The woman extends her arms straight above her head, wrists bent, clicking her fingers in time to the barbaric tempo of the music.With her eyes closed to concentrate on the sound, she keeps her head still, but begins to rock her hips back and forth in a blatantly sexual gyration. Her face grows strained, as if even that motion is not enough to express the emotion she is feeling.
Overwhelmed she rips the dancing silk from her body, thrusting out her bare breasts, extending further with each bar like a pendulum gathering momentum...i hold my breath, unable to tear my eyes from watching her. She’s spellbinding, i’m in the presence of greatness. i couldn’t have imagined a human could perform something so evocative, and without evenusing her legs. But it’s true. All the while she has been on her knees.
This is the first time I have watched one of the wild dances of Gor. i decide it remind me most closely of flamenco, having its roots in barbaric folk dances, and being very reliant on marking out tempo and rhythm with the use of the body. Gorean music also has similarity to flamenco in the way it draws in the audience, making it impossible not to tap feet or clap in time with the rhythm. These accelerate through the duration of the performance, along with the volume, reaching an eventual orgasmic climax.
i use the word orgasmic deliberately, because here is one of the notable differences. Flamenco is also a dance of passion, but it is more subtly sexual that the overt way a Gorean slave dance might be. In that respect
Gorean performances are closer to the pole-dances of Earth, or routines performed on stage in a burlesque performance or a sleazy strip club.
Gorean dances are almost universally created to please and arouse men. They are always danced by a woman, and they serve to display the girl’s sexuality and desirability, making the men want to claim her for themselves and prove themselves powerful enough to tame her.
i was once a man, so this performance i now watch certainly inflames my desire and i lust for this dancer. But juxtaposed on my male psyche is that of aurore, a female. i want her, but i also want to be her, and be so utterly desirable, feeling eyes unable to look away from my body. i am aroused, but i am aroused as a woman, being heated, rather than hardened. i am excited of the power i might hold performing as she does, even as i fall under her spell. i am excited, but afraid.
These fears and doubts will have to be put aside because i am a kajira, one of the slave women of Gor. Whether i wish to be like Carrie or not is irrelevant. My hidden craving to be like her will inevitably be fulfilled, because Carrie is the slave chosen to teach us to dance. Before our first lesson starts, we are treated with this demonstration,
and witnessing it is a privilege.
Carrie dances a need dance. This particular style of performance progresses in a number of phases, beginning with the girl appearing indifferent to men, and progressing through stages where the girl become more and more aware of her own sexuality and the presence of the males about her. Finally at the climax of the dance she surrenders, abandoning herself to the barbaric music and the needs of her own body, desperate for the touch of any man present. She has been reduced to slavery by her own desires.
Whether i agree that this performance bears any truth to female psychology does not matter. The women in the pens will learn to dance inthis fashion anyway. carrie finishes her performance still on her knees, but slumping with her head to the floor, so her torso rests on her thighs, showing grea flexibility. She is breathing heavily, and i can see her ribcage heaving and a light sheen of sweat breaking on her skin. Then she sits upright, smiling with pleasure.
There is loud applause, in the Gorean manner. i jump to my feet, along with many other girls, shouting out my approval and stamping my feet on the floor. A number of men have joined us in the room – this class being a popular one for spectators, and their praise is even more enthusiastic than that of the women. i look down at Carrie in admiration. She looks older than many of us, physically almost approaching middle age, so assuming she’s been dosed with the Physicians’ Caste serums that extend life, this might mean she is in fact many hundreds of years old. Her hair is still jet black however, and she has olive skin like the Hispanic women on Earth, also reinforcing my impression of her as a flamenco dancer.
One might expect that aging has reduced her beauty, but instead it has given her a full bodied elegance. There kneels a true woman, rather than one recently out of girlhood who still has much to learn about her sex. Carrie is to teach us this and many of the Gorean dances, as a Master may demand to see any style – the belt dance; the whip dance; thecapture dance; the need dance; chain dances; and the dance of the seven thongs being just a few examples.
As the remaining Warriors gradually filter from the room she tells us that we will specialise in only one, and develop it more completely to be our showcase. Carrie informs us she will select these for us after observing us over the first few days of training. i smile ruefully at her words. She will have her work cut out getting me to look good. Aurius danced like he had two left feet. i couldn't keep in rhythm, but little more than that. Our lesson commences. i am expecting her to begin training us by passing on some complex moves typical of an Earth lap dancer – the grind; the breast stroke; arching my back into a crab shape; but she orders the class to their knees.
“An expert dancer can delight men just using her hands and her arms to perform” Carrie says, raising her hands up high. “Position yourselves like this.” i am lifting my arms over my head, crossing my wrists in a cruder copy of her first position, but she looks right at me, shaking her head. “You are the one called aurore?” she asks. Even her voice is sultry andpassionate. “Yes Mistress,” i say, not sure why she’s singling me out. “You are not to participate in this class,” she says. “You can only watch. Your Master orders that you are not to be trained in dancing until you are red-silk.”
