly behind her body. He then, like his fellow, turned her 
to her back, pulled her up, so that she rested on her elbows, and, standing up, 
over her, kicked her legs apart, too. Ulla and Lenna, together, then, lay in the 
circle, up on their elbows, their legs kicked apart. The second fellow had 
handled Lenna even more rapidly, I thought, than had the first fellow handled 
Ulla. Both girls had been speedily vanquished, and both now, helpless, lay 
trussed, their legs symbolically spread, at the feet of their conquerors.
Eca! said the men. Eca! commended Grunt. Eca!
Remember, said Grunt to the helpless Ulla and Lenna, you are to be totally 
pleasing to masters. You are never, unless commanded to do so, to resist or 
oppose them in any way. Your hands could be cut off or you could be tortured and 
killed.
Yes, Master, said the girls, fearfully, in Gorean, following Gingers 
translation.
Ulla looked at the man who had vanquished and bound her. Lenna regarded the man 
who had served her similarly, and with such dispatch. Neither of them, I think, 
had expected to be made so helpless so quickly, and with such strength. Lenna 
and Ulla exchanged glances and then looked away from one another, reddening, 
shamed. They had been well bound, as women, and as slaves. Doubtless they were 
wondering what it would be like to be owned by such men.
Grunt then sat down and began to talk with the other men, not the two still 
standing, as though nothing had happened, as though it had been only a bit of 
sport with two imbonded sluts, only an amusement for the entertainment of his 
guests.
One of the standing men pointed to Ulla, and said something. The other pointed 
to Lenna, and, too, said something.
Oh? asked Grunt, innocently.
I smiled to myself. It is hard for a man to subdue and bind a naked woman 
without wanting her. I thought Grunt would get an excellent price for the two 
beauties.
The red-haired girl, whimpering, was still lying beneath the red youth, clutched 
in his arms. She looked at me, frightened. He was again, eagerly, at her body. 
She had well succeeded, it seemed, as her master had desired, in arousing his 
interest. He had turned her about, roughly, curiously, this way and that, from 
time to time, caressing her and examining her, and making her please him. There 
was some blood at her mouth, where, once or twice, he had cuffed her. I saw her 
hands, half wanting to grasp him, half wanting to thrust him back. He was 
speaking to her in Dust Leg, slowly and clearly. Yes, Master, she whimpered, 
in Gorean. Yes, Master. It amused me that the youth, like so many individuals 
to whom only one language is familiar, so familiar that it seems that all humans 
must, in one way or another, be conversant with it, seemed to think that the 
girl must surely understand him if only he would speak slowly enough and with 
sufficient distinctness. Grunt, of course, might have helped her, but he was 
engaged in business. I, myself, though I had acquired a few words of Dust Leg, 
had little more idea, specifically, of what the youth was saying than the girl 
did. His tone of voice suggested that he was not commending her on her beauty, a 
pastime on which the masters are inclined to waste little time with their white 
slaves, but ordering her to do something. Relax, I told the girl. Let loose 
of yourself. Feel. Yield.
She looked at me, frightened.
You are a slave, I told her. Yield, and yield fully-and as a slave.
She then, gratefully, clutched the youth, and put her head back, rapturously 
sobbing and shuddering.
I then saw that my presence, interestingly, had had an inhibiting influence on 
her. She bad been on the brink of yielding, a nerves width away, but had been 
fighting her feelings and herself, apparently shamed to yield as a slave to 
another man in my presence.
She cried out with pleasure, clutching the red youth.
Winyela, said the Dust-Leg woman, scornfully.
Slave girls must yield, and fully, to any man. Their entire mental set, so to 
speak, in the furs, is oriented toward providing the master with marvelous 
pleasures, and, in their own case, to feel as richly and deeply as possible, 
and, in the end, in an uncompromised and delicious capitulation, submitting 
fully to their master, to obtain the surrender spasms of one who is merely a 
vanquished woman, naught but an owned and degraded slave. This is quite 
different from the mental set taken by the free woman to the furs, of course, 
with attendant deleterious consequences for the free woman, in so far as any 
woman could be called free who is not surrendered and owned. The free woman is 
expected to pervert her nature in the furs, behaving as a cultural identical 
rather than as what she is by nature, the servant and slave of her master. It is 
little wonder that the free woman, concerned with her putative identically, her 
status, her image, her dignity and pride, is often inhibited and sexually inert 
in the furs. The Goreans say that if one has never had a slave one has never had 
a woman. Similarly there is a secret saying, among Gorean men, that no female is 
a woman, who has not been made a slave. The free woman, often, fears to feel. 
The slave, on the other hand, fears not to feel, for she may then, in all 
likelihood, be punished. The same frigidity which may be accounted a virtue 
among free women, figuring in their vanity competitions, how well they can 
resist men, is commonly among slaves an occasion for the imposition of severe 
discipline; it can even constitute a capital offense. The degraded slave has 
little choice but to yield, and yield well. An interesting question arises as to 
whether a woman, permitted her own will in the matter, as a slave is not, can be 
forced to yield. There are two answers to this question, and the division 
between the answers is primarily a function of the time involved. Within a given 
amount of time, say, half of an Ahn, some women can resist some men. On the 
other hand, there will be some men whom they cannot resist and to whom, despite 
their will in the matter, they will find themselves uncontrollably yielding. 
Given a longer amount of time, however, any woman may be made to yield, whether 
she wishes to or not, by any man. Sometimes, after such a yielding, she is then 
collared. Resistance is now no longer permitted, he tells her. Yes, Master, 
she says. She now knows that she, as a slave, must open herself to feeling, and 
even seek it avidly, even knowing whence it leads, to the acknowledgment of the 
male as her master, and of her as his slave.
Behind me the red-haired girl was whimpering with pleasure in the arms of the 
red youth.
Winyela, snorted the Dust-Leg woman, contemptuously.
Four, I said, recalling her attention to our bargaining.
Two, she said, eyeing the mirror.
Four, I said.
Three, she said, suddenly, beaming, the fine, strong teeth bright in her 
broad, reddish-brown face.
Three, I agreed. I saw she wanted the mirror.
I gave her the mirror and she gave me the three beaded rectangles. She then rose 
up, well pleased, and took her leave. I folded up the blanket with the goods, 
and the beaded rectangles, within it. I had certainly not driven a difficult 
bargain. Grunt, two days ago, had received five such articles for a similar 
mirror. I should, I supposed, have set my original price higher.
I looked to my right and I saw the two red warriors tying beaded collars on the 
necks of Ulla and Lenna. Kailiauk robes lay on the grass. Earlier today Grunt 
had fashioned a travels for his pack kaiila. Such a device, the poles crossing 
over the withers of the kaiila, reduces the animals speed but makes it possible 
for it to transport a heavier weight. Travels are common, particularly in the 
movements of camps, among he red savages. Travois, I suspected, would be heavily 
laden by the time Grunt was ready to return to Kailiauk.
I glanced to where the kaiila of the Dust Legs were located. The girl there, the 
dark-haired girl in the beaded collar, still knelt as she had been placed, at 
the paws of her masters kaiila. Her head was still down. She did not look up. 
She was under excellent discipline.
Between where the men sat and the coffle, a bit to the right, was the spread-out 
kailiauk robe under which Grunt had put Margaret, naked, her legs drawn up. She 
had been under the robe for hours. It would be hot under the robe, in the sun, 
and there would be insects in the grass. I grinned. I think she was learning her 
slavery. It was a clever trick on Grunts part. Certainly the Dust- Legs who, 
like most red savages, are an inquisitive, observant folk, would be curious as 
to the precise nature of the goods which lay beneath that robe. Clearly it was a 
woman. Was Grunt trying to hide her?
I saw leather thongs put on the necks of Ulla and Lenna, the beaded collars 
thrust up to admit them. These thongs were then tied to the high pommels of the 
kaiila saddles. Such saddles are not uncommon among the red savages, though they 
are commonly used for visiting, trading and ceremonial journeys. The hunting and 
war the red savage commonly rides bareback. The thongs were some seven or eight 
feet in length and the red savages knelt Ulla and Lenna down, their bands still 
tied behind them by the forepaws of their kaiila.
One of the red savages was now walking over to the kailiauk robe beneath which 
lay Margaret.
The red youth now rose from the side of the red-haired girl, adjusting his 
breechclout. He then indicated that she should roll onto her stomach, which she 
did. He then slapped her twice, commending her. Her hands clutched at the grass. 
He then sauntered away.
I walked over to her. It seems I have served my purpose, she whispered, 
angrily, in English.
One of your purposes, I said, for the time being. I spoke to her in English.
She rose to her hands and knees, and looked up at me. She put down her head, 
reddening. She looked up again, angrily, and then, again, put down her head, 
blushing. Why did you make me yield? she asked.
You wanted to, I said. And, besides, as a slave, you must yield.
She did not speak.
Are you angry? I asked.
Yes, she said.
I heard you cry out, and whimper with pleasure, I said.
It is true, she said. I did want to yield. How terrible I must be.
Such feelings, I said, such desires to yield, are not only permitted of the 
slave, but required of her.
Required? she said.
Yes, I said. Do not confuse yourself with a free woman. You are quite 
different from her.
And as a slave, she said, I had to yield. I had no choice, did I?
No, I said. The slave must yield, and fully.
How can you respect me? she asked.
Assume the belly position, and kiss my feet, Slave, I said.
She did so.
What now was your question? I asked.
How-how can you respect me? she asked, half choking.
I do not, I told her. Do you know why?
Yes, Master, she said.
Why? I asked.
Because I am a slave, she said.
True, I said.
How strong are the men of this world, she said, wonderingly. How they own, 
and dominate us. How, before them, can we be anything but women?
Your question about respect was stupid, I said. Perhaps you should be 
lashed.
Please do not lash me, Master, she said.
I turned to leave. Master, she said.
Yes, I said.
Tonight, she said, I beg to be taken from the coffle for your pleasure.
Tonight, I said, I think I may be more in the mood for Lois or Inez, or 
perhaps Priscilla. We shall see. And tonight, in the coffle, you will be bound, 
hand and foot. Perhaps that will teach you to ask stupid questions.
Yes, Master, she said.
I then went over to the kailiauk hide where one of the Dust Legs was standing. 
Grunt had joined him there. Grunt seemed reluctant to lift the hide.
Hou, I said to the Dust Leg.
Hou, said he to me.
Ieska! called one of the Dust Legs, rising to his feet, where the men had been 
sitting. This was another of the names by which Grunt was known in the Barrens. 
It literally is one who speaks well. Less literally, it is used as a general 
expression for an interpreter.
Grunt excused himself and went to see what the man wanted. He was the fellow who 
had been looking at the hatchet. The fellow was holding up three fingers, and 
then he pointed to the dark-haired girl kneeling by the kaiila.
In an instant she had been summoned, and she hurried to him, as she could, with 
her head down, following the sound of his voice. When she reached her master and 
Grunt her master put his hand under her chin and thrust up her head. She looked 
about, startled, wildly, now permitted to regard surroundings. She saw the other 
kaiila, the men, Grunt, myself, the girls in the coffle. Then she was stripped 
and knelt naked, before Grunt. He had her rise and turn slowly, her back arched, 
her hands behind the back of her head, before him. Then he again knelt her.
Tarl, called Grunt to me. I went to him, and he tossed me his whip. See if 
she whips well, he said.
The girl looked up at me, frightened.
On your hands and knees, I told her.
She assumed this posture.
Much can be told of the responsiveness of a girl by how she moves beneath the 
whip.
I would give her three lashes. After all I was not whipping her, but testing 
her.
I would not strike her with my full strength, but, on the other hand, she must 
know clearly that she had been struck.
How else could the test prove significant?
She cried out, thrown to her belly by the first stroke. I then administered the 
second stroke. She cried out in misery and turned to her side, pulling up her 
legs. I then struck her a third time and she cried out again, sobbing, and 
pulled up her legs even more.
I thought she moved well beneath the whip. She obviously felt it, keenly.
On your hands and knees, said Grunt. He then, as she shuddered, felt her, she 
recently impressed with the might of men over her, she freshly lashed.
Good, said Grunt.
She became Grunts for three hatchets. She was, after all, only a white female 
slave and they were fine hatchets.
Ieska! Wopeton! called the fellow by the kailiauk hide.
We left the dark-haired girl on the grass, where she had been lashed, and then 
purchased.
The Dust Leg requested that the kailiauk hide be thrown aside. Grunt, a shrewd 
fellow, appeared to demur, and, indeed, even invited the fellow to examine the 
other girls on the coffle. The fellow, however, scarcely cast a glance at them, 
but they shrank back, under even so cursory an examination, fearing to belong to 
a red master. He did look for a longer moment at the red-haired girl but Grunt 
said something to him, and he turned from her again to speculate on what might 
lie concealed beneath the kailiauk hide. Grunt apparently did not wish to 
release the red-haired girl in a common sale. He had, it seemed, another 
disposition in mind for her. I remembered he had speculated that he would get 
five hides of the yellow kailiauk for her. No, she had not been brought along, 
marched into the Barrens, as a mere beast of burden. He had something else in 
mind for her.
One or two of the other Dust Legs now came over to where lay the kailiauk hide, 
concealing Margaret, the stripped English girl. The first Dust Leg was now 
showing signs of impatience. He was no fool. It was clear to him that Grunt, if 
he truly, seriously, wished to hide a girl, would presumably cache her, bound 
and gagged, out of sight, perhaps in a slit trench a pasang or so away. As it 
was, the kailiauk hide was presumably a device to arouse the interest of a 
possible buyer. The Dust Leg doubtless realized this. Further, he doubtless 
realized that his interest, in spite of the obviousness of this stratagem, was 
piqued. I could not blame him, accordingly, for feeling some irritation or 
resentment. I hoped Grunt knew what be was doing. He had already, in his trick 
with Ulla and Lenna, in my opinion, been treading on dangerous ground. Suddenly 
the Dust Leg, Grunt speaking to him, broke out in laughter. It took me a moment 
or so to understand what was happening, but, in an Ehn, it became quite clear. 
The Dust Leg, if interested, was to bid, sight unseen, on what lay beneath the 
kailiauk hide. The whole thing was, in effect, a joke and a gamble. The matter 
now put in a clearer light, the Dust Leg, and his fellows, were delighted. He 
tried to walk about and peep beneath the hide and Grunt, with great apparent 
earnestness and seriousness, hurried about, tugging down the hide at the edges. 
Red savages, on whole, are fond of jokes and gambles. Their jokes, to be sure, 
might sometimes seem a bit eccentric or rude to more civilized folk. A favorite 
joke, for example, is to tell a young man that his kaiila offer to the parents 
of his prospective woman has been refused, thus plunging him into despair, until 
with roars of laughter, he is informed that it has been accepted. This type of 
thing, incidentally, does not count, culturally, as a violation of truth 
telling, a practice which the red savages take with great seriousness. Gambling, 
too, is of interest to the savages. Common games are lots, dice and stone 
guessing. Betting, too, may take place in connection with such things as the 
fall of arrows, and the appearance and movements of animals, particularly birds. 
Kaiila races, perhaps needless to say, are very popular. An entire village is 
likely to turn out to watch such a race. What was going on, further, could not 
be clearly understood unless it is understood that the Dust Legs knew and 
respected, and liked, Grunt. Such a game they would not have played with a 
stranger. Theoretically, one supposes, a high bid might be made on what lay 
concealed beneath the hide and then the hide, the bid accepted, might be 
withdrawn to reveal a wench as ugly as a tharlarion, but the Dust Legs knew, in 
the practical context, that Grunt would not do this to them. They understood, in 
the context, that he would be sure to put something not only good, but very 
good, beneath that hide. Similarly, since bids are almost always lower on an 
unseen commodity, he would be, in effect, making them a gift. The Dust Leg 
refused, with great drama, to go higher than two hides for what lay beneath the 
hide. Grunt, he made it clear, must now either accept or reject that offer. It 
was, of course, accepted, and Grunt, with some flair, threw off the hide. 
Margaret, suddenly exposed, cried out with fear. She blinked against the light 
and made herself, lying on her side, as small as possible. Curled naked on the 
grass, revealed, terrified, owned, she was exquisite. The two friends of the 
Dust Leg shouted out with pleasure and, striking him about the shoulders and 
back, congratulated him on his good fortune. Margaret cringed at their feet. The 
Dust Leg, more than pleased, tried to get Grunt to accept at least one extra 
hide for the girl, but this, of course, Grunt magnanimously refused to do. A 
bargain struck was, after all, a bargain to be adhered to. He was, after all, 
was he not, a merchant? Margaret was jerked to her knees and the Dust Leg tied 
his beaded collar on her throat. He then bound her small wrists tightly before 
her body with a long thong and, pulling her to her feet, led her away, by the 
free end of the thong, followed by his friends, to his kaiila.
They are very pleased, I said to Grunt.
I think so, he said.
We watched the Dust Legs mounting up now, most of them, both men and women, 
preparing to take their leave. Ulla and Lenna were now on their feet, their 
hands still tied behind their backs, their neck thongs tied to the high, 
decorative pommels of their masters saddles. Their masters regarded them. They 
then slapped the girls naked flanks with possessive pleasure, as though they 
might have been kaiila. They then climbed to theft saddles, leaving the girls 
afoot, naked, neck-thonged, near theft stirrups. The girls looked up at their 
masters with fear and then, as the kaiila moved, hurried along beside the lofty 
animals, the grass to their thighs. I had little doubt but what they would soon 
be taught their duties, both those outside the lodge and those within it. I then 
saw Margaret, looking wildly over her shoulder, being drawn along, by the thong 
on her wrists, at the side of her own masters beast. She, too, would doubtless 
soon receive instruction on the modalities of pleasure and service to be exacted 
by a red master of a female slave, and one who was merely white.
We watched the Dust Legs moving away, across the grasses.
It was a good trading, I said.
I think so, said Grunt. We were all, I think, well satisfied.
Do you think the two fellows with Ulla and Lenna are sufficiently pleased? I 
asked. You did, it seems, maneuver them to some extent.
I do not think they minded being maneuvered, he said. Did you not see how 
they struck the girls on their flanks, so possessively, so pride fully, so 
good-naturedly? They are more than enough pleased to have such girls on their 
tethers, to lead them home, to add them in with their kaiila and other stock.
You are right, I said.
Take this one to the stream, he said, indicating the dark-haired girl we had 
acquired for the three hatchets, she lying on the grass near us, and see that 
she has a bath.
I will, I said. What are you going to do?
We will make camp here, he said.
Here? I asked.
There is water nearby, he said, and wood.
You are going to stay for a time at the trading point? I asked. This puzzled 
me. This was the last trading point in the territory of the Dust Legs. It did 
not seem to me likely that more Dust Legs were to be expected, certainly not for 
some time. I myself was anxious to move eastward.
For tonight, he said.
We could make five pasangs before dark, I said.
We will camp here tonight, he said.
Very well, I said.
He went over to the girl lying in the grass. Womnaka, Amomona, he said. 
Womnaka, Wicincala.
Ho, Itancanka. Ho, Wicayuhe, she said.
She speaks Dust Leg, he said. She then will also be conversant with Kaiila. 
These are two closely related languages, or, better, two dialects of a single 
language. Fleer is also related to them, but more remotely.
She responded to your commands earlier, I said. She must know Gorean, too.
Do you speak Gorean? he asked. She might, after all, know only certain 
commands, much as might a sleen.
Yes, Master, she said.
I shall attend to the camp, said Grunt, looking about. See that she has a 
bath at the stream.
All right, I said.
Do not hurry with her, he said. There is no hurry in returning.
All right, I said. Grunt was looking about, scanning the surrounding 
grasslands. Then he went to the coffle, where Ginger was waiting. He would free 
certain of the girls and set them about their duties. We would make camp, it 
seemed, early this day.
I looked down at the girl at my feet. She looked up at me. I kicked her. She 
winced. On your hands and knees, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I indicated to her the direction of the stream.
Yes, Master, she said.
She would crawl to it. She was a slave.

You whipped me well, she smiled, kneeling in the shallow stream, pouring water 
on her body.
You whip well, I commended her.
Thank you, Master, she said.
The sexually responsive woman whips well. This is probably a function of the 
high degree of her skin sensitivity and the depth and vulnerability of her 
feelings, tier sensitivity and responsiveness make her peculiarly helpless under 
the lash. She who writhes best under the lash, so say the Goreans, writhes best 
in the furs.
The water, I said, has wrought quite a transformation in you. She was now, 
substantially, cleaned. Most of the dust and blood, the grime, the dirt and 
sweat, had been washed away. Her dark hair, wet now, seemed very dark, very 
shiny. She knelt in the water, removing tangles and snarls from her hair.
No longer, at least, she said, Am I womnaka.
What is that? I asked.
Master does not speak Dust Leg or Kaiila? she asked.
No, I said.
It is something which exudes much odor, she laughed.
What did Grunt, who is your master, the fellow in the broad-brimmed hat, call 
you? I asked.
Wicincala, she said, which means Girl, and Amomona, which means Baby 
or Doll.
I see, I said. I myself prefer the application of such expressions not to 
slaves, but to pretentious free women, to remind them that they, in spite of 
their freedom, are only women. They are useful, by the way, in making a free 
woman uneasy, their use suggesting to her that perhaps the male is considering 
shortly enslaving her. In speaking to a slave I prefer expressions such as 
Slave or Slave Girl, or the girls name itself, she understanding clearly, 
of course, that it is only a slave name. And what did you call him? I asked.
Wicayuhe, Itancanka, she said, words which mean Master.
I thought so, I said.
I sat on the bank, watching her work with her hair. She was now combing it out, 
with her fingers. She would not yet be entitled, of course, to use the common 
brush and comb slotted for the use of the coffle. The other girls, unless the 
masters intervened, would vote on whether or not she was to be granted its use. 
This is a way of encouraging a new girl to congenial and to participate 
equitably in the work. One negative vote will keep the brush and comb from a new 
girl. The suspension of brush-and-comb privileges is also used, upon occasion, 
by the first girls as a disciplinary measure, within the coffle. Other 
disciplinary measures practiced among girls themselves involve such things as 
bonds, the control of rations and switchings. Girls, thus, under the control of 
first girls, reporting to the masters, commonly keep a good order among 
themselves. All, of course, including the first girls, are in all things 
subject, ultimately, to the total authority of the master.
Ginger! I called.
Ginger, in a moment, came running to the stream.
Bring the comb and brush, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said. Her authority, as that of any slave, could be overruled 
by any free person.
In a few moments Ginger returned with the comb and brush. Give her the comb, I 
said. I, myself, took the brush, which I placed beside me. Ginger waded into the 
stream and gave the comb to the new girl. You do not yet have general 
comb-and-brush privileges, she informed her. Unless, of course, the masters 
order it, she added.
Yes, Mistress, said the new girl, bowing her head to her.
Ginger returned to the bank and, somewhat mollified, turned to regard the new 
girl, who was now combing her hair with the comb of kailiauk horn.
She is rather pretty, said Ginger.
I think so, I said. She was slim, and beautifully shaped.
She might be worth four hides, said Ginger.
Perhaps, I said. Ginger then took her leave.
I regarded the girl. She was looking at me, slowly combing her hair.
Thank you for permitting me the use of the comb and, perhaps later, the brush, 
she said.
It is my pleasure, I informed her, truthfully.
I regarded her. She was quite beautiful, and her beauty was a thousand times 
more exciting than that of a free woman, for she was a slave.
Master examines me with candor, she said, shyly.
You are a slave, I said.
Yes, Master, she said. One might, in the case of a free woman, in deference to 
her modesty or dignity, avert ones gaze from her beauty. This consideration, of 
course, is seldom, if ever, accorded to a slave. One may examine her slowly and 
with care, and with attention to detail, and, if one feels she deserves it, with 
open and unconcealed admiration. It is not unusual for a Gorean male, who tends 
to be uninhibited in such matters, to clap his hands, or strike his thigh, or 
shout with pleasure, upon seeing a bared slave. These responses, which might be 
thought embarrassing or inappropriate in the case of a free woman, may fittingly 
be accorded, of course, to slaves, who are only lovely animals. Even in the case 
of free women, the Gorean male, incidentally, disdains to feign disinterest in 
female beauty. He, for better or for worse, has not been made a victim of the 
glandular suppression and life-shortening psychosexual reductionism inflicted, 
in varying degrees, on so many males in more pathological cultures. His 
civilization has not been purchased at the price of his manhood. His culture has 
not been designed to deny nature, but, startlingly perhaps, to some minds, to 
fulfill it.
She continued to comb her hair. She turned her head to the side, slowly drawing 
the comb through it. Do I detect, she asked, that Master may not find a slave 
fully displeasing?
No, I said. I do not find you fully displeasing.
A slave is pleased, she said.
I smiled.
Do you think I might be worth four hides? she asked.
