"Assume
the posture of female submission, I told her. She did so,
kneeling back on her heels, her arms extended, wrists crossed, her
head between them, down. She was weeping.
"Repeat
after me," I told her. "'I,
once Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, of the planet Earth--'"
"I, once Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, of the planet Earth--"
she said.
"'--herewith
submit myself, completely and totally, in all things--"'
"--herewith submit myself, completely and totally, in all things--"
she said.
"'--to
him who is now known here as Hakim of Tor--"'
"--to him who is now known here as Hakim of Tor--" she
said.
"'--his
girl, his slave, an article of his property, his to do with as he
pleases--"'
"--his girl, his slave, an article of his property, his to
do with as he pleases," she said.
Hassan handed
me the collar. It was inscribed 'I am the property of
Hakim or Tor'. I showed it to the girl. She could not
read Taharic script. I read it to her. I put it about
her neck. I snapped it shut.
"'I
am yours, Master"', I said to the girl.
She looked
at me, tears in her eyes, her neck in my locked collar. " I
am yours, Master," she said.
"Congratulations
on your slave!" said Hassan. "She is lovely meat.
Now I must attend to my own slave." He laughed, and left.
The girl
sank to the straw, and looked up at me. Her eyes were soft
with tears. She whispered. :I am yours now, Tarl," she
said. "You own me. You truly own me."
"What
is your name?" I asked.
"What
ever Master wishes," she whispered.
"I
will call you Vella," I said.
"I
am Vella," she said, her head down....
---Tribesmen of Gor
, 26:359-360
The act of placing the collar
on the slave's throat is subject to many a ritual. Collaring can
be as simple as the sound of the hammer on the anvil, or the cold
metallic click of the lock, or as complex as the ceremony found
in Captive of Gor
. It can be done, and is, 'en masse', when captures
occur that involve many girls, or, as is seen in different context,
on a very personal one to one level.
Habitually, this will depend
on how important the actual collaring of one or the other girl is
to the man whose collar is being placed.
In situations where men collar
a group of captured females, or a new shipment of slaves, there
is no actual personal bond involved, no 'choosing' of one girl or
the other and the process will reflect this. The collaring will
be done quickly, almost as a formality, and the collar then simply
reflects status and more than likely an ownership which is temporary,
pre-sale or pre-trade if you will. Often, in these cases, the girls
do not even know to whom, in fact, they belong, as the collaring
will be done by the staff or employees of their actual master or
leader.
"Do
not move your head, Bondmaid," said the smith.
Then, with
great blows of the iron hammer, he riveted the iron collar about
her throat.
A man then
pulled her by the hair from the anvil and threw her to one side.
She lay there weeping, a naked bondmaid, marked and collared.
"Next,"
called out the Forkbeard.
Weeping,
another girl was flung over the branding log.
---Marauders of Gor
, 6:87
What we will call the 'second
level' or type of collaring, will be the result of admission and
is more commonly something seen done by free women. This 'other'
form and more ritualistic collaring, will have the slave participate,
in words or gestures, to her own enslavement by making a public
admission of status, a statement of this admission. 'I am slave',
'I beg to be slave', 'I admit to having slave needs'.
In the end
only Aelgifu was left.
The Forkbeard,
with the heel of his boot on the ground, drew a bondmaid circle.
She looked
at it.
Then, to
the laughter of the men, her head high, lifting her skirt, she stepped
to the circle, and stood, facing him, within it.
---Marauders of Gor, 6:87-88
The above will often be the
case in situations of war or other forms of battle or capture, where
the free woman, to avoid death, will publicly claim to having been
secret slaves and beg to be collared. Similarly, in situations where
a free woman is found guilty of a crime, she will often beg enslavement
rather than face justice and possibly death.
These admissions, incidentally,
once made, cannot be taken back. The woman who has, for example,
in a siege situation, chosen to admit to being slave and begged
for a collar, is not likely to be freed by those of her home once
the war or battle is over, or should it turn out to be won by them.
Rightly so, these admissions are considered a stain on said home
and the newly collared girl will remain in the bonds to which she
so professed to belong.
"Let
the sentence be carried out," said Mahpiyasapa. Behind him,
and standing about, as well, were the members of the council. Others,
too, stood about.
Cuwignaka
seized Bloketu from behind by the arms. "No, no!" she
cried, wildly, throwing her head back. Cuwignaka forced her inexorably,
implacably, to the edge. "I beg the alternative!" screamed
Bloketu. "I beg the alternative!" screamed Bloketu. "I
beg the alternative!"
Cuwignaka
looked at Mahpiyasapa.
"What
alternative?" cried Iwoso, wildly.
Mahpiyasapa
made a sign and Cuwignaka, at the very edge of the surface, released
Bloketu. She fell to her knees and scrambled back from the edge,
her knees abraded on the rock. She, kneeling, her hands tied behind
her, her ankles thonged, wildly, faced Mahpiyasapa. "I beg
the alternative," she wept, hysterically, "Master!"