My face glows with embarrassment, probably as scarlet as if it was red silk. Everyone has stopped to look at me, watching my reaction. Some of the girls that consider themselves my rivals, or that are jealous of my status here, show pleasure at carrie’s judgement. “why has he done this?” i protest, so indignant i forget her title. “white silk girls are still taught dancing in other cities on Gor.” i am sure on this point. Free Women are, of course, not taught dancing – the wanton sexuality of a slave dance being entirely inappropriate for such as they. But white silk slave women are often prepared ready to please their owners, learning to replicate sexual acts before they have experienced them. “I’m sorry,” Carrie says sympathetically. “Those are the Ubar’s instructions.”
No-one is going to dare disobey Kurtz. i have to kneel there, seething with rage but keeping my body still, as i watch the others practice. i’m even made to kneel with my knees together, where as the other women move with their thighs wide in theaspect of pleasure slaves. my hands stray to the collar locked round my neck and i fidget with it, rotating it and fingering the metal. This seems to have become a habit when my hands are idle and it annoys me further when i catch myself in the act. Hateful thing. i don’t like being reminded that i am a slave.
It takes half an ahn before my anger is overcome by interest in the class, but eventually i'm completely distracted by watching and even the humiliation of being a spectator is temporarily forgotten. i would never have believed a woman could communicate so much just by using her upper limbs. Attention is paid to every detail, for example the angle to bend the wrists; whether the fingers are together or spread; arms lifted or lowered; elbows bent or not.
Much of lap dancing back on Earth is about the tease and the titillation. The girl touches and moves her body erotically, so the Man imagines the delights that would be his if he possessed her. She is telling a story through her movement, and the mental aspects of the performance are therefore as important as the physical moves. slave girls must there fore be confident in expressing sexuality in front of Male and Female watchers, so in the second part of the lesson, all of the slaves except me are ordered to remove their clothing ready to display that sexuality.
Then, kneeling naked before Carrie, they are instructed to spend half an ahn intimately touching their own bodies. i feel particularly miserable at being denied participation this part of the exercise. aurore’s frustration has been building steadily since mycollaring, and a temporary repeal of the prohibition on masturbation would have been a very welcome relief.
Being ordered to watch a room full of nude beauties caressing themselves, but unable to enjoy any pleasure myself is an experience close to torture for me. When our class is dismissed, i stomp across the jetties of the compound and consider marching straight into my Master’s hut to demand an explanation.
A guard stands outside his hut though, which is unusual. i want to walk past this fellow, but i know better than to try. The Ubar warned me not to act above my place in public, and i can see the wisdom in this. While there is unrest in the compound, it would be dangerous for both of us if i make him appear weak.
i control my emotions, accept that venting my frustrations will have to wait for another time. i spin round and stare into the muddy waters of the harbour, clenching and unclenching my small fists. It comes as a relief when i am instructed to go with jaya into the marshes and gather bunches of the burning reed to fill the braziers. The two of us walk through the gap in the wall, waving at the warrior on watch who smiles at us appreciatively, pleased with the distraction.
The reeds that produce the best effect in deterring the insects are to be found in the water of the swamp, so we make our way a short distance from the dry land, where the vegetation is particularly dense. The marsh is only six-inches deep, but below that the lakebed is soft and thick with eons of decayed vegetation, so we quickly sink up to our knees in the dark clinging mud.
This is a menial and messy task where getting filthy is inevitable, and therefore one best allocated to slave girls. With my short hooked knife i get to work, cutting the stems. Neither ofus says anything. jaya is one of those demurely quiet women, whom you first think is very shy, and then wonder if they have nothing to say because they’re verydull.
Behind jaya’s back, some of the other kajirae say she needs to find a Man while she still has her undeniable beauty. i make an effort to break through this demure wall while we work together, but eventually i give up attempts at conversation and we gather bundles of plants in silence, standing close together. It is this silence that saves us.
jaya suddenly places her hand over my mouth, raising her finger to her own lips to indicate the need for quiet.i nod to show my understanding, and she withdraws her hand. Noiselessly I mouth “What?” She indicates an area in the swamp across to our right. Although it away from the land occupied by Kurtz, and is deeper into the marshes, there the ground rises enough to break the surface of the water, forming a small dry Island surrounded by chest high grasses.
i see the movement of the tarn first within this grass, the flicker of a vast wing. It is a giant brown bird, a true war Tarn rather than the smaller varieties used for Tarn races in the cities. Then, walking by his mount i see the Tarnsman. He is a lean specimen, middle aged with a face disfigured by a scar that looks like a relic of a sword wound.
