Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt

by Players of Gor [lit]

  proprieties. Custom, by itself, normally suffices.

  Social pressures, too, in various ways, contribute to the same end. An unveiled

  woman, for example, may find other women turning away from her in a market,

  perhaps with expressions of disgust. Indeed, she may not even be waited upon, or

  dealt with, in a market by a free woman unless she first kneels. It would not be

  unusual for her ., in a crowded place, to overhear remarks, perhaps whispers or

  sneers, of which she is the obvious object, such as “Shameless slut,” “Brazen

  baggage,” “As immodest as a slave,” “I wonder who her master is,” and “Put a

  collar on her!” And if she should attempt to confront or challenge her

  assailants, she will merely find such remarks repeated articulately and clearly

  to her face.

  Slaves, incidentally, are commonly forbidden facial veiling. Their features are

  commonly kept naked, exposed fully to public view. In this way they may be

  looked upon by men, even casually, whenever and however they might be pleased to

  do so. That the Earth girl commonly thinks little of this exposure of her

  features, incidentally, is one of the many reasons that many Goreans think of

  her as a natural slave. For a Gorean girl that she is now, suddenly, no longer

  entitled to facial veiling, unless it pleases the master to grant it to her, is

  one of the most fearful and significant aspects of her transition into bondage.

  Her features, in all their sensitivity and beauty, so intimate, personal and

  private to her, so revelatory of her deepest and most secret thoughts, feelings

  and emotions, are now exposed to public view, to be looked upon, and read, by

  whomsoever may be pleased to do so.

  It is interesting to note that even some Earth girls on Gor, after a short

  while, tend to become sensitive to this sort of thing. It is usually interpreted

  by both sorts of girls, then, for a time, as a part of the “shame” of the

  collar. In a little longer while, of course, neither sort of girl, the Gorean

  girl or the Earth girl now

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  sensitive to the subtler implications of facial exposure, thinks anything more

  about it, or at least not normally. Both have now learned that they are now

  naught but slaves, and that that is all there is to it. No longer do they aspire

  to the prerogatives of the free woman. Their exposure, their human legibility,

  so to speak, like their obedience, service, love and discipline, is part of

  their condition. In a sense they find it liberating. It frees them from the

  temptations of deceit, pretense and restraint. Seldom now do they think, among

  themselves, of the “shame” of the collar. Rather now, in their place in the

  perfection of nature, yielded fully, helplessly, choicelessly, if you like,

  submitted at the feet of men, their deepest sexuality and needs recognized,

  attended to and fulfilled, they tend to think of its joy. No longer do they

  aspire to the privileges and prerogatives of the free woman; let her continue to

  live in her house of inhibition and convention; let her have her frigidities,

  jealousies and shams; they have found something a thousand times more precious,

  their meaning, their significance, their happiness, their joy, their

  fulfillments, their collars.

  “What am I to do?” called the lovely Brigella to the crowd, the hem of her

  garment clutched up about her neck. her lovely lips pouted. It seemed she was

  almost in tears. How seemingly distraught she was, how seemingly dismayed she

  was with her dilemma!

  “Kneel down!” called a man jovially.

  “Take off your clothes!” called another.

  “Lick his feet!” suggested another.

  “Slave!” said the free woman, coldly, imperiously, obviously addressing the

  Brigella, and in no uncertain terms.

  “Mistress,” responded the girl immediately, frightened, breaking out of

  character, turning about and kneeling down. She had been addressed by a free

  woman.

  “Head to the boards!” snapped the free woman.

  Immediately the girl put her head down to the boards. She trembled. Such women

  are totally at the mercy of free persons.

  “Are you the owner of this slave?” asked the free woman of Boots Tarsk-Bit.

  “yes, Lady,” he said.

  “I suggest that she be beaten,” she said.

  “Perhaps an excellent suggestion,” said Boots Tarsk-Bit. “as she is a lave, but

  have you any special reason in mind, not that one needs one, of course.”

  “I do not care for her performance,” said the free woman.

  “It is difficult to please everyone,” Boots admitted. “But I

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  assure you that if I, her master, am not fully satisfied with her performance, I

  will personally tie her and see that she is well whipped.”

  “I find her performance disgusting,” she said.

  “Yes, Lady,” said Boots.

  “And I find it an insult to free women!” said the free woman.

  “Yes, Lady,” said Boots, patiently.

  “Let’s see the rest of the play,” said a man.

  “So beat her!” said the free woman.

  “I see no reason to beat her,” said Boots. “She is doing precisely what she is

  suppos4ed to be doing. She is obeying. She is being obedient. If she were not

  being obedient, then I would beat her, then I would see to it that she were

  suitably and lengthily lashed.”

