Post by adreannaTal{fb} on Dec 9, 2010 17:38:40 GMT -5
Welcome to Torvaldsland
The most common way to arrive is by ship, for the cold land is unforgiving to other travelers. Nearing the docks you see fisherman in their smaller boats sorting their catch and towards the right you see the massive torn ships for the raiders. The Sleen is Genesis' private raiding ship, the warriors of Torvaldsland are often seen on the docks, preparing for the next raid, or unloading from the last.
As you enter the village you are greeted with curious stares as peasants and bonds look at the visitors, new and old. Following the main trail up past the small peasant homes, you approach the massive hold where he welcomes all until given reason to strip that welcome away.
..."Indeed, some men regard Torvaldsland to be wherever their ships beach, as they took their country, and their steel, with them."
Marauders of Gor, pg. 45
"Torvaldsland is a cruel, harsh, rocky land. It contains many cliffs, inlets and mountains. Its arable soil is thin and found in patches. The size of the average farm is very small. Good soil is rare and highly prized. Communication between farms is often by sea, in small boats. Without the stream of Torvald it would probably be impossible to raise cereal crops in sufficient quantity to feed even its relatively sparse population. There is often not enough food under any conditions, particularly in northern Torvaldsland, and famine is not unknown. In such cases men feed on bark, and lichens and seaweed. It is not strange that the young men of Torvaldsland often look to the sea, and beyond it, for their fortunes. The stream of Torvald is regarded by the men as a gift of Thor, bestowed upon Torvald, legendary founder and hero of the land, in exchange for a ring of gold"
Marauders of Gor, pg.54
"The Torvaldsberg is, all things considered, an extremely dangerous mountain. Yet it is clearly not unscalable, as I learned, without equipment. It has the shape of a spear blade, broad, which has been bent near the tip. It is something over four and a half pasangs in height, or something over seventeen thousand Earth feet. It is not the highest mountain on Gor but it is one of the most dramatic, and most impressive. It is also, in its fearful way, beautiful."
Men of Torvaldsland
I know of no prouder, more self-reliant, more magnificent creature than the free Gorean, male or female: they are often touchy, and viciously tempered, but they are seldom petty or small: moreover they do not hate and fear their bodies or their instincts; when they restrain themselves it is a victory over titanic forces; not the consequence of a slow metabolism; but sometimes they do not restrain themselves; they do not assume that their instincts and blood are enemies and spies, saboteurs in the house of themselves; they know them and welcome them as part of their persons; they are as little suspicious of them as the cat of its cruelty, or the lion of its hunger; their desire for vengeance, their will to speak out and defend themselves, their lust, they regard as intrinsically and gloriously a portion of themselves as their thinking or their hearing. Many Earth moralities make people little; the object of Gorean morality, for all its faults, is to make people free and great. These objectives are quite different it is clear to see."
"Many of them were giants, huge men, inured to cold, accustomed to war and the labor of the oar, raised from boyhood on steep, isolated farms near the sea, grown strong and hard on work and meat and cereals. Such men, from boyhood in harsh games had learned to run, to leap, to swim, to throw the spear, to wield the sword, to wield the ax, to stand against steel, even bloodied, unflinching. Such men, these, would be the hardest of the hard, for only the largest, the swiftest and finest might win for themselves a bench on the ship of a captain, and the man great enough to command such as they must be first and mightiest among them, for the men of Torvaldsland will obey no other."
"All men of Torvaldsland, incidentally, even if otherwise unarmed, carry a knife at their master belt. The sword, when carried, and it often is, is commonly supported might be mentioned, the common Gorean practice. It can also, of course, be hung, by its sheath and sheath straps, from the master belt, which is quite adequate, being a stout heavy belt, to hold it. It is called the master belt, doubtless, to distinguish it from the ax belt and the sword belt, and because it is, almost always worn. A pouch, of course, and other accoutrements my hang, too, from it. Gorean garments, generally, do not contain pockets. Some say the master belt gets its name be cause it is used sometimes in the disciplining of bond-maids. This seems to be a doubtful origin for the name. It is true, however, questions of the origin of the name aside, that bond-maids, stripped, are often taught obedience under its lash."
"The men of Torvaldsland sang with great voices. The oars, two men to an oars lifted and dipped. The helmsman leaned on the tiller of the great steering oar."
"In the long winters of Torvaldsland, when the snow, the darkness, the ice and wintry winds are upon the land, when the frost breaks open the rocks, groaning, at night, when the serpents hide in their roofed sheds, many hours, under swinging soapstone lamps, burning the oil of sea sleen, are given to Kaissa. At such times, even the bond-maids, rolling and restless, naked, in the furs of their masters, their ankles chained to a nearby ring, must wait."
The men of the north, raised in the hardships of cold are brought up with a passion for life like no other, having to have fought for it since birth. After reading the books it is my depiction that they are men of great passion. From wielding their axes and bounding into war, to tossing a bond to the furs and raping her completely. They laugh, they sing, they drink and have excellent sense of humors. But do not mistake their laughing ways as weakness. They are swift to kill and swift to enjoy the pleasures of the female flesh.
It is also quite apparent that they can outdrink their southron brothers hands down. Even their vessels are known to be nearly 3 times larger. They have a love for paga and mead and women.
It is also known that even the mightiest of warrior is not above tending the fields of their village. For they all began this way since young. Learning to survive the cold, find food, and keep warm. It is only till manhood that they learn that this is best handled by slaveflesh.
It is also known that the northern men hold a bit higher respect for their Free Women then the southern men do. They are not quick to throw a Free Woman to the circle, for they do not use such as a simple "punishment", once a bond if bound to the axe, she is ALWAYS bound to the axe and service to the men of the north.