"Master?"
asked Mahpiyasapa.
"Yes,
'Master'!" she cried. "As a slave I must address all free
men as 'Master.'"
"You
are not a slave," said Mahpiyasapa. "You are a free woman."
"No,
Master!" she cried. "I am a slave! I am a slave! I pronounce
myself a slave! I have been a slave for years, a secret slave. I
now confess my deception, acknowledging that I am, and have been,
a slave, only a slave, for years! Forgive me, Masters!"
---Blood Brothers of Gor
, 50:454
In the above case, more specifically,
it is, beyond the actual physical collar, the symbolism of the collar,
its meaning, its social implications, its totality, that is being
begged.
"The collar,"
I said, touching it," is put on from without, but what it encircles,
the slave, comes from within."
"Master?"
she asked.
"Slavery,"
I told her, "true slavery, comes from within, and you, my lovely
little red-haired beast, I assure you, as was evidenced by your
behavior and performances this night, are a true slave. Do not fight
your slavery. Allow it freely and spontaneously, candidly, sweetly
and untrammeled, to manifest itself. It is what you are."
Yes Master,"
she said.
"That, too,"
I said, "will save you many bouts with the lash."
---Savages of Gor
, 13:210
Indeed the act of collaring
a woman, can never be looked at as the simple application of a metal
ring to her throat. The collar, its placement and its display, carry
the full understanding of slavery, as part of what Goreans see as
a natural and essential element of the biotruths that are undissociable
from Gorean life.
...There
are many points in favor of the collar, besides those of history
and tradition. The throat is not only an ideal aesthetic showplace
for the symbol of bondage, displaying it beautifully and prominently,
but one which, because of the location, at the throat, and the widths
involved, is excellently secure. It also makes it easier to leash
the female. Also, of course, by means of it and a rope or chain
one may attach her to various rings and holding devices. Some fellows
even bracelet or tie her hands to it. The collar, too, of course,
helps to make clear to the slave, and others, her status as a domestic
animal.
---Magicians of Gor
, 17:257
The most 'personal' collaring,
of course, will occur in cases where a slave has been acquired specifically
by one man, selected and many times sought for some time. The 'ceremony'
or 'ritual', will widely depend on local customs and particular
situations. The most complete such ceremony can be found in Captive
of Gor, where in the war camp of Rask of Treve, the girl Elinor
becomes officially his.
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 vamp
rope, slender and coarse, fit 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 his collar, he was 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 sword blades and 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.
---Captive
of Gor 14:281-284
On an even wider scale,
there are customs related to first collarings, which are celebrated
in various ways, depending on City or culture, such as the Collaring
Feast described in the following passage.
Something
of the nature of the institution of capture, and the Gorean's attitude
toward it becomes clear when it is understood that one of a young
tarnsman's first missions is often the capture of a slave for his
personal quarters. When he brings home his captive, bound naked
across the saddle of his tarn, he gives her over, rejoicing, to
his sisters, to be bathed, perfumed and clothed in the brief slave
livery of Gor.
That night,
at a great feast, he displays the captive, now suitably attired
by his sisters in the diaphanous, scarlet dancing silks of Gor.
Bells have been strapped to her ankles, and she is bound in slave
bracelets. Proudly, he presents her to his parents, his friends
and warrior comrades.
Then, to
the festive music of flutes and drums, the girl kneels. The young
man approaches her, bearing a slave collar, its engraving proclaiming
his name and city. The barbaric crescendo, which stops suddenly,
abruptly. The room is silent, absolutely silent, except for the
decisive click of the collar lock.
It is a
sound the girl will never forget.
As soon
as the lock closes, there is a great shout, congratulating, saluting
the young man. He
returns to his place among the tables that line the low-ceilinged
chamber, hung with glowing brass lamps. He sits in the midst of
his family, his closest well wishers, his sword comrades, cross-legged
on the floor in the Gorean fashion behind the long, low wooden table,
laden with food, which stands at the head of the room.
...At the
end of her dance, she is given a cup of wine, but she may not drink.
She approaches the young man and kneels before him, her knees in
the dictated position of the Pleasure Slave, and, head down, she
proffers the wine to him. He drinks. There is another general shout
of commendation and well wishing, and the feast begins, for none
before the young man may touch food on such occasions. From
that moment on, the young man's sisters never again serve him, for
that is the girl's task. She is his slave.
As she serves
him again and again throughout the long feast, she steals glances
at him, and sees that he is even more handsome than she had thought.
Of his courage and strength, she has already had ample evidence.
As he eats and drinks with gusto on this occasion of his triumph,
she regards him furtively, with a strange mixture of fear and pleasure.
"Only such a man," she tells herself, "could tame me."
---Outlaw of Gor
, 6:51-54