  “Beat her!” demanded the free woman.

  “Shall I beat her?” inquired Boots of the crowd.

  “No!” called a man.

  “No!” shouted another.

  “On with the play!” shouted another.

  “Have you a license for this performance?” inquired the free woman.

  “Have mercy on me, Lady,” said Boots. “I am come on hard times. Only yesterday I

  had to sell my golden courtesan, just to make ends meet.”

  It is difficult to run a Gorean company of Boots’s sort without a golden

  courtesan. That is one of the major stock characters in this form of drama. That

  character occurs probably in fifty to sixty percent of the farces constituting

  the repertory of such a company. It would be like trying to get along without a

  comic merchant, a Brigella, a B9ina, a Lecchio or a Chino. I already knew of

  Boots’s difficulty. I had learned of it yesterday evening. Indeed, I had already

  seen fit, for reasons of my own, to engage in certain actions pertinent to the

  matter.

  “Have you a license?” pressed the free woman.

  “Last year I did not have one, admittedly, due to some fearful inadvertence,”

  admitted Boots, “but I would not risk that twice at the Sardar Fair. I have

  settled my debts here. Indeed, no sooner had I settled one than I seemed that a

  thousand creditors, guardsmen at their backs, descended upon me, like jards upon

  an unwatched roast. At the point of their steel I became enamored with the

  satisfactions attendant upon the pursuit of punctilious honest. And destitution,

/>   when all is said and done, is doubtless a negligible price to pay for so

  glorious a boon as the improvement of one’s character.”

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  “You do have a license then?” she asked.

  “I had to sell my golden courtesan to purchase one,” said Boots.

  “You have one then?” she asked.

  “Yes, kind lady!” said Boots.

  “It is my intention to see that it is revoked,” she said.

  “Good,” said one of the men. “Go off, and see to it.”

  “Get on with the play!” called another.

  “Have mercy, kind lady,” begged Boots.

  “I do not think that I will see fit to show you mercy in this matter,” she said.

  “Take the clothes of the scribe female and put her under the whip,” said a man.

  “Enslave her,” growled another.

  “Silence, silence, rabble!” she cried, turning about, facing the crowd.

  “Rabble?” inquired a fellow. Assuredly the crowd was composed mostly of free

  men.

  “Rabble!” said another fellow, angrily.

  “Beasts and scum!” she cried.

  “Enslave her!” said a man.

  “Get her a collar,” said a man. “She will then quickly mend her ways.”

  “Take off her clothes,” said another. “Bracelet her. Put her on a leash.”

  “I have bracelets and a leash here,” said a man.

  “Put them on her,” said another. “Conduct her to an iron worker.”

  “I will pay for her branding,” said another.

  “I will share the cost,” said another.

  “I am Telitsia, Lady of Asperiche,” she said. “I am a free woman. I am not

  afraid of men!”

  I smiled to myself. She was perfectly safe, of course, for she was within the

  perimeters of the Sardar Fair. How brave women can be within the context of

  conventions! I wondered if they understood the artificiality, the fragility, the

  tentativeness, the revokability of those subtle ramparts. Did they truly confuse

  them with walls of stone and the forces of weaponry? Did they understand the

  differences between the lines and colors on maps and the realities of a physical

  terrain? To what extent did they comprehend the fictional or mythical nature of

  those castles within which they took refuge, from the heights of which they

  sought to impress their will on worlds? Did they not know that one day men might

  say to them, “The castle does not exist,”

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  and that they might then find themselves once again, the patience of men ended,

  the folly concluded, the game over, struck to their place in nature, gazing

  upward at masters? Asperiche, incidentally, is an exchange island, or free

  island, in Thassa. It is south of Teletus and Tabor. It is administered by

  merchants.

  “Let us continue with the play,” suggested a man, irritably.

  “yes, yes,” said others. “On with the play!” “Continue!” “Get on with the play!”

  “I understand that your Brigella is good,” said a man. “I want to see her,

  fully.”

  The Brigella trembled, but she, still kneeling, could not lift her head from the

  boards. She had not yet received permission to do so. She did not, accordingly,

  know who it was who had expressed interest in her. I had little doubt, however,

  that she would now perform marvelously, that she would not play superbly to the

  entire crowd, that she would now make a special effort to be a deliciously

  skillful and juicily appealing in her role as possible. Someone was out there,

  doubtless with money in his wallet, who might be interested in spending it one

  her, buying her. This doubtless thrilled her, and pleased her vanity. It is a

  great compliment to a woman to be willing to buy her. It is then up to the girl

  to see that the man gets a thousand times his money’s worth, and more. I licked

  my lips in anticipation.