Rarely if ever will a northern bond be sold to a southern male. Actually I don't believe it ever happened. The northern men take great pride in their woman, from their strong stubborn women to their hot voluptuous wenches, and are quick to show them off and put them to task against a southern slave.
It is not uncommon to come within many yards of a northern hall and already hear the songs of war and the laughter and squeals of women from within before even the fog relents to see it. During the day the men and women alike tend the home and hearth and the fields, and at night the party begins. Resting from the day's hardships and enjoying the finer things and life, like stories of storm and war, and alcohol and women.
~ Jarlship ~
"About my forehead I wore a Jarl´s talmit. This morning Svein Blue Tooth, before cheering men, had tied it about my head. “Tarl Red Hair,” had said he, “with this talmit accede to Jarlship in Torvaldsland!” I had been lifted on the shields of shouting men. In the distance I had seen the Torvaldsberg, and, to the west, gleaming Thassa. “Never be-fore,” had said Svein Blue Tooth, “has one not of the north been named Jarl amongst us.” There had been much shouting, much clashing of weapons. Conscious I was indeed of the signal honor seen fit to be bestowed upon me. I had lifted my hands to them, standing on the shields, a Jarl of Torvaldsland, one who might now, in his own name if need be, send forth the arrow of war, summoning adherents; one who might, as it pleased him, command ships and men; one who might now say to the rough, bold seamen of the north, as it pleased him, “Follow me, there is work to be done,” and whom they would then follow, gathering weapons, opening the sheds, sliding their ships on rollers to the sea, raising the masts, spreading the striped sails to the wind, saying, “Our Jarl has summoned us. Let us aid him. There is work to be done.”
~Marauders of Gor, page 288~
“I am an outlaw,” said Ivar. ‘In a duel I killed Finn BroadbeIt.”
“It was in a duel,” I said.
“Finn Broadbelt was the cousin of Jarl Svein Blue Tooth.
“Ah,” I said. Svein Blue Tooth was the high jarl of Torvaldsland, in the sense that he was generally regarded as the most powerful. In his hall, it was said he fed a thousand men. Beyond this his heralds could carry the war arrow, it was said, to ten thousand farms. Ten ships he had at his own wharves, and, it was said, he could summon a hundred more “He is your Jarl?” I asked.
“He was my Jarl,” said Ivar Forkbeard."
~Marauders of Gor, page 93~
"At the thing, to which each free man must come, unless he work his farm alone and cannot leave it, each man must be present, for the inspection of his Jarl's officer, a helmet, shield and either sword or ax or spear, in good condition. Each man, generally, save he in the direct hire of the Jarl, is responsible for the existence and condition of his own equipment and weapons. A man in direct fee with the Jarl is, in effect, a mercenary; the Jarl himself, from his gold, and stores, where necessary or desirable, arms the man; this expense, of course, is seldom necessary in Torvaldsland; sometimes, however, a man may break a sword or lose an ax in battle, perhaps in the body of a foe, falling from a ship; in such a case the Jarl would make good the loss; he is not responsible for similar losses, however, among free farmers."
~Marauders of Gor, page 142~
Ladies/Mistress's of the North
"In the northern villages, and in the forest towns, and northward on the coast the woman do not veil themselves, as is common in the cities to the south."
"She wore black and silver, a full, ankle-length gown of rich, black velvet, with silver belts, or straps, that crossed over her breasts, and tied about her waist. From it, by strings, hung a silver purse, that seemed weighty. Her blond hair was lifted from the sides and back of her head by a comb of bone and leather, like an inverted isosceles triangle, the comb fastened by a tiny black ribbon about her neck, and another such ribbon about her forehead. Her cloak, of black fur, from the black sea sleen, glossy and deep, swirled to her ankles. It was fastened at the left shoulder by a large circular brooch of silver, probably from Tharna."
"The stake in this challenge was the young man's sister, a comely, blond lass of fourteen, with braided hair. She was dressed in the full regalia of a free woman of the north. The clothes were not rich, but they were clean, and her best. She wore two brooches; and black shoes. The knife had been removed from the sheath at her belt; she stood straight, but her head was down, her eyes closed; about her neck, knotted, was a rope, it fastened to a stake in the ground near the dueling square. She was not otherwise secured. 'Forfeit the girl,' said Bjarni of Thorstein Camp, addressing the boy, 'and I will not kill you.' 'I do not care much for the making women of Torvaldsland bond,' said Ivar. 'It seems improper,' he whispered to me. 'They are of Torvaldsland!'"
"The free woman was a tall woman, large. She wore a great cape of fur, of white sea-sleen, thrown back to reveal the whiteness of her arms. Her kirtle was of the finest wool of Ar, dyed scarlet, with black trimmings. She wore two brooches, both carved of the horn of kailiauk, mounted in gold. At her waist she wore a jewelled scabbard, protruding from which I saw the ornamented, twisted blade of a Turian dagger; free women in Torvaldsland commonly carry a knife; at her belt, too, hung her scissors, and a ring of many keys, indicating that her hall contained many chests or doors; her hair was worn high, wrapped about a comb, matching the brooches, of the horn of kailiauk; the fact that her hair was worn dressed indicated that she stood in companionship; the number of keys, together with the scissors, indicated that she was mistress of a great house. She had gray eyes; her hair was dark; her face was cold, and harsh."
"Bera, his woman, rose to her feet. I could see that her mind was moving with rapidity. 'Come tonight to our hall Champion,' she said The Blue Tooth did not gainsay her. The woman of the Jarl had spoken. Free women of the north have much power. The Jarl's woman in the Kaissa of the north is a more powerful piece than the Ubara in the Kaissa of of the south"
"Accordingly, to her astonishment, Bera, who had been the companion of Svein Blue Tooth, discovered suddenly that she was only one wench among others. From a line, as part of his spoils, the Blue Tooth picked her out. She had displeased him mightily in recent years. Yet was the Blue Tooth fond of the arrogant wench. It was not until he had switched her, like any other girl, that she understood that their relationship had undergone a transformation, and that she was, truly, precisely what she seemed to be, now his bond-maid."
