Post by adreannaTal{fb} on Dec 10, 2010 3:14:47 GMT -5
BOND-MAIDS
Should she, lying on her back, look back and up she sees, on the wall, the shield, the helmet, the spear and ax, the sword, in its sheath, of her master. They are visible symbols of the force by which she is kept in bondage, by which she is kept only a girl, whose belly is beneath his sword. Marauders of Gor, page 141-142
There is but one way I have seen free women enslaved up north, in Torvaldsland, and that is the bond-maid circle. A woman can either be dragged to it, enticed to it, or walk to its circle herself. A bond-maid circle can be drawn anywhere, and as we see at times it can be as simple as drawing one with the heel of a boot on any floor or the ground.
“Go to the bond-maid circle,” said Ivar Forkbeard, indicating the circle he had drawn in the dir.
The women cried out in misery. To enter the circle, of one is a female, is, by the laws of Torvaldsland, to declare oneself a bond-maid. A woman, of course, need not enter the circle of her own free will. She may, for example, be thrown within it, naked and bound. Howsoever she enters the circle, voluntarily or by force, free or secured, he emerges from it, by the laws of Torvaldsland, as a bond-maid. Marauders of Gor, page 44-45
But the Forkbeard did not make her serve him then but, firmly, held her body, locked in his arms, that of his prisoner, to his, warming her. After half of an Ahn I saw her, delicately, eyes frightened, lift her head and put her lips to his shoulder; softly, timidly, she kissed him; and then looked into his eyes. Suddenly she was flung on her back and his huge hand, roughened from the hilt of the sword, the handle of the ax, was at her body. “Oh no!” she cried. “No!”
Bets were made at the table. I bet on Ivar Forkbeard. Within an Ahn, Hilda the Haughty, to the jeers of men, the taunts of bond-maids, on her hands and knees, head down, hair falling forward, crept to the circle of the bond-maid, which Ivar Forkbeard had drawn in the dirt of the hall floor between the posts. The coals of the fire pit illuminated the left side of her body. She crawled before the bond-maids the oarsmen. She entered the circle, and then, within the circle, stood up. She stood very straight, and her head was up. “I am yours, Ivar Forkbeard,” she said. “I am yours!”
He gestured to her, and she fled from the circle, to join him, to throw herself at his side, to beg his touch, his bond-maid. Marauders of Gor, page 134
What does bond-maid eat? Slave gruel, or what we call warm or cold sa-tarna porridge, enriched with salted parsit fish. I have to point out, that slavegirls or bond-maids are not allowed to go hungry or starve themselves as we see so often online, we have to realize and understand that slaves are fed punctually and are not permitted to not eat because they are “upset”, “lonely” or what not, so this going hungry just isn’t very plausible at all.
She did not deign to speak to him, but looked away. Like the bond-maids, she had been fed only on cold Sa-Tarna porridge and scraps of dried parsit fish. Marauders of Gor, page 56
Another of the bond-maids was then freed to mix the bond-maid gruel, mixing fresh water with Sa-Tarna meal and then stirring in the raw fish. Marauders of Gor, page 63, 64
The girl who had prepared the bond-maid gruel, had now been refettered and placed again in the coffle. The slender blond girl, who had been giving the men water from the skin bag, was now given the work of filling small bowls from the large wooden bowl, for the bond-maids. She used a bronze ladle, the handle of which was curved like the neck and head of a lovely bird. About the handle was a closed bronze ring, loose. It formed a collar for the bird’s neck. The bond-maids did not much care for their gruel, unsweetened, mudlike Sa-Tarna meal, with raw fish. They fed, however. One girl who did not care to feed was struck twice across her back by a knotted rope in the hand of Gorm. Quickly then, and well, she fed. The girls, including the slender blondish girl, emptied their bowls, even to licking them, and rubbing them with their saliva-dampen-ed fingers, that no grain be left, lest Gorm, their keeper in the ship, should not be pleased. They looked to one another in fear, and put down their bowls, as they finished, fed bond-wenches.Marauders of Gor, page 65
Something else to note, I have come to realize upon reading the books that not all is poured in cement and here we see that a bond-maid stole a piece of cheese from another, so we can see that bond-maids ate slave gruel as a staple, but that they also ate different types of food, if the men of Torvaldsland already knew to bring tospits on their travels not to get sick, that they knew to feed their bond-maids more then just gruel.
Dagmar had, two months ago, stolen a piece of cheese from Pretty Ankles; she had been beaten for that, at the post; fastened there by Ottar and switched by Pretty Ankles, until Pretty Ankles had tired of switching her, too; she had not been found sufficiently pleasing by several of the Forkbeard’s oarsmen; she was, accordingly, to be sold off, as an inferior girl. Marauders of Gor, page 158
What does a bond maid wear? Well, I noticed that outside while doing work they wore kirtles, white as is seen, ankle length and split down the front to their navels, but, I also have noticed that they were naked very often too. So, a naked bond-maid is a natural thing, though of course free women would protest.
A flock of verr, herded by a maid with a stick, turned, bleating on the sloping hillside. She shaded her eyes. 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. Marauders of Gor, page 81
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.
Marauders of Gor, page 82
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, imbonded 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. Marauders of Gor, page100
Here we see that a Northern Jarl has dressed his bond-maid in silks as she is a silk girl come bond-maid. It is as the thing, can we assume she wears her kirtle to do her chores? That is most probable, but still, it is good to see kirtles are the main dress but at times a Jarl may dress his girls otherwise.