Whether you are or not might easily be determined, I said.
Of course, Master, she laughed. I am a slave.
You now look quite different from what you did when you were purchased, I told 
her.
It is difficult to remain fresh and presentable, she said, when run through 
brush at the side of a kaiila, a thong on ones throat.
I nodded.
I trust, she said, that I shall not be so served in this camp.
You, and the others, I said, will be treated precisely as we please, in all 
things.
Yes, Master, she said, quickly. She stopped combing her hair.
Continue to groom yourself, Slave, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
What was your name among the Dust Legs? I asked.
Wasnapohdi, she said.
What does that mean? I asked.
Pimples, she said.
You do not have any pimples, I said.
Master may have noticed that my thighs are not marked, she said.
Yes, I said.
I am not one of those girls from the towns, who has been branded, she said.
Oh, do not fear, she laughed, that we are not well understood as slaves. In 
the camps, and among the tribes our red masters keep women such as I in our 
collars, to remove one of which without permission is death.
I nodded.
And, too, she said, What could a white woman in the Barrens be but a slave?
True, I said.
We are thus, in our way, well marked, she said.
Yes, I said.
I was born Waniyanpi, in one of the Waniyanpi enclosures of the Kailiauk, she 
said, the product of a forced mating, between parents unknown even to 
themselves, parents selected and matched by the red masters, parents who, even 
though they were Sames, were forced to perform the Ugly Act, hooded and under 
whips, on the day of Waniyanpi breeding.
There is much here I do not understand, I said. What are Waniyanpi? Who are 
the Kailiauk?
Many of the tribes permit small agricultural communities to exist within their 
domains, she said. The individuals in these communities are bound to the soil 
and owned collectively by the tribes within whose lands they are permitted to 
live. They grow produce for their masters, such as wagmeza and wagmu, maize, or 
corn, and such things as pumpkins and squash. They are also to furnish labor 
when required and may be drawn upon, at the whim of their masters, for 
individual slaves. When one is taken from the enclosure one ceases to be 
Waniyanpi and becomes a common slave, an ordinary slave, one owned by an 
individual master. Usually daughters are taken, for the red masters find them 
pleasing as slaves, but sometimes, too, young men are taken. The word 
Waniyanpi itself means literally tame cattle. It is an expression applied to 
the collectively owned slaves in these tiny agricultural communities. The 
Kailiauk is. a tribe federated with the Kaiila. They speak closely related 
dialects.
Do the parents come from within the same community? I asked.
No, she said. For the day of breeding the men, hooded and in coffle, are 
marched between the small communities. On the day of breeding they are led to 
the selected women, already hooded, tied and awaiting them. The breeding takes 
place in the wagmeza fields, under the eyes of the masters.
You spoke of an Ugly Act? I said. I did not like the sound of that. It 
reminded me of a distant and sick world, the world of tittering, of 
embarrassment and dirty jokes. How much more honest are the whips and collars of 
Gor?
The Sames, she said, disapprove of all sexual relations between human beings, 
and particularly between those of different sexes, as being demeaning and 
dangerous.
I can see where some might regard sexual relations between partners of opposite 
sexes as being demeaning for the woman, I said, for in such relations she is 
often handled, owned and put in her place, but, on the other hand, if she 
belongs in her place, and it is her natural destiny to be owned and handled, it 
is not clear, ultimately, how this sort of thing can be demeaning for her. 
Rather, it seems it would be fully appropriate. Indeed, treating her in any 
other way, ultimately, would seem to be far more demeaning. But how can such 
relations be regarded as dangerous?
They are not regarded as being dangerous to health, she said, but as being 
dangerous to the Teaching.
What is the Teaching? I asked.
That men and women are the same, she said. That is the central tenet of the 
Waniyanpi.
Do they believe it? I asked.
They pretend to, she said. I do not know if they really believe it or not.
They believe men and women are the same, I marveled. Except, she smiled, 
that women are regarded as somewhat superior.
Their beliefs then, I said, seem not only to be obviously false but actually 
inconsistent.
Before the Teaching one must surrender ones reason, she said. To scrutinize 
it is a crime. To question it is blasphemy.
It lies, I suppose, I said, at the roots of Waniyanpi society.
Yes, she said. Without it Waniyanpi society would collapse.
So? I said.
They do not take the disintegration of their society as lightly as you do, she 
smiled. Too, you must understand the utility of such a view. It constitutes an 
excellent philosophy for slaves.
I am not even sure of that, I said.
It, at least, she said, gives men an excuse not to be men.
That seems true, I granted her.
It helps them to remain Waniyanpi, she said. They are thus less likely to 
attract the attention, or excite the anger, of their red masters.
I understand, I said. I think I also understand why, in such a society, the 
women are regarded as somewhat superior, as you put it.
It is only that they are implicitly regarded as superior, be said. 
Explicitly, of course, all subscribe to the thesis of sameness.
But why are the women regarded, implicitly, as superior? I asked.
Because of the contempt felt for the men, she said, who will not assert their 
natural rights. Also, if men refuse the mastery, someone must assume it.
Yes, I said.
There are always masters, she said, whether one pretends it is not so, or 
not.
In the hands of women, I said, the mastery becomes an empty mockery.
Mockery has no choice but to assert itself, she said, when reality is 
foresworn
I was silent
The Waniyanpi communities are sources of great amusement to the red masters, 
she said.
I thought of what is sometimes spoken of by the red savages as the Memory.
I understand, I said.
The red savages doubtless found their vengeance a sweet and fitting one. How 
almost incomprehensibly cruel it was, how horrifying, how brilliant and 
insidious.
The Teachings of the Waniyanpi, I said, were doubtless originally imposed on 
them by their red masters.
Perhaps, she said. I do not know. They may have been invented by the 
Waniyanpi themselves, to excuse to themselves their cowardice, their weakness 
and impotence.
Perhaps, I admitted.
If one is not strong it is natural to make a virtue of weakness.
I suppose so, I said. I then speculated that I had perhaps judged the red 
savages too harshly. The Waniyanpi, it then seemed likely, may have betrayed 
themselves, and their children. In time, of course, such teachings, absurd 
though they might be, would come to be taken for granted. In time they would 
come to be sanctioned by tradition, one of humanitys most prized substitutes 
for thought.
You, yourself, I said, Do not seem much infected by the lunacy of the 
Waniyanpi.
No, she said. I am not. I have had red masters. From them I have learned new 
truths. Too, I was taken from the community at an early age.
How old were you? I asked.
I was taken from the enclosure when I was eight years old, she said, taken 
home by a Kaiila warrior as a pretty little white slave for his ten-year-old 
son. I learned early to please and placate men.
What happened? I asked.
There is little more to tell, she said. For seven years I was the slave of my 
young master. He was kind to me, and protected me, muchly, from the other 
children. Although I was only his slave, I think he liked me. He did not put me 
in a leg stretcher until I was fifteen. She was then silent. I have combed my 
hair, she said.
Come here, I said, and, kneel here. She rose from the water, it dripping 
from her body, and came and knelt on the grass, on the bank of the small stream, 
where I had indicated. I took the comb from her and laid it to the side. I then 
took the brush and, kneeling behind her, began to brush out her hair. It is not 
unusual for Gorean masters to comb and groom slaves, or ornament them 
personally, much as they might any animal that they owned.
We were gathering berries, she said. Then I saw him, suddenly, almost 
angrily, cutting a stick, and notching it with his knife. Too, he had thongs. I 
was afraid, for I had seen other white slaves put in such devices. He turned to 
face me. His voice seemed loud, and full, and husky. Take off your dress, be 
said, and lie down, and throw your legs widely apart. I began to cry, but I 
obeyed him, and quickly, for I was his slave. I felt my ankles lashed tightly to 
the stick, the stick behind them. I had not realized that he had grown so 
strong. Then he rose to his feet and looked down at me. I was helpless. He 
laughed with pleasure, a mans laugh, who sees a woman tied before him. I was 
crying. He crouched down beside me. Then, suddenly, scarcely before I understood 
what I was doing, I opened my arms to him, overcome suddenly by the stirrings of 
my womanhood. He embraced me. I began to sob again, but this time with joy. The 
first time it was finished almost before we realized it. But he did not leave 
me. For hours we remained among the tiny fruit, talking and kissing, and 
caressing. Later, near dusk, he freed me, that I might gather berries for him, 
and feed them to him. Later I lay on my belly before him and kissed his feet. 
That night we returned to the village. That others in the village might 
understand what had happened, he did not permit me to ride behind him, on his 
kaiila. He tied my bands behind my back and marched me at his stirrup, a thong 
on my neck tied to the pommel of his saddle. Two children had left the camp that 
morning. What returned to it that night were a master and his claimed white 
slave. I was very proud. I was very happy.
What then happened? I asked. I stopped brushing her hair.
I loved my master, she said, and I think that he, too, cared for me.
Yes? I said.
That it seemed he had grown fond of me brought ridicule on him from his 
comrades, she said. To this sort of thing, as you might not know, red savages, 
in their tribal groups, are extremely sensitive. To allay these charges he, in 
his anger, would berate me publicly, and even beat me in the presence of others. 
At last, to put an end to the matter, and perhaps fearing these charges might be 
true, be sold me to an older man, one from another village. After that I had 
many masters, and now I have yet another.
I then began again to brush her hair. Was it the lad who gave you the name 
Pimples? I asked.
Yes, she said. I was given the name at puberty and, for some reason, it was 
never changed. Red masters commonly give such names to their white slaves, 
trivial names that seem fitting for slaves. My first year as the slave of my 
young master I was not even given a name. I was referred to only as Wicincala, 
or Girl. I was later called Wihinpaspa, which means lodge-pin or tent-pin, 
probably because I was little and thin. Then later, as I have mentioned, I was 
called Pimples, Wasnapohdi, which name, partly because of habit, and partly 
because it amused my masters, was kept on me.
You are neither little nor thin, I said, and, as I have earlier remarked, you 
do not have pimples.
Perhaps I might bring four hides, she laughed.
It is not impossible, I said. Do you think your first master would recognize 
you now? I asked.
I do not know, she said. I would suppose so.
Do you remember him? I asked.
Yes, she said. It is difficult to forget the first man who tied you.
Do you love him? I asked. I laid the brush aside.
I do not know, she said. It was long ago. He sold me.
Oh, she said, her hands now thonged behind her back. She tensed.
Did your red masters teach you well what it is to be a slave? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
I tightened the knots on her wrists.
Do you think your lot will be easier with us? I asked.
I do not know, Master, she winced.
It will not be, I assured her.
Yes, Master, she said.
I bent down and kissed her on the side, on one of the long welts raised by the 
whip stroke, one of the blows in virtue of which she was assessed.
You struck me with great force, she said.
No, I did not, I said.
She shuddered. You are then very strong, she whispered.
I turned her about, and put her on her back, before me. I knelt beside her and 
sniffed her belly. Again, I said, you are womnaka.
I am only a slave, she said. Does it please you, or displease you, that I am 
unable to resist you?
It does not displease me, I said. I then touched her.
Oh, she cried, eyes closed, squirming helplessly, rearing half upward, 
trussed, then falling back. She looked at me, wildly.
You are indeed a slave, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.
Do you beg to be had? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said. Yes, Master!
First, I said, You will earn your keep. You will be put to work.
Yes, Master, she said.
I then pulled her to her knees and lay then on one elbow, indolently, watching 
her. She then, on her knees, her hands bound behind her, with her hair, her 
mouth and body, need fully and desperately, began to please me. In a short while 
I took her and threw her beneath me.
Aiii! she sobbed. I yield me your slave, my Master! She was superb. I 
wondered if the lad who had been her former master, and who now must be a man, 
and had sold her, had any idea as to the wonder, the surrendered, curvaceous, 
obedient, orgasmic triumph, which his little Lodge-Pin or Pimples, now a 
ravishing, helpless beauty, had become. Had he any notion of this it was 
difficult to imagine that he would be able to rest until he had once again 
fastened his beaded collar on her throat. Clearly she was now the sort of woman 
for whom men might kill.
Am I worth four hides, Master? she asked, gasping.
Five, I assured her.
She laughed, and kissed me happily.

This is Wagmezahu, Corn Stalks, said Grunt. He is Fleer.
Hou, said Corn Stalks.
Hou, said I to him.
Is the new slave satisfactory? asked Grunt.
Quite, I said.
Good, he said.
I sat back, cross-legged, away from the fire. I now understood why Grunt had 
been scanning the plains. I now understood why he had wished to remain at the 
trading point. He had, doubtless, been waiting for this Fleer. This was also, 
doubtless, the reason he had encouraged me to take my time with the new girl, 
which I had, that they not be disturbed. Although the Fleer speak a language 
clearly akin to Kaiila and Dust Leg there bad often been strife among them. 
Thusly the Fleer had waited before coming to the camp. If the Dust Legs knew of 
his presence in their country they had not chosen to do anything about it, 
perhaps in deference to Grunt.
Grunt and the Fleer spoke largely in sign, this being easier for them than the 
attempt to communicate verbally.
I sat back from the fire, watching them closely. It was now late at night. Grunt 
had shortened the coffle by two collars and chain lengths. I had put the new 
girl in Margarets place, after Priscilla and before the Hobarts. This was the 
position of Last Girl, which, fittingly, not counting the Hobarts, she would 
occupy, being the newest girl on the coffle. Coffle arrangements, incidentally, 
are seldom arbitrary. One common principle of arrangements is in order of 
height, with the tallest girls coming first; this makes a lovely coffle. 
Sometimes, too, coffles are arranged in order of beauty or preference, the most 
beautiful or the most preferred girls coming first. Coloring and body type can 
also be important. It is for such reasons, perhaps, that the coffle is sometimes 
spoken of as the slavers necklace. Sales strategies, too, can enter into the 
formation of a coffle, as, for example, when a girl is put between two plainer 
girls to accentuate her beauty, or a superb girl is saved for last, and many 
other considerations, as well, can enter into the formation of a coffle. When 
one sees a chain of beauties, fastened together, say, by the neck, or the left 
wrist or left ankle, it is well to remember that their locations on that sturdy, 
metallic bond, keeping them precisely where the master wishes, are seldom likely 
to be merely fortuitous. After I had carried the new girl to the chain and put 
her on the grass, locking the collar on her, I went to the red-haired girl and, 
as I had earlier promised her, bound her hand and foot. She had asked a stupid 
question, one pertaining to respect. She would spend the night tied.
Is the new girl pleasing? she had asked me, reproachfully.
Yes, I said.
More pleasing than I? she asked, lying at my feet, her hands tied behind her, 
her ankles crossed and bound, her neck in the coffle collar.
Yes, I said. She is an experienced slave. You are only a new slave. You have 
much to learn.
Yes, Master, she said.
I then, for good measure, gagged her. She must learn that she was a slave.
Corn Stalks, after a time, took his leave. Before he left Grunt gave him some 
hard candy and a fine steel knife.
You seem moody, I said to Grunt. He had returned to the fire, and sat before 
it, not speaking.
It is nothing, he said.
I should like to learn some Dust Leg, I said.
I will teach you some, as we ride, he said.
If I learn some Dust Leg, I should be able, to some extent, to communicate with 
Kaiila, I said.
Very easily, said Grunt, for they are much the same, and, too, you would be 
able to make yourself understood to the Kailiauk, and, to some extent, to the 
Fleer.
I have heard little of the Kailiauk, I said.
They are not well known west of the perimeter, he said. Their country lies to 
the south and east of that of the Kaiila.
Mostly, I said, you spoke to Corn Stalks in sign.
Yes, he said. It is easier for us. He looked at me. To learn sign, he 
said, would probably be more useful to you, all things considered, than 
learning a smattering of Dust Leg.
Teach me sign, I asked.
To be sure, he said, it would be wise for you to learn some Dust Leg or 
Kaiila. There is no substitute for being able to converse with these people in 
their own language. Sign, as far as I know, is common to all the tribes of the 
Barrens.
Why are they called Dust Legs? I asked.
I do not know, said Grunt, but I think it is because they were the last of 
the major tribes to master the kaiila. Afoot, they were much at the mercy of the 
others. Their heritage as traders and diplomats may stem from that period.
It is an interesting hypothesis, I said.
I can teach you hundreds of signs in a short time, said Grunt. It is a very 
limited language, hut in most situations it is quite adequate, and, because many 
of the signs seem so appropriate and natural, it can be easily learned. In four 
or five days you can learn most of what you would need of sign.
I would like to learn something of Dust Leg and Kaiila, and also sign, I said.
I will be pleased to help you, said Grunt.
Grunt? I asked.
Yes, he said.
After I came to join you, I said, Corn Stalks didnt stay long.
He does not know you, said Grunt.
I nodded. Goreans, in general, not merely red savages, tend to be wary of 
strangers, in particular those who speak other languages or come from other 
territories or cities. There is only one word in Gorean, incidentally, for 
stranger and enemy. To be sure, the specific meaning intended is usually clear 
in the context. Goreans are not unaware that there may exist such things as 
familiar enemies and friendly strangers.
He did not do trading, as far as I know, I said.
No, said Grunt. We talked. He is a friend.
What is the sign for a red savage? I asked.
Grunt rubbed the back of his left hand from the wrist to the knuckle with his 
right index finger. The general sign for a man is this, he said. He held his 
right hand in front of his chest, the index finger pointing up, and raised it in 
front of his face. He then repeated the sign for the red savage. I am not clear 
on the specific rationale for the sign for the savage, he said. You will note, 
however, that the same finger, the index finger, is used in the sign, as in the 
sign for man. The origins of some of these signs are obscure. Some think the 
sign for the red savage has a relation to the spreading of war paint. Others 
think that it means a man who goes straight or a man who is close to the earth, 
to nature. Doubtless there are other explanations, as well. This is the sign for 
friend. He then put his first two fingers together and raised them upward, 
beside his face. It probably means two men growing up together.
Interesting, I said. What does this mean? I put the middle fingers of my 
right hand on my right thumb, extending the index and little finger. This 
suggests a pointed snout and ears.
You have seen Dust Legs make that sign, he said. It means a wild sleen. It is 
also used for the Sleen tribe. Do you know what this means? He then spread the 
index finger and the second finger of his right hand and drew them from the left 
to the right, in front of his body.
No, I said.
That is the sign for a domestic sleen, he said. You see? It is like the 
spread poles of a travois, which might be drawn by such an animal.
Yes! I said.
What is this? he asked, drawing his right index finger across his forehead, 
from left to right.
A white man? I asked.
Yes, he said. Good.
It is like the line of the brim of a hat, across the forehead, I said.
Good, he said, And this? With the fingers of both hands slightly curved, he 
made downward motions from the top of his head to the shoulders. It was as 
though he were combing hair.
A woman? I asked.
Good, he said. Good. And this?
A white woman? I asked.
Yes, he said. He had traced a line with his right index across his forehead, 
from left to right, and had then opened his hand and moved it downward, toward 
his shoulder, in the combing motion. What do you think this means? he asked. 
He then made the combing motions with his hand, then lowered his head and looked 
at his left wrist, which he grasped firmly in his right hand, the left wrist, 
the weaker wrist, helpless in the grip of the stronger.
I am not sure, I said.
The second sign indicates bondage, he said.
A female slave? I asked.
Yes, said Grunt, but, more generally, it is another sign which may stand for 
any white woman, and is often used in this way.
The same sign then, I said, that sign, stands for both white woman and female 
slave?
Yes, he said. It is the most common way of referring to a white woman. You 
see, in the Barrens, all white women are regarded as being female slaves. Our 
friends of the plains divide white women into those who have already, properly, 
been imbonded, and those who, improperly, have not yet been imbonded.
I considered the nature of women, and their desirability. That distinction 
makes sense to me, I said. But are there no women of the red savages 
themselves who are slaves?
Of course, there are, said Grunt. They are fond of carrying off women of the 
enemy to make their own slaves. Surely you can imagine how pleasant it is for 
these fellows to be served, and as a slave, by one of the enemys women.
Of course, I said.
Such a woman may be designated as follows, he said, by use of the sign woman, 
followed by the sign for the red savages, followed by a bondage sign.
I see, I said. He had illustrated his words with the sign.
If the context is clear, he said, the signs simply for a female slave may be 
used.
I understand, I said.
Here is another way of designating a white woman or a female slave, he said. 
He then made the sign for woman, followed by a downward striking motion, as 
though holding a switch. Sometimes, too, he said, when the context is clear, 
this sign alone may be used. He then spread the first and second fingers of his 
right hand arid laid them over the index finger of his left hand. You see? he 
asked. It is ankles bound on a leg stretcher.
I see, I said.
The meanings in these signs are clear, he said, the weaker who is held by the 
stronger, she who is subject to the whip, and she whose ankles may be spread at 
her masters pleasure.
Yes, I said.
What is this? asked Grunt. He held his left hand with the palm in, before his 
chest, and placed the index and second finger of his right hand astride the edge 
of his left hand.
A rider? I asked.
Kaiila, he said. Then, holding his hands as he had, he rotated his hands in 
tiny circles, as though the kaiila were in motion. That is to ride, he said.
I see, I said.
What is this? he asked. He placed his left fist in front of his mouth and 
sliced between it and his face with the edge of his opened right hand.
I do not know, I said.
Knife, be said. See? One holds the meat in ones hand and clenches it between 
the teeth, too. Then one cuts a bite from the meat, to eat it, thus the sign for 
knife.
Good, I said. And what does this mean? I drew an imaginary line across my 
throat with my right index finger. I had seen Corn Stalks make this sign in his 
talk with Grunt.
Grunts eyes clouded. It is the sign for the Kaiila, he said, the Cutthroat 
Tribe.
Oh, I said.
You may have seen this sign, said Grunt. It is an interesting one. He then 
held his fists in front of his chest, his thumbs almost touching, and then 
spread his fingers out, horizontally.
I have no idea what it means, I said.
Does it remind you of nothing? be asked. He repeated the sign.
Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck rose. It is like men breaking out of 
columns, I said, fanning out, to take up positions for battle.
Yes, said Grunt. It is the sign for soldiers. He then added to it the sign 
for riding, that of the kaiila in motion.
Kaiila soldiers, I said. Cavalry.
Yes, said Grunt, soberly. He then held both fists close to his chest, with the 
backs of his hands down and the index fingers curved. He then made a forward, 
circular motion.
Wheels? I said. Wagons.
Yes, said Grunt.
These last signs had been used by Corn Stalks. Grunt knew that I had seen them.
I do not mean to pry, I said.
It is all right, said Grunt.
We need not continue, I said.
It is all right, said Grunt.
I held my hands near the ground, with my fingers curved upward and slightly 
apart. I then swung my bands out in a small, upward curve.
Grass, said Grunt.
I held my right hand, palm down, even with my shoulder, and lowered it, until it 
was about eighteen inches from the ground.
Height, said Grunt. High. High grass. Summer.
The Summer solstice had taken place a few days ago.
I folded my arms, the right arm resting on top of the left. I then raised both 
hands until my fingers pointed skyward.
The spreading of light, said Grunt. Day. Light.
I repeated the gesture twice more.
Three days, said Grunt. Three days ago, we may suppose.
I raised my hands in front of my body, my fingers slightly curved. I then swept 
my hands together in a looping curve.
Many, said Grunt. Much. Plenty.
I rubbed the back of my left hand from the wrist to the knuckle with my right 
index finger.
Red savages, smiled Grunt. Fleer, he then said. Kaiila, Sleen, Yellow 
Knives, Kailiauk.
I had smote my hands slowly together three times. It was like the beating of 
wings. It now stood, I saw, for the Fleer tribe. The fleer is a large, yellow, 
long-billed, gregarious, voracious bird of the Barrens. It is sometimes also 
called the Corn Bird or the Maize Bird. I had then drawn my finger across my 
throat. That stood for the Kaiila, the Cutthroat tribes. The sign for the Sleen 
tribe had been the same as that for the sleen, the resting of the middle fingers 
of the right hand on the right thumb, extending the index and little finger, 
this suggesting the animals pointed snout and ears. The sign for the Yellow 
Knives had been the sign for knife, followed by the sign for fleer. I later 
learned the sign for knife alone would suffice for this tribe. In the compound 
sign fleer presumably occurs as a modifier in virtue of the birds coloration. 
Adjectives in sign commonly, though not always, follow the noun, so to speak. 
This arrangement is doubtless to be expected, for it reflects a common 
grammatical feature of the spoken languages of the red savages. The word 
mazasapa, for example, literally means black metal. Maza is the word for 
metal and sapa is the word for black. We would translate the expression, 
of course, as iron. The sign for Kailiauk, as I had expected, was to hold up 
three fingers, suggesting the trident of horns adorning the shaggy head of this 
large, short-tempered, small-eyed, lumbering ruminant.
You have an excellent memory, said Grunt. I had been, of course, as best I 
could, reconstructing portions of the conversation which I had earlier seen take 
place between Corn Stalks and Grunt.