  “With your permission, Lady Telitsia?” inquired Boots, addressing himself

  politely to the haughty, rigid, proud, vain, heavily veiled, blue-clad free

  female standing in the front row below the stage.

  “You may continue,” she said.

  “But you may find what ensues offensive,” Boots warned her.

  “Doubtless I will,” she said. “And have no fear, I shall include it in my

  complaint to the proper magistrates.”

  “You wish to remain?” asked Boots, puzzled.

  “Yes,” she said, “but do not expect a coin from me.”

  I smiled. The Lady Telitsia was obviously as interested in seeing the rest of

  the play as the rest of us. I found this interesting.

  “The simply beneficence of your presence, that of a noble free woman, is in

  itself a reward far beyond our deserving,” Boots assured her.

  “What is he saying,” asked a man.

  “He is saying that she is more than we deserve,” growled a fellow.

  “That is true,” laughed a man.

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  “She could be taught to be pleasing,” said a man.

  “True,” said a man.

  “That might be amusing,” said a man.

  “You may continue,” said the Lady Telitsia, loftily, to Boots Tarsk-Bit,

  ignoring these remarks.

  “Thank you, kind lady,” he said. He then turned to the Brigella. “Girl!” he

  snapped. His demeanor toward the Brigella was quite different from that toward

  the free woman. She, of course, was a slave. She leaped to her feet, clutching

  her skirt’s hem again about her neck.

  “Shameless,” said the free woman.

  The Brigella anxiously surveyed the crowd, trying to guess who it might be who

  had expressed interest in her. It could, indeed, have been any one of several

  men. Then she smiled prettily and flexed her knees. It was very well done. I

  think she probably made every man in the audience want to get his hands on her.

  She then, pouting and affecting her expression of dainty, ladylike

  consternation, resumed her character in the interrupted farce.

  “Continue,” signaled Boots Tarsk-Bit, himself returning to his comedic role.

  “If I lift my skirt it seems I must reveal my modesty to a stranger,” she wailed

  to the audience, “whereas should I lower it I must then, it seems, face-strip

  myself before him as brazenly as might a hussy! Oh, what is a poor girl to do?”

  “ myself, putatively, lovely lady, have in my pack the answer to your very

  problem,” announced Boots.

  “Pray, tell, good sir,” she cried, “what might it be?”

  “A veil,” said he.

  “That is just what I need!” she cried.

  “But it is no ordinary veil,” he said.

  “Let me see it,” she begged.

  “I wonder if you will be able to see it,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “But, of course, you will be3 able to see it,” he said, “for you are obviously a

  free
woman!”

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “It is a veil woven by the magicians of Anango,” he said.

  “Not them!” she cried.

  “The same,” he agreed solemnly. Anango, like Asperiche, is an exchange, or free,

  island in Thassa, administered by members of the caste of merchants. It is,

  however, unlike Asperiche, very far away. It is far south of the equator, so far

  south as to almost beyond the ken of most Gorean, except as a place both remote

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  and exotic. The jungles of the Anangoan interior serve as the setting for

  various fanciful tales, having to do with strange races, mysterious plants and

  fabulous animals. The “magicians of Anango,” for what it is worth, seem to be

  well known everywhere on Gor except in Anango. In Anango itself it seems folks

  have never heard of them.

  “And it is the special property of this veil,” Boots solemnly assured the girl,

  “that it is visible only to free persons.”

  “It would not do then to wear it before slaves,” she said.

  “Perhaps not,” said Boots, “but then who cares what slaves think?”

  “True,” she said. “Let me see it! Let me see it!”

  “But I have it here in my hand,” said Boots.

  “How beautiful it is!” she cried. There was much laughter. The device of the

  invisible cloth, or invisible object, a stone, a sword, a garment, a house, a

  boat, supposedly visible only to those with special properties, is a commonplace

  in Gorean folklore. This type of story has many variations.

  Boots h held the supposed cloth up, turning it about, displaying it.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it?” asked Boots.

  “No!” she said.

  “It is so light,” he said, “that one can hardly feel it. Indeed, it is said that

  slaves cannot even feel it at all.”

  “I must have it!” she cried.

  “It is terribly expensive,” he warned her.

  “Oh, woe!” she cried.

  “Perhaps you have ten thousand gold pieces?” he asked.

  “Alas, no!” she cried. “I am a poor maid, with not even a tarsk bit to her

  name.”

  “Alas, also,” said Boots, gloomily, proceeding to apparently fold the cloth. He

  did this marvelously well in pantomime. He was very skillful. “I had hoped to