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. Marauders of Gor, page 145
“Kirtle yourself, wench,” said the Forkbeard to Gunnhild, throwing her kirtle. She fixed it as it had been before, low on her hips, hitched above her calves. Marauders of Gor, page 154
Northern bond-maids do take the slave-wine much like their imbonded sister of the south. It also seems to be as bitter.
Gorm then stood beside Ivar Forkbeard. He carried, on a strap over his shoulder, a tall dark vessel, filled with liquid.
The men on the shore laughed.
Attached to the vessel, by a light chain, was a golden cup. It had two handles. From a soup on the vessel, grinning, Gorm filled the golden cup. The liquid swirling in the cup was black.
“Drink,” said the Forkbeard, thrusting the cup into the hands of the slender, blond girl, she who had, so long ago, in the temple of Kassau, worn the snood of scarlet yarn, with twisted golden wire, the red vest and skirt, the white blouse.
She held the cup. It was decorated; about its sides, cunningly wrought, was a design, bond-maids, chained. A chain design also decorated the rim, and, at five places on the cup, was the image of a slave whip, five-strapped.
She looked at the black liquid.
“Drink,” said the Forkbeard.
She lifted it to her lips, and tasted it. She closed her eyes, and twisted her face.
“It is too bitter,” she wept.
She felt the knife of the Forkbeard on her belly. “Drink,” said he.
She threw back her head and drank down the foul brew. She began to cough and weep. The coffle rope was untied from her throat. “Send her to the branding log,” said the Forkbeard. He thrust the girl down the gangplank, into the arms of the waiting men, who hurried her from the dock.
One by one, the prizes of Ivar Forkbeard, even the rich, proud Aelgifu, were forced to down the salve wine. Then they were, one by one, freed from the coffle, and hurried to the branding log. Marauders of Gor, page 83-84
What about northern collars? And what about being used? Well, it seems to happen often that jarls take more then one bond-maid to his furs. Also, no where is it even mentioned that the collars are encrypted, which means, the collars define them as slaves, slaves to Forkbeard’s Steading.
A bond-maid thrust through the crowd. “Does my Jarl now remember Gunnhild?” She whimpered, and slipped to his side, holding him, lifting her lips to kiss him on the throat, beneath the beard. About her neck, riveted, was a collar of black iron, with a welded ring, to which a chain might me attached. Marauders of Gor, page 84.
A bond-maid thrust through the crowd. “Does my Jarl not remember Gunnhild?” She whimpered, and slipped to his side, holding him, lifting her lips to kiss him on the throat, beneath the beard. About her neck, riveted, was a collar of black iron, with a welded ring, to which a chain might be attached. “What of Pouting lips?” said another girl, kneeling before him, lifting her eyes to his. Sometimes bond-maids are given descriptive names. The girl had full, sensuous lips. She was blond; she also smelled of verr; it had doubtless been she whom I had seen on the slope herding verr. “Pouting Lips has been in agony awaiting the return of her Jarl,” she whimpered. The Forkbeard shook her head with his great hand. “What of Olga?” whined another wench, sweet and strapping, black-haired; “Do not forget Pretty Ankles, my Jarl” said another wench, a delicious little thing, perhaps not more the sixteen. She thrust her lips to the back of his left hand, biting at the hair there. Marauders of Gor, page 84.
In this quote, it is understood where bond-maids sleep, fettered to a slave long along the sleeping berths of the Jarls.
I looked to the Forkbeard. He had one arm about the full, naked waist of the daughter of the administrator of Kassau, Pudding, and the other about the waist of the marvellously breasted, collared Gunnhild. “Taste your Pudding, my Jarl,” begged Pudding. He kissed her. “Gunnhild! Gunnhild!” protested Gunnhild. Her hand was inside his furred shirt. He turned and thrust his mouth upon hers. “Let Pudding please you,” wept Pudding. “Let Gunnhild please you!” cried Gunnhild. “I will please you better,” said Pudding. “I will please you better!” cried Gunnhild. Ivar Forkbeard stood up; both bond-maids looked up at him, touching him; “Run to the furs,” said Ivar Forkbeard, “both of you.”
Both girls quickly fled to his furs.
He stepped over the bench, and followed them. At the foot of the ground level, which is the sleeping level, which lies about a foot above the dug-out floor, against the raised dirt, here and there, were rounded logs, laid lengthwise. Each log is ten to fifteen feet long, and commonly about eight inches to a foot thick. If one thinks of the sleeping level, on each side, as constituting, in effect, a couch, almost the length of the hall, except for the cooking area, the logs lie at the foot of these two couches, and parallel to their foot. About each log, fitting snugly into deep, wide, circular grooves in the wood, were several iron bands. These each contained a welded ring, to which was attached a length of chain, terminating in a black-iron fetter.
Gunnhild thrust out her left ankle; Forkbeard fettered her, a moment later Pudding, too had thru forth her ankle, and her ankle, too, was locked in a fetter of the north. The Forkbeard threw off his jacket. There was a rustle of chain as the two bond-maids turned, Pudding on her left side, Gunnhild on her right, waiting for the Forkbeard to lie between them. Marauders of Gor, page 97
Bond-maids do work hard, their work is physical, it is mentioned that their slavery is harder physically, but that slavery in itself is hardest for their southern sisters, which they speak of as “Silk girls”.
