Dances

"In the dance I had power. In the dance I was beautiful. I saw delight in
the eyes of men. I heard gasps of admiration. The dancing of a slave is a
thousand times more sensuous than that of a free woman because of the
incredible meanings involved, the additional richness which this furnishes,
the explosive significance of this comprehension, that she who dances is
owned, and, theoretically, could be owned by you. Too, she is naked, or
scantily clad, and is bedecked in a barbaric manner. This speaks of reality
and savagery, of ferocity, and beauty and barbarism, and of the fundamental
meaningfulness of the male/female relationship, that of master to slave.
The dancing of the female before the male, that she be found pleasing and
he be pleased, is one of the most profound lessons in all of human biology.
Others are when she kneels before him, when she kisses his feet, when she
performs obeisance, when she know herself subject, truly, to his whip.
Another is when she is seized in his arms, imperiously, and crushed to him."
Dancer of Gor, page 193

"slave dance, that form of dance, in its thousands of variations, in which a
female may excitingly and beautifully, marvellously and fulfillingly,
express the depths and profoundities of her nature. In such dance the woman
moves as a female, and shows herself as a female, in all her excitingness
and beauty. It is no wonder that women love such dance, in which dance they
are so desirable and beautiful, in which dance they feel so free, so sexual,
so much a slave." Magicians of Gor, p.44

"Move as seductively and beautifully as you can, and as a slave, swaying,
crawling, kneeling, rolling, supine, prone, begging, pleading, piteous,
caressing, kissing, licking, rubbing against them." Mercenaries of Gor, p.60

"It is good for them to get the practice, hearing and seeing men respond to
them. That is the way to learn what truly pleases men. In the end, I say, it
is men who teach women to dance. Assassin of Gor, p.91

It is only when a slave has learned to be truly pleasing that she will be
permitted to dance before a Ubar." Guardsman of Gor, p.234

Slave dances are any of the sensuous dances performed by slave’s girls to
entertain their Masters. Designed to display the sexual heat of the
performer, and invite her use by Masters. Slave Dances are in many of the
Gor books, and a few of them are listed for reference. As performed on Gor,
they are very descriptive, with thoughts, emotions, and movements displayed
by the girl. The girl should personalize each dance. DO NOT COPY ANOTHER’S
DANCES, just use the basic elements, the story line. There are a few dances
and examples that might be of help to the inahan's that are trying to learn
the art of dancing to please their Itancanka/Kashna

Note: inahans are allowed to copy and paste their own dances. Using of
another slaves dance will be punished by death. Dances should be 5 to 6
lines each post and no more than 6 to 8 posts long.





Belt Dance

I observed Phyllis Robertson performing the belt dance, on love furs spread
between the tables, under the eyes of the Warriors of Cernus and the members
of his staff. Beside me Ho-Tu was shoveling porridge into his mouth with a
horn spoon. The music was wild, a melody of the delta of the Vosk. The belt
dance is a dance developed and made famous by Port Kar dancing girls. Cernus,
as usual, was engaged in a game with Caprus, and had eyes only for the
board... The belt dance is performed with a Warrior. She now writhed on the
furs at his feet, moving as though being struck with a whip. A white silken
cord had been knotted about her waist; in this cord was thrust a narrow
rectangle of white silk, perhaps about two feet long.... Phyllis Robertson
now lay on her back, and then her side, and then turned and rolled, drawing
up her legs, putting her hands before her face, as though fending blows, her
face a mask of pain, of fear. The music became more wild. The dance receives
its name from the fact that the girl's head is not suppose to rise above the
Warrior's belt, but only purists concern themselves with such niceties;
wherever the dance is performed, however, it is imperative that the girl
never rise to her feet. The music now became a moan of surrender, and the
girl was on her knees, her head down, her hands on the ankle of the Warrior,
his sandal lost in the unbound darkness of her hair, her lips to his foot...
In the next phases of the dance the girl knows herself the Warrior's, and
endeavors to please him, but he is difficult to move, and her efforts, with
the music, become ever more frenzied and desperate... The belt dance was
now moving to its climax and I turned to watch Phyllis Robertson... Under
the torchlight Phyllis Robertson was now on her knees, the Warrior at her
side, holding her behind the small of the back. Her head went farther back,
as her hands moved on the arms of the Warrior, as though once to press him
away, and then again to draw him closer, and her head then touched the furs,
her body a cruel, helpless bow in his hands, and then, her head down, it
seemed she struggled and her body straightened itself until she lay, save
for her head and heels, on his hands clasped behind her back, her arms
extended over her head to the fur behind her. At this point, with a clash of
cymbals, both dancers remained immobile. Then, after this instant of silence
under the torches, the music struck the final note, with a mighty and
jarring clash of cymbals, and the Warrior had lowered her to the furs and
her lips, arms about his neck, sought his with eagerness. Then, both dancers
broke apart and the male stepped back, and Phyllis now stood, alone on the
furs, sweating, breathing deeply, head down. Assassin of Gor p. 185