I held my hands in front of my body, with the palms facing one another, with the 
left hand a bit ahead of the right. I quickly brushed the right palm pass, the 
loft palm.
Fast, said Grunt. Quick. Hurry.
I held my left hand before my body, palm out, with my index and second fingers 
spread, forming a V. I held my right band at my fight shoulder, the index 
finger pointing up. I then, quickly, brought my right index finger down, 
striking into the space between the index finger and second finger of my left 
hand.
Kill, said Grunt, soberly. Hit. Strike.
I followed this with the sign for many, and then the signs for white man and 
white woman, and for soldiers, and kaiila soldiers, or cavalry.
Yes, said Grunt
What is this sign? I asked. I cupped my right hand close to the ground, my 
fingers partly closed. I then raised it a few inches from the ground, with a 
short, wavy motion.
It is the sign for fire, said Grunt. Flames.
It preceded this sign, I said. I then held my fists close to my chest, with 
the backs of my own hands down, my index fingers curved. I then made the 
forward, circular motion, indicative of turning wheels. This latter sign, as I 
recall, I said, Signifies wagons.
It does, said Grunt. Yes.
I was then silent. I did not feel much like speaking. I listened to the crackle 
of the fire.
A wagon, or wagons, of course, said Grunt. The specific meaning depends on 
the context. It is the same with my signs.
I understand, I said.
Three days ago, or some three days ago, said Grunt, a party of red savages, 
consisting of Kaiila, Yellow Knives, Sleen, Fleer and Kailiauk fell suddenly 
upon a wagon train and a column of soldiers, both infantry and cavalry. Wagons 
were burned. There was a massacre.
I think I know the parties, I said. The first left Kailiauk sometime before I 
reached it. They were settlers. The second must have been the mercenaries of 
Alfred, a captain, from Port Olni. He left Kailiauk shortly before we did.
Alfred, not stopping to trade, and moving swiftly, not slowed by a coffle of 
slaves, had, it seemed, made contact with the settlers. Doubtless they would 
have welcomed his presence. I wondered as to the fate of the settlers and 
soldiers, and if any survived. Alfred had seemed to me as though he might be a 
good commander. He would not have been familiar, however, I speculated, with the 
warfare of the Barrens. He had perhaps rated his red foes too lightly. He had 
perhaps discounted their possible numbers or skills.
I thought of the squarish wagons, which had been with the soldiers, doubtless 
concealing the beasts of Sardak and Kog. There had been seventeen such wagons. 
If these beasts had been destroyed I might, perhaps, consider leaving the 
Barrens. Zarendargar, then, would be safe, at least until another such force 
might be sent against him. Perhaps Priest-Kings, through their agents, might 
monitor towns such as Fort Haskins and Kailiauk.
I thought, too, briefly, of the red-savage youth, Urt, the red slave, supposedly 
a Dust Leg, who had been with the soldiers. If the red savages had found him in 
his chains, fastened to a white mans wagon, they might have chosen, with 
amusement, to leave him there, to die. I thought, too, of the lofty, veiled Lady 
Mira of Venna. No doubt now, she no longer wore her veils. I did not think the 
red savages would have killed her. There are better things to do with such 
women. Doubtless she would have been stripped, a thong perhaps on her neck, and 
assessed as casually as a tethered kaiila. If her captors found her of interest, 
perhaps they would give her a chance, albeit perhaps only a slim one, to strive 
to save her life, by absolute and total submission, and pleasingness, as a 
slave.
I did not fail to note, incidentally, that several, often mutually hostile 
tribes, had cooperated in the attack, with its attendant destruction and 
killing. The Memory, as it is called, and their hatred for the white man, had 
taken priority, as it commonly did, over their bloody and almost continuous 
intertribal differences. The red savages, I speculated, if they wished, with 
their numbers, and their unity, conjoined with an approximate technological 
parity in weapons, should be able to hold the Barrens indefinitely against white 
intrusion.
It is a horrifying thing, said Grunt, almost numbly.
Yes, I said. What does this mean? I asked. I placed my right hand against my 
heart, with the thumb and fingers pointing down and slightly cupped.
Heart, said Grunt.
I then lowered my hand toward the ground. I had seen Corn Stalks do this, after 
his account of the battle, if battle it had been.
The heart is on the ground, said Grunt My heart is on the ground. I am sad.
I nodded.
My heart, too, said Grunt, is on the ground. I, too, am sad.
I nodded. Do you think there were survivors? I asked.
In actions of this sort, said Grunt, our friends of the plains are seldom 
inclined to leave survivors, but perhaps they did, perhaps, say, some children, 
to be herded to Waniyanpi camps, to be raised with Waniyanpi values, suitable 
for slaves, or, say, perhaps, some females whose exposed curvatures at their 
feet they might have found acceptable. Who knows? They are the victors. It would 
depend on their whim.
What of a red slave of white men? I asked.
Male or female? asked Grunt.
Male, I said.
I do not think I would give much for his chances, said Grunt.
I thought not, I said.
We should perhaps turn back, mused Grunt
I did not speak.
It will be dangerous to move eastward now, he said. The blood of the young 
men will be high. The killing lust may yet be with them.
They have done, surely, I said, what they purposed. They have enforced their 
laws, against both the innocent and the guilty. They will now be returning to 
their tribal areas.
Smaller parties can be more dangerous than larger parties, at such a time, 
said Grunt The larger party has done its work and is returning to its home, 
presumably under the command of a blotanhunka, a war-party leader, usually a 
fellow of mature and experienced judgment. He exerts control; he commands 
restraint. The smaller party may consist of young men, insufficiently 
disciplined, urging one another on to yet another hazard or feat, fellows who 
are unwilling for the fun to be over, fellows who are eager to try for yet one 
more killing, fellows who wish to obtain yet one more trophy.
Such, you fear, might linger in the area? I asked.
Sometimes they are even left behind, said Grunt, to track survivors who might 
have hidden in the grass.
But we were not of the attacked parties, I said.
One might hope, of course, said Grunt, that they would be sensitive to such 
distinctions.
We have not broken the laws, I said.
We are white, said Grunt.
I must move eastward, I said. It was important for me to determine the fate of 
the Kurii who had been with the mercenaries.
Grunt, I said.
Yes, he said.
It is my understanding, gathered along the perimeter, that you are unusual 
among traders, that you, of all of them, have penetrated most far into the 
Barrens, and know them best of white men.
Perhaps, said Grunt. It is hard to tell about such things.
It was for this reason that I sought you out, I said.
He regarded me, not speaking.
I have something among my stores, which I would show you, I said. I suspect 
that it is something which you have seen, or that you have seen similar things 
and are familiar with their origins.
I shall be pleased to look at it, he said.
I returned to the fire in a few moments, and, on the dirt, in the light of the 
flames, spread the hide which Samos and I had obtained in the ruined tarn 
complex some four pasangs from the northeast delta gate of Port Kar.
It is a story hide, said Grunt.
Can you read it? I asked.
Yes, he said.
But you are not reading it, I said. I noted that he did not, with his eye or 
finger, trace the spiraling account painted on that almost-white, softly tanned 
surface.
I have read it, he said. Where did you get it?
Near Port Kar, I said.
Interesting, be said.
Why? I asked.
It is so far away, he said. It is in the delta of the Vosk.
This hide, I gather, I said, has passed through your hands.
Last fall, he said, I obtained it from Dust Legs. They, in turn, had it from 
Kaiila.
Do you know from what band of Kaiila? I asked.
No, he said.
To whom did you sell the hide? I asked.
To Ram Seibar, in Kailiauk, he said.
It all fits! I said.
You are not a trader, said Grunt. What is your true business in the Barrens?
I pointed to the painting of the two feathers near the beginning of the 
narrative. The painters name, I said, seems to have been Two Feathers. I 
recalled that Kog had surmised this, in his interpretation of the hide.
Grunt shrugged. That is not necessarily the case, he said, at all. The two 
feathers may be a talisman, or a luck sign. They may indicate a place. They 
could even indicate that the hides painter has two coups, each coup being 
marked by one feather.
I see, I said. This was indeed unwelcome news. Suddenly my task, and the 
Barrens, seemed far more formidable.
It is easier to interpret sign, which can occasionally be difficult, than to 
interpret a story hide. The conventions on the hide, and its meanings, are often 
more idiosyncratic, more personal.
Do you often deal in story hides? I asked.
No, said Grunt. To encounter one among trade goods is quite uncommon.
Ram Seibar paid well for this, did he not? I asked.
He paid a double tarn, of gold, said Grunt.
He seemed anxious to obtain it? I asked.
He did not even bargain, said Grunt. Yes.
I nodded. For such a coin one might easily buy five girls.
What is your business in the Barrens? asked Grunt.
Do you see this beast? I asked. I pointed to the image on the representation 
of a shield, that painted at the conclusion of the hides account. It was the 
image of a Kur, the left ear half torn away.
Yes? Grunt.
I seek it, I said.
He regarded me.
No, I said. I am not mad.
That is a beast of a medicine vision, said Grunt. It is not a real beast.
It is real, I said. I do not know, beyond that, whether or not it occurred in 
a medicine vision.
I have never seen such a beast, said Grunt.
They are not indigenous to the Barrens, I said.
You think it is now in the Barrens, said Grunt.
I am sure of it, I said. And I think, too, that there may be several others, 
as well. I did not know what had been the fate of the Kurii who had been with 
the mercenary captain, Alfred, of Port Olni. It was possible, of course, that 
they had been destroyed in the attack on his column and the wagon train.
Are you a hunter? asked Grunt.
In my way, I said.
The Barrens are large, said Grunt.
Do you think the hide is Kaiila? I asked.
I obtained it from Dust Legs, who obtained it from Kaiila, he said. Whether 
or not it is originally Kaiila, I do not know.
I must venture to the country of the Kaiila, I said. To do so, you will have 
to pass through Fleer country, and the lands of Sleen and Yellow Knives, he 
said.
As far as I know, I have not broken their laws, I said.
You are white, said Grunt. You may be attacked at their pleasure, whether or 
not you have broken their laws.
I understand, I said.
You are leaving in the morning? he asked.
Yes, I said.
You understand the dangers? he asked.
I think so, I said.
I will accompany you, he said.
You need not do so, I said.
It is already summer, said Grunt I did not come this far to turn back.
You, too, would go eastward, then? I asked.
Yes, he said.
Is it your intention to go to the land of the Kaiila? I asked.
Yes, said he. I have business there. I was there last summer.
Have you a bargain to keep? I asked.
Yes, he said, and it is important that I keep it. It is important that I 
maintain my integrity with these people, that I speak, as it is said, with a 
straight tongue.
When are you to be there? I asked.
In Kantasawi, he said, the moon when the plums are red. This was the moon 
following the next moon, which is known variously as Takiyuhawi, the moon in 
which the tabuk rut, or Canpasapawi, the moon when the chokecherries are ripe.
Will this give you time to return to Kailiauk? I asked. Otherwise he would 
have to winter in the Barrens. The red savages themselves sometimes found it 
difficult to survive the long and severe winters, particularly if the hunting 
was poor.
Two moons will be sufficient to return to Kailiauk, said Grunt, If one does 
not stop for trading. The two moons he had in mind, as I later learned, were 
Canwapegiwi, the moon in which the leaves become brown, and the moon known 
variously as Wayuksapiwi, the Corn-Harvest Moon, or Canwapekasnawi, the moon 
when the wind shakes off the leaves. The autumnal equinox occurs in Canwapegiwi.
What is important about Kantasawi? I asked.
It is the moon during which the Bento herd enters the country of the Kaiila. It 
is a time of the gathering of the Kaiila, of great hunts and dances.
I would welcome your company, I said. I did not question him further on the 
nature of his business with the Kaiila.
It is then decided, said Grunt. We shall leave, and together in the morning.
Good, I said.
The girls, in their neck shackles, of course, did not know of our decision, nor 
of what might be involved in it. This was appropriate, for they were merely 
slaves.
On the way to the country of the Kaiila, I would like to examine the field of 
the killings, the massacres, I said.
Grunt looked at me, puzzled.
I have determinations to make there, I said.
It is not far from here, he said.
I thought not, I said.
It will not be pleasant, he said.
I nodded. Yet I must determine if Kurii were among the fallen, and, if possible, 
their number.
Tonight, said Grunt, getting up, you may use Priscilla, if you wish.
No, I said, not tonight.
15    The Fleer
Here, said Grunt, pointing down from the saddle of the lofty kaiila, you see 
the wagon tracks, the ruts?
Yes, I said. We found them where they had emerged from a small stream. The 
tracks were several days old.
It will not be far now, he said.
You have seen the smoke? I asked. I referred to the slow liftings of smoke, 
rising from low buttes, behind us and to our left, and before us, and to the 
right. The distance between the two fires was probably some ten to fifteen 
pasangs.
Yes, said Grunt, but its intent is not hostile, as I read it. It is, rather, 
informational. It is doing little more than marking our passage.
Such signals are common on the plains, but perhaps not so common as mirror 
signals. The code in mirror signals, conveyed by the pacing and number of 
flashes, is very similar to that of the smoke signals. The signals, 
incidentally, are not a substitution cipher, for the languages of the red 
savages, not being written languages, in any conventional sense, do not have a 
standardized alphabet or syllabary. The signals, of which there are some fifty 
or sixty, have conventionalized meanings, such as We are Kaiila, Who are 
you?, Go back, we have counted coup and we are returning to camp. The 
common smoke signal is produced by placing greenery, such as branches, leaves or 
grass, on a fire. The smoke produced is then regulated in its ascent by the 
action of a robe or blanket, the manner of its releasing being a function of the 
conventions involved. At night such signals can be conveyed by the number and 
placement of fires, or by a single fire, alternately revealed and concealed by 
the action, again, of a robe or blanket. Other common signaling methods, 
incidentally, involve such things as the use of dust cast into the air, the 
movement of robes and the motions imparted to a kaiila.
I do not care to be under surveillance in this fashion, I said.
In a way it is heartening, said Grunt. You see, they are letting you see that 
you are under surveillance. If their intentions were hostile, or immediately 
hostile, they would not be likely to be so open about the matter.
That is true, I admitted.
As I read the smoke, he said, it is saying that a small party of white men is 
moving eastward. The smoke on the right is merely acknowledging the receipt of 
this message.
I hope you are right, I said.
That would be the customary reading, said Grunt To be sure, the customary 
meanings are sometimes rearranged to conceal the true meaning. For example, a 
message which commonly means that kailiauk have been sighted may, by 
prearrangement, be understood to communicate an intention of attack to a 
collaborative force.
Marvelous, I said, bitterly.
Grunt shrugged. These people, he said, must survive with one another.
Hold! said Grunt, suddenly, tensing.
The rider had appeared very suddenly, over a small rise in front of us, some 
twenty yards away. He reined in his kaiila. Dust swept about the paws and legs 
of the beast.
Do not reach for your weapons, said Grunt. He is Fleer, he added.
How do you know? I asked.
The hair, said Grunt, is won in the high pompadour, combed back.
Like Corn Stalks, I said. The fellows hair came down his back, flowing even 
over the spine of the kaiila. He was riding bareback. He carried a long, 
feathered lance, and a small, round shield, a war shield, on which were 
inscribed medicine signs.
The fellow moved his kaiila down the slope towards us.
Be careful, said Grunt. He has made two killings and has counted several 
coup. The scarlet circles on the feather indicate killings, the red marks on his 
legs, and on the nose of the kaiila, show coups.
The Fleer reined in his kaiila a few feet from us. Grunt relaxed in his saddle 
and smiled, broadly. He raised his right hand to the side of his face, the index 
and middle fingers extended upwards and held together, the other fingers closed.
He has no saddle, said Grunt. His body, and that of his kaiila, is still 
painted with coup marks. Undoubtedly he took part in the action of a few days 
ago.
Grunt then, still smiling, clasped his left hand with his right, and shook it. 
This, too, is used by some tribes as a sign for friend.
Kodakiciyapi, said Grunt. Hou, Koda. Hou, Mitakoda. Peace, friendship, had 
said Grunt, Greetings, friend. Greetings, my friend, in Dust Leg. He then 
added, in Kaiila, for good measure, substantially the same message. Hou, Kola. 
Hou, Mitakoda. Olakota. Wolakota. Greetings, Friend. Greetings, my friend. 
Peace, Peace, Friendship.
The fellow regarded us, not speaking, either verbally or in sign.
I was not certain that Grunt was wise in addressing him in the dialect of the 
Kaiila, for the Fleer and Kaiila are hereditary enemies. On the other hand, 
interestingly, the many affinities between their languages suggest a common 
ancestor. The distinction between dialects and languages, as the dialectical 
divergencies increase, can become, at times, almost arbitrary. Most people, for 
what it is worth, regard Fleer and Kaiila as different languages. Certainly the 
Fleer and Kaiila do, and few see much profit in arguing the point with them.
Wopeton, said Grunt, pointing to me. Wopeton, he said, pointing to himself. 
This is the word in both Dust Leg and Kaiila for a trader, or merchant.
The fellow did not drop his lance into the attack position, grasping it firmly, 
anchoring it under his right arm.
Do not move, said Grunt.
The fellow then, kicking back with his heels into the flanks of his kaiila, 
moved his beast about us, and our party.
Stand straight, called Grunt to the coffle, which now, in our pause, had put 
down its burdens. Keep your heads up, but do not meet his eyes. It is you who 
are the merchandise, the beauties, the slaves, not he. It is not yours to 
examine, but to be examined, not yours to consider, but to be considered.
I thought Grunt was wise not to have the girls look into the eyes of the Fleer 
warrior. Such an exchange of glances, or looks, can be like an electric shock, 
an encounter almost fearfully significant. Who knows what each might recognize 
in the eyes of the other? Does she see in his eyes that he is one such as might 
be her master? Does he see in her eyes that she is one who could not help but 
acknowledge herself, and soon, despite what she might now take to be her 
desires, his helpless and natural slave? Sometimes, at as little as a meeting of 
eyes, masters and slaves know one another. I must have her. She is mine, he 
tells himself. I belong to him. I am his slave, her heart whispers to her.
This matter of eye contact is interesting and has many facets. One of the most 
initially frightening and disturbing things to Earth women brought to Gor as 
slaves is the way Gorean men look at them. They are not used to being looked at 
as women, truly, with appraisal, desire and ownership. This tends, in the 
beginning, when they are still new to their collar, to confuse and frighten 
them, but also, of course, as it will continue to do, and even more powerfully, 
to stimulate them. It is the first time that they have found themselves in the 
order of nature, and as what they are, and it is the first time that they have 
found themselves being looked at, frankly, and honestly, within the order of 
nature, and as what they are, females, appropriate objects of male predation and 
desire. This recognition of her femaleness, and this joy in release and 
self-discovery, often comes as a stunning revelation to the Earth female. Never 
again, once having discovered this, does she retreat to the conditioned ideals 
of neuterism and pseudomasculinity, nor, indeed, even if she desired to do so, 
would her masters permit it. Sometimes in training, incidentally, or as a 
discipline or punishment, the slave is not permitted to look into the eyes of 
the master. Indeed, sometimes, in training, she is not permitted to raise her 
eyes above the belt of the trainer. Also, it must be recognized that many slaves 
often, and perhaps all slaves sometimes, find it difficult to look into the eyes 
of the master. He, after all, holds total power over them and they fear to 
displease him. What if he should interpret her gaze as suggesting the least 
insubordination or insolence? Are they truly prepared to have the soles of their 
feet lashed or to live on bread crusts for the next five days? But, on the other 
hand, there is, on Gor, in circles of the mastery, no discouragement, commonly, 
of eye contact between masters and slaves.
Indeed, in the deep and profound relationships of love and bondage, such eye 
contact is usually welcomed and encouraged. What can be understood of the 
glances of masters and slaves by those who have been united only in lesser 
relationships? Too, to be sure, from the practical point of view, it is useful 
for a girl to be able to look into the eyes of the master. In this way she may 
be able to better read his moods, and desires, and, accordingly, be able the 
better to serve him, in the process perhaps saving herself a few cuffings and 
beatings, such as might be garnered by a less alert, more slothful, laxer girl. 
To be sure, all girls, upon occasion, are cuffed or beaten. This is good for 
them, and helps to remind them that they are slaves. Beauty in a slave girl, 
incidentally, and most slaves are beautiful, for this is the sort of woman that 
tends to be enslaved, does not excuse poor service. The most beautiful girl must 
serve with the same perfection as the lesser girl. Gorean masters are 
uncompromising on this point.
From the point of view of the master, too, not only is it pleasant to look into 
the eyes of a slave, but there are certain practical advantages attached to 
doing so. For example, one might, in her eyes, read desire, and thus order her 
to perform an act which she, even though a slave, might not have dared to beg to 
perform, or, say, by looking into her eyes, one might determine if she has been 
up to something or has neglected something to which she should have attended. 
Has she been into the sweets? Has she, perhaps gossiping and dawdling with the 
other girls, been amiss in the discharge of her duties? Perhaps the shopping has 
not yet been done? Perhaps the laundry has not yet been finished? Such 
infractions call for discipline. But perhaps, in lieu of discipline, the master 
will accept the performance of desperate placatory services on the part of the 
offending slave. The decision is his. I would, incidentally, advise the slave to 
be superb.
The Fleer warrior stopped his kaiila by Priscilla, the second to the last girl 
on the coffle, and lifted up her chin with the iron point of his lance. It was a 
trade point, some nine inches long, socketed, with two rivets.
He then backed his kaiila away from her.
Priscilla had not met his eyes, as Grunt had advised them.
Grunt did not want to do business with the Fleer. He wished only to traverse the 
area in peace.
The kaiila snorted and threw up its head, and squealed, its mouth wrenched by 
the jerking back of the jaw rope.
On its nose were red lines, coup marks, matching those on the warriors legs. 
Its eyes were outlined with wide circles of black paint. On its left forequarter 
was drawn a zigzag line, indicating lightning. On its right forequarter there 
were five inverted Us. Its right ear bore a V-shaped notch. On its left flank 
there was an opaque red circle with a waving red line descending from it also on 
the left flank, and on the right flank, too, there was a black, horizontal line, 
with a semicircular, curved blue line above it. The coup marks and the inverted 
Us were exploit markings. The inverted Us indicated kaiila stolen from the 
enemy, the mark itself being a stylized convention whose heritage, I did not 
doubt, might be traced back to another animal, and another world and time. The 
circles painted about the eyes and the line of lightning on the left forequarter 
were signs in the medicine of war. The medicine use of the circles was to enable 
the beast to see clearly and far and that of the line to impart to its motion 
something of the same suddenness, the same swiftness and power, as attends the 
movement of lightning, that dread natural phenomenon, itself. The opaque circle 
with the wavy line descending from it was a wound mark, the location of the mark 
indicating a former wound site, the redness standing for blood, of course, and 
the descending line for bleeding. I did not know the meaning of the notched ear, 
if it had a meaning, or of the other marks on the animals flanks.
The Fleer moved his kaiila about, on the other side of the coffle, so that he 
might look at the girls, one by one. None of them, as Grunt had advised, met his 
eyes. They kept their beads high, and looked ahead, knowing themselves 
scrutinized as the pretty, meaningless beasts they were.
Our friend, said Grunt to me, is a member of the Blue-Sky Riders, a warrior 
society of the Fleer.
One should be careful of such fellows? I asked.
I would think so, smiled Grunt
You are gathering this membership from the marks on the kaiilas flanks? I 
asked.
Yes, said Grunt, the dark line of the earth, the overarching dome of the blue 
sky.
I see, I said. Most tribes had several warrior societies. These societies had 
much influence within the tribes and, on an alternating basis, to preclude any 
one society from becoming predominant, a good deal of power. Their members were 
expected to set an example in the war and the hunt.
I do not think he means us harm, said Grunt. He is merely curious.
Warrior Societies in the tribes have many functions. They are a significant 
component of tribal existence. Such societies, on an alternating basis, do such 
things as keep order in the camps and on the treks. They function, too, as 
guards and police. It is part of their function, too, to keep the tribes 
apprised as to the movements of kailiauk and to organize and police tribal 
hunts. Such societies, too, it might, be noted, are useful in various social 
ways. They provide institutions through which merit can be recognized and 
rewarded, and tribal traditions freshened, maintained and renewed. They preserve 
medicine bundles, keep ceremonies and teach histories. It is common for them to 
give feasts and hold dances. Their rivalries provide an outlet for intratribal 
aggression, and the attendant competitions supply an encouragement for effort 
and a stimulus to excellence. Within the society itself, of course, the members 
profit from the values of alliance, camaraderie and friendship. Needless to say, 
each society will have, too, its own medicines and mysteries.
I watched the Fleer, carefully. How intricate, actually, is the structure and 
governance of a tribe.