“Olga,” he said, “there is butter to be churning in the churning shed.”
“Yes, my Jarl,” said she, holding her skirt up, running from the place of our exercises.
“Gunnhild, Pouting Lips,” said he. “To the looms.”
“Yes, Jarl,” said they, turning, and hurrying toward the hall, their looms lay against its west wall.
“You, little wench,” said Ottar to Thyri.
She stepped back. “Yes, Jarl,” she said.
“You,” he said, “gather verr dung in your kirtle and carry it to the sul patch!”
“Yes, Jarl,” she laughed, and turned away. I watched her, as she ran, barefoot, to do his bidding. She was exquisite.
“You other lazy girls,” cried Ottar, addressing the remaining bond-maids, “is it your wish to be cut into strips and fed to the parsit fish?”
“No, my Jarl!” they cried.
“To your labours” cried he. Marauders of Gor, page 101
In the crowd, too, I saw some merchants, though few of them, in their white and gold. I saw, too, four slavers, perfumed, in their robes of blue and yellow silk, come north to buy women. I saw, by the cut of their robes, they were from distant Turia. Forkbeard’s girls shrank away from them. They feared the perfumed, silken slavery of the south; in the south the yoke of slavery is much heavier on a girl’s neck; her bondage is much more abject; she is often little more than a pleasure plaything of her master; it is common for a southern master to care more for his pet sleen than his girls. In the north, of course, it is common for a master to care more for his ship than his girls. I saw, too, in the crowd, a physician, in green robes, from Ar and a scribe from Cos. These cities are not on good terms but they, civilized men, both in the far north, conversed affably. Marauders of Gor, page 153
The punishments for bond-maids seem varied, though all are direct, there is little time wasted in punishing a slave. Though one punishment, called the whip of the furs, bond-maids do seem to enjoy muchly.
Whip of the Furs
I turned to the girl, Thyri. I stood over her. “Part of what occurred here,” I told her, “is your fault, bond-maid.”
She put her head down. “I hate him,” she said, “but I would not have wanted him to be killed.” She looked up. “Am I to be punished, my Jarl?” she asked.
“Yes,” I told her.
Fear entered her eyes. How beautiful she was.
“But with the whip of the furs,” I laughed.
“I look forward eagerly, my Jarl,” laughed she, “to my punishment.”
“Run,” said I.
She turned and ran toward the hall, but, after a few steps turned, and faced me. “I await your discipline, my Jarl,” she cried, and then turned again, and fled, that fine young lady of Kassau, barefoot and collared, now only a bond-maid, to the hall, to the furs, to await her discipline. Marauders of Gor, page 106
“Is it only a bond-maid, my Jarl,” asked Thyri, “who can know these pleasures?”
“It is said,” I said, “that only a bond-maid can know them.”
She lay on her back, her head turned toward me. I lay at her side, on one elbow. Her left knee was drawn up; about her left ankle, locked, was the black-iron fetter, with its chain. On her throat was the collar of iron.
“Then, my Jarl,” said she, “I am happy that I am a bond-maid.”
I took her again in my arms. Marauders of Gor, page 106
Whipping
“Bring the five-strap slave slash,” said Ivar Forkbeard to Gunnhild.
“Yes, my Jarl,” she said, smiling. She ran to fetch it.
“I am the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar,” said Hilda. “Release me immediately.”
The lash was placed by Gunnhild in the hand of Ivar Forkbeard.
Ottar threw the girl’s hair forward, so that it fell before her shoulders.
“No!” cried Hilda.
The Forkbeard touched her back with the whip; his fist held the handle and, too, beneath his fist, folded back, were the five straps. He tapped her twice.
“No!” she cried. “Please, no!”
We fell back to give the Forkbeard room, and he shook loose the straps and drew back his arm.
The first stroke threw her against the post; I saw the astonishment, in her eyes, then the pain; the daughter of Thorgard seemed stunned; then she howled in misery; it was only then that she realized what the whip might do to a girl. “I will obey you!” she screamed. “I will obey you!” Ivar Forkbeard, experienced in the disciplining of women, did not deliver the second stroke for a full Ehn. In this time, she screamed, over and over, “I will obey you!” Then he struck again. Her body, again, was struck against the post; her hands twisted in the binding fiber; her entire body rubbed on the post, in agony, pressing against it; tears burst from her eyes; she was on her tiptoes, pressing against the post; her thighs were on either side of the post; but the post did not yield; she was fastened to it. Then he struck again. She writhed, twisting and howling. “I ask only to obey you!” she cried. “I beg to obey you!” When he next struck she could only close her eyes in pain. She could then scarcely breathe. She gasped. No longer could she howl or scream. She tensed, teeth gritted, her body itself a silent scream of agony. But the blow did not then fall. Was the beating done? Then she was struck again. The last five blows were delivered with her hanging in the binding fiber, her body against the post, her face to one side of it. She was then released from the post and fell to her hands and knees. The beating had been quite light, only twenty strokes. Yet I did not think it would be soon that the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar would wish to find herself again at the post. The beating had been, though light, quite adequate to its purpose, which was to teach her, a captive, the whip.
No female forgets it.
She looked up at the Forkbeard in misery.
“Bring her clothing,” said the Forkbeard.
It was brought.
“Garb yourself,” said the Forkbeard.
Painfully, almost unable to stand, tears in her eyes, inch by inch, the girl drew on her garments.