Chain Dance

The figure of the woman, swathed in black, heavily veiled, descended the
steps of the slave wagon. Once at the foot of the stairs she stopped and
stood for a long moment. Then the musicians began, the hand-drums first, a
rhythm of heartbeat and flight. To the music, beautifully, it seemed the
frightened figure ran first here and then there, occasionally avoiding
imaginary objects or throwing up her arms, ran as though through the crowds
of a burning city-alone, yet somehow suggesting the presence about her of
hunted others. Now, in the background, scarcely to be seen, was the figure
of a warrior in scarlet cape. He, too, in his way, though hardly seeming to
move, approached, and it seemed that wherever the girl might flee there was
found the warrior. And then at last his hand was upon her shoulder and she
threw back her head and lifted her hands and it seemed her entire body was
wretchedness and despair. He turned the figure to him and, with both hands,
brushed away hood and veil. There was a cry of delight from the crowd. The
girl's face was fixed in the dancer's stylized moan of terror, but she was
beautiful. I had seen her before, of course, as had Kamchak, but it was
startling still to see her thus in the firelight-her hair was long and
silken black, her eyes dark, the color of her skin tannish. She seemed to
plead with the warrior but he did not move. She seemed to writhe in misery
and try to escape his grip but she did not. Then he removed his hands from
her shoulders and, as the crowd cried out, she sank in abject misery at his
feet and performed the ceremony of submission, kneeling, lowering the head
and lifting and extending the arms, wrists crossed. The warrior then turned
from her and held out one hand. Someone from the darkness threw him, coiled,
the chain and collar. He gestured for the woman to rise and she did so and
stood before him, head lowered. He pushed up her head and then, with a click
that could be heard throughout the enclosure, closed the collar-a Turian
collar-about her throat. The chain to which the collar was attached was a
good deal longer than that of the Sirik, containing perhaps twenty feet of
length. Then, to the music, the girl seemed to twist and turn and move away
from him, as he played out the chain, until she stood wretched some twenty
feet from him at the chain's length. She did not move then for a moment, but
stood crouched down, her hands on the chain. I saw that Aphris and Elizabeth
were watching fascinated. Kamchak, too, would not take his eyes from the
woman.

The music had stopped. Then with a suddenness that almost made me jump and
the crowd cry out with delight the music began again but this time as a
barbaric cry of rebellion and rage and the wench from Port Kar was suddenly
a chained she-larl biting and tearing at the chain and she had cast her
black robes from her and stood savage revealed in diaphanous, swirling
yellow Pleasure Silk. There was now a frenzy and hatred in the dance, a fury
even to the baring of teeth and snarling. She turned within the collar, as
the Turian collar is designed to permit. She circled the warrior like a
captive moon to his imprisoning scarlet sun, always at the length of the
chain. Then he would take up a fist of chain, drawing her each time inches
closer. At times he would permit her to draw back again, but never to the
full length of the chain, and each time he permitted her to withdraw, it was
less than the last. The dance consists of serveral phases, depending on the
general orbit allowed the girl by the chain. Certain of these phases are
very slow, in which there is almost no movement, save perhaps the turning of
a head or the movement of a hand; others are defiant and swift; some are
graceful and pleading; each time, as the common thread, she is drawn closer
to the caped warrior. At last his fist was within the Turian collar itself
and he drew the girl, piteous and exhausted, to his lips, subduing her with
his kiss, and then her arms were about his neck and unresisting, obedient,
her head to his chest, she was lifted lightly in his arms and carried from
the firelight. Nomads of Gor p. 159

Dance of the Six Thongs

You may dance, Slave, I told her. It was to be the dance of the six thongs.
She slipped the silk from her and knelt before the great table and chair,
between the other tables, dropping her head. She wore five pieces of metal,
her collar and locked rings on her wrists and ankles. Slave bells were
attached to the collar and the rings. She lifted her head, and regarded me.


The musicians, to one side, began to play. Six of my men, each with a length
of binding fiber approached her. She held her arms down, and a bit to the
sides. The ends of six lengths of binding fiber, like slave snares, were
fastened on her, one for each wrist and ankle, and two about her waist; the
men, then, each holding the free end of a length of fiber, stood about her,
some six or eight feet from her, three on a side. She was thus imprisoned
among them, each holding a thong that bound her. Sandra then, luxuriously,
catlike, like a woman awakening, stretched her arms. There was laughter. It
was as though she did not know herself bound. When she went to draw her arms
back to her body there was just the briefest instant in which she could not
do so, and she frowned, looked annoyed, puzzled, and then was permitted to
move as she wished. I laughed. She was superb. Then, still kneeling, she
raised her hand, head back, insolently to her hair, to remove from it one of
the ornate pins, its head carved from the horn of kailiauk, that bound it.
Again a thong, this time that on her right wrist, prohibited, but only for
an instant, the movement, but inches from her hair. She frowned. There was
laughter. At last, sometimes immediately permitted, sometimes not, she had
removed the pins from her hair. Her hair was beautiful, rich, long and black.
As she knelt, it fell back to her ankles. Then, with her hands, she lifted the
hair again back over her head, and then suddenly, her hands, by the thongs were
pulled apart and her hair fell again loose and rich over her body. Now, angrily,
struggling, she fought to lift her hair again but the thongs, holding apart her
hands, did not permit
her to do so. She fought them. The thongs would permit her only to wear her
hair loosely. Then, as though in terror and fury, as though she now first
understood herself in the snares of a slave, she leaped to her feet,
fighting, to the music, the thongs. The dancing girls of Port Kar, I told
myself, are the best on all Gor. Dark and golden, shimmering, crying out,
stamping, she danced, her thonged beauty incandescent in the light of the
torches and the frenzy of the slave bells. She turned and twisted and leaped,
and sometimes seemed almost free, but was always, by the dark thongs, held
complete prisoner. Sometimes she would rush upon one man or another, but the
others would not permit her to reach him, keeping her always beautiful
female slave snared in her web of thongs. She writhed and cried out, trying
to force the thongs from her body, but could not do so. At last, bit by bit,
as her fear and terror mounted, the men, fist by fist, took up the slack in
the thongs that tethered her, until suddenly, they swiftly bound her hand
and foot and lifted her over their heads, captured female slave, displaying
her bound arched body to the tables. There were cries of pleasure from the
tables, and much striking of the right fist on the left shoulder. She had
been truly superb. Then the men carried her before my table and held her
bound before me. A slave, said one. Yes, cried the girl, slave! The music
finished with a clash. The applause and cries were wild and loud. I was much
pleased. Raiders of Gor, p. 228

Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave

I turned to the musicians. Do you know, I asked, the Love Dance of the Newly
Collared Slave Girl?
Port Kar's? asked the leader of the musicians.
Yes I said.
Of course, said he.
I had purchased more than marking and collars at the smithy.
On your feet, boomed Thurnock to Thura, and she leaped frightened to her
feet, standing ankle deep in the thick pile rug. At a gesture from Clitus,
Ula, too, leaped to her feet.
I put ankle rings on Midice, and then slave bracelets. And tore from her the
bit of silk she wore. She looked at me with terror. I lifted her to her feet,
and stood before her.
Play, I told the musicians.
The Love Dance of the Newly Collared Slave Girl has many variations, in the
different cities of Gor, but the common theme is that the girl dances her joy
that she will soon lie in the arms of a strong Master. The musicians began
to play, and to the clappings and cries of Thurnock and Clitus, Thura and
Ula danced before them.
Dance, said I to Midice.
In terror the dark-haired girl, lithe, tears in her eyes, she so marvelously
legged, lifted her wrists. Now again Midice danced, her ankles in delicious
proximity and wrists lifted again together back to back above her head, palms
out. But this time her ankles were not as though chained, nor her wrists as
though braceleted; rather they were truly chained and braceleted; she wore
the linked ankle rings, the three-linked slave bracelets of a Gorean master;
and I did not think she would now conclude her dance by spitting upon me and
whirling away.
She trembled. Find me pleasing, she begged.
Do not afflict her so, said Telima to me.
Go to the kitchen, said I, Kettle Slave.
Telima turned and, in the stained tunic of rep-cloth, left the room, as she
had been commanded. The music grew more wild.
Where now, I demanded of Midice, is your insolence, your contempt!
Be kind! she cried. Be kind to Midice!
The music grew even more wild. And then Ula, boldly before Clitus, tore from
her own body the silk she wore and danced, her arms extended to him. He
leaped to his feet and carried her from the room. I laughed. Then Thura,
to my amazement, though a rence girl, dancing, revealed herself similarly to
the great Thurnock, he only of the peasants, and he, with a great laugh,
swept her from her feet and carried her from the room.
Do I dance for my life? begged Midice.
I drew the Gorean blade. Yes, I said, you do.
And she danced superbly for me, every fiber of her beautiful body straining
to please me, her eyes, each instant, pleading. Trying to read in mine her
fate. At last, when she could dance no more, she fell at my feet, and put her
head to my sandals. Find me pleasing, she begged. Find me pleasing, my Master!
I had had my sport.
Raiders of Gor, p 115

Need Dance

I turned away and gave my attention to the slave writhing on the tiles before
us. She was performing a need dance, of a type not uncommon among Gorean
female slaves.Such a dance usually proceeds in clearly defined phrases,
evident not merely in the expressions and movements of the girl but in the
nature of the accompanying music. There are usually five phases to such a
dance. In the first phase the girl, dancing, feigns indifference to the
presence of men, before whom, as a slave, she must perform. In the second
phase, for she has not yet been raped, her distress and uneasiness, her
restlessness, her disturbance by her sexual urges, must become subtly more
manifest. Here it must be evident that she is beginning to feel her sexuality,
and drives, profoundly, and yet is struggling against them. Toward the end
of this phase it must beome clear not only that she has sexual needs, and
deep ones, but that she is beginning to fear that she may not be, simply as
she is, of sufficient interest to men to obtain their satisfaction. Here,
need, coupled with anxiety and self-doubt, for she has not yet been seized
by strong men, must become clear. In the third phase of the dance she, in an
almost ladylike fashion, acknowledges herself defeated in her attempt to
conceal her sexuality; she then, again in an almost ladylike fashion,
delicately but clearly, with restraint but unmistakably, acknowledges, and
publicly, before masters, that she has sexual needs.

Then, with smiles, and gestures, displaying herself, she makes manifest her
readiness for the service of men, her willingness, and her receptivity. She
invited them, so to speak to have her. But she has not yet been seized by an
arm or an ankle, or by her collar, a thumb hooked rudely under it, or hair,
and pulled from the floor. What if she is not sufficiently pleasing? What if
she is not to be fulfilled? What if she must continue to dance, alone,
unnoticed. At this point it becomes clear to her that it is by no means a
foregone conclusion that men will find her of interest, or that they will
see fit to satisy her. She must strive to be pleasing. If she is not good
enough she may be chained, unfilfilled, another in night alone There are always other girls. She must earn her rape. Too, if she should be
insufficiently pleasing consistently iin the kennel.
t is likely that she will be slain.
goreans place few impediments in the way of liberation of a slave female's
sexuality. In this phase of the dance, then, shamelessly the woman dances
her need and, shamelessly, begs for her sexual satisfaction. The phase of
the dance is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. The
fifth, and final phase, of the dance, is far more dramatic and exciting. In
this phase the girl, overcome by sexual desire and terrified that she may
not be found sufficiently pleasing, clearly manifests, and utterly, that she
is a slave female. In this portion of the dance the girl is seldom on her
feet. Rather, sitting, rolling, and changing position, on her side, her back,
her belly, half kneeling, half sitting, kneeling, crawling, reaching out,
bending backwards, lying down, twisting with passion, gesturing to her body,
presenting it to masters for their inspection and interest, whimpering,
moaning, crying out, brazenly presenting herself as a slave, pleading for
her rape, she writhes, a piteous, begging, vulnerable, ready slave, a woman
fit for and begging for the touch of a master, a woman begging to become,
at the least touch of her master, a totally submitted slave. The fourth
phase of the dance, as I have mentioned, is sometimes known as the Heat of
the Collared She-Sleen. This portion of the dance, the fifth portion, is
sometimes known as the Heat of the Slave Girl. The music ended with a swirl
of sound and the girl, with a jangle of bells, lay before the table of
Policrates, whimpering, her hand extended. She lifted her head. I read the
unmistakable need in her eyes. She was indeed a slave female.
Rogue of Gor, p. 86

Pole Dance

The girl wore Gorean dancing silk. It hung low upon her bared hips, and fell
to her ankles. It was scarlet, diaphanous. A front corner of the silk was
taken behind her and thrust, loose and draped, into the rolled silk knotted
about her hips; a back corner of the silk was drawn before her and thrust
loosely, draped, into the rolled silk at her right hip. Low on her hips she
wore a belt of small denomination, threaded, overlapping golden coins. A
veil concealed her muchly from us, it thrust into the strap of the coined
halter at her left shoulder, and into the coined belt at her right hip. On
her arms she wore numerous armlets and bracelets. On the thumb and first
finger of both her left and right hand were golden finger cymbals. On her
throat was a collar. He clapped his hands. Immediately the girl stood
beautifully, alert, before us, her arms high, wrists outward. The musicians,
to one side, stirred, readying themselves. Their leader was a czehar player.
He looked at the girl. He clapped his hands, sharply.

