John Norman - Dancer of Gor

"And have you learned your lesson?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Speak," he said.

"I have learned my lesson, Master," I said.

"Well," he said, "your ears are pierced, so you are not all bad." "I am pleased," I said, "if even by such a small thing I may please my master." "We shall get you some earrings," he said, "but they will not be valuable ones, for you are a low slave."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Too," he said, "we would not want you stolen for the value of your earrings." "No, Master," I said, smiling.

"You are dangerous," he said. "One might grow fond of you."

"Master!" I breathed.

He then walked over to where I knelt, crouched down, opened his pack, and reached within it. He took out a tiny handful of scarlet silk, and opened it. "Master!" I cried.

It was the tiny garment, fit for a muchly displayed slave, which I had made for myself on Earth, long before I had known there was a Gor, or a Teibar, or the possibility of a collar.

"It is perhaps a bit too lengthy," he said, looking at it, "and it could be slit at the sides, and the neckline could be cut more deeply, and it is not diaphanous, or is insufficiently diaphanous, but still it is a not unattractive garment. Perhaps, sometime, if I decide to permit you clothing, at least for an Ahn or so, I will see again how it looks on you." He had seen me in it once before, of course, at the library, when I had knelt before captors. The existence of that tiny garment among my things, in my apartment, of course, had shown them that I was a slave, though at that time one not yet fittingly imbonded.

"You brought it from Earth!" I said. "You did not destroy it there!" "Perhaps from time to time in the villa," he said, "I will let you wear it, or less, when you serve me."

"I love you," I said. "I love you!"

He put the silk away.

"I love you!" I said.

"There is something else, too," he said.

"Master?" I said.

He reached again into the pack. "Do you recognize these?" he asked. "Oh, Master!" I said, delightedly.

"They are the thong and bells which you wore at the library, when you danced," he said." "Yes, Master!" I said.

"perhaps you remember, too," he said, "that we kept them on you when you were naked there, in the darkness, to help us keep track of you."

"Yes, Master!" I said.

"Such things make useful adornments to a female slave," he said, "and help to mark her movements."

"Yes, Master!" I said. I remembered that when I had been place on the library table, long ago, prior to having the rubberized mask placed over my face, through which the chemicals had been put which had forced me to unconsciousness, the silk, which had been being used as a gag, a mnemonic device reminding me I must be silent, had been drawn from my mouth and put to one side. The bells, too, I recalled, had been placed upon it. He had kept them both, both the silk and the bells!

"Perhaps, from time to time, you shall wear them, too, at the villa," he said. "Yes, Master!" I said, delightedly. How rightful it seemed that I should serve him in such things, here on Gor, even from Earth.

He put the bells away.

He then removed the whip from his pack, and held it to my lips, and I kissed it. He then put the whip away, inserting it into the pack. He then rose to his feet and walked a few feet away, to the edge of the camp, and turned and regarded me. I stood up, and shouldered his pack. It was not heavy. In it I could feel the chains. Some of them I had worn. In it, too, was the whip, his, to which I was subject. I heard, too, within the pack, the tiny sound of the bells, here, on Gor, slave bells.

"I love you, Master!" I said. "I love you, my Master!"

He shrugged.

"Master," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Am I to be permitted to tell what has happened to me?" I asked. "Am I to write my story?"

"I do not know," he said. "I do not know if it is good for the women of Earth to know of these things or not."

I was silent. I did not know either.

"What would you like to do?" he asked.

"I?" I asked, startled.

"Yes," he said.

"I think I would like to tell my sisters on Earth," I said.

"Do you think they will believe you?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Would you, before you learned what you now know, have believed it?" "No," I said.

"They will not believe you, certainly not most of them," he said.

"That is all right," I said. "I do not care. I do not even think that is really important. Perhaps that is best. I do not know. But what is important, I think, is to say these things."

"Perhaps," he said.

"And so, Master," I asked, "am I to be permitted to write the story?" "Perhaps," he said. "I am not sure. I have, as yet, no firm thoughts on the matter."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"I have not yet decided," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He then turned about and walked a few paces from the camp. I stood there, naked, a brand on my thigh, a collar on my neck, bearing his pack. I wondered if the women of Earth would believe my story. I supposed not. But then, too, what did it matter? Perhaps it was better that they not believe it. Their life, then, would surely be easier, knowing that there was no world such as Gor, no collars for them, no masters such that they must be uncompromisingly served. But in any event, dear sisters, whether you long for the collar, or fear it, it is real. He turned about. "Follow me," he said in Gorean. It took me a moment to make the transition from English to Gorean. Then I said, "Yes, my Master," in Gorean. And, at a suitable distance, naked, bearing his pack, followed him from the woods. We would go to the Vitkel Aria and travel south. He had a villa, northeast of Ar, in the hills.