She then stood there among us, bent over, tears staining her cheeks. She wore the dress of green velvet trimmed with gold, it torn from the collar, it ripped at the right side.
After she had walked about, he had said to her, “Are you ready to heel?”
“I am not a pet sleen!” she had cried.
“Put her to the oar,” had said the Forkbeard.
Hilda, clothed, had been roped, hand and foot, and body, on her back, head down, to one of the nineteen-foot oars.
“You cannot do this to me,” she cried.
Then, to her misery, she felt the oar move. “I am a free woman!” she cried.
Then, like any bond-maid, she found herself plunged beneath the cold green surface of Thassa.
The oar lifted.
“I am the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!” she cried, spitting water, half blinded.
Then the oar dipped again. When it pulled her next from the water, she was clearly terrified. She had swallowed water. She had learned what any bond-maid swiftly learns, that one must apply oneself, and be rational, if one will survive on the oar. One must follow its rhythm, and, as soon as the surface is broken, expel air and take a deep breath. In this fashion a girl may live on the oar.
Put the the Oars
For a time the Forkbeard watched her, leaning on his elbows, on the rail, but then he left the rail.
He did, however, have Gorm watch her, with a spear. Twice in the afternoon Gorm struck away sea sleen from the girl’s body. Once he thrust away one of the white sharks of the northern waters, The second of the sea sleen it had been which, with its sharp teeth, making a strike, but falling short, had torn away her green velvet gown on the right side from the hip to the hemline; a long strip of it, like a ribbon, was in its teeth as it darted away.
She had not been on the oar for half an Ahn when she had begun to beg her release; a few Ehn later, she had begun to beg to heel the Forkbeard.
Did I mention yet that men are beasts? Yet many men don’t even get just how primal we need them to be.
She looked at him.
“Remove your clothing,” he said.
She stripped herself.
“Gather the clothing,” said the Forkbeard.
She did so.
“Go now to the kitchen of the hall,” said he. “In the fire there, burn your clothing, completely.”
“Yes, Ivar Forkbeard,” she said. Marauders of Gor, page 126-127-128
The ice house, a cruel and efficient punishment.
“Silence!” called out Ivar Forkbeard.
There was silence.
“What,” asked Ivar Forkbeard of Hilda, “if I should order you to the furs?”
“I would obey you immediately,” she said. “I have felt the whip,” she explained.
“But of your own free will you would be unlikely to enter upon the furs?” asked Ivar.
“Of course not,” she said.
Gorm, who had now disentangled himself from Pouting Lips, joined the circle about the table, where we sat, others standing. She was behind him, combing her hair with a comb of horn.
“She is Hilda the Haughty,” laughed Ottar. “She is the coldest of women!”
Hilda stood straight, her head high.
“Ottar, Gorm,” said the Forkbeard. “Take her to the ice shed. Leave her there, bound hand and foot.” Marauders of Gor, page 130-131
“Mead!” I called. Pretty Ankles rushed to serve me. I again bent to kiss the lips of Thyri.
Late and fully were we feasting when the thrall-boy, tugging on the sleeve of Ivar Forkbeard, said to him, “My Jarl, the wench in the ice shed begs to be freed.”
“How long has she begged?” asked the Forkbeard.
“For more than two Ahn,” said the boy, grinning. He was male.
“Good boy,” said the Forkbeard, and tore him a piece of neat.
“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, page131-132
In the light of the torch we saw Hilda. We approached more closely.
She lay on her side, in misery, across great blocks of ice; she could lift her head and shoulders no more than six inches from the ice; she could draw her ankles toward her body no more than six inches; small chips of wood, in which the ice is packed, clung about her body; she was bound, hand and foot, her wrists behind her, her ankles crossed and tied. Two ropes prohibited her from struggling to either a sitting or kneeling position, one running from her right ankle across the ice to a ring in the side of the shed, the other running from her throat across the ice to a similar ring on the other side of the shed.
“Please,” she wept.
Her teeth chattered; her lips were blue.
She lay before us, on her back.
“Please,” she wept, piteously, “I beg to be permitted to run to the furs of Ivar Forkbeard.”
We looked down on her. “I beg!” she cried. “I beg to be permitted to run to his furs!”
Gorm unbound the rope from her ankle, that which had held her legs straight, and that on her throat, which had prevented her from lifting her shoulders and head.
He did not unbind her wrists and ankles. He lifted her to a sitting position. She trembled with cold, whimpering. “I have brought you a drink,” he said. ‘Drink it eagerly, Hilda the Haughty.”
“Yes, yes!” she whispered, her teeth chattering.
Then, holding her head back, and lifting the cup to her mouth, he gave her of the drink he had brought with him.
And eagerly, whimpering, shuddering with cold, did Hilda take Haughty drink down the slave wine.
Gorm unbound her and threw her over his shoulder; so stiff and trembling with cold, and stiff from the ropes, was she that she could not stand.
I put my hand on her body; it was like ice. She was whimpering with cold, her head hanging down, over Gorm’s back; her long hair fell to the back of his knees.
I lit the way with the torch, and we took her to the hall of the Forkbeard.
We carried her through the darkness and smoke of the hall, between the posts.
The Forkbeard was sitting on the end of his couch, his boots on the floor.
Gorm threw her, on her knees, at the feet of the Fork-beard. Her head was down; her hair was over his boots. She trembled with cold.
Men and bond-maids gathered about.