"Slave girls fear free women muchly. It is almost as if there was some unspoken war between them, almost as if they might be mortal enemies. In such a war, or such an enmity, of course, the slave girl is completely at the mercy of the free person; she is only slave. One of the great fears of a slave girl is that she will be sold to a woman. Free women treat their female slaves with incredible hatred and cruelty. Why this is I do not know. Some say it is because they, the free women, envy the girls their collars and wish that they, too, were collared, and at the complete mercy of masters."
Free Women of the north were also known as both Lady and Mistress.
Notes on Habiliment
Helga was not a common women of the North, her father was the richest men known or very close to it, she didn’t need to go outside and walk in the mud and do chores like most common free women would so her habiliment are not standard.
She wore rich green velvet, closed high about her neck, trimmed with gold.
She took the next vial, which I had opened for her. “No,” she said, handing it back to me.
Her hair, long, was braided. It was tied with golden string. Marauders of Gor, page 112
Her hands wore many rings. About her neck she wore, looped, four chains of gold, with pendants. On her wrists were bracelets of silver and gold. Marauders of Gor, page 114
My assistant and I knelt before her, at her feet. She wore, beneath her green velvet, golden shoes. Marauders of Gor, page 115
The habiliments of Bera again is that of a woman that is companioned to one of the richest man in Torvaldsland, by her clothing and accoutrements, it is easy to determine her status among others. The wool used for her kirtle is from Ar.
The free woman was a tall woman, large. She wore a great cape of fur, of white sea-sleen, thrown back to reveal the whiteness of her arms. Her kirtle was of the finest wool of Ar, dyed scarlet, with black trimmings. She wore two brooches, both carved of the horn of kailiauk, mounted in gold. At her waist she wore a jewelled scabbard, protruding from which I saw the ornamented, twisted blade of a Turian dagger; free women in Torvaldsland commonly carry a knife; at her belt, too, hung her scissors, and a ring of many keys, indicating that her hall contained many chests or doors; her hair was worn high, wrapped about a comb, matching the brooches, of the horn of kailiauk; the fact that her hair was worn dressed indicated that she stood in companionship; the number of keys, together with the scissors, indicated that she was mistress of a great house. She had gray eyes; her hair was dark; her face was cold, and harsh. Marauders of Gor, page 154 to 156
Near him, beside the high seat, sat his woman, Bera, her hair worn high on her head, in a kirtle of yellow wool with scarlet cape of the fur of the red sea sleen, and, about her neck, necklaces of gold. Marauders of Gor, page 194
A bad habit on Gor isfree women coddling, petting, touching, hugging slaves and bond-maids. Free women simply do not like bond-maids, they are all that they hate, they deal with them impersonally and swiftly, at best, they are fair.
This is a wooden walkway, about five feet wide and one hundred feet long. On the walkway, back and forth, smiling, looking one way then the other, turning about, parade stripped bond-maids. They are not for sale, though many are sold from the platform. The platform is instituted for the pleasure of the free men. It is not unanalogous to the talmit competitions, though no talmit is awarded. There are judges, usually minor Jarls and slavers. No judge, incidentally, is female. No female is regarded as competent to judge a female’s beauty; only a man, it is said, can do that. Marauders of Gor, page 153
It can not be said enough, that northern woman even more then there southern sisters despise bond-maids, it is clearly mentioned that they are a thousand times above sultry bond-maids and all bond-maids we see are sensual and sexually open as soon there are no free women around. These are facts one should take into consideration as they are as clear as day.
Free women view the platform with stern disapproval; on it, female beauty is displayed for the inspection of men; this, for some reason, outrages them; perhaps they are furious because they cannot display their own beauty, or that they are not themselves as beautiful as women found fit, by lusty men with discerning eyes, for slavery; it is difficult to know what the truth is in such matters; these matters are further complicated, particularly in the north, by the conviction among free women that free women are above such things as sex, and that only low and loose girls, and slaves, are interested in such matters; free women of the north regard themselves as superior to sex; many are frigid, at least until carried off and collared; they often insist that, even when they have faces and figures that drive men wild, that it is their mind on which he must concentrate his attentions; some free men, to their misery, and the perhaps surprising irritation of the female, attempt to comply with this imperative; they are fools enough to believe what such women claim is the truth about themselves; they should listen instead to the dreams and fantasies of women, and recall, for their instruction, the responses of a free woman, once collared, squirming in the chains of a bond-maid. These teach us truths which many women dare not speak and which, by others, are denied, interestingly, with a most psychologically revealing hysteria and vehemence. “No woman,” it is said, “knows truly what she is until she has worn the collar.” Some free women apparently fear sex because they feel it lowers the woman. This is quite correct. In few, if any, human relationships is there perfect equality. The subtle tensions of dominance and submission, universal in the animal world, remain ineradicably in our blood; they may be thwarted and frustrated but, thwarted and frustrated, they will remain. It is the nature of the male, among the mammals, to dominate, that of the female to submit. The fact that humans have minds does not cancel the truths of the blood, but permits their enrichment and enhancement, their expression in physical and psychological ecstasies far beyond the reach of simpler organisms; the female slave submits to her master in a thousand dimensions, in each of which she is his slave, in each of which he dominates her.
“Shameful!” cried the free woman.