There was a clear note of the finger cymbals, sharp, delicate, bright, and
the slave girl danced before us. I regarded the coins threaded, overlapping,
on her belt and halter. They took the firelight beautifully. They glinted,
but were of small worth. One dresses such a woman in cheap coins; she is
slave. Her hand moved to the veil at her right hip. Her head was turned away,
as though unwilling and reluctant, yet knowing she must obey. The dancer
was now moving slowly to the music. I turned to watch the dancer. She
danced well. At the moment she writhed upon the slave pole, it fixing her
in place. There is no actual pole, of course, but sometimes it is difficult
to believe there is not. The girl imagines that a pole, slender, supple,
swaying, transfixes her body, holding her helplessly. About this imaginary
pole, it constituting a hypothetical center of gravity, she moves,
undulating, swaying, sometimes yielding to it in ecstasy, sometimes fighting
it, it always holding her in perfect place, its captive. The control
achieved by the use of the slave pole is remarkable. An incredible,
voluptuous tension is almost immediately generated, visible in the dancer's
body, and kinetically felt by those who watch. I heard men at the table cry
out with pleasure. The dancer's hands were at her thighs. She regarded them,
angrily, and still she moved. Her shoulder lifted and fell; her hands
touched her breasts and shoulder; her head was back, and then again she
glared at the men, angrily. Her arms were high, very high. Her hips moved,
swaying. Then, the music suddenly silent, she was absolutely still. Her left
hand was at her thigh; her right high above her head; her eyes were on her
hip; frozen into a hip sway; then there was again a bright, clear flash of
finger cymbals, and the music began again, and again she moved, helpless on
the pole. Men threw coins at her feet. The dancer moaned, crying out, as
though in agony. Still she remained impaled upon the slave pole, its
prisoner. The hips of the dancer now moved, seemingly in isolation from the
rest of her body, though her wrists and hands, ever so slightly, moved to
the music. Samos, with a snap of his fingers, freed the dancer from the
slave pole. She moved, turning, toward us. Before us, loosening her veil at
the right hip, she danced. Then she took it from her left shoulder, where it
had been tucked beneath the strap of her halter. With the veil loose,
covering her, holding it in her hands, she danced before us. then she
regarded us, dark-eyed, over the veil; it turned about her body, then,.. she
wafted the silk about her, immeshing her in its gossamer softness. I saw the
parted lips, the eyes wide with horror, of the kneeling, harnessed girl,
through the light, yellow veil; then the dancer had drawn it away from her,
and, turning, was again in the center of the floor. The dancer whirled near
us, then enveloped me in her veil. Within the secrecy of the veil, binding
us together, she moved her body slowly before me, lips parted, moaning... I
slowly removed her veil from her, then threw it aside. Then with my right
hand, the Tuchuk quiva in it, while still holding her with my left, as she
continued to move to the music, I, behind her back, cut the halter she wore
from her. I then thrust her from me, before the tables, that she might better
please the guests of Samos, first slaver of Port Kar. She looked at me
reproachfully , but, seeing my eyes, turned frightened to the men, hands
over her head, to please them. Never in all this, of course, had she lost
the music in her body. The men cried out, pleased with her beauty. All
eyes were on the dark-haired dancer, the skirt of diaphanous scarlet dancing
silk low upon her hips. Her hands moved as though she might be, starved with
desire, picking flowers from a wall in a garden. One saw almost the vines
from which she plucked them, and how she held them to her lips, and, at times,
seemed to press herself against the wall which confined her. Then she turned
and, as though alone, danced her need before the men. I idly observed the
dancer. Her eyes were on me. It seemed, in her hands, she held ripe fruits
for me, lush larma, fresh picked. Her wrists were close together, as though
confined by the links of slave bracelets. She touched the imaginary larma to
her body, caressing her swaying beauty with it, and then, eyes piteous, held
her hands forth, as though begging me to accept the lush fruit. Men at the
table clapped their hands on the wood, and looked at me. Others smote their
left shoulders. I smiled.

On gor, the female slave, desiring her master, yet sometimes fearing to
speak to him, frightened that she may be struck, has recourse upon occasion
to certain devices, the meaning of which is generally established and
cuturally well understood... to kneel before the master and put her head
down and lift her arms, offering him fruit, usually a larma, or a yellow
Gorean peach, ripe and fresh. These devices, incidentally, may be used even
by a slave girl who hates her master but whose body, trained to love, cannot
endure the absence of the masculine caress. Such girls, even with hatred,
may offer the larma, furious with themselves, yet helpless, the captive of
their slave needs, forced to beg on their knees for the touch of a harsh
master, who revels in the sport of their plight....They are slaves. The
girl now knelt before me, her body obedient still trembling, throbbing, to
the melodious, sensual command of the music. I looked into the cupped hands,
held toward me. They might have been linked in slave bracelets. They might
have held lush larma. I reached across the table and took her in my arms,
and dragged her, turning her, and threw her on her back on the table before
me. I lifted her to me, and thrust my lips to hers, crushing her slave lips
beneath mine. Her eyes shone. I held her from me. She lifted her lips to
mine. I did not permit her to touch me. I jerked her to her feet and, half
turning her, ripping her silk from her, hurled her to the map floor, where
she half lay, half crouched, one leg beneath her, looking at me, stripped
save for her collar, the brand, the armlets, bells, the anklets, with fury.
Please us more, I told her. Her eyes blazed. And do not rise from the floor,
Slave, I told her. The music, which had stopped, began again.