The left side of her body was illuminated dully, redly, from the coals of the fire pit. The right side of her body was in darkness.
“Who are you?” demanded the Forkbeard.
“Hilda,” she wept, “daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar.”
“Hilda the Haughty?” he asked.
“Yes,” she wept, head down, “Hilda the Haughty.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“To share your furs,” she wept.
“Are you not a free woman?” he asked.
“I beg to share your furs, Ivar Forkbeard,” she wept.
He rose to his feet and shoved back a long table, and a bench, on the other side of the fire pit. With his heel he drew in the dirt of the floor a bond-maid circle.
She looked at him.
Then he gestured that she might enter his couch. Gratefully, she crawled upon the couch, his section of that fur-covered, dirt sleeping level, and, trembling, shuddering with cold, drawing her body up, drew the furs about her. She lay huddled in the furs. Her body shook beneath them. We heard her moan. Marauders of Gor, page 132-133
The golden girl regarded Thorgard of Scagnar with horror. Then, eyes terrified, she regarded Ivar Forkbeard, of Forkbeard’s Landfall. “You are mine now,” said the Fork-beard. Then he said to Honey Cake, “Take my new slave to the pen.”
“Yes, Master,” she laughed. Then she took the golden girl, the southern girl, by the hair. “Come, Slave,” she said. She dragged the bound silk girl, bent over, behind her. “I think,” said Ivar Forkbeard, “I will give her for a month to Gunnhild, and my other wenches. They will enjoy having their own slave. Then, when the month is done, I will turn her over to the crew, and she will be, then, as my other bond-maids, no more or less.” Marauders of Gor, page 264 to 266
Bond-maids do punish other bond-maids when permitted by their owners, they are also very vocal with eachother, and do get into slave tussles, and never have I seen a free come between slave quarrels, hmmmmmms.
Dagmar had, two months ago, stolen a piece of cheese from Pretty Ankles; she had been beaten for that, at the post; fastened there by Ottar and switched by Pretty Ankles, until Pretty Ankles had tired of switching her, too; she had not been found sufficiently pleasing by several of the Forkbeard’s oarsmen; she was, accordingly, to be sold off, as an inferior girl. Marauders of Gor, page 158
I have noticed that the slaves in Forkbeard’s home all belong to Forkbeard, though it is noticeable that some have favorites, even Forkbeard himself, the collars do not seem to be encrypted, it seems to be assumed that all the slaves work for the whole place and any man can take a slave to his chain at night. This is also reflected by how the bond-maids address most jarl as “my Jarl,” suggesting that as all men are their masters, they then will easily call them “my Jarl.”
Gunnhild had been given by the Forkbeard to Gorm for the night. I saw him holding her by the arm and pushing her ahead of him to his furs. This night her ankle would be held by his fetter, not that of the Forkbeard. The Forkbeard had offered me Pudding, but, generously, thinking to have Thyri, I had, after using her once, given her for the night to Ottar. Even now she was, kneeling on his furs, being fettered by the keeper of Ivar Forkbeard’s farm. You can imagine my irritation when I saw Thyri led past me, her left wrist in the grip of an oarsman. She looked over her shoulder at me, agonized. I blew her a kiss in the Gorean fashion, kissing and gesturing, my fingers at the right side of my mouth, almost vertical, then, with the kiss, brushing gently toward her. I had no special claim on-the pretty little bond-maid, no more than any other among the Forkbeard’s men. The delicious little thing, like the other goods of the hall, was, for most practical purposes, for the use of us all. I heard the movements of chain, the moans of the bond-maids in the arms of their masters, men of-Torvaldsland. Marauders of Gor, page 134-135
“I hate you, Tarl Red Hair,” she said.
I knelt beside her. I had intended to permit her to smolder for a time, she much aroused, and then later, when she had been much heated with need and desire, when, cruelly deprived, she had been aching to break into flame, throw her to my furs, but, unfortunately, I had forgotten about her.
“I forgot about you,” I told her.
“I hate you, Tarl Red Hair,” she said.
I reached out to touch her. She shrank back in fury.
“Would you please untie me?” she asked.
I did not wish to sleep alone. I wondered if the fires in Olga which, earlier, had burned so deeply, so hotly, could be truly out. I wondered if they might be rekindled.
I slipped, kneeling, behind her. I heard her body move against the post.
I pushed her collar up, under her chin, and, with two fingers of my right hand and two fingers of my left, rubbed the sides of her throat.
“Please untie me,” she whispered.
Her hands writhed in the bonds; her body pressed against the post; her left cheek was at the right side of the post.
My hands lowered themselves on her body. And then, her hands tied about the post, we both kneeling I caressed her. She tried to resist, in fury, but I was patient. At last I heard her sob. “You are master,” she said, “Tarl Red Hair.” I kissed her on the back of the right shoulder. She put back her head. “Take me to your furs?’’ she begged. I untied her hands from the post, taking, too, the rope from her belly, by which Ottar had fastened her to his belt, but let the rope on her right wrist, its free end in my hand, to lead her. But I needed not lead her. She followed eagerly, trying to press her lips to my left shoulder. Marauders of Gor, page 135
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. Marauders of Gor, page 136
“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. Marauders of Gor, page 137.
Bond-maids are like slaves all over Gor, treated like animals and not permitted everywhere as per other areas of Gor.