In the lowering of the woman, of course, a common consequence of her helplessness in the arms of a powerful male, her surrenderings, her being forced to submit, she finds, incredibly to some perhaps, her freedom, her ecstasy, her fulfillment, her exaltation, her joy; in the Gorean mind this matter is simple; it is the nature of the female to submit; accordingly, it is natural that, when she is forced to acknowledge, accept, express and reveal this nature, that she should be almost deliriously joyful, and thankful, to her master; she has been taught her womanhood; no longer is she a sexless, competitive pseudoman; she is then, as she was not before, female; she then finds herself, perhaps for the first time, clearly differentiated from the male, and vulnerably, joyfully, complementary to him; she has, of course, no choice in this matter; it is not permitted her; collared, she submits; I know of no group of women as joyful, as spontaneous, as loving and vital, as healthy and beautiful, as excited, as free in their delights and emotions, as Gorean slave girls; it is true they must live under the will of men, and must fear them, and the lash of their whips, but, in spite of these things, they walk with a sensuous beauty and pride; they know themselves owned; but they wear their collars with a shameless audacity, a joy, an insolent pride that would scandalize and frighten the bored, depressed, frustrated women of Earth.
“I do not approve of the platform,” said the free woman, coldly.
Forkbeard did not respond to her, but regarded her with great deference.
“These females,” she said, indicating the Forkbeard’s girls, who knelt at her feet, their heads to the turf, “could be better employed on your farm, dunging fields and making butter.” Marauders of Gor, page 155, 156
Slave of the North BONDMAIDS
"She was a large breasted woman. The men of Torvaldsland are fond of such women."
"She was blond; she was barefoot; she wore an ankle-length white kirtle, of white wool, sleeveless, split to her belly. About her neck I could see a dark ring."
"I saw people running down the sloping green land, toward the water. Several came from within the palisade. Among them, white kirtled, collared, excited, ran bond-maids. These, upon the arrival of their master, are permitted to greet him. The men of the north enjoy the bright eyes, the leaping bodies, the squealing, the greetings of their bond-maids."
"Thyri, and other bond-maids, leaped and clapped their hands. How alive and vital they seemed! Their hair was loose, in the fashion of bond-maids. Their eyes shone; their cheeks were flushed; each inch of them, each marvelous, embonded inch of them, was incredibly alive and beautiful . How incredibly feminine they were, so living and uninhibited and delightful, so utterly fresh, so free, so spontaneous, so open in their emotions and the movements of their bodies; they now moved and laughed and walked, and stood, as women, pride was not permitted them; joy was. Only a kirtle of thin, white wool, split to the belly, stood between their beauty and the leather of their masters."
"She stood very still, facing the couch, at its foot. She was a bond-maid. She was property. She was owned. 'Force me,' she whispered. Bond-maids know they are chattel, and relish being treated as such. Deep in the belly, too, of every female is a desire, more ancient than the caves, to be forced to yield to the ruthless domination of a magnificent , uncompromising male, a master; deep with in them they all wish to submit, vulnerably and completely, nude, to such a beast."
"'My Jarl,' she asked, frightened, 'is it the second taking of the Gorean master, to which you intend to subject me?' 'Yes,' I told her. 'I have heard of it,' she wept. 'In it,' she gasped, 'the girl is permitted no quarter, no mercy!' 'That is true,' I told her. We lay together, silently, I holding her, she against me, chained, for something like half of an Ahn. Then I touched her. "She lifted her head. 'Is it beginning?' she asked. 'Yes,' I told her. 'May a bond-maid beg one favor of her Jarl?" she asked. 'Perhaps,' I said. She leaned over me. I felt her hair brush my body. 'Be merciless,' she whispered. 'Be merciless,' she begged. 'That is my intention,' I told her, and threw her to her back."
"I noted that the bond-maids of Ivar Forkbeard attracted more then their expected share of attention. They were quite beautiful, from collars to low bellies, and the turn of their legs.
'Your girls walk well.' I told Ivar. 'They are bond-maids,' said he, 'under the eyes of strange men.' I smiled. The girls wore their kirtles as they did not simply that the riches owned by Ivar Forkbeard might be well displayed, the better to excite the envy of others and brighten his vanity, but for another reason as well; the female slave, knowing she is slave, finds it stimulating to be exposed to the inspection of unknown men; do they find her body pleasing; do they want it; is she desired; she sees their looks, their pleasure; these things, for example, do they wish they owned her, she finds gratifying; she is female; she is proud of her allure, her beauty; further, she is stimulated by knowing that one of these strange men might buy her, might own her, and that then she would have to please him, and well; the eyes of a handsome free man and a slave girl meet; she sees he wonders how she would be in the furs; he sees that she, furtively, speculates on what it would be like to be owned by him; she smiles, and, in her collar, hurries on; both receive pleasure.
'When we return to Forkbeard's Landfall,' said the Forkbeard, 'they will be better, for having looked, and having been looked upon.'"
"Slave girls fear free women muchly. It is almost as if there was some unspoken war between them, almost as if they might be mortal enemies. In such a war, or such an enmity, of course, the slave girl is completely at the mercy of the free person; she is only slave. One of the great fears of a slave girl is that she will be sold to a woman. Free women treat their female slaves with incredible hatred and cruelty. Why this is I do not know. Some say it is because they, the free women, envy the girls their collars and wish that they, too, were collared, and at the complete mercy of masters."
"I looked down upon her. 'You are a wanton slave,' I said. She looked up at me laughing, 'A girl in a collar is not permitted inhibitions,' she said. It was true, slave girls must reveal their sexual nature, totally. Do they not do so , they are beaten."
"In the north, my pretty maids," Ivar assured them, "the burdens you carry will be more prosaic, bundles of wood for the fires, buckets of water for the hall, baskets of dung for the fields." They looked at him with horror understanding then what the nature of their life would be. And at night, of course, they would server the feasts of their masters, carrying and filling the great the horns, and delighting them with the softness of their bodies in the furs.