She turned furiously, yet gracefully, extending a leg, touching an ankle,
moving her hands up her leg, looking at me over her shoulder, and then
rolled, and writhed, as though beneath the lash of master. The dancer now
lay on her back and the music was visible in her breathing, and in small
movements of her head, and hands. Her hands were small and lovely. She lay
on the map floor, her head turned toward us. She was covered with sweat. I
snapped my fingers and her legs turned under her, and she was kneeling, head
back, dark hair on the tiles. Her hands moved, delicate, lovely. Slowly, if
permitted, she would rise to an erect kneeling position; her hands, as she
lifted herself, extended toward us. Four times said I No, each time my
command forcing her head back, her body bent, to the floor, and each time,
again, to the music, she lifted her body. The fifth time I let her rise to
an erect kneeling position. The last portion of her body to rise was her
beautiful head. The collar was at her throat. Her dark eyes, smoldering,
vulnerable, reproachful, regarded me. Still did she move to the music, which
had not yet released her. With a gesture I permitted her to rise to her feet.
Dance your beauty, Slave, I told her, to the guest of Samos. Angrily the
girl, man by man, slowly, meaningfully, danced her beauty to each guest.
They struck the tables, and cried out. More than one reached to clutch her
but each time, swiftly, she moved back. The dancer, now behind us,
continued to move before the low tables. The eyes of the men gleamed. Before
each man, for moments seemingly his alone, she danced her beauty. The dancer
turned from the tables and, hands high over her head, approached me. She
swayed to the music before me. You commanded me to dance my beauty for the
guests of Samos, said she, Master. You, too, are such a guest. I looked upon
her, narrow lidded, as she strove to please me.

Then she moaned and turned away, and, as the music swirled to its maddened,
frenzied climax, she spun, whirling, in a jangle of bells and clashing
barbaric ornaments before the guests of Samos. then, as the music suddenly
stopped, she fell to the floor, helpless, vulnerable, a female slave. Her
body, under the torchlight, shone with a sheen of sweat.She gasped for
breath; her body was beautiful, her breasts lifting and falling, as she
drank deeply of the air. Her lips were parted. Now that her dance was
finished she could scarcely move. We had not been gentle with her. She looked
up at me, and lifted her hand. It was at my feet she lay.
Tribesmen of Gor, p. 8