The ear of his kaiila is notched, I said to Grunt. Is that an eccentric 
mutilation or is it deliberate, perhaps meaningful?
It is meaningful, said Grunt. It marks the kaiila as a prize animal, one 
especially trained for the hunt and war.
The girls continued to look ahead. They wisely avoided direct eye contact with 
the appraising warrior, thus perhaps precipitating an encounter crisis, in 
which, perhaps because, of misconstrual or misinterpretation, he might feel 
prompted action. There are various ways in which a woman may look into the eyes 
of a man. One way, of course, is with a direct and self-assured gaze, as though 
she might be the equal of the brute who regards her, the way of the free woman. 
This is not to be recommended, of course, for a woman who is scantily clad and 
has a chain on her neck. Such an insolence, at the least, would be likely to win 
her beauty a bout the five-stranded Gorean slave lash. Why do some women look 
into the eyes of a man in this fashion? It is an interesting question. Some 
think that it is their way, perhaps even half consciously, of challenging him to 
their subduing, of challenging him to make them a woman, a slave. It is not 
unusual for a woman, at any rate, who has looked into the eyes of a man in that 
fashion to discover, later, that she is looking into his eyes in quite a 
different fashion, that whereas she once may have regarded him directly, and 
insolently, she now, perhaps kneeling stripped at his feet, in a locked collar, 
bearing his identificatory device, lifts her eyes to his rather differently, 
doing so now as a mere slave girl to her master.
The Fleer backed his kaiila from Ginger, the animal almost crouching back on its 
haunches.
There was blood about the jaws, and lips, of the kaiila, from where, earlier, he 
had jerked back on the jaw rope. I saw the muscles within the kaiilas flanks 
move beneath the paint.
Oh! said the red-haired girl, first in the coffle, startled as the point of 
his lance had scraped the back of the black-iron collar on her neck. Then she 
was quiet. He was lifting her sheen of red hair on the point of his lance, 
moving it in the sun, to see it glisten and reflect the light. He was curious as 
to such hair. It is extremely rare in the Barrens. Grunt had not permitted her 
to cut it, or even to trim and shape it. That could be done later. Now he wanted 
it to grow, and to be, apparently, as long as possible. The Fleer let the hair 
fall from the lance, and then he laid the side of the metal point of the lance 
on the edge of the girls collar, the metal touching the right side of her neck. 
She shuddered, but she did not otherwise move. She, a slave, was under good 
discipline. I thought that was fortunate for her. Her movement, of course, the 
shuddering, this responsiveness, was revealing, and would have been to any man 
familiar with female slaves. It did not escape the detection of the Fleer.
Curious he now returned his kaiila to the position of the last girl on the 
coffle, whom we were calling Pimples, the Gorean translation of her former name, 
originally given to her by a Kaiila master, Wasnapohdi. In Dust Leg, 
incidentally, the expression has the same meaning. I could detect, subtly, now, 
that Grunt was tense. He wanted the Fleer to be gone by now. I found myself, 
too, probably because of Grunt, growing more tense. I hoped that our reactions 
would not be evident to the Fleer, who was several yards away. One by one, with 
the side of the lance, the Fleer, moving along the line, touched the girls. 
Pimples cried out, softly, touched on the right thigh. Then, at various places, 
on the calf, or the thigh, or ankle or neck, unexpectedly, not knowing where 
they would be touched, the other girls, too, were touched, Priscilla, Inez, 
Lois, Corinne, Evelyn, Ginger and the red-haired girl. Each of the girls could 
not help but respond in her own way to the Fleers test, that of the unexpected 
touch of a mans weapon to her body.
I trust he will not want any of them, said Grunt.
I hope not, I said. We did not object to the assessment of the girls, of 
course, for they were slaves. Their assessment was no different from the 
assessment of kaiila, except, of course, that somewhat different properties, on 
the whole, would be under assessment What we did not want was trouble.
The Fleer backed his kaiila from the red-haired girl. With the side of his lance 
he had touched her left thigh, and then, with the point of the lance, he bad 
raised the hem of her skimpy tunic to her waist. Then, riding before her, he 
had, with the point of the lance, thrust aside the sides of her tunic. She had 
then been well revealed to him. The exposed slave, the former Miss Millicent 
Aubrey-Welles, the debutante from Pennsylvania, I saw, was quite beautiful. In 
the Barrens she might well be worth five hides of the yellow kailiauk.
We regarded the Fleer, who had now ridden his kaiila again before us.
He did not come so close to us that he could not, easily, drop his lance into 
the attack position.
Do not move, said Grunt to me, smiling at the Fleer.
The Fleer suddenly smiled broadly. He shifted his lance to his left hand, which 
pleased me. He held his right hand near his body, with the palm down and the 
thumb close to his left breast. Then, with his right arm horizontal, he swept 
his hand outward and a bit to the right This meant good, that which is level 
with the heart. Re then pointed to the girls. He moved his fiat right hand in a 
horizontal circle, clockwise, as Earth clocks move, not Gorean clocks, in front 
of his chest. This meant all, the circle being complete. He then grinned 
again.
Grunt then lifted his right band, the back of it near his right shoulder. His 
index finger pointed forward and the other fingers were closed, with his thumb 
resting on his middle finger. He then moved his hand a bit to the left and, at 
the same time, touching the thumb with the index finger, made a closed circle. 
Yes, had said Grunt. He then made the sign for all and the sign for good, 
in that order. AU is good, or all right, he had said. He then extended his 
bands in a forward direction, the palms down, and lowered them. Thank you, was 
the meaning of this sign. He then held his hands at the level of his chest, with 
his index fingers pointing forward and the other fingers closed. He drew back 
his right hand, to the right, some inches, and then he brought it forward again, 
the index finger still extended, and moved it over his left hand. The first 
portion of this sign means time, and the second portion indicates, presumably, 
the forward movement of time. Literally this sign, in both its portions, 
indicates future, but it is used also for good-bye, the rationale being 
perhaps similar to that in locutions such as Ill be seeing you or Until we 
meet again. The sign for past, incidentally, is also the sign for before. The 
sign for time, predictably, enters into the sign for before, but, in this 
case, it is followed by the thrusting forth and drawing back of the right hand. 
This is perhaps to suggest moving backward in time.
The Fleer grinned, and shifted his lance again to his right hand. Then, 
suddenly, with a wild whoop, and kicking his heels back into the flanks of his 
kaiila, he raced away.
I have always had good relations with the Fleer, said Grunt
I watched the rider racing away. He was a member of the Blue-Sky Riders. One 
does not come easily into membership in such a society. I was sweating.
I thought he might want one or more of the girls, I said.
He probably has, on the whole, as good or better in his own camp, said Grunt.
Perhaps, I said.
We looked at the girls. Several were still trembling, from the Fleers 
assessment. The red-haired girl smoothed down the skirt of the tunic and, with 
her small hands, drew together, as she could, the sides of the tunic. She, of 
all, it seemed, was the most shaken. To be sure, it was she, of all of them, who 
had been the most objectively assessed.
The Fleer was impressed, said Grunt. Did you see?
Yes, I said.
I am proud of all of them, said Grunt. Did you see bow they responded to the 
touch of his lance?
Yes, I said.
They are good stuff, said Grunt.
I think so, I said.
And I am grateful to you, for your help, in beating them, and helping to teach 
them their bondage, he said.
I shrugged. I had, it must be admitted, derived much pleasure from the coffle, 
picking out one or another of them, when the whim or urge might strike me, for 
my slave use. I regarded them. Their necks were lovely in their iron collars and 
chains. Last night I had had Priscilla, the English girl, weeping in my arms. 
Before that I had had Lois, the short, blond American girl. She looked 
particularly well in chains.
Your tutelage of them in submission and servitude, the instructional abuse to 
which you have subjected them, said Grunt, may prove to be instrumental in 
saving their lives.
They are eager pupils, I said, having now come to understand that they are 
truly slaves.
Good, said Grunt.
I wondered why Grunt had administered so little, if any, of this form of 
instruction to his coffled properties. Surely he could see, as well as any 
other, their desirability and beauty.
Up with your burdens, my pretty beasts! called Grunt. Do you think you are 
fed for nothing? Do you think we can dawdle here all day! No! We must march!
What do you think the Fleer was doing here? I asked.
He was probably left behind to kill survivors, said Grunt.
We are, of course, in Fleer country, I said. He was in the paint of war, 
said Grunt
He did not show hostility towards us, I said.
We were not involved in the action, said Grunt.
The site of the action, I gather, I said, is quite close.
I fear so, said Grunt.
Perhaps we should ride well ahead of the coffle, I said.
I think that is probably true, said Grunt.
16    The Kur; I Meet Waniyanpi; I Hear of the Lady Mira
It occurred here, said Grunt, obviously.
We looked down from the rise, onto the valley below.
I had thought it would be worse, I said. I remembered the grisly aftermath of 
the attack on the Hobarts men.
Below us there lay little more, seemingly, than overturned and scattered wagons, 
some burned. Harness was cut. The carcass of a draft tharlarion, here and there, 
loomed in the grass. Most of the animals, however, had apparently been cut free 
and driven away.
It could be worse than you think, said Grunt. Much death might lie about in 
the grass.
Perhaps, I said.
Yet there seem few scavengers, he said.
I looked behind us. The red-haired girl, first in the coffle, stood near us. The 
other girls, then, and the Hobarts, in their place, came up with her.
We had forgotten them, in coming over the rise, in seeing the wagons. Now there 
seemed little purpose in warning them back. Too, it did not seem as sickening as 
we had feared, what lay before us.
The attack presumably did not take place at dawn, said Grunt, and, 
presumably, it would not have occurred late in the day.
Your surmise is based on the scattering of the wagons, I said, that they are 
not defensively circled, but are aligned, as for the march.
Yes, said Grunt.
And the attack would not take place late in the day, I said, because of the 
possibility of survivors escaping under the cover of darkness.
That is it, said Grunt. It is my speculation that the wagons were being 
opened and aligned for the march.
If that is true, I said, we should find the remains of evening fires, large 
cooking fires, with circled stones, near the wagons, not the absence of fires, 
nor the smaller remains of midday fires.
Yes, said Grunt.
We then began to move our kaiila down the rise, toward the wagons. There were 
several of them. Some were turned awry; some were overturned, and some stood 
mute and stark in their tracks, unattended, as though waiting to be utilized, 
the grass about their axles, the heavy beams of their tongues sloping to the 
earth. Most of the wagons were charred to one extent or another. In none was the 
canvas covering intact. It had either been torn away or burned. The curved 
supports for the canvas, which were metal, in most cases remained. Against the 
sky they had a macabre, skeletal appearance, not unlike exposed ribs. The 
irregular line of the wagons extended for something like a pasang. As we came 
closer we could see, here and there, and sometimes within the wagons, discarded 
and shattered objects. Chests had been overturned and broken open. I saw a doll 
in the grass and a mans boot. Flour from rent sacks had been scattered on the 
grass.
There are the remains here of evening fires, I said, moving the kaiila past 
some circles of stones.
Yes, said Grunt. These fires presumably would have been within the wagon 
circle. The attack, then, it seemed clear, would have occurred in the morning, 
probably during, or shortly after, the hitching up of the draft tharlarion. The 
number of cut harnesses suggested the second alternative. Here and there I saw 
an arrow in the grass. The comparative fixity of these objects, almost upright, 
leaning, slim and firm, contrasted with the movement of the grass which, in the 
wind, bent and rustled about them.
The kaiila suddenly, with a snort, shifted to the right. I kept the saddle. I 
restrained the beast, forcibly. I jerked the reins to the left and kicked back, 
into the silken flanks of the animal.
What is it? asked Grunt.
I was looking down, into the grass.
What is it that you see in the grass? asked Grunt.
Death, I said. But no common death.
I threw the reins to Grunt, and dismounted. Stay back, I warned the girls.
I examined what was left of the body.
No Fleer or Yellow Knife did that, said Grunt.
No, I said.
The head was lacerated, but the wounds were superficial. The throat, however, 
had been bitten through. The left leg was gone.
It must have been a survivor, said Grunt The body is clothed. He must have 
been returning to the wagons, perhaps to search for food.
I think so, I said.
Then a wild sleen must have caught him, said Grunt.
The sleen is primarily nocturnal, I said. I had seen such things before. I did 
not think the body bore the marks of a sleen.
So? said Grunt.
Look, I said. Between my thumb and forefinger there was a dark, viscous stain. 
I wiped my fingers on the grass.
I see, said Grunt. Too, said he, note the torn earth. It is still black. 
Grass uprooted near the body, there, has not dried yet. It is still green.
Put a quarrel in your guide, I advised him. It seemed reasonably clear this 
attack had occurred within the Ahn.
Grunt looped the reins of my kaiila over the pommel of his saddle.
I stood up, and looked about me.
I heard Grunt arm his bow, drawing back the stout cable, his foot in the bow 
stirrup, then slotting the quarrel into the guide.
I shuddered, and quickly mounted the kaiila, taking back the reins from Grunt. I 
was pleased to be again in the saddle. Mobility is important in the Barrens. 
Too, the height considerably increases ones scanning range.
It is still here, somewhere, I said. I glanced to Grunts bow. He would have, 
presumably, but one shot with it.
What is it? asked Grunt. A beast, one of the sort which you seek?
I think so, I said. Too, I think that it, like the other fellow, is a 
survivor. That it has lingered in the vicinity of the wagons suggests to me that 
it, too, was wounded.
It will be, then, extremely dangerous, said Grunt.
Yes, I said. Certainly pain, hunger and desperation would not render any such 
beast the less dangerous.
A few feet to the left of the kaiila there was a keg of sugar, which had been 
split open. A trail of sugar, some four inches wide, some three or four yards 
long, drained through the split lid, had been run out behind it. It had probably 
been carried under someones arm. This trove was the object of the patient 
industry of ants, thousands of them, from perhaps a hundred hills about. It 
would be the prize, doubtless, in small and unrecorded wars.
Grunt and I moved our kaiila forward. Behind us I heard the red-haired girl 
vomit in the grass. She had passed too closely to the body.
Look! cried Grunt. There, ahead!
I see it, I cried.
Do they not care to defend themselves? he inquired.
Hurry. I said, urging the kaiila forward.
We raced ahead. We were some half pasang beyond the line of strewn, charred 
wagons behind us. We now approached other wagons, but scattered about. These 
were the wagons for which I had earlier sought in vain, the smaller, squarish 
wagons, which bad been with the mercenary column. They, too, seemed broken. Two 
were overturned. Some had been burned to the wagon bed, others missed a roof or 
a roof and wall. To none of them were harnessed tharlarion. Given their distance 
from the other wagons and their distribution in the grass I took it that they 
had broken their column and sped away, as best they might They had not had the 
time, or the presence of mind, perhaps, to form a defensive barrier.
Near some three of these wagons there was a small group of figures, perhaps some 
fifteen or twenty men. One stood out a bit from the others. It was he who was 
most obviously threatened by the brown, looming shape, which had apparently 
emerged from the grass near them. I did not know if they bad disturbed the 
beast, or if it lad been moving towards them, until then, at its choice, unseen. 
The man held a shovel, but he had not raised it to defend himself. His posture 
did not seem brave, but rather phlegmatic. Could it be he did not understand his 
danger?
Hurry! I cried to the kaiila.
The paws of Grunts beast thundered beside my own. He is insane! cried Grunt.
The beast itself seemed puzzled, uncertain, regarding the man.
Never before, perhaps, had it found itself viewed with such incomprehension.
The men wore gray garments, open at the bottom, which fell between the knee and 
ankle.
The beast turned its head suddenly to face us. In less than a handful of Ehn I 
pulled up the kaiila, rearing and squealing, between the beast and the man.
The beast snarled and took a step backward. I saw that it was neither Kog nor 
Sardak.
Get back! I warned the men.
Obediently they all, including the fellow who had been most forward, drew back.
I did not take my eyes from the beast. It raised one darkly stained paw. The 
hair between the digits was matted and stuck together. I supposed this was from 
the kill a pasang or so back.
I backed the kaiila a step or two from the beast. Back away, I told the men. 
They obeyed.
The fur of the beast was rent and thick, here and there, with clotted blood. I 
think, more than once, it might have been struck with lances. It had perhaps 
lost consciousness in the grass, from the loss of blood, and had been left for 
dead. It was not the sort of thing the red savages would mutilate. They were 
unfamiliar with it. They would presumably classify it with sleen or urts, not 
men.
The beast, snarling, took a step forward.
It is going to attack, said Grunt. I can kill it, he said. He raised the 
crossbow.
Do not fire, I said.
Grunt did not discharge the weapon.
Look at it, I said.
The beast regarded Grunt, and then myself. Its lips curled back over the double 
ring of white fangs.
It is showing contempt for us, I said.
Contempt? said Grunt, puzzled.
Yes, I said. You see, he is not similarly armed.
It is a beast, said Grunt. But he lowered the weapon.
It is a Kur, I said.
The beast then backed away from us, snarling. After a few feet it turned and 
dropped to all fours, moving through the grass. It did not look back.
I moved the kaiila a few feet forward, to where it had originally stood in the 
grass. I wished to study the pattern of grasses there. Then I returned to where 
Grunt, and the others, were waiting.
You should have let me kill it, said Grunt.
Perhaps, I said.
Why did you not have me fire? asked Grunt.
It has to do with codes, I said.
Who are you, truly? asked Grunt.
One to whom codes were once familiar, I said, one by whom they have never 
been completely forgotten.
I brought my kaiila about, and before the fellow who had been most obviously 
threatened by the beast.
I feared there might be violence, he said.
I have examined the grass, whence the beast arose, I said. It had been 
approaching you, unseen. It was stalking you.
I am Pumpkin, he said. Peace and light, and tranquility, and contentment and 
goodness be unto you.
It was stalking you, I said, the kaiila moving uneasily beneath me.
Sweetness be unto you, said the fellow.
Did you not realize the danger in which you stood? I asked. You could have 
been killed.
It is fortunate, then, that you intervened, be said.
Are you so brave, I asked, that you faced the beast so calmly?
What is life? What is death? he asked. Both are unimportant.
I looked at the fellow, puzzled. Then I looked, too, to the others, standing 
about. I saw now they wore gray dresses, probably their only garments. The hems 
of these dresses fell between their knees and their ankles. Men, they appeared 
ungainly and foolish in these garments. Their shoulders were slumped. Their eyes 
were spiritless and empty. Rags were bound about their feet. I saw, however, to 
my interest, that two of them now held feathered lances.
I looked again to the fellow who had been most threatened by the beast.
Sweetness be unto you, he said, smiling.
I saw then that he had not been brave. It had been only that he had little to 
live for. Indeed, I wondered if he had been courting destruction. He had not 
even raised his shovel to defend himself.
Who are you? I asked these fellows.
We are joyful dung, said one of the fellows, enriching and beautifying the 
earth.
We are sparkles on the water, making the streams pretty, said another.
We are flowers growing in the fields, said another.
We are nice, said another.
We are good, said another.
I then again regarded he who seemed to be foremost among them, he who had called 
himself Pumpkin.
You are leader here? I asked.
No, no! he said. We are all the same. We are sames! We are not 
not-the-sames! In this moment he had showed emotion, fear. He moved back, 
putting himself with the others.
I regarded them.
We are all equal, he said. We are all the same.
How do you know? I asked.
We must be equal, he said. It is the teaching.
Is the teaching true? I asked.
Yes, said the man.
How do you know? I asked.
It is the test of truth, he said.
How do you know? I asked.
It is in the teaching, he said.
Your teaching, then, I said, is a circle, unsupported, floating in the air.
The teaching does not need support, said the fellow. It is in and of itself: 
It is a golden circle, self-sustained and eternal.
How do you know? I asked.
It is in the teaching itself, said a fellow.
What of your reason? I asked. Do you have any use for it?
Reason is very precious, said a fellow.
Properly understood and employed it is fully compatible with the teaching, and, 
in its highest office, exists to serve the teaching.
What, then, of the evidence of your senses? I asked. The senses are 
notoriously untrustworthy, said one of the fellows.
What in the senses might seem to confirm the teaching may be kept, said one of 
them. What might, mistakenly, seem incompatible with the teaching is to be 
disregarded.
What arguments, or what sorts of evidence, if it could be produced, I asked, 
might you take as indicating the falsity of the teaching?
Nothing is to be permitted to indicate the falsity of the teaching, said the 
fellow who had been foremost among them.
That is in the teaching, explained another one of them.
A teaching which cannot be disconfirmed cannot be confirmed, either, I said. 
A teaching which cannot, even in theory, be disconfirmed is not true, but 
empty. If the world cannot speak to it, it does not speak of the world. It 
speaks of nothing. It is babble, twaddle as vacant as it is vain and inane.
These are deep matters, said the fellow I had taken to be their leader. As 
they are not in the teaching, we need not concern ourselves with them.
Are you happy? I asked. Verbal formulas, even vacuous ones, like music or 
medicine, I knew, might have empirical effects. So, too, of course, tight have 
truncheons and green fruit.
Oh, yes, said the first fellow quickly. We are wondrously happy.
Yes, said several of the others.
Sweetness be unto you, said another.
You do not seem happy, I said. I had seldom seen a more tedious, bedraggled, 
limp set of organisms.
We are happy, insisted one of them.
True happiness, said another, is keeping the Teaching.
I drew forth my blade, suddenly, and drew it back, as though to slash at the 
foremost fellow. He lifted his head and turned his neck toward me. Peace, and 
light, and tranquility, and contentment and goodness, be unto you, he said.
Interesting, I said, thrusting the blade back in my scabbard.
Death holds few terrors for those who have never known life, said Grunt. -
What is life? What is death? asked the fellow. Both are unimportant.
If you do not know what they are, I said, perhaps you should not prejudge the 
issue of theft importance.
I looked over to the two fellows who held the feathered lances. Where did you 
find those lances? I asked.
In the grass, said one of them. They were lost in the battle.
Was it your intention to use them, to defend yourselves from the beast? I 
asked.
No, said the fellow. Of course not.
You would prefer to be eaten? I asked.
Resistance is not permitted, said the fellow.
Fighting is against the teaching, said the other fellow, he with the second 
lance.
We abhor violence, added another.
You lifted the lances, I said. What were you going to do with them?
We thought you might wish to fight the beast, said one. Thusly, in that 
instance, we would have tendered you a lance.
And for whom, I asked, Was the second lance?
For the beast, said the fellow with the first lance.
We would not have wanted to anger it, said the fellow with the second lance.
You would let others do your fighting for you, I asked, and you would have 
abided the outcome?
Yes, said the fellow with the first lance. Not all of us are as noble and 
brave as Pumpkin.
Who are these people? I asked Grunt.
They are Waniyanpi, said Grunt. They have the values of cowards, and of 
idiots and vegetables.
The coffle, by now, had approached. I noted that none of the Waniyanpi lifted 
their eyes to assess the scantily clad loveliness of Grunts chained properties.
I again regarded Pumpkin who seemed, despite his denial, first among them.
To whom do you belong? I asked.
We belong to Kaiila, said Pumpkin.
You are far from home, I said.
Yes, said Pumpkin.
What are you doing here? I asked.
We have been brought here to cleanse the field, he said. We are to bury the 
dead and dismantle and burn the wagons, disposing likewise of similar debris.
You must have been marched here long before the battle, I said.
Yes, said Pumpkin.
Did you see the battle? I asked.
No, said Pumpkin. We were forced to lie on our stomachs, with our eyes 
closed, our limbs held as though bound, watched over by a boy.
To guard you? I asked.
No, to protect us from animals, said Pumpkin.
To the west, I said, among the other wagons, there is a part of a body.
We will find it, said Pumpkin.
The field is mostly cleared, said Grunt. There must have been other groups of 
Waniyanpi here, as well.
That is true, said Pumpkin.
Are they still about? asked Grunt, nervously.
I do not know, said Pumpkin. The object of Grunts concern, potent as it was, 
did not occur to me at the time.
How many of the large wagons, such as those to the west, were there? I asked.
Something over one hundred of them, said Pumpkin.
How many of these smaller, squarish wagons, such as this one, were there? I 
asked, indicating the remains of the nearest wagon, one of those, which had been 
with the mercenary column.
Seventeen, said Pumpkin.
This information pleased me. There had been seventeen such wagons with the 
original column. They were, thus, all accounted for. The beasts, which had 
inhabited them, presumably one to a wagon, given the territoriality and 
irritability of the Kur, presumably would then have been afoot. Most then, 
presumably, might have been slain.
How many graves have you, and the other Waniyanpi, dug? I asked.
Over one thousand, he said.
I whistled. The losses had been high, indeed.
And you must understand, said Grunt, the savages clear the field of their own 
dead.
For a moment I was stunned.
It was a rout, and a massacre, said Grunt. That much we learned from Corn 
Stalks.
How many of the graves, I asked Pumpkin, were those of settlers, those from 
the large wagons?
