John Norman - Kur of Gor

There is, incidentally, no exact equivalent, as far as I can determine, for the Kur expression actually used. As the studies involve levels of life, subtle architectures, hereditary coils, and such, I have chosen, with reservations, and considerable uneasiness, the term ‘biomolecular'. My reservations are largely founded on what, from the Kur point of view, is a false dichotomy or division, between the living and the nonliving, between, say, the living biological and the nonliving molecular. Kurii certainly recognize a distinction between, say, a rock and a sleen, but our science tends to think less of life and nonlife, as of levels, or strata, of energy, of activity, or, as we think of it, life. In this sense, even the stone, properly understood, is a mysterious thing, in its way alive, vibrant with invisible latencies, churning, twisting, in its depths.

"Consider the wombs,” said the scientist. “You are familiar with them?"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Welcome, Lord Grendel!” said Lord Arcesilaus.

And he was muchly welcomed by those on the dais.

"Am I late?” inquired Lord Grendel.

"Not at all,” said Lord Arcesilaus.

"Let us repair to the great hall,” said a Kur.

"A state breakfast has been prepared,” said another.

Lord Grendel, with others, including Cabot, turned then toward the large doors, of heavy timber, better than a foot thick, perhaps brought from the northern forests of Gor, adorned with mighty brass studs, doubtless from the industrial cylinder.

"But a moment, Lords and others,” said Lord Arcesilaus. “But a moment.” He then raised his hand, lifting it toward the outer gate, well beyond the foot of the long, wide stairs leading upward to the dais.

Down at the gate a Kur, who had perhaps been waiting for this signal, turned aside, disappeared for a moment beyond the wall, and then, in another moment, reappeared, together with another Kur, and another figure, one much smaller.

These three figures then began to approach the foot of the stairs, the small figure first, and then a Kur on each side, and slightly behind it.

"No!” cried Lord Grendel.

"What is it?” asked a Kur.

"See,” said another, pointing.

"It is a human,” said another Kur, shading his eyes.

"A small human,” said another.

"Do not do this, I pray, Lord Arcesilaus,” said Lord Grendel.

"What is his concern?” inquired a Kur, puzzled.

"Ah!” said Corinna, frightened.

Cecily gasped, in misery.

Both remained on their knees.

The small figure was now, flanked by the two Kurii, ascending the stairs, slowly.

"It is a human female, is it not?” asked a Kur.

"Are you certain?” asked another.

"It is surely dissimilar from these,” said another Kur, indicating several of the kneeling slaves.

The Gorean slave tunic not only leaves little doubt about the sex of its occupant, but it proclaims it blatantly.

A free woman may be guarded with respect to her body. She may even be embarrassed by it, or ashamed of it. She may fear to show it. Certainly she may conceal it. How frightful if she were to be thought of in terms of it, her body, that embarrassing, troubling thing so appropriately concealed, rather than, say, in terms of her mind and personhood, or, perhaps, her clear, fine features, if her veil were to become disarranged, inadvertently. But beneath those robes and veils her body is there, embarrassing and troubling or not, in all its loveliness, as though waiting for its exposure or disrobing. And surely she knows it is she, ready to flame alive in its exposure, as much as any other aspect of her, her mind, her features, her emotions, the needs of her belly, all such things which constitute the wholeness of her. Does she, enclosed in those ornate blockades, wonder from time to time what it might be to feel a man's hands upon those stiff enwrapments, and wonder what it might be to feel them ripped from her, abruptly, imperiously, and feel the sudden flash of air upon lovely, startled skin?

Does she wonder what it would be to be a whole female, loving her sex, and rejoicing in it?

In any event the bodies of slaves are commonly well, if not entirely, exposed. They are, after all, are they not, the bodies of animals?

The garmenture of the slave is, in effect, another of her freedoms, though she may well regard it with some trepidation, realizing how well, how boldly and excitingly, it reveals her to men, and her vulnerability. The garmenture makes it clear what she is, property. A common justification of slave garmenture, though surely not the only one, nor the primary one, is that it is supposed to make the slave the desiderated object of raiders, thus supposedly diverting attention from precious, priceless free women. Some slaves have been stolen several times, from one city, or caravan, or another. Many are the cages whose bars they have grasped, many are the chains they have felt on their necks, many are the blocks from which they have been auctioned.

In any event, in slave garmenture, the slave, and others, are never in any doubt that she is a female, and that she has that remarkable gift of nature to males, the female body.

The slave, commonly, unlike the enrobed free woman, is happy, and pleased, to be a female. If she were a man, such a coarse and brutal beast, she could not be the marvelous thing she is, vulnerable, perhaps, but desired, and marvelous.

How could the slave not be frightened of her body, and yet thrilled with it? It is soft, beautiful, yielding, and alive. It is obviously a source of great pleasure to masters, who command it and put it to their purposes, as they will, and if the masters consent, and are kind, it is a source of untold rapture to herself, as well.

It is little wonder that the slave loves her body, and her tunic.

"It is a human female, a woman,” said Cabot, observing the approach of the small figure up the stairs, flanked by the two Kurii.

"She is so hidden,” said a Kur. It might be recalled that Kur females, free and slave, wear usually only some harnessing. To be sure, there are great differences amongst the harnessings, most of which would be lost on our friend, Cabot, with respect to quality, arrangement, ornamentation, and such. The Kur female who is an open slave commonly wears a collar, her master's collar. Commonly she would be denied harnessing only in the privacy of her master's dwelling, while being exhibited for sale, while serving certain feasts, and such. If she is not harnessed she is, in effect, naked. Cabot, and some humans, it might be noted, do not seem fully aware of the momentous distinctions involved in such matters.

"She is clad in the robes of concealment, and veiled,” said Cabot. “Such things are common on Gor with free women, particularly with those of high caste, particularly in the high cities."

The high cities, as it is explained to me, are usually larger cities, with many towers, and bridges amongst the towers. Many regard them as citadels of civilization. Ar, as I understand it, would be such a city.

The small figure approached, climbing the stairs.

"Send her away!” cried Lord Grendel. “Do not do this to her! She has suffered enough! If you care for me, spare her this humiliation!"

"What is his concern?” asked a Kur.

"The ears and nose, the cheeks, the eye, shattered bones, the crookedness of the body,” said Cabot.

"It is only a pet,” said a Kur.

"If you care for me, Lord Arcesilaus,” said Lord Grendel, “have pity, not only upon her but upon me, as well! Spare her this! Spare us all this horror!"

"It is only a pet,” said the Kur, again.

"Be patient, Lord Grendel,” said Lord Arcesilaus.

The small figure then, flanked by her two attendants, was upon the dais. She stood before the group. She was resplendent in the multicolored robes, so carefully assorted and arranged, of concealment. As noted, she was veiled, as well. The veiling was heavy, and opaque. Clearly a street veil was worn. Beneath it, Cabot conjectured, might be a house veil. Too, her head was almost entirely concealed within an ample hood, this well matched to the colorful robes.