The man is pale skinned – a Northern colour, rather than the beautiful ebony tint of the Jungle Warriors. His Tarn also suggests distant origins, as the local jungle Tarns tend to be as brightly coloured as birds of paradise. Wary in unknown territory, he has his sword drawn.
We crouch as low in the reeds as we can. There is no need for either of us to convey that the danger to us isvery real. Over my time in the protected captivity of the compound i have not much considered the many other threats Gor continues to pose to women. But exposed in these marshes, i am reminded how jaya and i would make a pretty prize for this fellow to carry off. If the Tarnsman comes this way trying to reach the higher ground of the compound, he’ll walk right across our hiding place. Two slaves armed with reed-cutting knives will not present much challenge to an armed Warrior.
We can’t even attempt to flee, as moving through the thick mud is too precarious. It would be easy to overbalance and draw attention to ourselves. Our best strategy is to freeze, and hope to remain unseen. females are prey, not the Hunters. i did not see his tarn land, and for this isilently berate myself. It must have passed very close by us, unless he has been here since daybreak. i am losing my Warrior’s instincts.
We spend a nervous few ehn, but luckily for us the Tarnsman makes directly for the large area of higher ground, presumably intending to inspect the compound. His bird waits obediently hidden in the circle of vegetation. Where he makes landfall the reeds change to meadow grass that is almost chest high. jaya and i squat in silent anguish. Granted the Man has not seen us, but he will soon be between us and the fortifications, cutting-off our route to safety.
However, fate turns out to be on our side. Others have been morewatchful than we. There is the sound of movement approaching, and i glimpse our head Slaver, Chiron moving rapidly through the grass. His twin blades are already drawn. Chiron is an intimidating sight, but rather than attempt to flee the Tarnsman waits for his arrival.
They face each other in a cowboy standoff. Blood will be spilt today.“What is your business here, Stranger?” Chiron asks him, using the Gorean word “Stranger”, which can also mean “Enemy”. “My business here is my own,” the man shrugs in a gravelled voice. “We do not welcome visitors here,” Chiron states.
The man seems unconcerned by this news.“It is your people and not me, who are the invaders on this land.” The Tarnsman looks as if he’s about to elaborate on this claim, but those are to be his last words. From out of the high grass right behind the Tarnsman rises my master, standing bare chested and godlike. In his hand he holds a long knife with a serrated blade.
Kurtz wraps the Man’s head in the crook of his giant arm, taking him by surprise, and with the knife he slits the warrior’s throat in one quick slice. Blood pours like a river down the front of the Man, who, when Kurtz releases his hold, is already falling dead to the ground. The Tarnsman’s loyal bird screams at this outrage and it rears up at the Ubar, flapping its huge wings and giant claws extended ready to deliver a killing strike.
The attack would be successful were it not for Chiron, who comes from nowhere to stand between Kurtz and the bird. He holds his swords crossed above him, as if he’s warding off a vampire. The tarn screams its fury once again at the two men, but then it abandons its late master and the beats of its wings carry it up and away.
All present watch it flying to the North East away over the lake, before the two men turn to examine the body. i've never seen my master outside his hut before, let alone this far away from the fortifications. He is unnaturally pale in daylight, almost albino white, but his eyes still look dark and merciless. “This was not simply a young Warrior proving himself by snatching a girl,” Kurtz observes, nudging the corpse with his foot. “This is an older Man, experienced. He came here with deeper purpose.”
“Reconnaissance for our friends across the lake, do you think?” Chiron asks crouching to search the body. “It is unlikely,” Kurtz says. “The Warriors of the Black Slaver are themselves black skinned. No… he comes from afar, and so represents a far greater threat.” When Kurtz concludes his search Chiron says, “We will never know. The Man has nothing to identify himself.”
“They will send others,” Kurtz says with certainty, standing to look to the horizon. “Tell no-one of these events. If these further Men arrive in peace you are to welcome them, showing disloyalty to me in order to
determine their purpose.”
“That is unwise,” Chiron disagrees. “Already your absence causes much unrest. Even loyal men whisper that it is time for a new Ubar when all your attention is on that girl.” My heart skips when Chiron refers to me. “Perhaps if you gave her to me, and selected another?” Kurtz laughs cynically, as deep a sound as a bull snorting.
“Your intentions are too obvious. aurore is part of a greater plan, and one that requires much effort. For now she must be treated differently to the others. In time my reasons might become clear.” Chiron looks disbelieving, but does not say any more.As the two Men move away i consider that such is the trust between Gorean Warriors that Kurtz didn’t even need to comment on Chiron saving his life.
The End
~~i hand the book over to the Guard and smiles to him asking him did he enjoy me reading to him he nods and tells me i better get to working on Dinner or the other Free would get angry if food was not ready when they comes back from town...he thanks me....