World of Gor

Yes, I knew the reputation of Treve. It was a city rich in plunder, probably as lofty, inaccessible and impregnable as a tarn's nest.

Indeed, Treve was known as the Tarn of the Voltai. It was an arrogant, never-conquered citadel, a stronghold of men whose way of life was banditry, whose women lived on the spoils of a hundred cities.
---Priest-Kings of Gor, p 63

The Tarn of the Voltai

TREVE
High in the scarlet crags of the larl-prowled Voltai mountains sits a Citadel of men who live off the plundering of other Cities. Its men are said to be proud and bold, its women beautiful and spoiled.

Treve was alleged to lie above Ar, some seven hundred pasangs distant, and toward the Sardar. I had never seen the city located on a map but I had seen the territory she claimed so marked. The precise location of Treve was not known to me and was perhaps known to few save its citizens. Trade routes did not lead to the city and those who entered its territory did not often return.
---Priest-Kings of Gor, pp 60-61

There was said to be no access to Treve save on tarnback and this would suggest that it must be as much a mountain stronghold as a city.
---Raiders of Gor, pp 60-61

Treve, I knew, was, nominally, at war with several cities. Strife is common among Gorean cities, each tending to be belligerent and suspicious of others. Rask of Treve, in his way, as other raiders of Treve, carried the war to the enemy.
---Captive of Gor, p 271

The City of Treve is said to be one none can enter. Protected by the rugged terrain of the Red Mountains, its location is said to be unkown to most. Indeed if the bold Tarnsmen of Treve made their mark through all of the Gorean world,few are those who would venture in pursuit of whatever loot was taken into the skies past the foothills of the Voltai.

Treve is a bandit city, high among the crags of the lari-prowled Voltai. Most men do not even know its location. Once the tamsmen of Treve had withstood the tarn cavalries of even Ar. In Treve they do not grow their own food but, in the fall, raid the harvests of others.

They live by rapine and plunder. The men of Treve are said to be among the proudest and most ruthless on Gor. They are most fond of danger and free women, whom they bind and steal from civilized cities to carry to their mountain fair as slave girls. It is said the city can be reached only on tarnback.
---Raiders of Gor, p 271

It is said that none enters Treve save under the constraint of a hood; captives of course, in the baskets of their captors, but even merchants, and the few allowed in the City for trading, arrived under conduct, hooded and in bonds.

Indeed, there was little known even of the city of Treve. It lay somewhere among the lofty, vast terrains of the rugged Voltai, perhaps as much a fortress, a lair, of outlaw tarnsmen as a city.

It was said to be accessible only by tarnback. No woman, it was said, could be brought to the city, save as a hooded, stripped slave girl, bound across the saddle of a tarn. Indeed, even merchants and ambassadors were permitted to approach the city only under conduct, and then only when hooded and in bonds, as though none not of Treve might approach her save as slaves or captive supplicants.

The location of the city, it was said, was known only to her own. Even girls brought to Treve as slaves, obedient within her harsh walls, looking up, seeing her rushing, swift skies, did not know wherein lay the city in which they served. And even should they be dispatched to the walls, perhaps upon some servile errand, they could see, for looming, remote pasangs about them, only the wild, bleak crags of the scarlet Voltai, and the sickening drop below them, the sheer fall from the walls and the cliffs below to the valley, some pasangs beneath. They would know only that they were slaves in this place but would not know where this place in which they were slaves might be. It was said no woman had ever escaped from Treve.
---Captive of Gor, p 191

The People of Treve, though living in appearance by Gorean City structures, live of the plunders of its Raiding Tarnsmen, and of the hunting of its huntsmen, raising and growing little food of their own, though as the following passage indicates, they tend to be smug about their lifestyle, claiming the Verr as their trade.

'They are deeper than I thought,' she said.
With the tip of her finger she began to work the ointment into the cuts. It burned quite a bit.
'Does it hurt?' she asked.
'No,' I said.
She laughed, and it pleased me to hear her laugh.
'I hope you know what you are doing,' I said.
'My father,' she said, 'was of the Caste of Physicians.'

So, I thought to myself, I had placed her accent rather well, either Builders or Physicians, and had I thought carefully enough about it, I might have recognised her accent as being a bit too refined for the Builders. I chuckled to myself. In effect, I had probably merely scored a lucky hit.

'I didn't know they had physicians in Treve,' I said.