Sa-eela

The Sa-eela is one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic and erotic of the
slaves dances of Gor. It belongs, generally to the genre of dances commonly
known as the Lure Dances of the Love-Starved Slave Girl. The common theme of
the genre, of course, is the attempt on the part of a neglected slave to
call herself to the attention of the master. The Sa-eela, usually performed
in the nude, as though by a low slave, and by a girl freed of all impediments
except her collar, is one of the most powerful of slave dances of Gor. It is
done rather differently in different cities but the variations practiced in
the river towns and, generally in the Vosk basin, are in my opinion, among
the finest. There is no standardization for better or worse, in Gorean slave
dance. Not only can the dances differ from city to city, but even from
tavern to tavern, and from girl to girl. This is because each girl, in her
own way, brings the nature of her own body, her own dispositions, her own
sensuality and needs, her own personality, to the dance.. For the woman,
slave dance is a uniquely personal and creative art form. Too, it provides
her with a wondrous modality for deeply intimate self-expression. The
Sa-eela, of course is not the sort of dance which could be performed by a
free woman. Peggy now danced upon her knees, at the end of the table using
the table in the dance, thrusting her belly against it, and touching it with
her hands, and her body and lips. Peggy, then was back from the table, on
the tiles, on her back, and sides, and knees, and then prone, and again
supine, and then writhing, as though in frustration and loneliness. Stands
before the Master, hands lifted, their backs together above her head. I
observed the dancer, closely, the striking of her small, clinched fists on
the tiles, the scratching of her fingernails at their smooth surfaces, the
turning of a hip, the flattening of a thigh, the lifting of a knee, the
turning of her head, the piteous scarrering of her hair from side to side.
She lay on her back, and whimpering, struck down in misery, stinging the palms
of her hands, bruising her small heels. She might have been in a cell,
locked away from men. She then rolled to her stomach, and rose to her hands
and knees, and head down remainded for a moment in that posture. It is at
this moment that the music enters a different melodic phase, one less
physical and frenzied, one almost lyrical in its poignance. She crawls some
feet to her left and lifts her head. She puts out her small hand. It seems
that it there encounters some barrier, some enclosing, confining wall. She
then rises to her feet. Swiftly she hurries about, in the graceful,
frightened haste of the dancer, her hands seeming to trace the location of
the obdurate barriers, those invisible walls which seem to contain her. She
then stood and faced us, and put her head in her hands, bent over and
straightened her body, her head and hair thrown back. I? she seemed to ask,
looking out, as though some rude jailer might have come to the gate of her
pen. But there is of couse, no one there, and in the performance of the dance,
that is clearly understood. Then, in poignant fantasy, within the pen, she
prepares herself for the Master, seeming to thoughtfully select silks and
jewelry, seeming to apply perfume and cosmetics, seeming to be bedecked in
shimmering diaphanous slave splendor. She then crosses her wrists, and moves
them, as though they have been bound. She then extends them before her as
though the strap on them had been drawn taut. It then seems that she, head
high, a bound slave is being led on her tether, from the pen. But, at the
gate, of course, her wrists separate, and her small palms and fingers
indicate for us clearly, that she is still confined. She retreats to the
center of the pen, falls to her knees, covers her head with her hands, and
weeps. The next phase of the music begins at this point. She looks up.
There is a sound in the corridor, beyond the gate. She leaps up, and backs
against the wall of her pen. This time, it seems, truly, there are men there,
that they have come for her. She puts her head up; She turns away; she
feigns disdane. Then it seems as she, startled, looks about, on the floor
of the pen, calling to them, lifting her head, holding out her hand
piteously to them. She pleads to be considered. It then seems, as she
shrinks back, lifting herself to the plams of her hands, frightened, that
the gate to her pen has been opened. She kneels swiftly in the position of
the pleasure slave. Obviously she fears her rude jailers. Twice it seems she
is struck with a whip. Then she again assumes the postion of a pleasure slave.
She nods her head. She understands well what is expected of her. She is to
perform well on the tiles of the feasting hall. Yes Masters! it seems she
says. But how little do her jailers, perhaps only common and boorish fellows,
understand that this is precisely what she too, deeply and desperately desires
to do. How long she has waited, in cruel frustration, unfulfilled and lonely,
in her cell for just such a moment, that precious opportunity in which she a
mere slave, may be permitted to display and present herself for consideration
of her master. How can they understand the poignance, and significance of
this moment for her? She is to have an opportunity to present herself before
the master! Who knows if she in such a large house, one with such cells and
jailers, may ever again be given such an opportunity. It then seems that she
is hauled to her feet and that her wrists, tightly and cruelly, are bound
behind her back. Her body and head are then bent far over. Her head twists.
It seems a man's hand is in her hair. Not as a high slave, clothed in
jewelries and shimmering silks, tastefully bound, is she to be conducted to
the site of her performance, some aristocratic banquet; rather, cruelly
bound and nude, she is to be thrown before masters at a drunken feast. She
then with small, hurried steps, bent over, described a wide circle on the
tiles. Then, it seemed, she was thrown to her knees, and then her side,
before us. Her hands were still held as though tightly bound behind her. She
looked at us. We were of course, the masters, before whom she was to perform.
She rose to her feet. She twisted as though her hands were being untied. She
then flexed her legs and lifted her hands over her head, as she hand in the
beginning, back to back. The final phases of the Sa-eela then begin. In
these phases the girl, in all her unshielded beauty, and naked except for
the collar of slavery, attempts to arouse the interest of her master. Peggy's
body gleamed with sweat. She had small feet, and lovely high arches. Her
body was superb. She had now entered into the display phase of the Sa-eela.
In this portion of the dance the girl calls attention to the various aspects
of her beauty, from the swirling sheen of her cascading hair, to her ankles,
from her small feet to her tiny, fine fingers. The music now, pounding and
throbbing, mounted headily toward the climax of the Sa-eela. In these, the
final portions of the Sa-eela, the slave in effect, puts herself at the mercy
of the master. She has already presented before him, almost in a delectable
enumeration, many of the more external and rhythmic aspects of her beauty.
She has displayed herself hitherto before him rather as an object in which,
hopefully, he might take an interest. A woman may do this, of course from
many motives; such as fear or her desire to be purchased by an affluent
master, only one of which might be her authentic, poignant desire to be
found pleasing by him. for her own sake. In such displays there can be,
though there often is not, a subtle psychological distinction, detectable in
the behavior, between the merchandise, so to speak, and the girl who is
displaying herself as merchandise. In the first case, where no true
distinction exists, which is the authentic case, the girl in effect says, I
am for sale. Buy me, and love me! In the second case, the girl in effect says,
Here is a fine slave. Are you not interested in her? In the second case of
couse, the Gorean is interested, though the girl may not understand this
clearly, in not only the merchandise but the girl who is displaying the
merchandise. She might truly be terrified if she understood that it was
herself he intended to own, and in fact, was going to own, she the exhibitor
of the merchandise as well as she, the merchandise exhibited. Goreans, as I
have mentioned, are interested in owning the whole woman, in all her sweetness,
depth, complexity and individualism. The girl now, in all her helplessness,
in all her desperation in all her sensual splendor, was dancing not aspects
or attributes of her beauty before her master, but was dancing her own passions,
her own needs and desires, her own piteous needful, beautiful, intimate and
personal self before him. There were no restraints, no reservations, no
compromises, no divisions or distinctions. Her needs were as exposed as her
collared body. She danced herself before her master. The music swirled to
its climax and Peggy, turning, flung herself to her back on the tiles. As
the music struck its last, rousing note, she arched her back, and flexed her
legs, and looked back at him, her right arm extended piteously back toward
him. Guardsman of Gor, p. 260

Tether Dance

I jerked the tether on her throat. This is a tether, I said, It is to be well
incorporated in your dance. You are a tethered slave. Do not forget it. You
may fight the tether, you may love it. It may confine your body, you may use
it to caress your body, an invitation to your master, a surrogate symbol of
his domination of you. You need not dance always on your feet. A woman can
dance beautifully on her knees, moving as little as a hand, or on her back,
or belly or side. In all things do not forget that you are a slave.

Are you now commanding me to dance before you? she asked.
Yes, I said, you dance now as a commanded slave. And if I am not well pleased
have no fear but what you will be well beaten, if not slain.
Yes, Master, she said.
I then struck my hands together, and, terrified, the girl danced. She had
not been taught the tether dance, one of the most beautiful of the slave
dances of Gor, but she improvised well.

Indeed, it was hard to believe that she had not had training. I am inclined
to believe that the need dances and display dances of the human female may
be, at least in their rudiments, instinctual. I suspect there is a genetic
disposition in the woman toward this type of behavior and that certain of
the movements, closely associated with luring behavior and love movements,
may also be genetically based. One reason for supposing this to be the case
is that a girl's growth in certain forms of dance skills does not follow a
normal learning curve. It is rather like the human being's ability to acquire
speech, which also does not follow a normal learning curve. It seems
reasonably likely that facility in acquiring speech, which would have
enormous survival value, has been selected for. Similarly, a woman's
marvelous adaptability to erotic dance may possibly have been selected for.
At any rate, whatever the truth may be in these matters, feminine women,
perhaps to the horror of their more masculine sisters, seem to take naturally
to the beauties of erotic dance. At the very least, perhaps inexplicably,
they are marvelously good at it. These genetic dispositions, of course, if
they exist, can be culturally suppressed. I watched the girl dance. She was
quite good. Now you are becoming a woman, I told her. She knelt on one knee,
her right; her left leg was flexed; the tether was taken, in a turn, about
her left thigh; her hands, too, were on her left thigh; her head was down,
but turned toward me; her lip trembled. Continue to dance, Slave, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.