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. Marauders of Gor, page 144
For some reason, some one took the silk girl quote and hung on to it for dear life, it is very evident that not because bond-maids think silk girls are lesser then them, that they really are. It is only the perception of a northern woman made bond-maid and one that hasn’t gotten training from anywhere else on Gor. We can also notice that the northern Captain has his silk girl dressed in silks to show her off, so silks are not unknown up north.
”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. Marauders of Gor, page144
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. Marauders of Gor, page 145
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.” Marauders of Gor, page 151
A farmer, in the crowd, reached forth. His heavy hand, swiftly, from her left hip to her right breast, caressed Thyri, lingering momentarily on her breast. She stopped, startled. Then she darted away. “Buy me, my Jarl!” she laughed. “Buy me!”
The Forkbeard grinned. His girls, he knew, were good. Few who looked upon them would not have liked to own them. Marauders of Gor, page 151-152
In the crowd, too, I saw some merchants, though few of them, in their white and gold. I saw, too, four slavers, perfumed, in their robes of blue and yellow silk, come north to buy women. I saw, by the cut of their robes, they were from distant Turia. Forkbeard’s girls shrank away from them. They feared the perfumed, silken slavery of the south; in the south the yoke of slavery is much heavier on a girl’s neck; her bondage is much more abject; she is often little more than a pleasure plaything of her master; it is common for a southern master to care more for his pet sleen than his girls. In the north, of course, it is common for a master to care more for his ship than his girls. I saw, too, in the crowd, a physician, in green robes, from Ar and a scribe from Cos. These cities are not on good terms but they, civilized men, both in the far north, conversed affably. Marauders of Gor, page 153
I looked upon her. She seemed the perfect solution to my problem. The gift of a female is sufficiently trivial that the honor of the Forkbeard as my host would not be in the least threatened; further, this was a desirable wench, whose cuddly slave body would be much relished by the Forkbeard and his crew; further, being trained, she would be a rare and exquisite treat for the rude giants of Torvaldsland; beyond this, of course, commanded, she would impart her skills to the best of her abilities to his other girls. Marauders of Gor, page 166-167
Bond-maid do fear free women, and free women of the north despise slave-girls, it is unfortunate that so many free women forget this and without showing disgust at the slave girls, could at least show disdain and the true sensations of realizing that bond-maids are luscious beasts that can and do satisfy men in the furs, that the disgust is born of jealousy is okay, it is natural, bond-maids are free in their collars.
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. Marauders of Gor, page 154
“Silence, Bond-maid!” cried Bera.
Hilda put down her head.
“To think,” cried Bera, “that I expressed solicitude for a collar-girl!”
Hilda dared not speak. For a bond-maid to speak in such a situation might be to invite a sentence of death. She shuddered.
In fury, Bera, lifting her skirt from about her ankles, took her way from the long table, retiring to her own quarters. Marauders of Gor, page 200-201
Then, we again continued on our way, leaving the place of the platform, the place of Gunnhild’s triumph, where she had received a pastry, and where her master, the Forkbeard, had made a silver tarn disk on her beauty. She gave the other girls crumbs of the pastry and permitted Dagmar, who was to be sold off, to lick frosting from her fingers. Marauders of Gor, page 157
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. It would be then that the men might thrust back the tables and hand the bond-maids about. No Jarl I knew can hold men in his hall unless there are ample women for them. I felt sorry for Svein Blue Tooth. This night, however, it seemed Bera had no intention of retiring early. I suspected this might have accounted somewhat for the ugliness of the men with the entertainers, not that the men of Tor-valdsland, under any circumstances, constitute an easily pleased audience. Generally only Kaissa and the songs of skalds can hold their attention for long hours, that and stories told at the tables. Marauders of Gor, page 195-196
Bond-maids getting sold.
There were some one hundred bond-maids for sale in the shed. They all wore collars of the north, with the projecting iron ring. They were fastened by a single chain, but it was not itself run through the projecting loop on their collars; rather, a heavy padlock, passing through a link of the chain and the projecting loop, secured them; in this way the chain, when a girl is taken from the chain, or added to it, need not be drawn through any of the loops; the girls may thus, with convenience, be spaced on the chain, removed from it, and added to it.
The Forkbeard was given the tarn disk, which he placed in his wallet. It had been taken from a sack slung about the right wall. There, from one of several small wooden boxes projecting an intervals from the wall, he took an opened padlock. He then walked across the shed, still holding Dagmar by the arm, and threw her to her knees. He then lifted the chain and, by means of the padlock, passing it through the loop on her collar and a link in the chain, secured her. Marauders of Gor, page 158
Slave reactions are rather standard, a slave will fight her master, she at times feels the need to fight so her given in to the primal needs of sexual slavery is taken out of her hands. At times the fear is real and the need to fight is real, though physiologically, it is different with each woman.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then opened them. She had feared to be touched.
Where as fear inhibits sexual performance in a male, rendering it impossible, because neutralizing aggression, essential to male power, fear in a woman, some fear, not terror, can, interestingly, improve her responsiveness, perhaps by facilitating her abject submission, which can then lead to multiple orgasms. This is another reason, incidentally, why Goreans favor the enslavement of desirable women; the slave girl knows that she must please her master, and that she will be punished, and perhaps harshly if she does not; this makes her not only desperate to please the brute who fondles her, but also produces in her a genuine fear of him; this fear on her part enhances her receptivity and responsiveness; also, of course, since fear stimulates aggression, which is intimately connected with male sexuality, her fear, which she is unable to help, to her master’s amusement, deepens and augments the very predation in which she finds herself as quarry; and if she should not be afraid, it is no great matter; any woman, if the master wishes, can be taught fear.