'We have all the High Castes in Treve,' she said, angrily
---Priest-Kings of Gor, p 64

She was said to have no agriculture, and this may be true. Each year in the fall legions of tarnsmen from Treve were said to emerge from the Voltai like locusts and fall on the fields of one city or another, different cities in different years, harvesting what they needed and burning the rest in order that a long, relatiatory winter campaign could not be launched against them. A century ago the tarnsmen of Treve had even managed to stand off the tarnsmen of Ar in a fierce battle fought in the stormy sky over the crags of the Voltai.

...Cities, of course, would pursue the raiders from Treve, and carry the pursuit vigorously as far as the foothills of the Voltai, but there they would surrender the chase, turning back, not caring to risk their tarnsmen in the rugged, formidable territory of their rival, whose legendary ferocity among her own crags once gave pause long ago even to the mighty forces of Ar.

Treve's other needs seemed to be satisfied much in the same way as her agricultural ones, for her raiders were known from the borders of the Fair of En'Kara, in the very shadow of the Sardar, to the delta of the Vosk and the islands beyond, such as Tyros and Cos. The results of these raids might be returned to Treve or sold, perhaps even at the Fair of En'Kara, or another of the four great Sardar Fairs, or if not, they could always be disposed of easily without question in distant, crowded, malignant Port Kar.

'How do the people of Treve live?' I asked Vika.
'We raise the verr,' she said.
I smiled.

The verr was a mountain goat indigenous to the Voltai. It was a wild, agile, ill-tempered beast, long-haired and spiral-horned. Among the Voltai crags it would be worth one's life to come within twenty yards of one.

'Then you are a simple, domestic folk,' I said.
'Yes,' said Vika.
'Mountain herdsmen,' I said.
'Yes,' said Vika.

And then we laughed together, neither of us able to restrain ourselves.
---Priest Kings of Gor, pp 60-61

Those men, said Ena, are Raf and Pron, huntsmen of Treve, though they range widely in their huntings, even to the northern forests. By order of Rask of Treve they, by their skill in weapons and their mastery of the techniques and lore of the hunt, and pretending to be of Minus, a village under the hegemony of Ar, made petition and successfully so, to participate in the retinue of the great Ubar. She smiled at me. Treve, she said, has spies in many places.
---Captive of Gor, p 298

The tarn flocks of Treve, and the skill of its Tarnsmen, are known as the best on Gor, comparable perhaps only to those of Thentis. It is on tarnback that the men of Treve plunder Cities and make away with the gold and the goods their lofty lifestyle requires, as well as the women of enemies, brought back to Treve, hooded and bound across saddles, soon to meet the kiss of the iron.

Treve was a warlike city somewhere in the trackless magnificence of the Voltai Range. I had never been there but I knew her reputation. Her warriors were said to be fierce and brave, her women proud and beautiful. Her tarnsmen were ranked with those of Thentis, famed for its tarn flocks, and Ko-ro-ba, even great Ar itself.
---Priest-Kings of Gor, p 60

Rask of Treve, as a raider true to the codes of Treve, that hidden coin of tarnsmen, that remote, secret, mountainous city of the vast, scarlet Voltai range, had not, in these circumstances, much pushed pursuit. In the shadows of the forest the crossbow quarrel can swiftly touch, and slay. The element of the tarnsman is not the green glades, and the branches; it is the clouds, the saddle and the sky; his steed is the tarn, his field of battle, strewn with light and wind, higher than mountains, deeper than the sea, is the very sky itself. Such men do not care to venture creeping into the shadows of forests, pursuing scattered game. Victorious, they roar with laughter and, hauling on the one-straps of their tarn harness, take flight. There is always other gold, and other women. And, the Priest-Kings willing, a coin that is lost today, or a woman, may, at a later time, in a more convenient place, be found, and more! A woman, who escapes your collar this afternoon may, by nightfall, find herself chained at your feet. If the coin is to be yours, argue such men, it will be; and if the woman is destined, some night, on this or another, in your tent, on your rugs, by the light of your fire, to feel your chains locked on her body, she will. Flee though she might, that fate will be hers, and she, on the rugs spread over the sand, will be yours.
---Captive of Gor, pp 190-191

The men of Treve, fierce, bold and proud, were said to have insatiable appetites for the Free Women of the enemy. A slave girl in Treve did not entertain ideas of freedom.... indeed it was said that the men of Treve kept their slaves in the deepest of bondage... a state that is not likely to be subject to conditions. The men of Treve like their women hot, their wine warm, and the warmth of closeness in simple gestures such as tending their girl's hair.