I watched her, and marveled. It is interesting to note that such movements,
those of slave dances, despite the inhibitions of rigid cultures, may occur
in a girl's sleep, and may even occur, almost spontaneously, when she, nude,
alone, passes before a mirror in her bedroom. How shocked she may be to
suddenly see her body move as that of a slave. Could it have been she who so
moved? Later, perhaps to her surprise, she finds herself standing before the
mirror. She is naked, and alone. Then, perhaps scarcely understanding what is
occurring within her, she sees the girl in the mirror has begun to dance.
The movements are not dissimilar perhaps to those of women who, thousands of
years ago, danced in firelit caves before their masters. Then, knowing well
that it is she herself who is the dancer, she dances brazenly, boldly, before
the mirror. Well does she present her bared beauty before it in the movements,
the attitudes and postures of the female slave. Then perhaps she falls to the
rug, scratching at it, pressing her belly to it. I want a Master, she whispers.
I now stood up. My arms were folded. The girl now was upon her knees at my
feet, the tether on her neck slung back behind her to the slave stake. Still
in her dance, she began to lick and kiss at my body. I then took her by the
upper arms and held her, half lifted from her knees, before me. Please do
not whip me, she begged. I then, by the upper arms, dragged her to the side
of the slave stake. I put her on her knees there. She looked up at me. You
danced well as a slave, I said. Explorers of Gor, p. 361

Tile Dance

I hear from the chain master, said Samos, that you have learned the tile dance
creditably. The tiny cups and glasses shook on the tray. I am pleased, she
said, if Krobus should think so. The tile dance is commonly performed on red
tiles, usually beneath the slave ring of the master's couch. The girl
performs the dance on her back, her stomach and sides. Usually her neck is
chained to the slave ring. The dance signifies the restlessness, the misery,
of a love starved slave girl. It is a premise of the dance that the girl moves
and twists, and squirms, in her need, as if she is completely alone, as if
her need is known only to herself; then, supposedly, the master surprises her,
and she attempts to suppress the helplessness and torment of her needs; then,
failing this, surrendering her pride in its final shred, she writhes openly,
piteously, before him, begging him to deign to touch her. Needless to say,
the entire dance is observed by the master, and this, in fact, of course, is
known to both the dancer and her audience, the master. The tile dance, for
simple psychological and behavioral reasons, having to do with the submission
context and the motions of the body, can piteously arouse even a captured,
cold free woman; in the case of a slave, of course, it can make her scream
and sob with need. Explorers of Gor, p. 13

Veil Dance

I watched Aemilianus' slave emerging from the kitchen. I listened to the
unobtrusive music of the musicians, who were sitting on a rug a few feet in
front of, and to the left of, the table. I took another sip of the black
wine. The voluptuous blond slave began to lower certain of the lamps. What
are you doing? I asked her. Forgive me, Master, she said. She then hurried
again to the kitchen. As she had done this work the light in the room was
romantically softened, but an area, soft as well, of greater illumination
had been left before the table. When she had left the room, the musicians,
too, had stopped playing. This seemed interesting.

The blond slave of Aemilianus then re-entered. She placed a large, folded
square of sparkling white linen at the bottom of the table. She then lit a
wide, large, low candle and placed this candle, on a plate, on the soft, wide
square of folded linen. She then withdrew to the side. I looked at the white
linen, and the candle, in the half darkness. I was startled. What memories
this stirred in me! The musicians then began to play, softly. The girl
emerged from the kitchen. There were sounds of pleasure, and surprise, from
those about the table. The dark-haired girl, exquisite and lovely, stood in
the light, on the tiles, back from the foot of the table, that we might well
see her. Her hair was drawn severely back on her head. She wore what seemed
to be a svelte, satin, off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown. Twisted about her
feet, over and under, were golden straps. The girl then turned gracefully
before us, displaying the garments. I saw that her hair, severely drawn back
on her head, was fastened behind the back of her head in a bun. I had known
it would be. I had not forgotten. The girl, then, to the music, moved
gracefully, turning, her bands held out, about the table, displaying herself
and her garments for us. She then returned to her place on the tiles, at the
foot of the table. I regarded her. How beautiful she was! She looked at me.
Then, gracefully and decisively, to the music, she unbound her hair. There
was applause for this at the table, the gentle striking of left shoulders,
for she had done it well, and the significance of a woman's unbinding her
hair before a man is well understood on Gor. She then, reaching to the
left side, beneath her arm, of what
seemed to be a white sheath gown, undid a fastening, and then others, at the
side of her body, her waist, her thigh, and knee, and then, gracefully, the
Gorean music unobtrusive but melodious in the background, removed the
garment. I saw then that a rectangle of white cloth, cleverly tucked and
sewn, had been used to simulate the off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown on
Earth. Such an actual gown, of course, had not been available to her on Gor.
There was gentle, appreciative applause. She now stood before us in what
seemed to be a brief, silken, off-the-sboulder slip. The girl then sat on
the tiles before us, but back a bit, where we, sitting cross-legged at the
low table, could well see her. She extended her right leg, gracefully. It
was flexed and, as her foot was placed fully upon the floor, her toes were
pointed. These two things, respectively, curved her calf deliciously and
extended the line of her beauty. Her left leg was back, its ankle beneath
her right thigh. She looked at me, and then, bending forward, removed the
golden straps wound about and under her right foot. In the restaurant she
had worn golden pumps, with wisps of golden straps. She looked at me. Well
did she, and the others, know the significance of removing footwear before a
free man. She cast aside the straps she had taken from her right foot. Then,
putting her hands back, swiftly and smoothly, beautifully, to the music,
without rising, she changed her position on the tiles. Her left thigh now
faced me. Her left leg was now gracefully extended, flexed and toes pointed.
Her left thigh, and calf, and ankle and foot were marvelous. Her right foot,
as her left previously had been, was back, the right ankle now beneath her
right thigh. She then removed the golden straps from her left foot, and cast
them aside. She looked at me. She had bared her feet before a free man. The
golden straps she had used to simulate the footwear which she had worn on
Earth were golden binding straps. They were the nearest thing she could find,
within her limited resources, I gathered, to what she had worn in the
restaurant. I did not object. They resembled somewhat, and well suggested,
that footwear. such straps, incidentally, are commonly used to bind the
hands and feet of women. There was gentle applause for the girl, and murmers
of appreciation. The footwear had been well removed. She then rose to her
feet and stood again before us, but now barefoot upon the tiles. She then
reached again to her left side, and undid a fastening there, below her left
arm, and then another below it, and then one at her hip. She then unwrapped
the brief sliplike garment from her body, and dropped it to one side. The
brassiere had been simulated cleverly with soft white silk. Her beauty, soft,
and almost as though protesting its confinement, strained against this silk.
Too, between her breasts, this silk had been twisted and knotted, this making
even more evident the sweet contours of her beauty, and the sturdy, silken
restraint placed upon it. The panties, too, were simulated with white silk,
which, in a narrow rectangle, had been wrapped twice about her hips and
tucked in at her waist. There was no nether closure to this silk, of course.
The Gorean slave girl is not permitted to shield her intimacies without the
explicit permission of her master. Besides these two garments, intended,
respectively, to suggest the brassiere and panties of an Earth girl, she still
wore, of course, the light, narrow white scarf, this twisted and wound twice
about her throat, the ends thrown over her left shoulder. The girl then, to
the music, put back her head and put her hands behind her back, and, reaching
high behind her back, this lifting her breasts beautifully, strained for a
moment, and then, one by one, twisting slightly, undid the hooks on the
confining, tight silk. Our eyes met. The silk was then dropped to one
side, Superb, said Glyco. She then reached to the white scarf on her throat
and, beautifully, to the music, undid it one turn. She then, to the music,
drew it beautifully, slowly, from her throat, and, gracefully, dropped it to
one side.