In the crowd, too, much in evidence, were brazen bond-maids; they had been brought to the thing, generally, by captains and Jarls; it is not unusual for men to bring such slaves with them, though they are not permitted near the law courts or the assemblies of deliberation; the voyages to the thing were not, after all, ventures of raiding; they were not enterprises of warfare; there were three reasons for bringing such girls; they were for the pleasure of men; they served, as display objects, to indicate the wealth of their masters; and they could be bought and sold.
The Forkbeard had bought with him, too, some bond-maids. They followed us. Their eyes were bright; their steps were eager; they had been long isolated on the farm; rural slave girls, the Forkbeard’s wenches, they were fantastically stimulated to see the crowds; they looked upon the thing-fields with pleasure and excitement; even had they been permitted, some of them, to look upon certain of the contests. It is said that such pleasures improve a female slave. Sometimes, in the south, female slaves are dressed in the robes of free women, even veiled, and taken by their masters to see the tarn races, or games, or songs-dramas; many assume that she, sitting regally by his side, is a companion, or being courted for the companionship; only he and she know that their true relation is that of master and slave girl; but when they return home, and the door to his compartment closes, their charade done, she immediately strips to brand and collar, and kneels, head to his feet, once again only an article of his property; how scandalized would have been the free woman, had they known that, next to them perhaps, had been sitting a girl who was only slave; but there were no disguises in Torvaldsland; there was no mistaking that the girls that followed the Forkbeard, or "Thorgeir of Ax Glacier," were bond; to better display his pets, and excite the envy of others, the Forkbeard had had his girls drop their kirtles low upon their hips, and hitch them high, that their beauty might be well exhibited, from their collars to some inches below their navels, and, too, that the turns of their calves and ankles might be similarly displayed; I would have thought that they might have groaned with humiliation and attempted to hide themselves among us, but, instead, even Pudding and Thyri, they walked as proud, shameless bond-maid; the exposure of the females navel, on Gor, is known as the "slave belly"; only female slaves expose their navels; from a vendor, the Forkbeard bought his girls honey cake; with their fingers they ate it eagerly, crumbs at the side of their mouths.
"Look!" cried Pudding. "A silk girl!" The expression "silk girl" is used, often, among bond-maids of the north, to refer to their counterparts in the south. The expression reflects their belief that such girls are spoiled, excessively pampered, indulged and coddled, sleek pets, who have little to do but adorn themselves with cosmetics and await their masters, cuddled cutely, on plush, scarlet coverlets, fringed with gold. There is some envy in this charge, I think. More literally, the expression tends to be based on the fact that the brief slave tunic of the south, the single garment permitted the female slave, is often silk. Southern girls, incidentally, in my opinion, though scarcely as worked as their northern sisters in bondage, a function of the economic distinction between the farm and the city, are often worked, and worked hard, particularly if they have not pleased their masters. Yet, I think their labors less than those often performed by the wife of Earth. This is a consequence of Gor’s simpler culture, in which there is literally less to do, less to clean, less to care for , and so on, and also of the fact that the Gorean master, if pleased with the wench, takes care that she is fresh and ready for the couch. An overworked, weary woman, despondent and tired, is less responsive to her master’s touch; she does not squirm as well. The Gorean master, treating her as the animal she is, works and handles her in such a way that the responses of his passionate, exciting, hot-eyed, slim-legged pet are kept honed to perfection. Some men are better at this, of course, than others. There are scrolls, books, on Gor, which may be purchased inexpensively, on the feeding, care, and training of female slaves. There are others who claim, as would be expected, that the handling of a slave girl, in order to get the most out of her, is an inborn gift. Incidentally, for what it is worth, though the southern girl is, I expect, worked less hard then the northern girl, who is commonly kept isolated on the farm, she is more often than her northern sister put to the switch or whip; I think she lives under a harsher discipline; southern masters are harder with their girls, expecting more from them and seeing that they get it; northern girls, for example, are seldom trained in the detailed, intricate sensuous arts of the female slave; the southern girl, to her misery, must often learn these to perfection; moreover, upon command, she must perform, joyfully and skillfully.
The silk girl was heeling her master, a captain of Torvaldsland. She wore, indeed, a brief tunic of the south, of golden silk. She wore a collar of gold, and, hanging in her ears, were loops of gold.
"High-farm girls!" she whispered, as she passed the bond-maids of Ivar Forkbeard. In the south the southern slave girl commonly regards her northern counterparts as bumpkins, dolts from the high farms on the slopes of the mountains of Torvaldsland; she thinks of them as doing little but swilling tarsk and dunging fields; she regards them as, essentially, nothing more than a form of bosk cow, used to work, to give simple pleasure to rude men, and to breed thralls.
"Cold fish!" cried out Pudding. "Stick!" cried out Pouting Lips.
The silk girl, passing them, did not appear to hear them. "Pierced-ear girl!" screamed Pouting lips.
The silk girl turned, stricken. She put her hands to her ears. There were sudden tears in her eyes. Then weeping, she turned away, her head in her hands, and fled after her master.
She went to a piece of tent can-vas, which, casually, loosely, was thrown over some object. She threw it back. Lying in the dirt, her legs drawn up, her wrists tied behind her back, was the deliciously bodied little wench, dark-haired, in gold silk, now dirtied and torn, in golden collar, and gold earrings, who had exchanged words with Ivar’s wool-kirtled wenches at the thing. She was the trained girl, the southern silk girl. In fury, she squirmed to her feet.
"I am not a Kur girl," she cried. Indeed, she did not wear the heavy leather collar, with ring and lock, which Kurii fastened on their female cattle. She wore a collar of gold, and earrings, and, torn and muddied, a slip of golden silk, of the sort with which masters sometimes display their girl slaves. It was incredibly brief. "I have a human master," she said, angrily, "to whom I demand to be immediately re-turned."