I stood before a large, low tent of scarlet canvas, suspended on eight poles. Inside, through the opened tent flap, I could see the scarlet canvas was lined with silk. It was a low tent, and only near its center could a man walk upright. Inside, in a brass pan, there was a small fire of coals. Over the coals, on a tripod, there was, warming, a small metal wine bowl. Warriors of Treve, I had heard, had a fondness for warm wines. I supposed that Rask of Treve might have his wine so. It seemed strange to me to think of such tarnsmen, such brutal, wild men, caring for such a small pleasantry. Too, I had heard, they were fond of combing the hair of their slave girls. Cities and men, I thought, are so strange, so different. I suspected there were few men as fierce and terrible as those of Treve, dreaded throughout Gor, and yet they enjoyed their wine warmed and were fond of so simple a thing as smoothing the hair of a girl.
---Captive of Gor, p 274

My pledge is steel, I said.

Terence smiled. We of Treve, he said, understand such a pledge.
---Raiders of Gor, p 272

Those of Treve, he said, Are worthy foes.

I looked at him, trembling. I put forth my hand.

He had broken free, said Bosk. When we arrived, he was gone.

The others? I said.

We found three bodies, said Bosk, Merchant of the Port Kar. One, with an empty scabbard, was identified as that of Haakon of Skjern. Another, that of a small man, was not identified. The third was strange, that of a large, and, I fear, most unpleasant beast.

I put down my head, sobbing hysterically.

They were cut to pieces, said Bosk. The heads were mounted on stakes beside the canal. The sign of Treve was cut into each of the stakes.

I fell to my knees, sobbing and laughing.

Those of Treve, mused Bosk, as though he might have known them as enemies, are worthy foes.
---Captive of Gor, p 362

Love or not, said Samos, studying the board, he will keep her in a collar - for he is of Treve.

Doubtless, I admitted. And, indeed, I had little doubt that what Samos had said was true. Rask of Treve, though in love with her, and she with him, would keep her rightless, in the absolute bondage of a Gorean slave girl - for he was of Treve.

It is said that those of Treve are worthy enemies, said Samos.
---Hunters of Gor, p 9

The Women of Treve, are said to be proud of beautifull bandit princesses, almost impossible to find on a block. One can easily imagine that in a City so difficult to find, let alone access, a world of fierce Raiders and skilled Tarnsmen, the Free Women's lives are sheltered and lofty ones.

'My city is Treve,' she said, for the first time telling me the name of her city.

I smiled as I watched her go to fetch a towel from one of the chests against the wall. So Vika was from Treve.

That explained much.

Vika returned with the towel and began dabbing at my face.

It was seldom a girl from Treve ascended the auction block. I suppose Vika would have been costly had I purchased her in Ar or Ko-ro-ba. Even when not beautiful, because of their rarity, they are prized by collectors.
---Priest-Kings of Gor, p 61

She laughed bitterly, scornfully.

It was truly a woman of Treve who stood before me now.

I saw her as I had never seen her before.

Vika was a bandit princess, accustomed to be clad in silk and jewels from a thousand looted caravans, to sleep on the richest furs and sup on the most delicate viands, all purloined from galleys, beached and burnt, from the ravished storerooms of outlying, smoking cylinders, from the tables and treasure chests of homes whose men were slain, whose daughters wore the chains of slave girls, only now she herself, Vika, this bandit princess, proud Vika, a woman of lofty, opulent Treve, had fallen spoils herself in the harsh games of Gor, and felt on her own throat the same encircling band of steel with which the men of her city had so often graced the throats of their fair, weeping captives.
---Priest-Kings of Gor, p 64-65

Her voice had borne the cruel, icy, confident, passionate menace of a woman from Treve, accustomed to have what she wanted, who would not be denied.

I turned to face Vika once more, and I no longer saw the girl to whom I had been speaking but a woman of High Caste, from the bandit kingdom of Treve, insolent and imperious, though collared.
---Priest-Kings of Gor, p 73

The Ways of the Tarn

Collaring Ceremony

I had been coached in the simple collaring ceremony of Treve. Ena, the high girl, who wore the garment of white, had not been much pleased that I did not have a caste, and could not claim a familiar city as my place of origin.