After the Forkbeard had withdrawn his hand he studied her eyes intently. I, too, detected that for which he had sought, the object of his experiment. Though she had feared his touch, yet, when he had withdrawn his hand, there was, momentarily, disappointment in her eyes. She both feared to be touched, and desperately yearned for the touch. Marauders of Gor, page 160-161
“Kneel,” said the Forkbeard to the girl, “legs apart, palms of your hands on your thighs.”
With a movement of the chain, she did so.
He crouched before her.
“I may wish to use you to breed thralls,” he said. “You must be healthy for the farm. Put your head back, close your eyes and open your mouth.”
She did as she was told, that the Forkbeard might examine her teeth. Much may be told of the age and condition of a female slave, as of a kaiila or bosk, from her teeth.
But the Forkbeard did not look into her mouth. His left hand slipped to the small of her back, holding her, and his right hand went suddenly to her body. She cried out, trying to pull back, but could not, and then, her eyes closed, whimpering, she thrust forward, writhing and then, sobbing, held herself immobile, teeth gritted, eyes screwed shut, trying not to feel. When his hands left her body she tried, sobbing, to strike him, but he caught both her small wrists, holding them. She struggled futilely, held kneeling.
“Put your head back,” he said. “Open your mouth.”
She shook her head, wildly.
“I am holding your hands,” he pointed out.
Warily, eyes open, she opened her mouth. He looked at her teeth.
“I may wish to use you to breed thralls,” he said. “You must be healthy for the farm.”
He stood up.
“What do you want for her ?” he asked the officer of Svein Blue Tooth.
“I had her for a broken coin,” he said, “half a silver tarn disk of Tharna. I will let you have her for a whole coin.”
The Forkbeard returned tot he man the tarn disk of silver which he had received for Dagmar.
The officer of Svein Blue Tooth, with a key at his belt, unlocked the padlock which held the girl’s collar to the common chain. He tossed the padlock, open, into one of the wooden boxes projecting from the wall.
The girl, kneeling, looked up at the Forkbeard. “Why did my Jarl buy me?” she asked.
“You have excellent teeth,” said the Forkbeard.
“For what will my Jarl use me?” she asked.
“Doubtless you can learn to swill tarsks,” he said.
“Yes my Jarl,” she said. Then she put her cheek, to our surprise, to the side of his leg, and lowering her head, holding his boot, kissed it.
It was very delicately, and lovingly, done. Marauders of Gor, page 162
It is noticeable that many bond-maids wear descriptive names, or at times, very northern names.
“What did your last Jarl call you?” asked the Forkbeard.
“Butter Pan,” she said.
The Forkbeard looked to Gunnhild. “What shall we call this pretty little slave?” he asked.
“Honey Cake,” suggested Gunnhild.
“You are Honey Cake,” said the Forkbeard.
“Yes, my Jarl,” said Miss Stevens.
The Forkbeard then left the bond-maid shed. We all followed him. He did not restrain Honey Cake in any way. She, nude, in her collar, back straight, accompanied him. Her head was high. She was a bought girl. The other girls, still on the chain, regarded her with envy, with resentment, hostility. She had paid them no attention. She had been purchased. They remained unbought girls, wenches left on the chain; they had not yet been found desirable enough to be purchased. Marauders of Gor, page 164-165
Yes, bond-maids, slave, kajirae’s all fear sleen, the only thing a kajira fears more is the wrath of their owners.
Then the sleen opened a passage for her, indicating to her which direction she was to go. Where else she turned she was met with the fangs and hisses of the accompanying animals. When she tried to move in any direction other than that of the opened passage they snapped at her, viciously. A single snap could tear off a hand or foot. Then two of the sleen fell in behind her and, snarling and snapping at her heels, drove her before them. We saw her fleeing before them, trying to escape the swift, terrible jaws. We feared, more than once, that they would kill her. A female who cannot be herded is destroyed by the herding sleen. Marauders of Gor, page 244
There is a time for slave, for bond-maids, and then there is a time for work, I really do appreciate that.
“Protect me!” I heard. A female threw herself to my feet, putting her head to my ankle. “Protect me!” she wept. I looked down. She lifted her face, terrified, tear-stained. She had dark hair, dark eyes. I saw the iron collar, dark, on her white throat. It was Leah, the Canadian girl. With my foot I thrust her, weeping, to one side. There was men’s work to do. Marauders of Gor, page 251
Bond-maids are just chattel and property to be used in whatever way is needed, here I like to point out how bond-maids know this hand signal that I rarely if never have seen used on Gor, “The belly sign.”
Then, to our surprise, from within the Kurii lines we saw two or three hundred slave girls whipped forth. They were bound together in fours and fives. Some were bound together by the wrists, others by the ankles, some by the waist, many by the throat. They were cattle, caught and tethered in the camp, in the confusion, by Kurii. They were to be used to break our lines. I saw Aelgifu, Pudding, among them. Her wrists were pulled out from the side of her body, bound to the wrist of a girl on either side, as they themselves were fastened. We heard the cracking of whips, and the cries of pain. Faster and faster ran the girls toward us, fleeing the whips. Behind them, rapidly, the Kurii advanced.