I saw Honey Cake among them, and the Forkbeard’s golden girl, the southern silk girl, too, she laboring as any other bond-maid. I do not think that in the south she had been forced so to work. She staggered. "Hur-ry," said the girl behind her, "or we will be beaten!" The girl moaned, and staggered to the gangplank, and, slowly, foot by foot, her bare feet pressed by the weight deeply into the rough boards, climbed, carrying her burden, to the deck of the ship. Among the girls, too, I saw Bera, she one of the Blue Tooth’s girls, one of several, who had been placed under the orders of Wulfstan to assist in the loading. She was naked. The other girls, resenting the tunic she had been given, had stripped her. Svein Blue Tooth had laughed Masters do not interfere in the squabbles of slaves
Male thralls turned the spits over the long fire; female thralls, bond-maids, served the tables. The girls, though collared in the manner of Torvaldsland, and serving men, were fully clothed. Their kirtles of white wool, smudged and stained with grease, fell to their ankles; they hurried about; they were barefoot; their arms, too, were bare; their hair was tied with strings behind their heads, to keep it free from sparks; their faces were, on the whole, dirty, smudged with dirt and grease; they were worked hard; Bera, I noted, kept much of an eye upon them; one girl, seized by a warrior, her waist held, his other hand sliding upward from her ankle beneath the single garment permitted her, the long, stained woolen kirtle, making her cry out with pleasure, dared to thrust her lips eagerly, furtively, to his; but she was seen by Bera; orders were given; by male thralls she was bound and, weeping, thrust to the kitchen, there to be stripped and beaten; I presumed that if Bera were not present the feast might have taken a different turn; her frigid, cold presence was, doubtless, not much welcomed by the men. But she was the woman of Svein Blue Tooth. I supposed, in time, normally, she would retire, doubtless taking Svein Blue Tooth with her.
Thralls
It is interesting to see that though thralls may not touch bond-maids, however, they are often ordered to manhandle them in different ways as we see throughout the quotes here.
Male thralls turned the spits over the long fire; female thralls, bond-maids, served the tables. The girls, though collared in the manner of Torvaldsland, and serving men, were fully clothed. Their kirtles of white wool, smudged and stained with grease, fell to their ankles; they hurried about; they were barefoot; their arms, too, were bare; their hair was tied with strings behind their heads, to keep it free from sparks; their faces were, on the whole, dirty, smudged with dirt and grease; they were worked hard; Bera, I noted, kept much of an eye upon them; one girl, seized by a warrior, her waist held, his other hand sliding upward from her ankle beneath the single garment permitted her, the long, stained woollen kirtle, making her cry out with pleasure, dared to thrust her lips eagerly, furtively, to his; but she was seen by Bera; orders were given; by male thralls she was bound and, weeping, thrust to the kitchen, there to be stripped and beaten; I presumed that if Bera were not present the feast might have taken a different turn; her frigid, cold presence was, doubtless, not much welcomed by the men. But she was the woman of Svein Blue Tooth. I supposed, in time, normally, she would retire, doubtless taking Svein Blue Tooth with her.
Marauders, page 195-196
“It will be done,” said the official. He signaled two burly thralls, each of whom seized her by one arm.
“Deliver her to the tent of Thorgeir of Ax Glacier,” he told them. “Tell him that she is a gift to him from Tarl Red-Hair.”
The girl was turned about, each of the thralls holding one of her arms. She looked once over her shoulder. Then, between the thralls, moaning, crying out, stumbling, a gift being delivered, she was thrust toward the tent of he who was known at the thing as Thorgeir of Ax Glacier. Marauders of Gor, page 167-168
As far I have seen, all thralls wear tunics of white. I have noticed that though bond-maids do take liberties, thralls very rarely do. There is a marked difference in the treatment between the two.
Men in the fields wore short tunics of white wool; some carried hoes; their hair was close cropped; about their throats had been hammered bands of black iron, with a welded ring attached. They did not leave the fields; such a departure, without permission, might mean their death; they were thralls. Marauders of Gor page, 82
I saw people running down the sloping green land, toward the water. Several came from within the palisade. Among them, white kirtled, collared, excited, ran bond-maids. These, upon the arrival of their master, are permitted to greet him. The men of the north enjoy the bright eyes, the leaping bodies, the squealing, the greetings of their bond-maids. In the fields I saw an overseer, clad in scarlet, with a gesture of his hand, releasing the thralls. Then, they, too, ran down towards the water. Marauders of Gor, page 82
Male thralls are chained for the night in the bosk shed; bond-maids are kept in the hall, for the pleasure of the free men. Marauders of Gor, page 99
Thrall punishments are very severe, if a thrall does not die from a punishment, he can only then be stronger for it.
The status of the thrall, correspondingly, however, such as it was, declined; he was now regarded as much in the same category with the urts that one clubs in the Sa-Tarna sheds, or are pursued by small pet sleen, kept there for that purpose, or with the tiny, six-toed rock tharlarion of southern Torvaldsland, favored for their legs and tails, which are speared by children. If the thrall had been nothing in Torvaldsland before, he was now less than nothing; his status was now, in effect, that of the southern, male work slave, found often in the quarries and mines, and, chained, on the great farms. He, a despised animal, must obey instantly and perfectly, or be subject to immediate slaughter. Marauders of Gor, pages 152-153
We were quite close to them; neither of them saw us. Thyri, in the afternoon, had made many trips to the sul patch. This, however, was the first time she had encountered the young man. Earlier he had been working with other thralls at the shore, with parsit nets. Marauders of Gor, page 103
Then, with the brazenness of a bond-maid, she, Thyri, who had been the fine young lady of Kassau, threw her kirtle up over her hips and, leaning forward, spit furiously at the thrall. He leaped toward her but Ottar was even quicker. He struck Wulfstan, the thrall, Tarsk, behind the back of his neck with the handle of his ax. Wulfstan fell stunned. In an instant Ottar had bound the young man’s hands before his body. He then jerked him to his knees by the iron collar.