...Accordingly, it had been decided that I should identify myself by my actual city, and by my barbarian title and name. In the ceremony then I should refer to myself as Miss Elinor Brinton of New York City. I smiled to myself. I wondered how often, on this rude world, I would have the opportunity to so refer to myself. The proud Miss Elinor Brinton, of New York City, seemed so far away from me. And yet I knew she was not. I was she. Miss Elinor Brinton, incredibly, uncomprehensibly, found herself kneeling in a barbarian tent, on a distant world, myself, being prepared for her collaring. The fact that New York City was of Earth, and that Treve was of Gor, would not even enter into the ceremony. Scarcely anything would enter into the ceremony save that I was female and he was male, and that I would wear his collar.

Yesterday, by slave girls, under the direction of Ena, who was high girl, I had been washed and combed, and then fed. The food had been good, bread and bosk meat, roasted, and cheese, and larma fruit. I, famished from my trials in the wilderness, fed well. I had even been given a swallow of Ka-la-na wine, which exquisite beverage I had not tasted since the time of my capture, long ago, by Verna outside of Targo's compound....

...Ena went to a chest, opened it, and drew forth a folded piece of striped rep-cloth, a rectangle some two and a half by four feet.

Stand, she said.

I did so.

Lift your arms, she said.

I did so, and to my pleasure, she wrapped the piece of cloth about me, snugly, and fastened it with a pin behind my right shoulder blade. She then fastened it again, with anther pin, behind my right hip

Lower your arms, she said.

I did so, and stood straight before her.

You are pretty, she said. Now run along and see the camp.

Thank you, Mistress, I cried, and turned, and sped from the tent.

.... Suddenly the girl at the tent flap whispered excitedly, gesturing back toward us, 'Prepare her! Prepare her!'

'Stand,' said Ena.

I did so.

I gasped as they brought forth a long, exquisite garment, hooded, of shimmering scarlet silk.

Behind me, swiftly, one of the girls wound my hair into a single braid and then, coiling it, fastened it at the back of my head with four pins. The pins would be undone by Rask of Treve.

The garment was placed upon me. The hood fell at my back. The garment was sleeveless.

'Place your hands behind your back and cross your wrists,' said Ena.

She had, in her hand, an eighteen-inch strip of purple binding fiber, about half an inch in width, flat, set with jewels.

I felt my wrists lashed behind my back.

Ena then gestured to the girl with the small, ornate bottle. The girl removed the stopper and, quickly, again, touched me with the scent, behind each ear, a tiny drop on her finger. I smelled the heady perfume. My heart was beating rapidly.

Then Ena again approached me. This time she carried, coiled in her hand, some seven or eight feet of slender, coarse rope, simple camp rope. She knotted one end of this about my neck, tightly enough that I felt the knot. My wrists would be bound by jeweled binding fiber but I would be led forth on a simple camp rope.

'You are very lovely,' said Ena.

'A lovely animal!' I cried, tethered.

'Yes,' said Ena, 'a lovely, lovely animal.'

I looked at her with horror.

But then I realized that Elinor Brinton was indeed an animal, for she was a slave.

It was thus not inappropriate that she should find herself so, as she was, tethered, about her neck, knotted, a simple length of camp rope, slender and coarse, fir for leading verr or girls.

I turned my head to one side.

Ena drew the hood up from my back and over my head.

'They are ready!' said the girl at the entrance to the tent.

'Lead her forth,' said Ena.

I was led through the camp, and, here and there, some men and slave girls followed me.

I came to a clearing, before the tent of Rask of Treve. He was waiting there. On my tether I was led before him. I looked at him, frightened.

We stood facing one another, I about five feet from him.

'Remove her tether,' he said.

Ena, who had accompanied me, unknotted the rope, and handed it to one of the girls.

I wore the long, scarlet garment, hooded, sleeveless. My hands were bound behind my back with binding fiber.

'Remove her bonds,' said Rask of Treve.

In his belt I saw that he had thrust an eighteen-inch strip of binding fiber. It was not jeweled. It was about three quarters of an inch in thickness; it was of flat, supple leather, plain and brown, of the sort commonly used by tarnsmen for binding female prisoners.

Ena untied my wrists.

Rask and I regarded one another.

He approached me.

With one hand he brushed back my hood, revealing my head and hair. I stood very straight.

Carefully, one by one, he removed the four pins, handing them to one of the girls at the side.

My hair fell about my shoulders, and he smoothed it over my back.

One of the girls, she with the purple horn comb, combed the hair, arranging it.

'She is pretty,' said one of the girls in the crowd.

