I LUNGED FORWARD BUT WAS checked by the point of the officer's sword. The common soldier, setting the crossbow on the ground, strode to the daughter of the Ubar, who stood as though stunned, her face drained of color. The soldier, beginning at the high, ornate collar of the girl's robes, began to break the braided loops, ripping them loose from their hooks; methodically he tore her robes apart and pulled them down and over her shoulders; in half a dozen tugs the heavy layers of her garments had been jerked downward until she stood naked, her robes in a filthy pile about her feet. Her body, though stained with the mire. of the swamp, was exquisitely beautiful.
Tarnsman of Gor Norman, John
Up leapt another of the beasts and it caught a hem of her ragged robes in its teeth and tore a strip from them, which it bore with it back to the dark pool. Again she screamed. I could now see a flash of calf within her robes. It was not a poorly turned calf. I thought she might be acceptable as a slave. Again and again, she screamed. Then the pitmaster, slowly, reversed the wheel and, bit by bit, raised the cage until it was level with the wall. The free woman clung to it, her feet drawn up. The pitmaster left the wheel and took the cord. He snapped it up, and the cage floor flung up, snapped into place. To be sure, so little as another tug, like the first, would once again release it.
Witness of Gor Norman, John
He thrust back the hood. The shape of her head, her throat, and such, could now be much better discerned. The color of her hair, on the other hand, as the veil was arranged, it swathing her head, enclosing it save for her eyes and the very top of the bridge of her nose, could not be determined. The veil was not pinned back, nor merely bound about her lower face, the hood concealing the hair, but enclosed it, as noted, save for the eyes and a bit of the bridge of the nose. She was, of course, more revealed than before, the shape of her head, the loveliness of its positioning, its setting, and such.
He thrust the dangling leash back, over her left shoulder.
She shuddered a little.
His hands then grasped her robes, at the collar.
She regarded him.
Then, angrily, he tore them down from her shoulders and then stood for a moment, as though in awe, she before him, erect, slim, and lovely, the robes hung down now behind her, from her bound wrists, held by the sleeves. She had, indeed, been naked beneath them.
“Ai!” he said. “It would indeed have been the collar for you!”
She straightened herself, even a little more.
Her slave curves were exquisite.
“You are beautiful,” he said. “Indeed,” he cried, “you are slave beautiful! You should never have been a free woman! How absurd that freedom should have been permitted to you! What a woeful mistake! Such a body is born for the collar! It is incomplete without it!
She stood silent before him, scrutinized, inspected.
Witness of Gor Norman, John
"You were right, my dear," he said. "There does exist a relationship between us, and, indeed, I think as you suspected, a most important relationship."
"You see!" cried Boabissia, almost leaping in place, elatedly, triumphantly to Hurtha and myself.
"But, my dear," he said, "it is not exactly the sort of relationship which you anticipated."
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Then, suddenly, as she cried out in surprise, in dismay, he tore her dress down to her waist.
"Yes," he said. "You are curvy."
She looked at him, startled, not daring, under his fierce gaze, to raise her hands, to lift her garment.
"The relationship," he told her, "is that of slave to master."
"No!" she cried.
"Strip," he said.
"Do so, immediately," I said to Boabissia, sternly.
Trembling she thrust down her dress over her hips, and stood then within it, it down about her ankles.
"Your sandals, too," I said, "quickly!"
Frightened she slipped from them, too. When a Gorean orders a woman to strip he means now, and completely, leaving not so much as a thread upon her body. She stood there, confused, trembling, and terrified. Her clothing was about her feet. It was as though she stood in a tiny pond of cloth.
Mercenaries of Gor Norman, John
The men laughed, not pleasantly.
Tina shook with fright.
“Shall we take her with us?” asked the leader, laughing, of his men. One of them, without warning, with a single rip that spun her fully about, tore her slave tunic away. She cried out in misery, her beauty revealed to them. “Perhaps,” said one of the men.
She stood on the sand, shuddering. Her beauty was drenched in the red of the flames.
“Stand proudly, Wench,” commanded one of the men.
Tina straightened herself.
“Protect me,” she begged.
Hunters of Gor Norman, John
He nodded to the fellow who had held the girl's hair. That fellow, as she whimpered, tore open her dress at the waist on the left side. He then jerked back the sides of the dress, exposing a portion of flesh.
Fighting Slave of Gor Norman, John
Kenneth, shears in hand, stepped back and regarded Taphris. "Your tunic has sleeves," he said. "Let us bare your arms, that you may work more efficiently."
"Work?" she said.
Kenneth, with the shears, cut away the sleeves of her tunic, so that her arms were bared.
Her hands tensed in the slave bracelets, confining them behind her back.
"Let us free, too, your legs," he said, musingly.