“You have seen what your ax can do to posts,” said he to me, “now let us see what it can do to the body of a man.” He then threw the young thrall to his feet, holding him by the collar, his back to me. The spine, of course, would be immediately severed; moreover, part of the ax will, if the blow be powerful, emerge from the abdomen. It takes, however, more than one blow to cut a body, that of a man, in two. To strike more than twice, however, is regarded as clumsiness. The young man stood, numbly, caught. Thyri, her kirtle down, shrank back, her hand before her mouth.
“You have seen,” said Ottar, to the Forkbeard, “that he has been bold with a bond-maid, the property of free men.”
“Thralls and bond-maids, sometimes,” said I, “banter.” “He would have put his hands upon her,” said Ottar. That seemed true, and was surely more serious. Bond-maids were, after all, the property of free men. It was not permitted for a thrall to touch them.
“Would you have touched her?” asked the Forkbeard.
“Yes, my Jarl,” whispered the young man.
“You see!” cried Ottar. “Let Red Hair strike!”
I smiled. “Let llim be whipped instead,” I said.
“No!” cried Ottar.
“Let it be as Red Hair suggests,” said the Forkbeard. He then looked at the thrall. “Run to the whipping post,;’ he said. “Beg the first free man who passes to beat you.”
Yes, my Jarl,” he said.
He would be stripped and bound, wrists over his head, to the post at the bosk shed
“Fifty strokes,” said the Forkbeard.
“Yes, my Jarl,” said the young man
“The lash,” said the Forkbeard, “will be the snake.”
His punishment would be heavy indeed. The snake is a single-bladed whip, weighted, of braided leather, eight feet long and about a half an inch to an inch thick. It is capable of lifting the flesh from a man’s back. Sometimes it is set with tiny particles of metal. It was not impossible that he would die under its blows. The snake is to be distinguished from the much more common Gorean slave whip, with its five broad striking surfaces. The latter whip, commonly used on females, punishes terribly; it has, however, the ad-vantage of not marking the victim. No one is much concerned, of course, with whether or not a thrall is marked. A girl with an unmarked back, commonly, will bring a much higher price than a comparable wench, if her back be muchly scarred. Men commonly relish a smooth female, except for the brand scar. In Turia and Ar, it might be mentioned it is not uncommon for a female slave to be depilated.
The young thrall looked at me. It was to me that he owed his life.
“Thank you, my Jarl,” he said. Then he turned and, wrists still bound before his body, as Ottar had fastened them, ran toward the bosk shed.
“Go, Ottar, to the forge shed,” said the Forkbeard, grinning. Tell Gautrek to pass by the bosk shed.”
Ottar grinned. “Good,” he said. Gautrek was the smith: I did not envy the young man.
“And Ottar,” said the Forkbeard, “see that the thrall returns to his work in the morning.”
“I shall,” said Ottar, and turned toward the forge shed.
Marauders of Gor, page 104-105
“Thank you, my Jarl,” said the boy. The boy, unlike the adult male thralls, was not chained at night in the bosk shed, Ivar was fond of him. He slept, chained, in the kitchen. Marauder of Gor, page132
It seems that at one time thralls were sacrificed like bosks and verr by the rune-priests. Lucky for them now, it seems they are unworthy of sacrifice.
We saw thralls, too, in the crowd, and rune-priests, with long hair, in white robes, a spiral ring of gold on their left arms, about their waist a bag of omens chips, pieces of wood soaked in the blood of the sacrificial bosk, slain to open the thing; these chips are thrown like dice, sometimes several times, and are then read by the priests; the thing-temple, in which the ring of the temple is kept, is made of wood; nearby, in a grove, hung from poles, were bodies of six verr; in past days, it is my understanding, there might have been decided, however, a generation ago, by one of the rare meetings of the high council of rune-priests, attended by the high rune-priests of each district, that thralls should no longer be sacrificed; this was not defended, however, on grounds of the advance of civilization, or such, but rather on the grounds that thralls, like urts and tiny six-toed tharlarion, were not objects worthy of sacrifice; there had been a famine and many thralls had been sacrificed; in spite of this the famine had not abated for more than four growing seasons; this period, too, incidentally, was noted for the large number of raids to the south, often involving entire fleets from Torvaldsland; it had been further speculated that the gods had no need of thralls, or, if they did, they might supply this need themselves, or make this need known through suitable signs; no signs, however, luckily for thralls, were forthcoming; this was taken as a vindication of the judgment of the high council of rune-priests; after the council, the status of rune-priests had risen in Torvaldsland; this may also have had something to do with the fact that the famine, finally, after four seasons, abated; the status of the thrall, correspondingly, however, such as it was, declined; he was now regarded as much in the same category with the urts that one clubs in the Sa-Tarna sheds, or are pursued by small pet sleen, kept there for that purpose, or with the tiny, six-toed rock tharlarion of southern Torvaldsland, favored for their legs and tails, which are speared by children. If the thrall had been nothing in Torvaldsland before, he was now less than nothing; his status was now, in effect, that of the southern, male work slave, found often in the quarries and mines, and, chained, on the great farms. He, a despised animal, must obey instantly and perfectly, or be subject to immediate slaughter. The Forkbeard had bought one thrall with him, the young man, Tarsk, who, even now, followed in the retinue of the Forkbeard; it was thought that if the Forkbeard should purchase a crate of sleen fur or a chest of bog iron the young man, on his shoulders, might then bear it back to our tent, pitched among other tents, at the thing; bog iron, incidentally, is inferior to the iron of the south; the steel and iron of the weapons of the men of Torvaldsland, interestingly, is almost uniformly of southern origin; the iron extracted from bog ore is extensively used, however, for agricultural implements. Marauders of Gor, page 153
The freeing of a thrall seems to entail some type of ceremony, in this case being that of pouring dirt over a thrall’s head to free him. I cannot be sure that this is standard, but in this case, this is how Forkbeard does it. In this quote, we also see that thralls are not permitted to touch weapons, nor the war arrow.