Something over four hundred, said Pumpkin. He looked back to the others for 
corroboration.
Yes, said more than one.
The settlers must have been wiped out, almost to a man, said Grunt.
I nodded. The first attack had presumably taken place there, on that part of the 
column. Too, they would have been less able, presumably, to defend themselves 
than the soldiers.
Something in the neighborhood of six hundred soldiers then fell, said Grunt.
Yes, said Pumpkin.
Yes, said another of the fellows behind him.
That is extremely interesting, I said to Grunt. It would seem to follow that 
some four hundred of the soldiers escaped.
That they did not fall on the field does not mean that they did not fall, said 
Grunt. They may have been pursued and slain for pasangs across the prairie.
The wagons seem to have been muchly looted, I said. Our friends may have 
paused for plunder. Too, I do not know if their style of warfare is well fitted 
to attack a defensive column, orderly and rallied, on its guard.
Grunt shrugged. I do not know, he said.
Beasts, I said to Pumpkin, such as that which threatened you, how many of 
them, if any, did you bury or find dead?
Nine, said Pumpkin. We did not bury them, as they are not human.
I struck my thigh in frustration.
Where are these bodies? I asked. I wished to determine if Kog and Sardak were 
among the fallen.
We do not know, said Pumpkin. The Fleer put ropes on them and dragged them 
away, into the fields.
I do not think they knew what else to do with them, said one of the fellows.
I was angry. I knew of one Kur who had survived, and now it seemed clear that as 
many as eight might have escaped from the savages. Indeed, many savages, for 
medicine reasons, might have been reluctant to attack them, as they did not 
appear to be beings of a sort with which they were familiar. What if they were 
from the medicine world? In such a case, surely, they were not to be attacked 
but, rather, venerated or propitiated. If Sardak had survived, I had little 
doubt he would continue, relentlessly, to prosecute his mission.
Do you wish to know of survivors? asked Pumpkin. You seem interested.
Yes, I said.
Other than soldiers, and beasts, and such, who might have escaped?
Yes, I said.
Some children were spared, young children, said Pumpkin. They were tied 
together by the neck in small groups. There were four such groups. The Fleer 
took one group, consisting of six children. The other three groups, consisting 
of five children apiece, were taken by the Sleen, the Yellow Knives and 
Kailiauk.
What of the Kaiila? I asked.
They did not take any of the children, said Pumpkin.
The children were very fortunate, said one of the fellows before me.
Yes, said another. They will be taken to Waniyanpi camps, and raised as 
Waniyanpi.
What a blessing for them! said another.
It is always best when the teaching can be given to the young, said another.
Yes, said another. It is the surest way to guarantee that they will always be 
Waniyanpi.
I wondered if the horrors and crimes perpetrated on one another by adults could 
ever match the cruelties inflicted on children. It seemed unlikely.
There were some other survivors? I asked.
Some nubile young women, said Pumpkin, but we did not look much at them. They 
were naked. Rawhide ropes were put on theft necks. Theft hands were tied behind 
them. They must accompany the masters, on their tethers, walking beside the 
flanks of their kaiila.
And what, do you conjecture, I asked, Will be their fate?
We do not dare speculate, said Pumpkin, looking down, confused and dismayed, 
hotly reddening.
They will be made slaves, I said, crawling and kneeling to men, and serving 
them abjectly, and totally, in all ways.
Pumpkin shuddered.
It is true, is it not? I asked.
Perhaps, mumbled Pumpkin. He did not raise his eyes. I saw that he feared 
manhood, and sex.
Would you not like one so serving you? I asked.
No, no! he cried, not raising his eyes. No, no, no!
The vehemence of his answer interested me. I looked about, at the other 
Waniyanpi They did not meet my eyes, but looked down.
Were there other survivors? I asked Pumpkin.
He looked up at me, gratefully. Two, he said, but, it seems, one of them only 
for a time.
I do not understand, I said.
A boy, a Dust Leg, I think, said Pumpkin. He was a slave of the soldiers. He 
was left staked out, over there, on that hill. We are to keep him alive until we 
leave the field, and then leave him here, to die.
That would be the lad, the young man, who was with the column, the slave, one 
called Urt, I said to Grunt.
Grunt shrugged. He did not know this. I had, to be sure, spoken more to myself 
than to him.
Who is the other? I asked.
An adult woman, said Pumpkin, one whom, I think, was also with the soldiers.
Excellent! I said. Is she blond, and fair of body?
She is blond, said Pumpkin, but we are not permitted to observe whether or 
not she be fair of body.
It would be the Lady Mira, of Venna, I said to Grunt. Excellent! Excellent!
Do you know her? asked Grunt
We met once, on the road, I said. But our meeting, now, will be of a 
different sort. I laughed.
What is wrong? asked Grunt.
Nothing, I said. I was pleased, first, that the Lady Mira lived. It is 
pleasant that such women live, particularly when they are put in collars and 
chains. Secondly it amused me that the fair agents utility to Kurii had been, 
in this unexpected and charming fashion, so abruptly and conclusively 
terminated. Thirdly she could doubtless be persuaded, in one way or another, to 
give me a first-hand account of the battle, at least in so far as it had swept 
in its courses about her.
Where is she? I asked Pumpkin.
Over there, behind that wagon, said Pumpkin. We put her there so that we 
would not have to look at her.
I regarded the Waniyanpi. I wondered why they were as they were.
Lift your skirts, I told them, to your waists, quickly.
They obeyed, shamed.
No, said Grunt. They are not castrated. It is done through the mind, through 
the training, through the Teaching.
Insidious, I said.
Yes, said Grunt.
You may lower your dresses, I told the Waniyanpi. Quickly they did so, 
smoothing them, blushing. I urged my kaiila toward the wagon, which Pumpkin had 
indicated.
17    The Slave
You! she cried, struggling to her feet.
I dismounted swiftly and easily, approaching her, from the kaiila.
Why is your kaiila quirt drawn? she asked.
I lashed her once, savagely, with the quirt, between the neck and shoulder, on 
the left side. I did not see any point in wasting time with her. Kneel, I 
said.
Swiftly she knelt, clumsily in the apparatus in which she had been confined. She 
looked up at me. There were tears, and wonder, in her eyes. It was the first 
time, perhaps, she had been thusly struck.
You do not avert your eyes from me, she said.
It would be difficult to do so, I admitted. I could no longer, then, pursue my 
business in haste, as I had intended. Her loveliness, simply, did not permit it. 
She was stunning. I stood before her, savoring her beauty.
Please, she protested, tears in her eyes.
I walked slowly about her.
She tossed, her head, to throw her hair forward, over her breasts.
I took her hair on, and lifted it, with the quirt, and threw it again behind her 
shoulders. She shuddered as the leather touched her body.
Again I regarded her.
How dare you look at me in that fashion? she asked.
You are beautiful, I explained.
You struck me, she chided.
Indeed, I said, your beauty might be adequate even for that of a slave.
Oh? she said.
Yes, I said. This was a high compliment, which I had paid to her.
You struck me, she said.
I slapped the kaiila quirt in my palm. Yes, I said.
You struck me as though I might have been a kaiila, or an animal, she said.
Yes, I sad..
I am free! she said.
You do not appear to be free, I said. She knelt before me, stark, naked. She 
wore an improvised girl-yoke. This consisted of a stout branch, about two inches 
thick, and some five feet in length, drilled at the center and near the 
extremities. It fits behind the back of the girls neck. A long, single thong of 
rawhide fastens the girl in place. Her left wrist is thonged and then the thong 
is passed through the drilled aperture in the left end of the yoke. Her wrist is 
pulled tight to the yoke. The same thong is then taken behind the yoke and 
passed through the center hole, whence, after having been knotted, to prevent 
slippage to the left, and having been looped about the girls neck, usually some 
five times, and having been knotted again, to prevent slippage to the right, it 
is returned through the same hole, whence it is taken behind the yoke to the 
hole drilled at the right-hand extremity of the apparatus. It is passed through 
that hole and then, of course, is used to fasten the girls right wrist in 
place, tightly against the yoke. When this action is completed then, as you can 
see, whole package is neatly tied. The knots near the throat in preventing 
slippage, serve two functions; they hold the girls wrists against the yoke and, 
at the same time, prevent vent any undue stress from being placed on the throat 
bands. The function of the throat bands is to hold the girls throat in the 
yoke, securely and perfectly, not to cause her discomfort, nor to strangle her. 
Gorean men are not fools in tying women. Longer yokes, such as this, 
incidentally, are commonly used for marches.
Confined as she is, with her arms extended, a girl can exert almost no leverage 
to free herself. Smaller yokes, some two to two and a half feet in length, 
similarly constructed, can be used for other purposes, such as enjoying a girl 
in the furs. Afterwards she can always be kenneled or chained. A soft, braided 
leather rope, a trade rope, cored with wire, some fifteen or twenty feet in 
length, was looped some five times about the girls left ankle, and tied, thence 
being run to the axle of the nearby wagon to which she was tethered. This is a 
useful sanitary provision as the girl, then, need not sit or lie too near to her 
own wastes. The wire coring in the rope, of course, tends to discourage the 
attempt to chew through the bond. Light chains, sheathed in silk, or satin or 
velvet, incidentally, have this utility as well, as well as their intrinsic 
strength, more than adequate for the securing of a female.
Three separate thongs, incidentally, two short and one long, are sometimes used 
for this type of securing of the female. In this way of doing things each wrist 
is tied in the center of one of the short thongs. The two free ends of the short 
thong are then taken back through the hole and, once through the hole, are 
simply knotted, heavily. This knot cannot, of course, be drawn back through the 
small-drilled hole by the girl. Her wrists are thus held in place. One end of 
the longer thong is taken through the center aperture and is that thong is then 
looped about the girls throat, usually, again, some five times, and then 
returned through the center aperture. Once through the aperture it is knotted 
together, heavily, with the other end of the thong. Again, of course, this knot, 
a heavy one, prevents the thongs from slipping back through the narrow aperture. 
The girls neck is thus held closely to the yoke. This, too, of course, is an 
effective way of securing a girl. Indeed, there is, in my opinion, normally 
little to choose from between these two yoke ties. Which is preferred may well 
depend on matters so trivial as the nature and lengths of the binding material 
available, for example, ropes, cordage, binding fiber, twisted silk, thongs or, 
straps. If there is a preference, perhaps it would be for the single-bond tie. 
It is stout, and, in its unity, aesthetically attractive. Second only to the 
absolute helplessness of the female in her ties, in the Gorean mind, is the 
attractiveness of her bonds. They should be used to enhance her beauty as well 
as to imprison it with absolute perfection.
These yoke ties, incidentally, are not to be confused with a stock tie, or a 
stock yoke. This is normally a pair of hinged planks, with matched, semicircular 
openings in the planks. The girls wrists and neck are placed appropriately 
between the planks, aligned with the semicircular openings. The planks are then 
closed and-tied or locked shut. Her neck and wrists, then, of course, 
helplessly, are fixed in place. They find themselves enclosed in effective and 
perfect constraints. is yoke is sometimes placed on a girl while she is on her 
back. If the planks are sufficiently wide the girl cannot see at the man is 
doing to her. She can only feel it. Similar sensations may be induced in a woman 
by putting her in a slave hood. She may then either be bound or not, as the 
master pleases.
Nonetheless, she said, I am free!
How do you know? I asked,
I am not branded, she said uncertainly.
You do not need to be branded to be a slave, I said. Surely you know that
Rescue me, she said. Free met I will pay you much!
I smiled. Did this lovely agent of Kurii really think that I might even consider 
freeing her?
Free me! she said. I will pay you much! Did you enjoy being struck? I 
asked.
No! she said.
You will then answer my questions truthfully, directly and early, I told her.
What do you wish to know? she asked. You are beautiful in the yoke, I said.
Thank you, she said, uncertainly.
It becomes you, I said.
Thank you, she whispered.
You might have been born a slave, I said. She looked at me. thank you, she 
said..
Describe to me, in brief compass, the course of the battle, I said.
I turned about for I had heard a small noise behind me. Several of the Waniyanpi 
had now come to the vicinity of the wagon.
I see you have found her, said Pumpkin.
Yes, 1 said. I noted that neither he, nor the other Waniyanpi, looked 
obviously and directly on the woman, though she was beautiful and bound. Was it 
you, I asked, tripped this beauty?
No, no, said Pumpkin, hastily. That was done by the masters.
It must have been you, then, I said, who yoked her, and prettily and well.
No, not said Pumpkin, hastily. That, too, was done by the red masters.
I see, I said. I had surmised, Of course, that it would not have been the 
Waniyanpi who had removed the womans clothing, or who had secured her, so 
simply, yet so efficiently and brilliantly.
We did, however, said Pumpkin, tether her behind the wagon, looking away from 
her as much as possible, that we would not have to look at her.
The red masters permitted this? I asked.
Yes, said Pumpkin. In amusement, they acceded to our pleas.
That was kind of them, I said.
Yes, said Pumpkin.
Describe to me the course of the battle, as you understand it, I said to the 
stripped, blond captive, giving her once again my attention.
Please, she said, who are these people? They do not even look at me. Am I so 
ugly or repulsive?
You are neither ugly nor repulsive, I said. In a common Gorean market you 
would bring a good price for a medium grade slave girl. Accordingly, you are 
quite beautiful.
Who are they? she whispered. Are they men?
They are called Waniyanpi, I said, which in Dust Leg and Kaiila means tame 
cattle.
Are they men? she asked.
That is an interesting question, I said. I do not know.
The girl shuddered. Of Gorean birth, she was unfamiliar, in numbers, at least, 
with such organisms. Had she been of Earth origin, of course, she would have 
been far less I startled, for then creatures would have been much more familiar 
to her. In the polluted meadows of Earth graze numerous Waniyanpi.
Begin, I told her.
We feared nothing, she said. Our forces, we believed, were invincible. We did 
not anticipate trouble. Surely it would be insanity to attack us. Insufficient 
pickets were put out. Watches were not well kept.
Go on, I said.
Ten days ago, today, as I have counted this, she said, the attack took place. 
It began near the eighth Ahn. The wagons had been aligned. The tharlarion were 
harnessed. A small group of red savages, mounted, was seen to the southeast. 
Alfred, captain of Port Olni, commanding two hundred riders, for sport as much 
as anything, rode forth to frighten them away. We climbed on the wagons to 
watch.
Alfred, of course, should not have personally commanded the excursion. That 
expedition, if it had been mounted at all, should have been led by a junior 
officer.
In a moment, then, behind us, suddenly, rising from the grass, on foot, 
screaming, brandishing weapons, there arose, it seemed, hundreds of savages. 
They had crawled to these positions through the grass. The grass seemed alive 
with them. They swept through the wagons. The most fearful things, I think, 
happened with the larger wagons, those with the families, to the west. They were 
almost defenseless. My own wagon was with the soldiers. In the southeast, then, 
rising from the gullies and draws, there suddenly seemed hundreds of riders. 
Alfred had been lured into a trap. He, suddenly finding himself disastrously 
outnumbered, wheeled about and, pursued, fled back to the wagons. I think he 
lost many men. When he reached our camp the wagons to the west were already 
aflame. He would not rush to their relief. He rallied his men and ordered a 
retreat to the north. It had been from this direction that the savages had 
attacked on foot.
What of the infantry? I asked.
It must fend for itself, she said.
I nodded. it was not difficult to follow Alfreds thinking. The savages on foot 
would not be able to stop the cavalry, and the pursuers from the south or 
southeast might be detained at the wagons. It was there, of course, that they 
would encounter the unsupported infantry.
Drivers leaped from the wagon boxes, fleeing for their lives, she said. I 
cried out. My own driver was nowhere to be seen. The tharlarion, frightened in 
the turmoil, hitched up, moved this way and that with the wagons, mostly toward 
the east, away from the smoke and noise. I lost my footing. I regained it, in 
the wagon. I could not stop the tharlarion. The reins were not in my grasp. I 
was dragged a quarter of a pasang before the wagon stopped, through soldiers, 
through wagons and other men. I saw one of the infantrymen kill a cavalryman, 
striking him from behind with his pike, and take his kaiila. Alfred turned his 
mounted forces to the north, but, to his dismay, he saw that his plan had been 
anticipated. From the north, now, and the west, came new swarms of mounted red 
savages.
I nodded. Certainly the savages would have anticipated an attempted escape in 
the sector where they had appeared to position what, in effect, was their 
temporary infantry. The planning that had gone into the attack revealed 
intelligent and careful thought. In particular the placement and timing the 
attacks showed a fine sense for what might be the likely directions and phases 
of a battles development. Tactical instructions in a melee, incidentally, are 
normally administered to the red savages, in their units, commonly warrior 
societies, or divisions of such societies, by blasts on a whistle, formed from 
the wing bone of the taloned Herlit, or movements of a long, feathered battle 
staff.
Confused men swept about my wagon. I saw Alfred, turning about, wheeling this 
way and that, on his kaiila. I put out my hand to him. I cried out to him. He 
looked at me, but then paid me no attention. Infantrymen, here and there, were 
fighting cavalrymen for their mounts. The cavalrymen, cursing, slashed down at 
them. The savages from the south and southeast bad struck against the lines of 
infantrymen with their lances. The lines had held.
I nodded, encouraging her to speak. Gorean infantry, with staggered lines and 
fixed pikes, their butts anchored in the earth, could usually turn an attack of 
light cavalry.
I cried out again to Alfred, but he paid me no attention, she said.
The red savages, I speculated, would have been surprised that they had been 
unable to force their way, through the infantry lines. Such lines, of course, 
can usually be outflanked.
Men seemed everywhere, she said. There was the clash of arms, the squealing 
of kaiila. The savages now from the north and west swept through the wagons. 
Some passed within feet of me. Some were naked, none seemed to wear more than 
the breechclout. They screamed hideously. They were covered with paint, and 
their mounts, too. Feathers were in their hair, and tied, too, in the silken 
hair of their beasts. I saw a mans brains struck out not more than a few feet 
from me.
What of the beasts from your own wagons, I asked, those who can bear arms, who 
can go on two feet when they chooser
She looked up at me.
I know of them, I said. Speak. I slapped the quirt solidly into my palm. I 
would not have had the least compunction in laying it liberally to the beauty of 
my fair interlocutress.
She seemed frighten
How many of them were there? I asked.
Seventeen, she said.
What became of them? I asked.
When the battle began they emerged from their wagons,* she said. Some killed 
some of the men about, even our own soldiers, who did not know what they were. 
Some fought savages. Some were slain by savages. Some, in a small group, 
together, made their way northward, through the fighting. The savages seemed, on 
the whole, reluctant to attack them.
How many escaped? I asked.
I do not know, she said. Perhaps seven, perhaps eight.
This report seemed congruent with what I had learned from Pumpkin and the 
Waniyanpi and with my own conjectures.
Continue, I said to the girl.
Taking advantage of the confusion, momentary, among the red savages, following 
their failure to break the line of the infantry, Alfred ordered his men through 
his own infantry lines, and led them again to the southeast. His action 
disrupted the infantry, trampling soldiers, buffeting them aside the red savages 
then poured through the breached line. Some perhaps pursued the escaping column 
but most, I think, remained to finish their battle with the infantry, with which 
they were then, following the escape of Alfred, much embroiled.
Too, I said, they would presumably not wish to give the Infantry a chance to 
reform, to close, its lines again and set up a solid perimeter.
She shrugged. Perhaps not, she whispered. Then it seemed, again, that all 
about me were hurtling kaiila and screaming savages, and paint and feathers.
These were doubtless the concerted forces of the red savages, I said, being 
applied to the destruction of the infantry
I think so, she said.
Were there any survivors? I asked.
I do not think so, she said.
Alfred made good his escaper I asked.
I think so, she said.
How many men did he have with him? I asked.
I do not know, she said. Perhaps three hundred, perhaps four hundred.
What did you do? I asked.
I lay down in the wagon, and hid, she said. They found me later, in the 
afternoon, after the battle. Two men pulled me forth from the wagon bed. They 
thrust back my veils and hood. I was thrown to my knees on the grass and one of 
the men held my wrists, crossed, before my body. The other drew back a heavy 
club, the termination of which contained a heavy, wooden, ball-like knob. They 
were preparing, apparently, to dash out my brains. A word was spoken. The men 
stepped back. I looked up to see a tall savage, mounted astride a kaiila. It was 
he who had spoken. He motioned for me to rise and, unsteadily, terrified, I did 
so. These men were all hideous, and fearful, in their paint and feathers. He 
said another word and, in a moment, I had been stripped before him, absolutely 
naked. He then leaned down from the back of the beast and pointed to its 
forepaws. I shrank back, frightened. He said another word and again, suddenly, I 
was much as I had been before, only now stripped, kneeling on the grass, my 
hands crossed and held before me by one man, the other readying his club to 
strike out my brains. No, no, I cried, please, no! The man on the kaiila 
again spoke, and again I was released. Once more he pointed to the forepaws of 
his kaiila. She shuddered. She stopped speaking. There were tears in her eyes. 
I saw that it would be difficult for her to continue.
Yes? I said.
Must I continue? she asked.
Yes, I said. I did not see fit to show mercy to her. She was a slave.
This time, she said, I crawled to them on my belly. I put down my head. I 
kissed the beasts paws. I licked and sucked them. I cleaned them of dirt and 
dust with my teeth, even the nails.
Excellent, I said.
She looked at me, dismayed.
Yes, I said, excellent.
She put down her head.
The woman, of course, had been being assessed for slavery. First, she had been 
stripped. In this, once the garments and the tiresome robes of concealment, had 
been removed from her, once she had been exposed to the view of masters, fully, 
it had been determined that her face and figure, in themselves, did not militate 
against the plausibility of her being imbonded; they were desirable enough, 
other things being equal, to be of interest to men. They were good enough, other 
things being equal, to own. There are many beautiful women, of course. Beauty, 
strictly, is not even a necessary condition for bondage, let alone a sufficient 
condition for it. Many women, in fact, do not even become beautiful, truly 
beautiful, until after they have been collared.
In the second portion of her test, she had been commanded. On her knees, 
stripped, held, the club being lifted, she had become aware of the consequences 
of failing this second portion of her test. She had then, in effect, petitioned 
that this second portion of her test be readministered to her. She had begged 
then, in effect, to be given a second chance to prove her suitability for 
slavery. This chance, in the mercy of her captors, had been given to her. She 
had crawled to the paws of the savages kaiila and there, on her belly, cleaned 
them with her tongue and mouth. This was a behavior suitable for a slave, even 
one who was not, at the moment, desperately striving to save her own life. Her 
performance at the paws of the kaiila had apparently been adjudged adequate by 
the savages. She knelt now before me, alive.
The significance of the test is clear. In performing such intimate acts, and on 
the mere beast of the master, the humbled suppliant, the captured girl, 
acknowledges to both herself and others, nonrepudiably and publicly, that she is 
proposing herself as a serious candidate for bondage, that she is begging to be 
enslaved. Too, of course, such performances give the master an opportunity to 
observe the touch, the sensitivity, the techniques and skill of the girl. If she 
cannot even function at the paws of a kaiila what should one expect in ones own 
furs? If she cannot even do well with an animal, what reason is there to expect 
that she could do better with a man? The most significant aspect of this test, 
of course, is that it gives masters a means for determining not only or not the 
girl is truly begging to be enslaved but, more importantly, whether or not she 
is, truly, a slave. No girl is regarded as having passed this test who has not, 
in her performances, made it clear to all, save perhaps herself, that it is 
truly a slave who lies at the paws of the kaiila. This revelation becomes 
manifest through subtle behavioral cues, usual physical, but sometimes verbal, 
as well.
I regarded the woman kneeling before me. That her brains had not been dashed out 
by the club of the savage indicated to me not only that she had, intimately and 
lengthily, in her performances, petitioned to be enslaved, but that she had, in 
these same performances, proved herself a slave. I wondered if she knew that she 
was a slave. I surmised that she still thought herself free. This delusion could 
always be dispelled at the convenience of a master. In the beginning, 
incidentally, the cues, which reveal slavery in a woman, can sometimes be 
subtle. Later, of course, as she grows in her slavery, as she realizes that her 
deepest and most profound nature may not only be revealed, but must be revealed, 
that it is not only permissible to reveal her womanhood, but that it must be 
revealed, and fully, she, in accord with this liberation, undergoes a marvelous 
transformation; she tends to become vital and sensuous, and loving, and happy. 
This is a beautiful transformation to see in a woman. Happy is he who has a 
slave.
After your performances, I said, Doubtless you expected to be well and 
lengthily ravished.
Yes, she said, almost from the first moment I felt the warm grass under my 
belly, almost from the first moment I put my mouth to the paws of that beast
And were you? I asked.
No, she said, angrily. I was bound, and given to these people.
I see, I said. I had thought that it would be so.