Rask of Treve now stood some ten feet from me. He regarded me.

'Remove her garment,' he said.

Ena and one of the girls from the tent parted the garment and let it fall about my ankles.

Two or three of the girls in the crowd breathed their pleasure.

Some of the warriors smote their shields with the blades of their spears.

'Step before me naked,' said Rask of Treve.

I did so.

We faced one another, not speaking, he with his blade, and in his leather. I with nothing, stripped at his command.

'Submit,' he said.

I could not disobey him.

I fell to my knees before him, resting back on my heels, extending my arms to him, wrists crossed, as though for binding, my head lowered, between my arms.

I spoke in a clear voice. 'I, Miss Elinor Brinton, of New York City, to the Warrior, Rask, of the High City of Treve, herewith submit myself as a slave girl. At his hands I accept my life and my name, declaring myself his to do with as he pleases.'

Suddenly I felt my wrists lashed swiftly, rudely, together. I drew back my wrists in fear. They were already bound! They were bound with incredible tightness. I had been bound by a tarnsman.

I looked up at him in fear. I saw him take an object from a warrior at his side. It was an opened, steel slave collar.

He held it before me.

'Read the collar,' said Rask of Treve.

'I cannot,' I whispered. 'I cannot read.'

'She is illiterate,' said Ena.

'Ignorant barbarian!' I heard more than one girl laugh.

I felt so ashamed. I regarded the engraving on the collar, tiny, in neat, cursive script. I could not read it.

'Read it to her,' said Rask of Treve to Ena.

'It says,' said Ena, '-I am the property of Rask of Treve.'

I said nothing.

'Do you understand?' asked Ena.

'Yes', I said. 'Yes!'

Now, with his two hands, he held the collar about my neck, but he did not yet close it. I was looking up at him. My throat was encircled by the collar, he holding it, but the collar was not yet shut. My eyes met his. His eyes were fierce, amused, mine were frightened. My eyes pleaded for mercy. I would receive none. The collar snapped shut. There was a shout of pleasure from the men and girls about. I heard hands striking the left shoulder in Gorean applause. Among the warriors, the flat of sword blades and the blades of spears rang on shields. I closed my eyes, shuddering.

I opened my eyes. I could not hold up my head. I saw before me the dirt, and the sandals of Rask of Treve.

Then I remembered that I must speak one more line. I lifted my head, tears in my eyes.

'I am yours, Master,' I said.

He lifted me to my feet, one hand on each of my arms. My wrists were bound before my body. I wore his collar. He put his head to the left side of my face, and then to the right. He inhaled the perfume. Then he stood there, holding me. I looked up at him. Inadvertently my lips parted and I, standing on my toes, lifted my head, that I might delicately touch with my lips those of my master. But he did not bend to meet my lips. His arms held me from him.

'Put her in a work tunic,' he said, 'and send her to the shed.'
---Captive of Gor, pp 269-284

The Brand of Treve

'I have never seen the brand of Treve,' I said.

'It is rare,' said Ena, proudly.

'May I see your brand?' I asked. I was curious.

'Of course,' said Ena, and she stood up and, extending her left leg, drew her long, lovely white garment to her hip, revealing her limb.

I gasped.

Incised deeply, precisely, in that slim, lovely, now-bared thigh was a startling mark, beautiful, insolent, dramatically marking that beautiful thigh as that which it now could only be, that of a female slave.

'It is beautiful,' I whispered.

Ena pulled away the clasp at the left shoulder of her garment, dropping it to her ankles.

She was incredibly beautiful.

'Can you read?' she asked.

'No,' I said.

She regarded the brand.' It is the first letter, in cursive script, she said, of the name of the city of Treve.'
---Captive of Gor, p 277

'Yes, Worthless Slave,' said he,' you will wear in your flesh the mark of the city of Treve.'

'Please,' I begged.

'When men ask you,' said he,' who it was that marked you as liar and thief, and traitress, point to this brand, and say, I was marked by one of Treve, who was displeased with me.'

'Do not punish me with the iron!' I cried.

I could not move my thigh. It must wait, helpless, for the blazing kiss of the iron.

'No,' I cried. 'No!'

He approached me. I could feel the terrible heat of the iron, even inches from my body.

'Please, no!' I begged.

The iron was poised.

I saw his eyes and realized that I would receive no mercy. He was a tarnsman of Treve.' With the mark of Treve,' he said, 'I brand you slave.'
---Captive of Gor, p 311

The Service of Warm Wine

'Enter,' said Rask of Treve.