And among them stood, too, thralls. Their heads were not lower than those with whom they stood. Among them was the lad called Tarsk, formerly Wulfstan of Kassau, to whom Thyri had once been given for the night. In the night of the at-tack he, at the Forkbeard’s encampment near the thing field, with an ax, had slain a Kur. I remembered finding the carcass of the animal beneath the fallen, half-burned canvas of the Forkbeard’s tent. Thralls are not permitted to touch the war arrow, but they are permitted to kneel to those who have. Wulfstan had handed the Forkbeard the ax, disarming himself, and had then knelt before him, putting his head to his feet. Thralls may be slain for so much as touching a weapon. He had taken dirt from beneath the feet of the Forkbeard and, kneeling, had poured it on his head. “Rise, Thrall,” had said the Forkbeard. The young man had then stood, and straightly, head high, before the Forkbeard. The Forkbeard threw him back the ax. “Carry it,” said the Forkbeard. Marauders of Gor, page 238
Yes, thralls do get reward at times, and in the form of a warm bond-maid too! We can see that though bond-maids are haughty with thralls, they should thread carefully and show a modicum of respect.
“My Jarl,” said Thyri.
“Yes,” said the Forkbeard.
“Should this thrall,” she asked, indicating Tarsk, once Wulfstan of Kassau, “be permitted to look upon the beauty of the bond-maids?”
“What do you mean?” asked Ivar Forkbeard.
“He is, after all,” said Thyri, “only a thrall.”
I wondered that she would deny the young man this pleasure. I recalled that she had said she hated him. I, personally, had no objection to his presence in the shed. Thralls, I expected, had few pleasures. It might have been more than a year since he had been permitted a female.
The young man looked upon the proud Thyri with great bitterness.
She lifted her head, and laughed.
“I think,” said Ivar Forkbeard, “that I will send him back to the tent.”
“Excellent,” she said. She smiled at the thrall.
“Chain!” said the Forkbeard. One of his men took from over his shoulder a looped chain. At each end it terminated in a manacle. It had been held, looped, by these manacles being locked into one another. He removed it from his shoulder and opened the manacles. The chain itself was about a yard long. He handed it to the Forkbeard.
The young man would go chained to the tent.
“Wrist,” said the Forkbeard.
The young man extended his wrists. Thyri watched, delighted.
The Forkbeard closed the manacle about the young man’s left wrist.
Thyri laughed.
Then the Forkbeard took Thyri’s right wrist and closed it in the other fetter.
“My Jarl!” she cried.
“She is yours until morning,” the Forkbeard told the young thrall. “Use her behind the tent.”
“My thanks, my Jarl!” he cried.
“My Jarl!” wept Thyri.
Tarsk seized the length of chain in his right fist, about a foot from her fetter. He jerked it. The fetter was large on her wrist, but she could not slip it. She was held. She looked at him with horror. “Hurry, Bond-maid!” he cried. He turned about, dragging her by the right wrist, and, almost running, pulled her, stumbling, crying out, after him.
The Forkbeard, and I, and his men, laughed. We had not been much pleased at the insolence of the bond-maid with respect to the young thrall; once, we recalled, her taunting of him had almost cost him his life; I had intervened, and he had only been whipped instead; I had little doubt that Wulfstan of Kassau, the thrall, Tarsk, had many scores to settle with the pretty little she-sleen, once a fine young lady of Kassau; too, I recalled, she had once refused his suit, he supposedly not being good enough for her. “I hope,” said the Forkbeard, “he will not make her scream all night behind the tent. I wish to obtain a good night’s rest.”
“It would be a shame,” said I, “to interfere with his pleasure.”
“If necessary,” said the Forkbeard, “I will simply have him gag her with her own kirtle.”
“Excellent,” I said. Marauders of Gor, page 159-160
In this strange and exceptional case, I think mainly because the war is against Kurii, the thralls are armed and given the chance to fight the horrid beasts.
Svein Blue Tooth was at the pens, leading the attack that had broken the rally. The rally had been led by the Kur who had been foremost in the attack on his hall. This Kur, it seemed, had disappeared, scattering with the others. The Blue Tooth stepped over the body of a fallen Kur. He gestured to the chained male slaves. “Free them,” he said, “and give them weapons. There is yet work to do.” Eagerly the slaves, when their manacles had been struck away, picked up weapons and sought Kurii. Marauders of Gor, page 252
When the Forkbeard himself rose, of course, the camp became quite active, and the slaves were put about many menial labors; the thrall, Tarsk, was unchained from Thyri, and set about the sawing of wood; Thyri herself, her kirtle thrown to her, was ordered to pound grain to make flour; she could not even look Tarsk in the face, I noted; she looked down, shyly; from her cries the night before I knew that she had, behind the tent, yielded to him; the other girls much teased her for yielding to a thrall; “I would have been beaten had I not yielded,” she said in defense; then she looked down once more, and smiled; she did not seem discontent.
I saw her, late in the afternoon, unbidden, secretly bringing him water at his work.
“Thank you, bond-maid,” said he.
She put down her head.
“You are pretty, bond-maid,” he said.
“Thank you, my Jarl,” she said.
He looked after her, as she sped away. He grinned. He then, whistling, worked with gusto. He did not then seem to me unlike a free man. Marauders of Gor, page 192-193