Do not fear, said Pumpkin to the stripped beauty, kneeling in the primitive 
yoke, well fastened in it, your trials and tribulations, your embarrassments, 
your hardships, your miseries, will soon be over.
Do not slay me, she begged.
That may be done to you, if Masters wish, I told her.
She turned white. I saw that, on some level, she understood that she was a 
slave.
But you are very fortunate, said one of the Waniyanpi.
The masters have seen fit to show you mercy, said another.
At least for the time, said another.
Masters? she asked.
Your masters, and ours, said Pumpkin, Bondwoman.
Bondwoman! she cried, struggling in the yoke. But she did not try to rise to 
her feet. I think this was because I was present.
Yes, said Pumpkin.
We are going to call her Turnip, said one of Waniyanpi.
I am a free woman, she cried. I am the Lady Mira, the City of Venna!
I smiled to myself. How naive seemed the kneeling slave, Turnip.
By the instructions of our masters, said Pumpkin, you are to be taken as you 
are, yoked and unclothed, to the con pound
Compound? she asked.
Yes, Garden Eleven, our home, said Pumpkin.
You will be happy there, said one of the Waniyanpi.
We all are, insisted another.
Unfortunately, said Pumpkin, you are to be taken there on a tether, marched 
across the grasslands, without clothing and in your yoke, much as might be any 
common Gorean slave, whose slavery is being impressed upon her.
And, doubtlessly, she said, acidly, I will give you much pleasure on the 
trek.
We will look forward to the pleasure of your company, said one of them.
I see, she said.
I do not think you do, I said, at least as yet.
Do not fear, said Pumpkin. You will be treated, at times, with total dignity 
and respect.
We will not even look at you, at least not directly, said another.
That is, said another, until your shame has been covered.
Shame? asked the girl.
Your beauty, your prettiness, explained another.
Not all the Sames, those who have the unimportant and negligible property of 
femaleness, are as -- healthy appearing as you, said another.
Thus you might make them feel that they were not the same as you, or that you 
were not the same as they, said another.
They would not like that, said another.
It is shameful not to make people feel they are the same, said another.
Because everyone is the same, really, said another, of course.
Of course, said another.
Too, said Pumpkin, it can trouble the Sames who have the unimportant and 
negligible property of maleness. It may make them have certain kinds of 
feelings.
Not me, said one of the Waniyanpi.
Nor I, said another. I never have such feelings.
But not all of us, said Pumpkin, are as strong and good as Carrot and 
Cabbage.
I myself, said another, can look on such things and not have the least 
feeling.
A chorus of admiration thrilled the Waniyanpi.
Nor as Beans, said Pumpkin. But for some of us your healthy appearance can be 
extremely disturbing.
It makes me sick, said another.
It makes me ill, too, to look upon it, said another. I threw up when first I 
saw it.
Good, said another fellow.
It disturbs me, said another fellow. I admit that it is
An honest confession, said Pumpkin. You are to be congratulated on your 
candor and veracity. The next task is to seek improvement.
Yes, said the fellow who had spoken, contritely. Perhaps if I were permitted 
to look upon it more often I might manage to steel myself against it.
Plunge rather into arduous, time-consuming, mind-occupying labors, said 
Pumpkin.
And bathe often in cold streams, advised another.
The fellow looked down. I did not blame him. I myself did not relish bathing in 
cold streams. I preferred warm baths, being attended by a beautiful female 
slave. After all, should a free man be expected to apply his own oils, scrape 
the dirt from his own skin with the strigil and towel himself?
You see, said Pumpkin to the captured girl, your appearance, even if it were 
not so healthy looking. perhaps, can cause some of us to think certain thoughts 
and have certain feelings. It can even bring about movements in our bodies. This 
makes it harder to be Sames. And it is shameful not to be Sames.
For we are Sames, said another. Everyone knows that.
And thus it is, said Pumpkin, that your appearance can cause shame, and as it 
causes shame, it must be shameful.
Too, said another, it can distract from truly important things.
Such as being Sames, said another.
Yes, said Pumpkin.
The girl shuddered, convinced perhaps that she was in the presence of lunatics. 
Madness is an interesting concept. As some define it, it is a function of the 
social conventions obtaining at a given time. In the country of the mad, thusly 
only the sane will be accounted insane. Acquiescence to con temporary 
axiological conventions, of course is not the only possible conceptual approach 
to such matters. Another approach might be to envision a world compatible with 
reality and congenial to human nature, a world in which science even social 
science, might be free, a world in which truth would not be against the law, a 
world designed not for the crippling, distortion and torture of humanity but for 
its fulfillment
But do not fear, said Pumpkin to the girl, for, soon when we reach the 
compound, you will be decently clothed.
Like you? she asked. She regarded the long, gray, coarse, clumsy dresses on 
the Waniyanpi with distaste.
These garments help us to suppress our desires and keel us humble, said one of 
the Waniyanpi.
We are reminded by them that we are all Sames, said another.
That we all, when all is said and done, said another, an naught but 
Waniyanpi.
This seemed to make sense to me. The human being has tendency to be consistent, 
no matter from what eccentric premises he may begin. He will normally behave in 
a way accordingly, that befits his clothing. This is perhaps the deeper sense of 
the English expression that clothing makes the man.
Better to be stripped and have a string of hide tied on ones neck! said the 
girl, angrily.
What is done to those in your compound who are not the same? I asked.
We attempt to convert them, said one of the men.
We plead with them. We reason with them  said another.
And what if you cannot convince them of the glories of sameness? I asked.
We then drive them out, into the Barrens, to die, said another.
It grieves us to do so, said another.
But it must be done, said another.
The contagion of their heresy must not be permitted to Infect others, said 
another.
The good of the whole must take precedence over the good of the parts, said 
another.
You kill them?. I asked.
No! cried one.
We cannot kill! said another.
It is against the Teaching, said another.
But you banish them, on the supposition that they will perish in the Barrens, 
I said.
Thusly, it is the Barrens which kills them, not us, said another.
We are thus innocent, said another.
Such banishment is acceptable to the Teaching? I asked.
Of course, said another. How else is the compound to be ridded of them?
You must understand, said another, it does not please us to do that sort of 
thing.
It is done only after every other alternative has been exhausted, said 
another.
Difference strikes at the root of sameness, said another. Sameness is 
essential to civilization itself. Difference, thus, threatens society and 
civilization itself.
It must thus be eradicated, said another.
There is, thus, only one value, one virtue? I asked.
Yes, said another.
One is one, said another, profoundly, self-identical and the same.
Sixteen is sixteen, too, I said.
But sixteen is only sixteen times one, and thus all reduces to one, which is 
one, said another.
What about one-half and one-half? I asked.
They add up to one, said another.
What about one-third and one-third, then? I asked.
Each of those is but one number, said another, and, thus, each is one, and 
one is one.
What of the diversity you see about you, I asked, say, of kaiila and sleen?
One kaiila and one sleen are both one, which is one, said another fellow.
What about zero and one? I asked.
Zero is one number and one is one number, and thus each is one, and one is 
one, said another.
What about nothing and one? I asked.
One is one, and nothing is nothing, said another, so one is left with one, 
which is one.
But you would have at least one nothing, wouldnt you? I asked.
Nothing is either nothing or one, said another. If it is nothing, then it is 
nothing. If it is one, then it is one, and on is one, said another.
Thus, all is the same, said another.
You are spouting total gibberish, I said. Are you aware of that?
To the unenlightened profundity often appears gibberish, said another.
Indeed, said another, and to some who have lost the enlightenment it can 
also appear gibberish.
The more absurd something seems, the more likely it is to be true, said 
another.
That seems absurd, I said.
And, thus, said the fellow, it, in itself, by the same proof, is shown most 
likely to be true.
Is that supposed to be self-evident? I asked.
Yes, said another.
It is not self-evident to me, I said.
That is not the fault of its self-evidence, said another.
You cannot blame its self-evidence for that.
Something which is self-evident to one person may not be self-evident to 
another, said another fellow.
How can it be self-evident to one and not to another? asked.
One may be more talented in the detecting of self-evidence than another, said 
another.
How do you distinguish between what merely seems self evident and that which is 
truly self-evident? I asked.
The Priest-Kings would not deceive us, said another.
How do you know? I asked.
That is self-evident, said another.
Have you ever been mistaken about what is self-evident?
Yes, frequently, said Pumpkin.
How do you explain that? I asked.
We are weak, and frail, he said.
We are only Waniyanpi, said another.
I regarded Pumpkin.
To be sure, he said, There is a place for faith in all of this.
A rather large place, I conjecture, I said.
Large enough, he said.
How large is that? I asked.
Large enough to protect the Teaching, he said. _,I thought so, I said.
One must believe something, said Pumpkin.
Why not experiment with the truth? I said.
We already believe the truth, said one of the fellows about.
How do you know? I asked.
The Teaching tells us, said another.
You must understand, said another, that we do not like putting people out to 
die. It makes us very sorry to do this. On the occasions of expulsion we often 
eat a meal in silence, and weep bitter tears into our gruel.
I am sure it is a touching sight, I said.
Pumpkin looked down toward the girl. He did not look directly at her, but she 
knew herself to be the object of his attention, indirect though that attention 
might have been.
Teach me your Teaching, she said. I want to be a Same.
Wonderful, said Pumpkin. He almost reached out to touch her, so pleased he 
was, but suddenly, fearfully, he drew back his hand. He blushed. There was sweat 
on his forehead.
Excellent, said more than one of the Waniyanpi
You will not regret it, said another.
You will love being a Same, said another. It is the only thing to be, said 
another.
When we reach the vicinity of the compound, said Pumpkin, and you are unbound 
and properly clothed, in suitable Waniyanpi garb, you will lead us all through 
the am
Rate preceding us, this thus attesting to your honor amongst us and the respect 
in which you are held.
I shall look forward eagerly to my reception into the compound,  said the 
girl.
And so, too, shall we, welcome citizen, said Pumpkin.
He then turned to the others. We must now return to our work, he said. There 
is refuse to be gathered and debris to be burned.
When the Waniyanpi had filed away, taking their leave, I turned to regard the 
girl.
They are mad, she said, mad, squirming in the yoke.
Perhaps, I said. I suppose it is a matter of definition.
Definition? she said.
If the norms of sanity are social norms, I said, by definition, the norm is 
sane.
Even if the society is totally misrelated to reality? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Even if they think they are all urts, or lizards or clouds?
I gather so, I said, and in such a society the one who does not think that he 
is an urt, or, say, a lizard or a cloud, would be accounted insane.
And would be insane? she asked.
On that definition, I said.
That is a preposterous definition, she said.
Yes, I admitted.
I do not accept it, she said.
Nor do I, I admitted.
Surely there can be a better, she said.
I would hope so, I said, one that was framed with a closer regard for 
empirical reality, the actual nature of human beings, and such.
Someone is insane, she said, who believes false things.
But we all, doubtless, believe many false things, I said
Theoretically a society could believe numerous false propositions and still, in 
normal senses of the word, be regarded as sane, if, in many respects, a mistaken 
society.
What if a society is mistaken, and takes pains to avoid rectifying its errors, 
what if it refuses, in the light of evidence, to correct its mistakes?
Evidence can usually be explained away or reinterpreted to accord with 
treasured beliefs, I said. I think it is usually a matter of degree. Perhaps 
when the belief simply becomes too archaic, obsolete and unwieldy to defend, 
when it becomes simply preposterous and blatantly irrational to seriously 
continue to defend it, then, perhaps if one still compulsively, to defend it, 
one might speak of sanity.
I should think so, she said.
But even then, I said, other concepts might be more fruitful, such as radical 
obstinacy or institutionalized irrationality.
Why? she asked.
Because of the vagueness of the concept of insanity  I said, and its often 
implicit reference to statistical norms. For example, an individual who believed 
in, say, magic, assuming that sense could be made of that concept, in a society, 
which believed in magic, would not normally be accounted insane. Similarly, such 
a society, though it might be regarded as being deluded, would not, in all 
likelihood, be regarded as insane.
What if there were such a thing as magic? she asked.
That society, then, would simply be correct, I said.
What of these people who were just here? she asked. Are they not insane?
By carefully chosen definitions, I suppose we could define them into sanity or 
into insanity, depending on whether we approved of them or not, but it is 
difficult to derive satisfaction from victories which are achieved by the cheap 
device of surreptitiously altering a conceptual structure.
I think they are mad, insane, she said.
They are at least mistaken, I said, and, in many respects are different from 
us.
She shuddered.
The most pernicious beliefs, I said, are not actually beliefs at all, but, 
better put, pseudobeliefs. The pseudobelief is not assailable by evidence or 
reason, even theoretically. Its security from refutation is the result of its 
cognitive vacuity. It cannot be refuted for, saying nothing, nothing can be 
produced, even in theory, which could count against it. Such a belief is not 
strong, but empty. Ultimately it is little more, if anything, than a 
concatenation of words, a verbal formula. Men often fear to inquire into their 
nature. They tuck them away, and then content themselves with other concerns. 
Their anchors, they fear, are straw; their props, they fear, are reeds. Truth is 
praised, and judiciously avoided. Is this not human cleverness. at its most 
remarkable? Who knows in what way the sword of truth will cut? Some men, it 
seems, would rather die for their beliefs than analyze them. I guess that it 
must be a very frightening thing to inquire into ones beliefs. So few people do 
it. Sometimes one grows weary of blood-stained
twaddle. Battles of formulas, you see, as nothing can count against them, are 
too often decided by wounds and iron. Some men, we have noted, are willing to 
die for their beliefs. Even larger numbers, it seems, are willing to kill for 
them.
It is not unknown for men to fight for false treasures, she said.
That is true, I said.
But, in the end, she said, I do not think that the battles are fought for the 
formulas.
I regarded her.
They are only standards and flags, carried into battle, she said, stimulatory 
to the rabble, useful to the elite.
Perhaps you are right, I said. I did not know. Human motivation is commonly 
complex. That she had responded as she had, however, whether she was right or 
wrong, reminded me that she was an agent of Kurii. Such folk commonly see things 
in terms of women, gold and power. I grinned down at her. This agent, stripped 
and in her yoke, was well neutralized before me. She was no longer a player in 
the game; she was now only a prize in it.
Do not look at me like that, she said.
I am not of the Waniyanpi, I said, Female.
Female! she said.
You had best begin to think of yourself in such terms, I said.
She twisted, angrily, in the yoke. Then she looked up at me. Free me, she 
demanded.
No, I said.
I will pay you much, she said.
No, I said.
You could take me from these fools, she said.
I suspect so, I said.
Then carry me off with you, she said.
Do you beg to be carried off? I asked.
Yes, she said.
If I did so, I said, it would be as a slave.
Oh, she said.
Do you still beg to be carried off? I inquired.
Yes, she said.
As a surrendered slave, I asked, a total and abject slave?
Yes! she said.
No, I said.
No? she said.
No, I said.
Take me with you, she begged.
I am going to leave you precisely where you are, I said,
my lovely mercenary.
Mercenary? she said. I am not a mercenary! I am the Lady Mira of Venna, of 
the Merchants!
I smiled.
She shrank back on her heels. What do you know of me she asked. What are you 
doing in the Barrens? Who are you?
You look well in the yoke, I said.
Who are you? she said.
A traveler, I said.
You are going to leave me here, like this? she asked.
Yes, I said.
I do not want to go to a compound of these people, she said. They are insane, 
all of them.
But you begged to be taken to their compound, I said to be taught their 
Teaching.
I did not want to die, she said. I did not want to be put out to die.
You had best pretend well to believe their teaching, said. They would not, 
most likely, look lightly on being deceived in this respect.
I do not want to live a life of hypocrisy, she said.
Doubtless many live such a life in the compound of the Waniyanpi, I said.
Should I try to believe their absurdities? she asked.
It might be easier on you, if you could, I said.
But I am not a fool, she said.
To be sure, I said, it is easiest to subscribe to odd beliefs when they have 
been inculcated in childhood. The trenchment of eccentric beliefs is commonly 
perpetrated most successfully on the innocent and defenseless, even more 
successfully than on the ignorant and desperate.
I am afraid of them, she said.
They will treat you with dignity and respect, I said, as a Same.
Better a collar in the cities, she said, better to be abused and sold from a 
public platform, better to be a slave girl fearful and obedient at the feet of 
her master.
Perhaps, I said.
I am afraid of them, she
Why? I asked.
Did you not see how they would not look at me? I am afraid they will make me 
ashamed of my own body.
In all things, I said, remember that you are beautiful.
Thank you, she whispered.
To be sure, the danger of which she spoke was quite real. It was difficult for 
ones values not to be affected by the values of those about them. Even the 
marvelous beauties and profundities of human sexuality, I knew, incredibly 
enough, in some environments tended to trigger bizarre reactions of anxiety, 
embarrassment and shame. To the average Gorean such reactions would seem 
incomprehensible. Perhaps such environments, apart from semantic might simply be 
regarded, if any, as insane. How tragic, in particular, it is, to see such 
reactions being absorbed by children.
Do you truly think I am beautiful? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Then take me with you, she begged.
No, I said.
You would leave me with them? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Why? she asked.
It amuses me, I said.
Tarsk! she cried.
I held the quirt before her face. You may kiss it, I told her, or be beaten 
with it.
She kissed the quirt, the supple, slim leather.
Again, I told her, lingeringly.
She complied. Then she looked up at me. You called me a mercenary, she said.
I was wrong, I said. You are only a former mercenary.
And what am I now? she asked.
Surely you can guess, I said.
No! she said.
Yes, I assured her.
She struggled in the yoke, unavailingly. I am helpless she said.
Yes, I said.
She straightened her body. She tossed her head. If you took me with you, she 
said, I would doubtless be your slave.
Totally, I told her.
It is fortunate for me, then, she said, that I will accompany the Waniyanpi 
to their camp. There I will be free.
The Waniyanpi are all slaves, I told her, slaves of the red savages.
Do the savages live in the compounds? she asked.
Not normally, I said. They normally leave the Waniyanpi much alone. They do 
not much care, I think, to be around them.
Then, for most practical purposes, she said, They are slaves without 
masters.
Perhaps, I said.
Then I, too, would be a slave without a master, she said.
For most practical purposes, for most of the time, I suppose, I said. The 
Waniyanpi, incidentally, are owned by tribes, not individuals. Their slavery, 
thus, is somewhat remote and impersonal. That one is owned by a collectivity, of 
course, may obscure ones slavery but, in the final analysis, it does not alter 
it. Some slaves believe they are not
cause their masters tell them so.
That is the best sort of slave to be, she said, one without a master.
Is it? I asked. Lonely and unfulfilled is the slave without a master.
When I was taken prisoner, she said, I feared I would be made a slave, a true 
slave. I feared a tether would be-put on my neck and I would be ran to the camp 
of a master, sweating at the lathered flank of his kaiila, that there I would be 
his, to be dressed, and worked and used as he pleased. I feared that hard labors 
and degradation would be mine. I feared that a beaded collar would be tied on my 
neck. I feared that I would be subject to ropes and whips, unsparingly applied 
if I were in the least bit unpleasing. Mostly I feared being alone with him in 
his lodge, where I must, at his smallest indication, serve him intimately, and 
abjectly and lengthily, as his least whim might dictate, with the full 
attentiveness and services of the female slave. You can imagine my terrors at 
the mere thought of finding myself so helplessly belonging to a man, so 
helplessly in his power, so helplessly subject to his mastery and domination.
Of course, I said.
And so it is, she said, that I rejoice that I am to be spared all that. I am 
astonished at my good fortune. How foolish were the red savages to be so lenient 
with me!
They am not fools, I said. I
They took other girls, she said, I heard, to their camps.
Yes, I said.
That was not done with me, she said.
No, I said.
They spared me, she said.
Did they? I asked.
I do not understand, she said.
You were found with the soldiers, I said. I then turned from her and mounted 
the kaiila.
Yes? she asked.
The other girls were simply made slaves, I said. They will now have the honor 
of serving worthy masters.
And I? she asked.
You, being found with the soldiers, I said, and obviously a personage of some 
importance, were singled out for punishment.
Punishment? she asked.
Yes, I said. Indeed, I thought to myself, how much the red savages must hate 
the soldiers, and those with them, and how subtle and insidious they had been.
But I am to be respected and accorded dignity, she said, kneeling below me in 
the grass, in her yoke. I am to be sent to live with Waniyanpi!
That is your punishment, I said. I then turned the kaiila about, and left her 
behind me, in the grass, in her yoke.
18    Cuwignaka; Sleen, Yellow Knives and Kaiila
This is the lad of whom the Waniyanpi spoke, said Grunt. I joined my party on 
the crest of a small rise, at the eastern edge of the field of battle. He was 
some twenty years of age, naked, and staked out in the grass. Near him, on a 
lance thrust butt down in the turf, there was wound a white cloth. This marked 
the place in the grass where he had been secured. I did not understand, at that 
time, the significance of this form of marker, nor of. the cloth.
Is this the fellow you thought it might be? asked Grunt.
Yes, I said, looking down at the young man. He is the one who was with the 
column. He was not now chained. His chains had been removed. He was now secured 
in a fashion more familiar to the Barrens.
He is Dust Leg, said Grunt.
I do not think so, I said. Do you speak Gorean? I asked him.
The young man opened his eyes, and then closed them.
I have spoken Dust Leg to him, and Kaiila, and some Fleer, said Grunt. He 
does not respond.
Why? I asked.
We are white, said Grunt.
He is not in good condition, I said.
I do not think he will last much longer, said Grunt. The Waniyanpi, doubtless 
by instruction, have given him little in the way of water or sustenance.
I nodded. They were to keep him alive until they left the field, as I recalled. 
Then he was to be left to die. I glanced from the rise back down into the 
shallow declivity between the low, grassy hills. I could see the Waniyanpi 
there, gathering and piling debris. I could see the remains of some wagons, too, 
and that behind which I had left the girl in the yoke.
Do not consider interfering, said Grunt.
I went to my pack kaiila and fetched a verrskin water bag. It was half full.
He is in the care of the Waniyanpi, said Grunt.
I bent down beside the lad, and put one hand gently behind his head. He opened 
his eyes, looking at me. I think it took him some moments to focus.
He is in the care of the Waniyanpi, said Grunt.
He does not seem to me well cared for, I said.
Do not interfere, said Grunt.
His body shows signs of dehydration, I said. I had seen this sort of thing in 
the Tahari. I had, from my own experience, some inkling of the suffering which 
could accompany this sort of deprivation.
Do not, said Grunt.
Gently, cradling it partly in my arm, I lifted the water bag. The liquid moved 
inside the leather.
The lad took some of the water into his mouth and I withdrew the bag. He looked 
at me. Then, suddenly, with hatred, he turned his head to the side and spat out 
the water into the grass. He then lay back again, as he had before, his eyes 
closed. I stood up.
Leave him, said Grunt.
He is proud, I said, proud, like a warrior.
It would have done nothing anyway, said Grunt, but prolong his agony.
What is the significance of this lance, I asked, with the cloth wound about 
it?
It is a warriors lance, said Grunt. Do you not see what the cloth is?
It is part of the loot from the wagon train, it seems, I said. The cloth was 
white. It did not seem to be trade cloth.
You are probably right, said Grunt. But do you not see what it is?
I looked more closely. It is a womans dress, I said.
Yes, said Grunt.
I returned to the pack kaiila, and restored the water bag to its place.
We must be on our way, said Grunt, nervously. There have been Waniyanpi 
about, from various compounds, he said.
I recalled that we had obtained this information earlier from the Waniyanpi with 
whom we had conversed. Then, too, this had seemed to disturb Grunt. Its 
significance, as I now recognize, was clear. Interestingly, at the time, I did 
not fully appreciate its import.
What are you doing! said Grant.
We cannot leave him here like this, I said. I crouched beside the lad, my 
knife drawn.
Do not kill him, said Grunt. That is the business of the prairie, of thirst, 
of hunger, or roving sleen.
Stop! said Grunt.
My knife was at the leather thongs binding the lads left ankle to its stake.
You understand nothing of the Barrens, said Grunt. Leave him alone. Do not 
interfere!
We cannot leave him here like this, I said.
The Waniyanpi would have done so  said Grunt.
I am not of the Waniyanpi, I said.
See the lance, the dress, said Grunt.
What are their significance? I asked.
He did not support his comrades in arms, said Grunt. He did not join them on 
the warpath.
I see, I said. He who refuses to fight, of course, permits others to do his 
fighting for him. He lets others take the risks, sometimes grievous and 
perilous, which it is his duty to accept and share. Why are others less special 
and precious than he? The moral stature of such an individual I leave to the 
conjecture of others. The heinous exploitation of others implicit in such a 
behavior, incidentally, seems seldom to have been noticed. All things 
considered, it does not really take much courage to be a coward. Such a 
behavior, generalized, of course, means the destruction of the community. Thus, 
paradoxically, only in a community of the brave can the coward thrive. His very 
prosperity he owes to the community he betrays.