I was alone, defenseless in his war camp, his slave.

I entered the tent.

'Tie shut the tent flaps,' said he.

I turned and tied shut the flaps, with five cords, fastening myself in the tent with him.

I turned to face him, his girl.

There was a small fire in the fire bowl in the tent, and the tiny tripod set above it, where wine might be warmed.

The interior of the tent was lined with red silk. The hangings were rich. There were, here and there, small, brass tharlarion-oil lamps, hanging from projections set on the tent poles. At the sides of the tent, where it sloped downward, there were many chests, and kegs and sacks, filled with the booties and plunders of many raid. Several of the chests were open, and from some of the sacks, onto the rugs, spilled pieces of gold. I could see the glint of the precious metals, and the refulgence of gems, reflecting the light of the fire and the lamps.

Rask of Treve owned much.

'Come closer,' he said.

I heard the bells of a slave girl approach him.

I stopped, head down, several feet from him. My bare feet sunk into the deep, soft, scarlet, intricately wrought rugs which floored the tent. I felt the pile about my ankles.

'Come closer,' he said.

Once again there was a rustle of slave bells.

I stood before him.

'Lift your head, Girl,' he said.

I looked into his eyes. I wore his collar. I quickly dropped my head.

I felt his large hands part the bit of silk that I wore and, gently, drop it about my ankles.

He turned from me and went to sit down, cross-legged, some feet behind the tiny fire in the fire bowl.

We regarded one another.

'Serve me wine,' he said.

I turned and, among the furnishings of the tent, found a bottle of Ka-la-na, of good vintage, from the vineyards of Ar, the loot of a caravan raid. I then took the wine, with a small copper bowl, and a black, red-trimmed wine crater, to the side of the fire. I poured some of the wine into the small copper bowl, and set it on the tripod over the tiny fire in the fire bowl.

He sat cross-legged, facing me, and I knelt by the fire, facing him.

After a time I took the copper bowl from the fire and held it against my cheek. I returned it again to the tripod, and again we waited.

I began to tremble.

'Do not be afraid, Slave,' he said to me.

'Master!' I pleaded.

'I did not give you permission to speak,' he said.

I was silent.

Again I took the bowl from the fire. It was now not comfortable to hold the bowl, but it was not painful to do so. I poured the wine from the small copper bowl into the black, red-trimmed wine crater, placing the small bowl in a rack to one side of the fire. I swirled, slowly, the wine in the wine crater. I saw my reflection in the redness, the blondness of my hair, dark in the wine, and the collar, with its bells, about my throat.

I now, in the fashion of the slave girl of Treve, held the wine crater against my right cheek. I could feel the warmth of the wine through the side of the crater.

'Is it ready?' he asked.

A master of Treve does not care to be told that his girl thinks it is. He wished to be told Yes or No.

'Yes,' I whispered.

I did not know how he cared for his wine, for some men of Treve wish it warm, others almost hot. I did not know how he wished it. What if it were not as he wished it!

'Serve me wine,' he said.

I, carrying the wine crater, rose to my feet and approached him. I then knelt before him, with a rustle of slave bells, in the position of the pleasure slave. I put my head down and, with both hands, extending my arms to him, held forth the wine crater. 'I offer you wine, Master,' I said.

He took the wine and I watched, in terror. He sipped it, and smiled. I nearly fainted. I would not be beaten.

I knelt there, while he, at his leisure, drank the wine.
---Captive of Gor, pp 330-332

Honey I'm Hooooooooome!

Often during the day, and sometimes for days at a time, most of the tarnsmen of Rask of Treve would be aflight. The camp then would seem very quiet.

They were applying themselves to the work of the tarnsmen of Treve, attack, plunder and enslavement.

A girl would cry, 'They return!' and we, eager in our work tunics, would run to the center of the camp to greet the returning warriors. Many of the girls would be laughing and waving, leaping up and down, and standing on their tiptoes. I did not betray such emotions, but I, too, found myself eager, almost uncontrollably excited, to witness the return of the warriors. How fine they were, such magnificent males! I hated them, of course, but, too, I, like the others, most eagerly anticipated their return. And most of all was I thrilled to witness the return of their leader, the mighty laughing Rask of Treve, whose very capture loop I had felt on my own body, whose collar I wore, whose I was. How pleased I was to see him bring back yet another girl, bound across his saddle, a new prize.
---Captive of Gor, pp 290-291