He then, with the shears, considerably heightened the hemline on the skirt of her tunic. This did not displease me. He handed the shears to Barus.
"Wait until the Mistress hears of this!" she cried.
"And this," said Kenneth, angrily, "I do for the pleasure of my men."
She shrank back. Angrily he tore away two additional ports from the tunic's freshly sheared hem. She cried out with misery, so exposed. "And this, too!" he said angrily. "Please, no, Master!" she wept. But his hands then tore open the tunic, that the beauty of her breasts be but ill-concealed. Lastly, he tore open, to the hip, on the left side, the now ragged, scandalously brief skirt of her tunic. I saw that she wore the common Kajira mark of Gor. It is that mark, lovely, small, a Kef in cursive script, the first letter of 'Kajira', which is worn by most Gorean slave girls.
He then kicked her legs out from under her, and she knelt sobbing in the dirt at his feet.
Fighting Slave of Gor Norman, John
Olga, to the girl's outrage, tore away her golden silk, revealing her to the Forkbeard. "Oh!" she cried, in fury. Gunnhild had won the contest and won it fairly. But I was forced to admit that the wench now before us, struggling to free her wrists, now revealed to us, luscious, sensuous, short, squirming, infuriated, was incredibly desirable; we considered her body, her face, her obvious intelligence; she would bring a high price; she would make a delicious armful in the furs.
"How is it that you have dared to strip me!" demanded the girl.
"Who is your master?" inquired Ivar Forkbeard.
She drew herself up proudly. She threw back her shoulders. In her eyes, hot with fury, was the arrogance of the high-owned slave. She smiled insolently, contemptuously. Then she said, "Thorgard of Scagnar."
"Thorgard of Scagnar!" called a voice, that of Gorm. We turned. Thorgard of Scagnar, raiment torn, bloodied, a broken spear shaft bound behind his back and before his arms, his wrists pulled forward, held at the sides of his rib cage, fastened by a rope across his belly, herded by men with spears, stumbled forward. A length of simple, coarse tent rope, some seven feet in length, had been knotted about his neck. By this tether, Gorm dragged him before Ivar Forkbeard.
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 Forkbeard. Then he said to Honey Cake, "Take my new slave to the pen."
Marauders of Gor Norman, John
“Yes, Master,” she said. I liked it, too. It reveals, well, the roundness of her belly and, low at the hips, the beginning of subtle love curves.
“Do you understand the meaning of the tuck closing on the skirt?” I asked.
“Master?” she asked.
I then, rudely, tore away the garment, spinning her, stumbling, from me. She gasped, brutally and suddenly stripped. She looked at me, frightened, again naked before her master.
“Do you now understand?” I asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I threw her the garment again.
Hastily she put it on again, not neglecting to thrust it well down on her hips, that the slave belly would be well revealed.
Explorers of Gor Norman, John
She parted the bit of yellow silk she wore, dropping it to one side. She reached for the bit of rep-cloth.
“Remove first the bangles,” I told her. She sat on the tiles and, one by one, slipped the bangles from her left ankle. Then she stood up, and pulled the rag over her head. Her body involuntarily shuddered as the grease-thick rag slipped over her beauty and clung snug, revealingly, about it; I examined her, walking about her; I tore the neckline down, to better expose the beauty of her breasts; I ripped away a strip from the garment’s hem, shortening it; she must now walk with exquisite care; I ripped the left side of the garment a bit more, to better reveal the delicious line from her left breast to her left hip.
I backed away a few feet from her.
She faced me. “The gown much reveals me,” she said, “Tarl.”
Tribesmen of Gor Norman, John
Beneath the dress, the girl was wearing a full, knee-length slip of white silk.
The dress, then, by cutting with the knife, and ripping, was removed from her.
It, too, was then thrown on the flames, following the dress sandals and pearls.
I saw, then, that the slip had small, over-the-shoulder straps. These were severed and then, cutting and ripping from the back, the auctioneer loosened the slip. It could now, at his least convenience, be removed from the girl. At the left knee, it had a deep cocktail slit. This interested me, suggesting that the girl might have good slave potential. This slit, affording an exciting glimpse of the girl's calf and lower thigh, was, of course, drawn to the attention of the audience by the auctioneer.
The auctioneer freed her stockings from the hooks and buttons on the four garter straps. In a moment the auctioneer had drawn the stockings from her legs, slipping them underneath the ropes on her ankles and discarding them in the flames. Then, after viewing her for a moment, he stepped behind her. He undid the two-hook back closure on the garter belt. This article of clothing, too, then, in a moment, was cast into the flames. She then hung before us clad only,save for the ribbon binding back her hair, in her brassiere and *******.
Savages of Gor Norman, John