But the lance is not broken, I said.
No, said Grunt.
Of what tribe is the lance? I asked.
Kaiila, he said. This may be told by the binding, and by the lateral red 
marks near the head of the shaft.
I see, I said.
My knife then finished cutting the thongs at the lads left ankle.
I then went to the thongs at his right ankle.
Stop, said Grunt.
No, I said.
I heard the cable of a crossbow being drawn above and behind me. It was then 
fixed in place. The quarrel was then laid in the guide.
Will you truly loose your shaft at me? I asked Grunt, not turning about.
Do not force me to fire, he said.
We cannot leave him here like this, I said.
I do not wish to fire, said Grunt.
Do not fear, I told him. You will not do so.
I heard the quarrel removed from the guide, and the cables surcease of tension.
We cannot leave him here like this  I said.
I then went to the thongs on the boys left wrist.
Your friend must care for you deeply, he said, in Gorean. He did not kill 
you.
You speak Gorean, I smiled.
You are fortunate to have such a friend, said the lad.
Yes, I said.
Do you know what you am doing? asked the lad.
Probably not, I said.
I did not take the warpath, he said.
Why not? I asked.
I had no quarrel with the Fleer, he said.
That is between you and your people, I said.
Do not free me, he said.
My knife paused.
Why not? I asked.
I have not been staked out in order to be freed, he said.
I did not respond to this. Then my knife finished cutting through the thongs on 
his left wrist. in a moment I had through the thongs, too, at his right wrist.
I am a slave, he said. Now I am your slave.
No, I said. You are free.
Free? he asked.
Yes, I said. I free you. You are free.
Free? he asked, numbly.
Yes, I said.
He rolled to his side, scarcely able to move. I stood up, and sheathed my knife.
Now you have done it, said Grunt, glumly.
You knew we could not simply leave him here like that I said.
I? asked Grunt.
Yes, I said.
Why else would you have come to hill?
Do you think I am weak? he asked.
No, I said. I think you are strong.
We are fools, he said.
Why? I asked.
Look. he said.
Approaching from three directions were groups of mounted warriors, some fifteen 
or twenty in each group, lofty on their kaiila, barbarous in their paint and 
feathers.
Sleen, and Yellow Knives, said Grunt, and Kaiila, too.
You are Kaiila, arent you? I asked the lad.
Yes, said he. I had thought he would be. I did not think that Dust Legs, from 
whom he had been purchased by whites, near the Ihanke, would have sold one of 
their own tribe into slavery. The lance near him, too, that about which was 
wound the white dress, was, according to Grunt, a lance from that tribe. It was 
Kaiila, thus, presumably, who had fastened him down.
I feared this, said Grunt. There were several groups of Waniyanpi about. We 
heard that. Naturally, then, keepers for them would be in the vicinity, in 
force. We saw smoke coming to this place. Too, to the southeast, now, there is 
smoke.
Yes, I said, now noticing it.
That is camp smoke, said Grunt, cooking for the evening meal.
I nodded. I now, for the first time, fully, understood Grunts earlier noticed 
lack of ease.
Surely we have broken no law, I said.
They have superior advantages in numbers and arms, said Grunt. I do not think 
they need more law than that.
And you have freed me, said the lad, sitting on the grass rubbing his wrists 
and ankles. I was surprised that he could sit up.
You are strong, I observed.
I am Kaiila, he said.
Surely there is no law to the effect that you should not be freed, I said.
There is no law specifically to that effect, he said, but would not count on 
their being much pleased about it.
I can understand that, I said. Scanning, I noted the approaching groups of 
riders. I counted fifty-one riders, in all.
If there were such a law, asked the youth, would you have broken it?
Yes, I said.
The nearest are Sleen, said Grunt. Those to the south are Yellow Knives. From 
the east approach Kaiila.
The lad tried to climb to his feet, but fell. Then, again, he struggled upwards. 
He then stood. I supported him. He seemed to be very strong for one so young.
You are Kaiila, said Grunt.
Yes, said the youth.
We will expect you, then, said Grunt, to intercede for us with the Kaiila.
It was they who staked me out, he said.
Oh, said Grunt.
I smiled to myself. I had feared as much.
They may want only gifts, said Grunt.
I watched the unhurried advance of the groups of riders. They were giving us 
time to consider their approach. There seemed a subtle menace in this leisured 
advance, in this time and in this place.
Only generous gifts, hopefully, said Grunt
It will be my people who will be the most dangerous, said the youth, with 
pride.
I was not at all sure that that was the case.
What is your name? asked Grunt.
Your people called me Urt, he said. The Dust Legs called me Nitoske.
Womans Dress, said Grunt. Quick, Lad, what do the Kaiila call you? We cannot 
call you Womans Dress.
Cuwignaka, said the lad.
Grunt spit disgustedly into the grass.
What is wrong? I asked.
It means the same, only in Kaiila, said Grant. Moreover, in both dialects, it 
is actually the word for a white womans dress.
Wonderful, I said. What shall we call you? I asked the lad.
Cuwignaka, he said. Womans Dress.
Very well, I said.
It is my name, he said.
Very well, I said.
Then the savages were about us. With a rattle of chain the girls in the coffle, 
whimpering, huddled together. I was prodded in the shoulder with the butt of a 
lance. I stood my ground as well as I could. I knew they were looking for the 
least sign of anger or resistance.
Smile, said Grunt. Smile.
I could not smile, but, too, I did not offer resistance.
19    In the Distance There is the Smoke of Cooking Fires
Evelyn cried out with misery as the tether was knotted about her neck. Her small 
wrists pulled futilely at the bond, which held her hands confined behind her 
back. Then, stumbling, she was thrust beside Ginger, and Max and Kyle Hobart. 
All had been stripped.
Hi, cried the Sleen warrior, a high warrior in their party, and kicked back 
into the flanks of his kaiila. The animal squealed and snorted, moving to the 
side and then forward. In a moment it was following the line of withdrawing 
warriors, led by their war-party leader, he followed by the banner-bearer, 
carrying the crook like, feathered staff, used in giving directions in battle, 
and then the others.
It was he, it seemed, who would lead them in triumph in their camp. He held the 
tethers of the Hobarts, and Ginger and Evelyn. Two other Sleen, too, then 
followed, who would bring up the rear, riding behind the column, some yards 
behind the captives.
Grunt stood behind, his fists clenched.
Near Grunt, on their stomachs, stripped, lying in a standard binding position, 
their ankles crossed and their wrists held crossed behind them, placed in a 
tandem line, head to feet, one after the other, were Corinne, Lois, Inez and 
Priscilla. Priscilla made a tiny noise and winced as a Yellow-Knife warrior, 
kneeling across her body, tied her wrists behind her back. One ties the last 
girl in such a tandem line first. That way the other girls are less likely to 
bolt. A girl, thus, does not see the girl before her bound until she herself has 
been bound.
I watched the withdrawal of the Sleen war party. They were well pleased with 
their share of the loot. Ginger and Evelyn were lovely prizes and the Hobarts 
would doubtless prove useful in heavy work and, as boys, minding the kaiila 
herds.
The Yellow-Knife warrior now tied Inezs hands behind her back.
The coffle chains and the manacles, which had bound the Hobarts, lay discarded 
in the grass.
The red-haired girl was on her hands and knees in the grass, naked, warriors, 
some on foot, some astride kaiila, Yellow Knives and Kaiila, gathered about her.
Loiss hands were tied behind her back,
Hopa, said one of the Kaiila warriors, one mounted tall, broad-shouldered 
fellow, with long braids, tied with red cloth, looking down on the red-haired 
girl. He touched her on the left arm with his long-bladed lance, the blade of 
tapering, bluish, chipped flint. She looked up at him, frightened, and then, 
unable to meet his eyes, quickly lowered her head. Wihopawin, commented the 
warrior.
A Yellow Knife crouched near the girl.
The mounted Kaiila warrior said something to Pimples, whom, it had been quickly 
established, in the interchanges, was conversant in Kaiila. Ho, Itancanka, 
said Pimples. She then quickly went to the red-haired girl and knelt her, with 
her hands behind the back of her head and her head back. Breasts out, she told 
her in Gorean. The red-haired girl then knelt in this fashion, with her elbows 
back and her breasts thrust forward. Tears came to her eyes. It is a common 
position for slave assessment.
Corinnes hands were tied behind her back.
Hopa, said more than one Kaiila, looking at the red-haired girl.
I wondered if the former debutante from Pennsylvania had ever dreamed, in the 
bed in her mansion, that she would one day kneel in the grass of a distant 
world, a helpless slave brazenly posed for the assessment of masters.
Tethers were now being tied on the necks of Corinne, Lois Inez and Priscilla.
Hopa, said a Kaiila, looking at the red-haired girl. Waste, said another.
Hopa, said the mounted Kaiila warrior, approvingly. Hopa, Wihopawin!
Howe, said another.
One of the Yellow Knives standing about put his hand or the hair of the kneeling 
girl.
Then the lance blade of bluish, chipped flint was at the Yellow Knifes neck. He 
stood up, quickly, angrily, brushing the lance away, his hand at the handle of 
his knife, in the beaded sheath at his hip. The lance point, brushed away, re 
turned to threaten him, as easily as a branch, shifted by the wind, might return 
to its original position. The Kaiila warriors legs tensed. At a kick backward 
the kaiila would boll forward, driving the lance into the Yellow Knife. Yellow 
Knives and Kaiila, hereditary enemies, tensed.
Corinne, Lois, Inez and Priscilla were pulled by their neck tethers to their 
feet.
One of the Yellow Knives near the fellow threatened with the lance said 
something to him. The Yellow Knife at whose chest the lance point was poised 
then stepped angrily backward. He glanced to the four girls now pulled to their 
feet. Their tethers were being handed to another Yellow Knife, one mounted. The 
leader of the Yellow-Knife party said something to the fellow. The fellow then 
turned away, angrily, and mounted his own kaiila. The Yellow Knives had their 
share of the loot. Too, because of the recent battle, this area would be, for a 
time, truce ground.
Urt, or Cuwignaka, Womans Dress, as he seemed to wish to be called, had been 
sitting in the grass, breathing deeply and rubbing his wrists and ankles. I 
gathered that it must be very difficult and painful for him to move his body. He 
now struggled to his feet and went to the lance, fixed butt down in turf. He 
held momentarily to the lance, his head down keeping his balance. He then 
unwound the dress from the lance shaft and pulled it on, over his head. He then 
ripped away the lower portion of the dress, until it hung somewhat above his 
knees. Too, he ripped it at the left side, to allow himself more freedom of 
movement. He then uprooted the lance and then, unsteady for a moment, shaken by 
these exertions supporting himself with it
Sleen, tarsks, all of them, said Grunt, in Gorean, looking after the 
retreating Yellow Knives.
What were the yellow lances on the flanks of the kaiila of the Sleen? I asked.
The Sun Lances, said Grunt, a warrior society of the Sleen.
The painted prints on the flanks of the kaiila of the Yellow Knives? I asked.
The sign of the Urt Soldiers, said Grunt, a society of the Yellow Knives.
I nodded. It was common for the members of a given society to take the warpath 
together.
Two societies are represented among the Kaiila here, said Grunt. Most belong 
to the All Comrades, and one belongs to the Yellow-Kaiila Riders. The fellow in 
the background, with his war shield in its case, is a member of the 
Yellow-Kaiila Riders. That may be told by the stylized yellow kaiila print, 
outlined in red, on the flanks of his beast, over the red horizontal bars.
I nodded. The red horizontal bar, or bars, as the case is, is commonly 
associated with the Kaiila, the Cutthroat tribe. There were many coup marks, I 
noted, on the snout and forequarters of the fellows kaiila.
That is a prestigious society, said Grunt. Only tried and proven warriors, 
with many coups, and many expeditions of war and kaiila stealing, are admitted 
to it.
The sign for the All Comrades, I said, is the heart and lance.
Yes, said Grunt. They are sometimes known, too, from the sign, as the 
Fighting Hearts. The society name, however, more strictly, translates as the All 
Comrades.
I see, I said. The weapon ingredient in the insignia left little doubt in my 
mind as to the sort of enterprise in which such fellows were most likely to be 
comrades.
Cheerfulness is indicated by the height of the heart, alongside the lance, 
said Grant.
I see, I said. A heart placed on a horizontal base line, of course, suggested 
a heart on the ground, or sadness. Grunt had taught me much in the last few 
days. I could even, now, pick up a little of what was said in Kaiila.
Let them alone, said Grunt to me, quickly, putting his hand on my arm. Two of 
the Kaiila were beginning to rummage through our trade goods.
Very well, I said.
The Yellow-Kaiila Rider, said Grant, is Kahintokapa, One-Who-Walks-Before, of 
the Casmu, or Sand, Band.
He is the leader? I asked.
It is not likely, he said, not of a group of All Comrades like this. I think 
he is more in the nature of an observer, probably sent along to advise and tutor 
the younger men.
I nodded.
He is not in the forefront, as you note, said Grunt
The leader is the young man, he regarding the red-haired girl? I asked.
That, I gather, is the case, said Grunt. I do not know him. He is of the Isbu 
Band, the Little Stones
You knew the other fellow, I said.
Yes, said Grunt, when last I was in the land of the Kaiila, I met him in 
general council, with Black Clouds, Mahpiyasapa, civil chief of the Isbu.
You do not anticipate great difficulty with the Kaiila, then, I asked.
I do not think so, said Grunt. It is for Black Clouds, Mahpiyasapa, that I 
have brought the red-haired girl into the Barrens. For such a woman, 
sufficiently pleasing to him, he has promised me five hides of the yellow 
kailiauk.
I had wondered what disposition you had in mind for her, I said.
That is it, he said.
She is to be sold to a chieftain, I said.
Yes, he said.
Did you make that clear to our young friend? I asked.
Yes, said Grunt 
Why, then, is she at the paws of his kaiila I asked.
No! cried Grunt. He then hurried toward the young mounted savage, and the 
other Kaiila gathered about. Two of them, seeing his angered approach, seized 
him. Grunt struggled futilely in their grasp. The girl, frightened, on her 
belly, continued her work, with her lips, her teeth and tongue, biting, and 
licking and sucking, at the paws and nails of the kaiila.
Words, heated and proud, were exchanged between the two men. Grunts resolve to 
conciliate and pacify the savages seemed, in the heat of the moment, to have 
been abandoned. Then he was thrown backward. Two of the Kaiila drew their 
knives. I tensed. Grunt, however, had the good sense not to charge them. 
Suddenly, even in his anger, he realized he might be killed.
The young warrior then spoke to the girl at the paws of his kaiila. Quick, 
said Pimples, stand up. Stand straight. Put your hands at your sides. Press 
your hands to your thighs. Put your head up. Whatever happens, do not resist.
Quickly the red-haired girl obeyed.
The young savage threw a beaded collar to one of the warriors near the girl.
He approached the girl.
Grunt, at this point, in an excited medley of Dust Leg, Kaiila and Gorean, 
distraught and angry, entered again into remonstrance with the young warrior.
Kaiila, I said, to Grunt. Kaiila!
Grunt then shook his head, gathering his thoughts, and addressed himself, 
clearly and calmly, in Kaiila, to the youth.
But the young man, clearly, the lance grasped in his hand, high on the lofty 
kaiila, in his breechclout and paint, was not moved.
The more mature warrior, then, he who was of the Yellow-Kaiila Riders, moved his 
beast forward. He, too, spoke to the young man. The young man shook his head, 
angrily. The Yellow-Kaiila Rider then said something to Grunt, and then pulled 
back his beast, retiring again to the background. I saw that he was not pleased, 
but he gave little sign of it. It was not seemly, I gathered, for one such as he 
to enter into dispute with a younger warrior, one of another society and who had 
fewer coups than himself. Too, it was the young man, and not he, who was 
Blotanhunka, war-party leader, of this group of All Comrades.
The young man then said something to his fellow near the red-haired girl. Then 
he gestured to the helpless female, standing naked and straight before him, her 
head up, her hands pressed tightly to her thighs.
Grunt and I watched as the young mans collar was tied on her throat. She was 
collared.
Grunts fists were clenched, futilely.
The red-haired girl looked at her new master in awe. He was tall, and strong, 
and savagely handsome. Her entire body seemed transfused with fear, and emotion 
and excitement. It was such a brute who owned her. Too, she realized that 
tension had been involved in her claimancy. In spite of countervailing 
considerations, perhaps serious ones, he had decided that it would be he, and no 
other, who would own her. She knew then that she, a mere slave, was the object 
of strong desire.
I do not like it, said Grunt. It will mean trouble.
Perhaps, I said.
The young man regarded his new slave, pleasurably, approvingly. She blushed 
hotly under his inspection, but did no flinch nor turn her eyes from his. Then 
his eyes grew stem and she shrank back. She saw then that she could be only hi 
slave, and that she would be uncompromisingly mastered. But even this, I saw, 
pleased her.
You have one slim chance for life, said Pimples. That is to serve him, in all 
things, and to be pleasing to him, fully, and in all ways.
I will, she whispered. I will.
Then the eyes of the young master and the new slave again met. This time, again 
unable to meet his gaze, she lowered her head. She was very beautiful, her head 
bowed before her master.
She trembled.
I saw that she was as excited by, and enamored of, her master, as he of her.
Do not simply stand there, you little fool, said Pimples. Kneel down before 
him, and put your head to the grass.
Quickly the red-haired girl obeyed.
I looked at her, kneeling before her master. Doubtless she would be worked hard 
and used much. She would not be in any doubt as to her slavery, either in his 
camp or in his lodge.
The young man said something.
Get up, said Pimples. Go to him. You may kiss his foot and ankle.
The red-haired girl got up and went to the young warrior. He looked very 
splendid in his paint and feathers, with the lance, astride the kaiila. She 
pressed her lips to his moccasin and then to his ankle, kissing him softly. Then 
she looked up at him, and backed away, his, stripped save for the beaded collar 
knotted at her throat.
You have been highly honored, said Pimples to the red-haired girl. Although 
you are only a white slave, already you have been permitted to put your lips to 
his body.
The young man then lowered his lance, until the long point of the narrow, 
tapering, bluish flint was but inches from her bared breasts. He gestured at her 
with the lance. Winyela, he said.
You have been named, said Pimples. Put down your head. Put your fingers to 
your breasts. Say, Ho, Itancanka, Winyela.
The red-haired girl did this. She then lifted her head again, to her master.
Winyela, he said.
Winyela, she repeated.
He then turned his attention elsewhere, to the trade goods, mostly Grunts, 
through which two of his warriors had been rummaging. Hatchets, mirrors, knives 
and cloths, and such, were now much scattered about, on the grass. He urged his 
kaiila to the place. Such concern might seem out of place in a lofty 
Blotanhunka. Too, the girl must understand that she is nothing.
I have been named, said the red-haired girl.
Yes, Winyela, said Pimples. I smiled to myself. At last the red-haired girl 
had a name.
It is a beautiful name, said the red-haired girl.
It means Female Animal, said Pimples.
Oh, said the red-haired girl, taken aback.
It is quite a good name, considering that you are a slave, said Pimples. 
Female slaves are often given names such as Wasna, Grease, or Cespu, Scab or 
Wart, until they prove themselves sufficiently pleasing to have earned a better. 
I myself was called Wasnapohdi, which means Pimples.
You are still called Pimples, said the red-haired girl.
Apparently I have not yet earned a better, smiled Pimples.
Winyela, said the red-haired girl. It is a beautiful sound.
Do not forget its meaning, said Pimples. She-animal. Female animal.
No, said the red-haired girl.
And see that you prove to be a perfect she-animal to him, obedient, shameless 
and devoted, in all things.
A slave, said the girl.
Yes, said Pimples.
Do you think he would let me be less, she asked, smiling, timidly, such a 
man?
No, said Pimples. I, too, was once slave among the Kaiila. I know such men. 
They will accept nothing less than abject, perfect service from a woman.
Even if he would permit me less, said the red-haired girl, I would not want, 
even of my own free will, to give him less.
I envied the young warrior his lovely, red-haired slave, Winyela. What man, 
truly, honestly, red or white, would not? But perhaps one must have had a slave, 
or least once in ones life, to understand this.
Look at the happy, shameless slave, I said. She may have been born for that 
collar.
Perhaps, said Grunt.
It may be just as well that your remonstrances proved ineffective.
She was meant for Mahpiyasapa, Black Clouds, said Grant. That lad and 
Mahpiyasapa are both of the Isbu Band. There is sure to be trouble. Too, I am 
not getting paid for her.
That is true, I granted him. What did the Yellow-Kailla Rider say to you, I 
asked, after he had spoken to the youth, before he had returned to his place?
That the youth was within his rights, said Grunt, that he could claim her, 
under the circumstances, by right of slave capture.
Which he did? I asked.
Of course, said Grunt. Would you not have done the same?
Perhaps, I smiled.
At any rate, it is done now, said Grunt. She is in his collar.
That was true. The collar had now been tied on her neck. She was now, 
completely, the young mans property.
I looked at her. I saw that she was prepared to serve him well.
I noted, suddenly, looking about, that one of the two warriors who had been 
busying himself in the trade goods was now reaching for a certain bundle on my 
own kailla. It was that in which, rolled, was the story bide and, also, the 
translator I had brought from Port Kar, that acquired from Kog and Sardak, the 
Kurii, in the abandoned tam complex, in the delta.
Do not, said Grunt to me.
But I was the side of the kaiila and firmly, I took the hand of the warrior from 
the bundle, and put it to the side. He looked at me, startled.
Our hands darted to our knife sheaths.
The lance of the young warrior interposed itself between us. We stepped apart.
I pointed to the goods on my pack kaiila. Mine! I said, in Gorean. Too, I 
jerked my thumb toward my body. This, in sign, signifies I, Me, or Mine, 
depending on the context.
Howo, Akiboka, said the young man to the fellow squared off against me, be 
whose hand I had taken from the packing on the kaiila. Howo, Keglezela, said 
he then to the other fellow. He then slowly brought his kaiila about and walked 
it slowly, to where the red youth, Cuwignaka, Womans Dress, whom I had freed 
from the stakes, clung, supporting himself, to the Kaiila lance. He had donned 
the white dress of his own accord. He had shortened it earlier, and torn it at 
the side, to permit himself more freedom of movement in it. The lad seemed weak, 
clinging to the lance. He had not, however, in the presence of the other 
savages, deigned to eat or drink. They must be aware, I supposed, of this 
gesture on his part. They would doubtless respect that. He, in spite of his 
garb, was showing them that he, in this at least, could be Kaiila. The two 
fellows, Akiboka and Keglezela, followed the young warrior. I adjusted the 
packing ropes on the kaiila, securing the goods firmly in place. It interested 
me that the young warrior had interposed his will as he had. In this, for some 
reason, he had protected me. I did not know him, however. I had never seen him 
before. It made no sense to me that he had acted as he had. I was puzzled. Why 
had be done this?
The young warrior had now ridden his kaiila about until he faced Womans Dress. 
I noted that his men, too, took up positions either at his sides, in lines, or 
rather behind him. They were drawn up, a few feet from Womans Dress, fanned 
out, almost as if readying themselves for the charge. Womans Dress looked up at 
them, still holding to the lance, that he not fall. He showed not the least fear 
before him. I went to stand near Womans Dress. Grunt, too, was near to us. 
Winyela and Pimples stood to one side.
The young warrior, very clearly, began to speak. This language, to those 
unfamiliar with it, seems fraught with unfamiliar husky and guttural sounds in 
it, rasping and sibilant. It is very fluent and expressive. Sometimes it seems 
almost as though it were exploding into sound, particularly when the speaker 
speaks rapidly or is excited.
Who has freed you? translated Grunt. I am free. It does not matter.
The young warrior spoke rapidly to Womans Dress who, boldly, and in an almost 
fiery fashion, responded to him. It seemed to me incongruous that Womans Dress, 
weakened, in the remains of the dress of a white female, should carry on so 
stoutly and resolutely with the young warrior. Both, of course, were Kaiila. I 
wondered if both knew one another, from somewhere before. Womans Dress, I saw, 
was a man.
What is going on? I asked Grunt.
The young fellow wants to know who freed him, and Womans Dress is protecting 
you.
I freed him, I said to the young warrior, stepping forward. Translate that, 
I told Grunt.
I do not think that would be in your best interest, said Grunt.
Translate it, I said.
Reluctantly, Grunt complied.
The young warrior regarded me.
He is not surprised, of course, said Grunt. It is what he would have 
suspected.
I nodded. I would surely have been the prime suspect in this matter. I was 
obviously not one familiar with the Barrens. I could speak only a smattering of 
Dust Leg and Kaiila. Presumably, then, it would have been I who, in foolishness, 
or not knowing any better, would have had the temerity to cut the thongs.
Canka, said the young warrior, striking himself on the chest with his fist. 
