Free Magicians of Gor by John Norman

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    gentlewomen. To be sure, they do not always object to them when they come into
    their possession, as, say, they might after the fall of a city, or if one, say,
    has been captured and deliberately sold to them, perhaps by some male
    acquaintance, for one reason or another. Indeed I suspect the hardy fellows upon
    occasion rather enjoy owning such elegant women, women who are likely in their
    loftiness to have hitherto disparaged or despised their caste. It is pleasant to
    have them in ropes, naked at their feet. Sometimes they are asked if they
    rejoice to now be owned by peasants. If they respond negatively they are beaten.
    If they respond affirmatively they are also beaten, for lying. Quickly then will
    the women be taught the varied labors and services of the farm. Interestingly
    these women, under the domination of their powerful masters, often become
    excellent farm slaves. Sometimes they are even permitted to sleep in the hut, at
    their master’s feet.
    “That is an excellent dancer there,” said a fellow.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “I think she has auburn hair,” said another fellow. It was difficult to tell in
    the light.
    “Yes,” said another.
    Auburn hair is highly prized in the slave markets. I recalled the slave,
    Temione, now, as I understood it, a property of Borton, a courier for
    Artemidorus of Cos. Her hair was a marvelous auburn. Too, by now, it would have
    muchly grown out, after having been shaved off some months ago, for catapult
    cordage.
    I noted that the free female had gone a bit about the outside of the circle, and
    now stood there, back a bit from the circle, where there was a space between
    some men. From that position of vantage she continued to watch the dancers. This
    puzzled me. If she found such beauty, such sensuous liberation, such fulfilling
    joy, such reality, such honesty, the marvelousness of owned women before their
    masters, offensive or deplorable, why did she watch? What did she see there in
    the circle, I wondered. {pg. 50) What so drew her there, what so fascinated here
    there? Like most free women she was perhaps inhibited, frustrated and unhappy.
    She continued to gaze into the circle. perhaps she saw herself there, clad in a
    rag and collar, if that, moving, turning with the others, like them so
    beautiful, so much alive, so vulnerable, so helpless, so owned. Does her master
    lift his whip? She must then redouble her efforts to please, lest she be lashed.
    I supposed that she, even there, standing so seemingly still, pretending to be a
    mere observer, could feel the dance in her body, in its myriad incipient
    movements, tiny movements in her legs, in her belly, in her body, in herself, in
    the wholeness of her womanhood. Perhaps she wished for her robes to be torn off
    and to be collared, and to be thrust, in her turn, into the circle. I did not
    doubt but what she would be zealous to please. Indeed, she had best be! But how
    strange that she, a free woman, would even linger in this place. Perhaps free
    women are incomprehensible. A Gorean saying came to mind, that the free woman is
    a riddle, the answer to which is the collar.
    “Away!” called a fellow, who had turned about and seen the free woman. he waved
    his arm, angrily, “Away!” he said. The free woman then turned about and left the
    vicinity of the circle, hurriedly. I felt rather sorry for her, but then, I
    thought, surely the fellow was right, that the circle, or its vicinity, was no
    place for a free female. It was a place, rather, for the joy of masters and
    their slaves. Similarly, the vicinity of such places, though I did not think it
    would be so in this camp, at this particular time, can be dangerous for free
    women. For example, sometimes free women attempt, sometimes even disguising
    themselves, to spy on the doings of masters and slaves. For example, they might
    attempt, perhaps disguised as lads, to gain entrance to paga taverns. And often
    such entrance is granted them but later, to their horror,