She wore, of course, now revealed, a close-fitting, gleaming slave collar.
She lifted her head, and, with her fingers, delicately indicated and displayed
the collar. She then stood before us as a barefoot, half-naked, collared
slave. Gorean applause, and murmurs of appreciation, greeted this aspect of
her performance. Our eyes met again. She then reached with her right hand to
her waist and undid the tuck in the silk which was wrapped about her hips.
Slowly and beautifully then, to the music, with both hands, she unwound the
silk, and then dropped it to the tiles. Superb! said Glyco. She then
crawled to me, on her hands and knees, her head humbly down. Then, when she
reached me, she lowered herself to her belly and, extending her right hand,
touched me on the knee. She lifted her head. You are my master, she said,
and I am your slave, and I love you!
Guardsmen of Gor, p. 247

Whip Dance

In the whip dance, though there are various versions of it, depending on the
locality, the girl is almost never struck with the whip, unless, of course,
she does not perform well. When the whip is cracked, however, the girl will
commonly react as though she has been struck. this, conjoined with the music,
and her beauty, and the obvious symbolism of her beauty beneath total male
descipline, can be extremely, powerfully erotic. In an elegant, civilized
context, one of beauty and music, it makes clear and bespeaks the raw and
essential primitives of the ancient, genetic, biological sexual realtionship
of men and women Rogue of Gor p. 191

Placatory Dance

There are many forms of placatory dances which are performed by female slaves.
Some of these tend to have rather fixed forms, sanctioned by custom and
tradition, such as the stately 'Contrition Dance' of Turia. Some sort of
placatory dance is usually taught to the girl in slave training. Most
placatory dances, however, are not fixed-form dances, but are 'free' dances,
in which the slave, exquisitely alert to the nuances of the situation, the
particular master, the nature of his displeasure, the gravity of her offense,
and such, improvises, to reassure him of the authenticity of her contrition
and the genuineness of her desire to do better. Dancer of Gor p. 332

Submission Dance

Performed for the girl's true Master, each dance is different and unique, as
is each Freeperson. It can be done in many ways, from the kajira allowing her
hands to roam her own body in throbbing lust for her Master, to the girl
writhing in desire and submitting at His feet. Dancer of Gor p. 190

Musical Instruments

cymbals
all types and sizes

czehar
An eight stringed instrument. It has a large flat oblong box. Is sat in the
lap when sitting cross legged and plucked with a pick, similiar to a
Japanese koto.

flute
Same as earth flute and the players always keep them polished

herlit-bone whistle
This is a whistle made from the herlit, from it's bone, used by the Kaiila
tribe in the performance of the great dance.

kalika
A six-stringed instrument; it, like the czehar, is flat-bridged and its
strings are adjusted by means of small wooden cranks; on the other hand, it
less resembles a low, flat box and suggests affinities to the banjo or guitar,
though the sound box is hemispheric and the neck rather long; it, too, of
course, like the czehar, is plucked.

kaska
small hand drum

lyre
notched stick

Red Hunter's drum
This drum is ungainly heavy, larged drum. The frame, made of wood with a
cover of Tabuk hide, is struck on the frame with a stick, giving the drum an
odd resonance sound.

slave bells

tabor
This is a small drum, it's head is made of verrskin. The tension is adjusted
by tightening or loosening small pegs around it's perimeter

tambourine
Bits of metal on wires; gourds filled with pebbles and slave bells mounted
on hand rings

trumpets

zills
These are small cymbals attached to the fingers

Among Gorean musicians, incidentally, czehar players have the most prestige;
there was only one in this group, I noted, and he was their leader; next
follow the flutists and then the players of the kalika; the players of the
drums come next; and the farthest fellow down the list is the man who keeps
the bag of miscellaneous instruments, playing them and parceling them out to
others as needed. Lastly it might be mentioned, thinking it is of some
interest, musicians on Gor are never enslaved; they may, of course, be
exiled, tortured, slain and such; it is said, perhaps truly, that he who makes
music must, like the tarn and the Vosk gull, be free. Nomads of Gor, pg 154