Akicita hemaca. Isbu hemaca. Kaiila hemaca!
I am Canka, Fire-Steel, said Grunt. I am a warrior. I am of the Little 
Stones. I am of the Kaiila.
Tal said I, I am Tarl Cabot.
Wopeton, said Grunt, pointing to me. Hou, Hou, Kola. Then he turned to me. 
Your name would be meaningless to them, he said. I have called you Wopeton, 
or Trader or Merchant. That may serve as a name for you, you want another. I 
have also conveyed your greeting
I understand, I said.
In the following I will give the gist of the conversation that then ensued. 
Understand that Grunt, or Womans Dress, upon occasion, acted as interpreter. 
Understand, too, that more than this was said. Certain points only are here 
conveyed. There were additional exchanges, which took place between Canka and 
Cuwignaka, between Fire-Steel and Womans Dress.
It is as I thought, sad Canka to me, it was you who freed this callow 
prisoner.
He has survived, and he is strong, I said. He, like yourself, is Kaiila. 
Respect him.
He was the slave of white men.
Now he is free, I said.
He would not carry arms, said Canka. He would not take the warpath.
I had no quarrel with the Fleer, said Cuwignaka.
We put him in the dress of a woman and called him Cuwignaka, said Canka.
I had no quarrel with the Fleer, said Cuwignaka.
You shamed the Isbu, said Canka.
I had no quarrel with the Fleer, said Cuwignaka.
When again we went against the Fleer we gave him the opportunity to join us, 
the right to wear the breechclout and be a man. Again he refused. We then bound 
him in his womens dress and sold him to the Dust Legs.
I had no quarrel with the Fleer, said Cuwignaka.
The Kaiila have a quarrel with the Fleer, and you are Kaiila said Canka.
The Fleer have not injured me, said Cuwignaka.
Your grandfather was killed by Fleer, said Canka.
And we, too, killed Fleer, said Cuwignaka.
How is it that you have dared to return to the Barrens? asked Canka.
He was brought, I said. The white soldiers brought him. He could not help it.
They brought me, said Cuwignaka, but I would have returned anyway.
Why? demanded Canka.
Because I am Kaiila, said Cuwignaka, no less than you!
Do you think you are a man? asked Canka.
I am a man, said Cuwignaka.
You do not wear the breechclout, said Canka.
It is not permitted to me, said Cuwignaka.
Because you are a woman, said Canka.
I am not a woman,  said Cuwignaka.
If you return to camp, said Canka, you will live as woman. You will wear the 
dress of a woman and do the work of a woman. You will scrape hides and cook. You 
will gather kailiauk chips for the fires. You will tend lodges. You will please 
warriors.
I will not please warriors, said Cuwignaka.
I think that I will give you as a female slave to Akihoka, said Canka.
I will not please warriors, said Cuwignaka.
That is the first duty of a woman, said Canka, to obey men, and be pleasing 
to them.
I am not a woman, said Cuwignaka.
You do not wear the breechclout, said Canka. And these others, too, do not, 
he said, surveying Grunt and myself.
A yard or two of cloth, I said, does not determine manhood in my country.
In his country, and in mine, said Grunt, one might wear the breechclout and 
not be a man, and one might be a man and not wear it.
That is apparently not the way of the Barrens, I said. Here, in your country, 
it seems all that matters is whether a certain garment is worn. If that is the 
case, in your country, manhood is cheap, costing no more than the price of a 
strip of cloth.
That is not true! said Canka.
Be careful, said Grunt to me. Be careful, my friend.
The breechclout does not make manhood, said Canka. It is only a sign of 
manhood. That is why we do not permit those to wear it who are not men.
Cuwignaka is a man, I said, and you do not permit him to wear it.
It is fortunate for you that you are not a warrior, said Canka.
Akicita hemaca! I said angrily, in his own language, striking myself on the 
chest. I am a warrior!
Be careful, said Grunt. Do not put yourself within the coup system.
Canka sat back on the kailla. I do not know if you are a warrior or not, he 
said. But it is perhaps true. You did free Cuwignaka. You are thus, at least, a 
brave man .You have the respect of Canka
I was puzzled. I had not expected this attitude on his part.
Was it you, I asked the young warrior, Who staked him out?
It was Kaiila, said Canka, carefully.
It was Hci, with his fellows of the Sleen Soldiers, of the Isbu, the son of 
Mahpiyasapa, civil chieftain of the Isbu, who did it, said Cuwignaka.
It was not Canka, then, and the All Comrades, who did it? I said.
No, said Cuwignaka. But it was Canka, and Hci, with the Ali Comrades and 
Sleen Soldiers, who first put me in the dress of a woman and later bound me in 
that dress and took me to the country of the Dust Legs, there selling me as a 
slave. That was on the decision of the council of the Isbu, presided over by 
Mahpiyasapa.
Canka, I said to Cuwignaka, in Gorean, does not seem to be displeased that 
you have been freed.
No, said Cuwignaka.
You wear the dress of a woman, said Canka to Cuwignaka, suddenly, angrily. He 
said this, personally, emotionally. It was as though he, somehow, found this 
personally shameful.
I am Cuwignaka, said Cuwignaka, defiantly.
You hold to a lance of the Kaiila, said Canka. Surrender it
It was you yourself who, when you found me staked out, placed it unbroken 
beside me. It was you yourself who took the womans dress which Hci had thrown 
beside me and wrapped it about the shaft of the lance.
Canka did not respond to this. Such an action, of course, had served to mark, 
and conspicuously, the place where the lad had been fastened down. The location 
had been marked, almost as though with a flag. Grunt and I had seen it almost 
immediately upon coming to this portion of the field. And even had there been 
none to see it, at least none of our common world, that marker, the unbroken 
lance, the cloth wrapped about it, might have seemed to have served some purpose 
to he who had placed it there, perhaps standing for some measure of recollection 
and respect. This it might have mutely symbolized, if only to the grass of the 
Barren, the winds and clouds, and perhaps to those of the Medicine World, should 
they exist, who might have looked down upon it, and pondered it.
Surrender the lance, said Canka.
No, said Cuwignaka. You put it beside me, and it is unbroken.
Surrender it, said Canka.
I will not, said Cuwignaka. If you want it, you must take it from me.
I will not do that, said Canka. Then he said, You were freed. Someone must 
pay. He was looking at me.
He is my friend, said Cuwignaka.
I am Blotanhunka, said Canka. Someone must pay.
I will pay, said Cuwignaka.
What is owed here, said Canka, it is not yours to pay.
I will pay, said Cuwignaka.
It is not you who must pay, said Canka. It is another who must pay.
I am a warrior, I said to Canka. I demand the right of combat.
I do not wish to kill you, said Canka.
This startled me. It seemed to me that Canka had shown me unusual solicitude. He 
had protected me with Akihoka Keglezela, in the matter of the trade goods. Now, 
it seemed, he had no wish to enter into combat with me. He was not afraid of me, 
of that I was sure. I had little doubt but what he thought he could kill me, if 
such a combat were joined. As a red savage I had little doubt but what he 
regarded himself as the superior or equal of any white man in single combat. 
White men, on the whole, did not even count as being within the coup system. 
Similarly, he had explicitly professed his respect for me. Thus it did not seem 
that his disinclination to fight with me was motivated by any supposed indignity 
or shame in doing so. He was not refusing to fight with me as the larl might 
refuse to fight with the urt.
I do not understand, said Grunt to me, in Gorean.
Nor do I, I said.
He does not seem to bear you any hostility, said Grunt.
No, I said.
Someone must pay, said Canka.
Then we must fight, I said, stepping back.
I cannot fight you, for a reason which you cannot understand, said Canka, but 
these others, my friends, the All Comrades, do not have this reason. Several of 
his fellows, at these words, grasped their lances more tightly. Their kaiila 
moved under them, sensing their excitement.
Set a champion against me, I said. I will fight him, and, if successful, each 
of the others, in turn.
I am Blotanhunka, said he. I will not risk my men in that fashion.
It is then all or none, I said.
Yes, said he.
I stepped back, further. I am ready, I said.
Do not fight, said Grunt. These are Isbu Kaiila, All Comrades. There are 
seventeen of them. They, each of them, are skilled warriors. All have counted 
coup. You would be, doomed.
You would fight, would you not? asked Canka.
Yes, I said.
Tatankasa, said Canka.
Red Bull, translated Grunt
It would make my heart heavy to have you killed, said Canka. The kailiauk bull 
is Tatanka. The suffix sa designates the color red, as in Mazasa, Red 
Metal, Copper. The expression Kailiauk is used by most of the tribes for the 
kailiauk, which is not an animal native to Earth. The expression Pte 
designates the kailiauk female, or kailiauk cow. It is also used, colloquially, 
interestingly, for tire kailiauk in general. This is perhaps because the Pte 
is regarded, in a sense, as the mother of the tribes. It is she, in the final 
analysis, which makes possible their hunting, nomadic life. Like any similar 
peoples, the red savages have generally a great reverence and affection for the 
animals in their environment. This is particularly true of the animals on which 
they depend for their food. The useless or meaningless slaughter of such would 
be unthinkable
I am ready to fight, I said.
Do not be a fool, said Grunt.
I am ready, I said to Canka.
There is an alternative, said Grunt. Cant you see? He is waiting.
What? I asked.
The collar, said Grunt
Never, I said.
Please, Tatankasa, said Canka.
Please, said Cuwignaka.
Please, said Grunt.
Numbly I unbuckled my sword belt. I wrapped the belt out the sheaths, the sword 
sheath and the knife sheath, and handed the objects to Grunt. I was disarmed.
Words were spoken. One of the savages, he at the left of Canka, Akihoka, leaped 
to the ground. Canka threw him a collar. It was tied on my neck.
I regarded Canka. I was his slave,
The hands of Akihoka fastened themselves in the collar of my tunic. I was to be 
stripped naked before them.
No, said Canka.
Another warrior approached me, with thongs and a rawhide rope. Another jerked my 
hands behind me. I was to be bound, and put on a tether, like the mere animal I 
now was, only a slave.
No, said Canka.
The warriors then withdrew from me, puzzled, and remounted their lofty beasts.
Canka then turned his kaiila about. He looked over his shoulder at me. Follow 
us, he said.
Very well, I said.
Howo, Winyela, said Canka to Winyela. He pointed to a place in the grass near 
the left flank of his kaiila.
Quick, said Pimples to Winyela. Run to the place he has indicated. It is the 
place for you to follow his kaiila, the lace of a slave.
Swiftly Winyela ran to her place beside the kaiila. There she stood with her 
head down, submissively.
Good, said Pimples.
Winyela, said Canka.
She lifted her eyes to his.
Winyela, said Canka, again. In this context he was not saying her name so much 
as reminding her of what she was.
Say, Ho, Itancanka, said Pimples.
Ho, Itancanka, said Winyela.
Good, said Pimples.
Canka, then, in good humor, set his heels to the flanks of his kaiila and, 
slowly, the beast walking, took his way from the place. The girl, stripped and 
barefoot in the grass, her throat tied in his beaded collar, hurried along 
beside him, taking care to remain exactly in her place.
I am ruined, said Grunt.
You are ruined? I asked. I am a disarmed slave.
There is something strange about that, said Grunt. You have not been 
stripped, or tied. I do not understand it.
Winyela, too, I said, using her new name, has not been tied. We looked after 
the retreating warriors. Winyela was hurrying along at the left flank of Cankas 
kaiila, a girls running place by the beast of her master.
Have no fear, said Grunt. In the collar of Canka the red-haired beauty will 
learn her slavery well.
You still have most of your trade goods, I said.
And I am among them, Master, said Pimples. Surely I am worth something.
Lie on your belly, said Grunt.
Yes, Master, she said, immediately complying. She had spoken without 
permission.
The red-haired girl, said Grunt, looking after the warriors, was for 
Mahpiyasapa, civil chief of the Isbu. Last year when I was in the country of the 
Kaiila, he put in an order for such a woman. Such a woman was on his want list, 
so to speak.
Doubtless when Canka returns to the main camp he will surrender her to 
Mahpiyasapa, I said.
Do you think so? asked Grunt.
No, I said.
I am thirsty, said Cuwignaka, sitting down in the grass. And I am faint with 
hunger.
These were the first signs of weakness which he had showed. How shamed and 
foolish I suddenly felt. How little consideration, how little attention, we had 
given him.
I hurried to the pack kaiila and fetched from it the water bag. Grunt, from his 
own stores, brought forth some dried, pressed biscuits, baked in Kailiauk from 
Sa-Tarna flour. We watched him eat and drink. We did not feel that his stomach 
would be ready yet for the meat of kailiauk. We had some from the Dust Legs. It 
was in sheets, cut almost as thin as paper, dried in the prairie sun, layered in 
a flat, leather envelope, a parfleche, originally scaled with a seam of hardened 
fat. By confessing his need for drink and food before us Cuwignaka had, in his 
way, honored us. This was the sort of thing that a Kaiila warrior would be 
likely to do only among those whom he considered his friends and comrades.
Meat, said Cuwignaka.
Grunt and I exchanged glances but, in the end, we fetched Cuwignaka some of the 
strips of dried kailiauk meat.
He sat, cross-legged, in the grass, and ate some. It is enough, he said. He 
thrust back the remainder to Grunt, who inserted it in the opened parfleche.
I am now ready to go to the camp, said Cuwignaka.
You are in no condition to travel, I said.
I am ready, he said.
You will ride, I said.
I can walk, he said, rising unsteadily to his feet. He picked up the lance, 
using it as a staff to maintain his balance.
I began to remove my things from my kaiila, with the exception of the bridle, 
the saddle and saddle blanket.
What are you doing? asked Grunt.
I am preparing the mount for Cuwignaka, I said.
Do not be foolish, said Grunt. This is your opportunity to escape. Ride 
westward, like the wind. Flee.
I do not understand, I said.
Do you not see, my friend? asked Cuwignaka. They have given you this chance 
to escape.
They could doubtless follow me, tracking me, with strings of kaiila, until my 
own beast played out, I said.
Doubtless, said Cuwignaka, but I do not think they will do so.
They are letting you go, said Grunt.
Go now, said Cuwignaka, for, later, in the main camp, others may not be so 
lenient.
Go, said Grunt. You would then have a fine lead on others, in the main camp, 
days from here, who might wish to follow you. Make good your escape now. It is 
doubtless their intention.
But why should they permit me this? I asked.
I do not know, said Grunt.
I was told to follow, I said, and I said that I would do so. 
It was necessary that such a command be given, said Grunt. None expects you 
to follow.
I said that I would, I said.
They will not expect a white man to keep his word, said Grunt.
Your word is respected in the Barren, is it not? I asked.
I think so, said Grunt.
Then so, too, will be mine, I said.
Run, said Grunt. Do not be a fool
What are you going to do? I asked.
I am going to the main camp of the Kaiila, he said. I come to this country to 
trade.
You have business in this place? I asked.
Yes, said Grunt
I too, have business in this place, I said.
You are mad, said Grunt.
Perhaps, I said. But I had not come to the Barrens to back now.
Get up, said Grunt, kicking Pimples lightly in the side the side of his foot. 
We have work to do.
Yes, Master, she said, rising, and smoothing down the skirt of the tiny slave 
tunic with the palms of her hands. She was the only one of the girls whose 
clothing had not been by the red savages. The red-haired girl, Lois, Corinne, 
Inez, Priscilla, the others, had all been stripped. Canka had permitted her to 
keep the garment, such as it was, to draw a distinction between her, who could 
speak Kaiila, and the other who could not.
To be sure, there is a controversy as to whether or not it is humiliating for a 
woman to be put before masters in garment or merely stark naked, save, perhaps, 
for a collar. Surely slave tunics leave little to the imagination. Among the 
girls, of course, there is little disagreement in practice, though some in 
theory. The girls, only, treasure even the tiniest rag which can afford them 
some shielding, however pathetic, from the imperious gaze of masters. Too, from 
the point of view of the masters, the little that might be left to the 
imagination, small as it is, by such a garment, is often found to be intriguing 
and stimulating. It encourages them to her stripping. Too, giving a girl a bit 
of clothing, tends to give one more control over her. For example, will she be 
told to remove the garment, or will it be taken from her, and if so, publicly or 
privately? It must be understood, of course, that a slave, having no rights, 
does not have the right even to clothing. That a girl is wearing even a rag is 
usually a sign that she has pleased her master, and quite significantly, too. 
Often the garment of a slave girl does not come easily to her. In private, of 
course, even rags are often dispensed with. The slave is the property of the 
master, and, in the privacy of his quarters, she is done with, totally, as he 
pleases.
Take care of the things which were mine, I said, If you would.
I shall, said Grunt. Slaves, of course, own nothing. It is they who are owned.
I think it is time to follow Canka, I said to Cuwignaka.
Ride from here. Escape, said Grunt
Mount up, I said to Cuwignaka. He stood, unsteadily, clinging to the lance, as 
though to a staff.
I will walk, said Cuwignaka.
You are weak, I said.
I am Kaiila, said Cuwignaka. I will walk.
He took two or three faltering steps, supporting himself with the lance. But 
then, suddenly, his legs buckled. For a moment he held himself up with the 
lance, but then, heavily, fell to the side. Painfully, with the lance, hand over 
hand; he pulled himself again to his feet. He took another two or three 
faltering steps, supporting himself with the lance, after Canka and the others, 
but then, again, fell heavily in the grass. I moved to go to him, but Grunts 
hand on my arm stopped me. No, he said. Do not demean him. He is Kaiila.
Pimples, too, I noted, had not moved to aid him. I nodded.
Cuwignaka struggled to a seated position in the grass. He sat there, 
cross-legged, angrily, the lance beside him.
I have decided to rest, he said. I will sit here for a time. Then I will get 
up, and go.
Very well, I said.
He may not be able to walk for days, said Grunt.
In a day or two, I said.
Perhaps, said Grunt.
He is Kaiila, I said.
That is true, said Grunt, smiling. Then he turned to Pimples. Busy yourself, 
Girl, he said. Pack our stores. A trail awaits.
Yes, Master, she said.
I lent my assistance to Grunt and Pimples, and, in a few Ehn, we had secured the 
goods about either on the travois attached to Grunts pack kaiila or on my own 
pack beast. Pimples put the discarded coffle chains, and the manacles, which had 
bound the Hobarts, on the hides of the travois, fastening them about one of the 
tie ropes.
I wish you well, I said to Grunt
I wish you well, said he to me.
I watched Grunt and Pimples, with the three kaiila, his mount, the kaiila 
drawing the travois and my own pack beast, wending their way away, through the 
tall grass. They turned and waved, and I waved back. Then, after a time, they 
were in the distance, following the trail of Canka and his party. I could see 
the smoke of evening fires in the distance. That was presumably the Kaiila camp. 
Canka had not tethered Winyela. He had let her run free at the flank of his 
kaiila. That seemed an unusual courtesy to be extended to a new girl. I smiled 
to myself. I suspected the young warrior might already care for the red-haired 
slave. I did not think he would be eager to surrender her to Mahpiyasapa, his 
chieftain.
What are you thinking of? asked Cuwignaka.
Various things, I said.
If you are not going to flee, said Cuwignaka; perhaps you should follow 
Canka, now.
I will wait for you, I told him.
I may sit here for a little while, he said.
I smiled. I will wait, I said.
The lot of a slave among the Kaiila, as among our peoples generally, said 
Cuwignaka, is not an easy one.
I do not suppose so, I said.
At least you are not a female, said Cuwignaka. The Kaiila, as others of our 
peoples, do not treat their white beauties with gentleness.
I nodded. I supposed not.
Total pleasingness, at all times and in all ways, and instant, and complete 
obedience, to the least whim of the master, is standardly required of Gorean 
female slaves, incidentally, not merely of those who wear the collars of red 
savages. I had little doubt but what there were many in the cities who could 
instruct even the red savages in matters pertaining to the utilization, 
management and control of female slaves. If anything, I suspected that the lot 
of the female slave in the Barrens might be a bit easier than that of her 
imbonded sister in the smooth corridors and ornate palaces of the high cities. 
Each street and each square in such a city is likely to have its tether posts 
and whipping rings.
Canka did not even tether Winyela, I said.
Let her displease him even in the least thing, said Cuwignaka, and she will 
quickly discover that she is a slave and that he is her master.
Doubtless, I said. I thought that this might be good for the former Miss 
Millicent Aubrey-Welles, the former debutante from Pennsylvania. Such girls 
thrive best when kept under a strict discipline.
I was not stripped and tethered, I said.
No, said Cuwignaka.
I do not understand that, I said.
It is not so hard to understand, said Cuwignaka.
Why were such things not done to me? I asked. Why was I not attacked? Why was 
I permitted an opportunity to attempt escape? Why have I been treated with such 
lenience?
Can you not guess? asked Cuwignaka.
No, I said.
Canka, said Cuwignaka, is my brother.
What are you doing? asked Cuwignaka. I had fetched my kaiila. What are you 
doing? he asked. I lifted him gently to the saddle.
I can walk, he said.
No, you cannot I said.
In a few moments, I shall be able to do so, he said.
Ride, I said. I then handed him the lance from the grass. It was metal-bladed, 
with a long trade point, some nine inches in length. It was riveted in the haft 
at two places and reinforced with rawhide bindings. The nature of these bindings 
and the three lateral red marks near the head of the shaft marked it as Kaiila. 
The binding was traditional; the marks were an explicit convention, signifying 
the Kaiila, the Cutthroat tribe. Other marks upon it, which might have signified 
an owner, had been scratched away, probably with the edge of a knife. No 
feathers were attached to the lance. Never as yet, it seemed, had it touched an 
enemy.
Cuwignaka swayed in the saddle. I steadied him.
I looked out over the prairie. Somewhere, out there, somewhere, was Zarendargar. 
I had come to seek him. Others, too, had come to seek him. Kog and Sardak, with 
some companions, and at least one other Kur, as well, whom I had seen earlier, 
threatening the Waniyanpi, had survived the recent action. I did not doubt but 
what they would press ahead in their grisly mission. The Kur is tenacious. These 
Kurii I did not think would be in great danger from the red savages. Several of 
them had departed from the scene of battle unharmed. Such beasts were unfamiliar 
to the red savages. Suspecting that they might be denizens of the Medicine World 
red savages might be likely to give them, wherever possible, wide berth.
They would have no such reservations, of course, pertaining to a lone white man 
wandering about in the Barrens. Such might be, I supposed, even hunted down for 
sport. Alfred, the mercenary captain from Port Olni, I supposed, must now be 
making his way back to civilization, with his men. I expected that they would be 
successful in this endeavor. Few tribes, most of which are usually dispersed in 
scattered bands, would be likely to wish to, or be able to, bring a force 
against them, some three or four hundred mounted men. Doubtless, too, the 
soldiers, now, would keep careful watches. The lessons of their foolish 
arrogance had been harshly learned; those who have survived such mistakes seldom 
trouble themselves to repeat them. I did not expect to see Alfred, or his men, 
again.
I glanced back, down into the shallow valley. I could see Pumpkin, and his 
Waniyanpi, down there, still clearing the field. Behind one of the partially 
burnt, abandoned wagons would be she who had once been the proud Lady Mira, an 
agent of Kurii, of the resort city of Venna. She naught but a stripped, 
luscious, yoked slave, tethered by the ankle to a wagon axle. She had been found 
with the soldiers. She had, in spite of this, after having been stripped, to 
determine if there might be any interest in owning her, been given a slim chance 
to save her life, prostrating herself and performing intimate acts at the feet 
of a masters kaiila. She had apparently licked and sucked well at the toes and 
nails of the beast, making clear to all, saving perhaps herself, her aptness, 
for slavery and the suitability of its collar for her fair throat. Then, after 
having performed these foul and degrading acts, so fitting for a slave, and, 
doubtless having been passionately aroused by them, she had not been, as she had 
doubtless expected to be, ravished at length by imperious masters, but bound and 
given over to Waniyanpi. What a rich joke was this played on the aroused and 
tormented woman. How cruel could be the tortures of the red savages! She had 
been found with soldiers. Stripped, and forced to reveal herself as a slave, and 
aroused, she had then been given to Waniyanpi. She would be taken to one of 
their compound. They would respect her. She would be called Turnip.
I think I am ready now, said Cuwignaka.
Can you travel now? I asked.
Yes, he said.
I glanced once more, then, over the prairie. It open. The horizons were broad.
I then, leading the kaiila, on which Cuwignaka rode, slumped forward, with the 
lance, set my feet in the tracks of those who had preceded me, Canka and his 
party, and Grunt and Pimples, toward the smoke of the evening fires, toward the 
camp of the Isbu Kaiila.
In a few moments Cuwignaka straightened his back. I was pleased to see that he 
now held his head up. He was strong. He was Kaiila.
A trail awaits, said Cuwignaka.
Yes, I said.