“Charge!” cried the Svein Blue Tooth. The lines of men, too, hurtled forward.
Not ten yards before the clash took place, Svein Blue Tooth and his lieutenants before the running line, as the girls, under the whips of Kurii, fled, terrified, seeing the axes, the leveled weapons, toward them, made a sign no bond-maid of the north mistakes, the belly sign. Almost as one the girls, crying out, flung themselves to their bellies among the bodies and the charge of the men of Torvaldsland, missing not a step, took its way over them, striking the startled Kurii with an unimpeded impact. I cut down one of the Kurii with its whip. “When the whip is put to the back of slaves,” I told it, “it is we who shall do so.” There was, instantly, fierce fighting, in and among, and over, the bodies of the tethered bond-maids. Those who could covered their heads with their hands. Bodies, human and Kur, fell bloodied to the grass. Bond-maids, half crushed, some with broken bones, screamed. They struggled, some to rise, but, tethered, few could do so. Most lay prone, trembling, as the feet shifted about them, weapons clashing over their heads. The Kurii, some seventeen or eighteen hundred of them, fell back.
“Cut the wenches free,” ordered Svein Blue Tooth. Blades swiftly freed the prone, hysterical bond-maids. Many were covered with blood. Svein Blue Tooth, and others, by the hair, hurled bond-wenches to their feet. “Get to the pen!” he cried. They stumbled away, hurrying to the pen. “Help her!” ordered the Blue Tooth to two frightened girls. They bent to lift and support one of their sisters in bondage, whose leg was broken, binding fiber still knotted about the ankle. “Tarl Red Hair!” wept Gunnhild. My blade flashed at her throat, cutting the tether that bound her, on either side, to two other girls. “Get to the pen,” I told her. “Yes, my Jarl!” she cried, running toward the pen. The girls, those who could, fled the field, to return to the pen in which the Kurii had originally confined them. Those who could not walk were, under the orders of-men, by other bond-maids, carried or aided to the pen. I saw Pretty Ankles put out her hand to Ivar Forkbeard. Severed binding fiber was knotted tight about her belly. “To the pen,” commanded the Forkbeard. Weeping, she hurried to the pen. Marauders of Gor, page 254
“Turn about,” I said, “and lean forward, resting on the sides of your forearms.”
“No!” she cried.
“Assume the position, as instructed,” I said.
“No!” she protested.
I lifted the whip.
She complied.
A few moments later, having freed her ankle from the shackle, I dragged her by her right arm out of the alcove, to the side of the table about which her men lay sprawled. Her lovely dark hair was down about her face. I forced her down on her knees, under the table. I put her over the ring, in the midst of the chains. I clasped the ankle rings about her ankles, locking them. I thrust the short, attached chain, attached to the ankle-ring chain at one end, and the wrist-ring chain at the other, and the wrist rings, on their short chain, between her legs and through the sturdy floor ring. I then, close to the floor, locked her wrists snugly into the wrist rings. She was now held helplessly in place beneath the table. “In such a fashion,” I told her, “the men of Torvaldsland sometimes secure their bond-maids. Thus they have them at hand and may use them, to some extent, to please them under the table. In this fashion, similarly, it is easy to feed them by hand and throw them scraps of meat. It is a useful arrangement in their training and, too, even a skilled, experienced girl, even one who is highly esteemed, is sometimes confined so, when it pleases the master to do so.” Players of Gor, page 116,177
Men on Gor remain men, even as thralls, but here, we see one take to his freedom really swiftly to the despair of a bond-maid, though we all know secretly, she is thrilled her Jarl knows how to treat a mere bond-maid.
“The wench is yours,” laughed Ivar Forkbeard.
“I love you,” wept Thyri.
“Kneel,” said Wulfstan.
Startled, Thyri did so. “You are mine now,” said Wulfstan.
“But surely you will free me, Wulfstan!” she cried.
Wulfstan lifted his head and uttered a long, shrill whistle, of the sort with which Kurii summon herd sleen. One of the animals must have been within a hundred yards for it came immediately. Wulfstan lifted Thyri by one arm and threw her before the beast. “Take her to the pen,” said Wulfstan to the animal. “Wulfstan!” cried Thyri. Then the beast, snarling, half-charged her, stopping short, hissing, eyes blazing. “Wulfstan!” cried Thyri, backing away from the beast, shaking her head. “No, Wulfstan!” “If I still wish you later,” he said, “I will retrieve you from the pen, with others which I might claim as my share of the booty.” “Wulfstan!” she cried, protesting. The sleen snapped at her, and, weeping, she turned and fled to the pen, the beast hissing and biting at her, driving her before it. Marauders of Gor, page 258-259
By the ring of the Kur collar which she wore Ivar Forkbeard jerked he to her feet, so that she stood on her tiptoes, looking up a him. He grinned. “To the pen with you, Slave,” he said. She looked at him, adoringly. “Yes, Master,” she whispered. Marauders of Gor, page 258-259
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. Marauders of Gor, page 278
A seaman dragged Telima, by the arm, before us. She was stripped. Her hair was before her face. Her wrists were fastened behind her by the rude bracelets of the north. The Kur collar, leather, some three inches in height, holding her chin up, with its ring, was still on her throat. She had spent the last five days chained in a small, log slave kennel. She looked at Samos, and then, swiftly, lowered her eyes. Marauders of Gor, page 287
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. “Hurry,” 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.
Marauders of Gor, page 288-289