Players of Gor Read Online Free PDF Page A

then, by the hair, pulled her about and threw her lengthwise, prone, to the tiles.
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    She looked up at me, over her shoulder. I saw wildness in her eyes. I saw that she had begun to sense what it might be to be an aroused slave.
    "Whip," I said, to a man, the fellow who had earlier disciplined the foolish slave who had permitted herself, without permission, to display merriment over the plight of a free woman.
    The whip was placed in my hand.
    "Master?" asked the girl, apprehensively.
    "I do not believe you were given permission to stop dancing earlier," I said.
    "No, Master," she said.
    "As you are a stupid girl and new to your condition, your punishment, this time, will be light. Three lashes."
    "Three!" she sobbed.
    "Do not expect masters to be so lenient with your stupidity in the future," I said.
    "No, Master," she wept.
    Then, doubtless for the firs time in her life, she who had been the proud free woman, the Lady Rowena of Lydius, naked, and on her belly on the tiles, felt, like the common girl she now was, the slave ship of Gor.
    "Stand," I told her. "Back straight, belly in, breasts out. Lift your hands to your shoulders, flex your knees."
    "I have been whipped," she said, disbelievingly.
    "See the difference?" said a man to another at his table. "How she stands?"
    "Yes," said the other.
    I touched her here and there, with the whip, deftly, correcting a line, or the tension of a curve.
    She shrank back from the touch of the whip. She now knew what it could to do to her. She had felt it. After a girl has once felt the whip the mere sight of it is usually enough to bring her immediately into line. "What hangs upon the wall?" a master might ask. "The slave whip, Master," she responds. "How may I be more pleasing?"
    I handed the whip back to the fellow who had had it, and returned to my place at the table of Samos.
    He signaled the musicians, and they began, again, to play.
    I gave my attention to the board. It was my move. I did not bother, then, to glance at the former Lady Rowena of Lydius. She was a mere slave, dancing for masters. Doubtless, too, as the evening wore on, other girls, too, perhaps Tula, and Susan, and Linda, would be ordered to the floor, to dance before strong
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    men, then perhaps, each in her turn, one by one, to be dragged to the tables.
    I moved my Ubara's Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubara's Scribe Three. This, supporting the center, would also open a file, developing the Ubara's Builder. The Gorean dancer is expected, usually, to satisfy the passions she arouses. "It is your move," I said to Samos. I gathered, from the cries of pleasure, from the clapping of hands, the striking of hands on shoulders, that the new slave might be proving not unacceptable. "How is she doing?" I asked. "I do not think it will be necessary, at least immediately, to throw her to sleen," said Samos. He was regarding the dancer. "It is your move," I said. Samos put his chin on his fists and examined the board. I lifted my head and looked across the room.
    I saw that it was a slave who danced before the men. She gyrated but inches from a burly oarsman, then leaped back, eluding his drunken grasp. She moved between the tables, a slave, an owned woman. Then she was kneeling beside a man, kissing and caressing him, and then, as though it were involuntary, as though her hands were tied behind her and she was being pulled back, away from him, by a rope, she retreated from him. In a moment she was showering another man with her hair and kisses. Then she offered a man wine, holding the goblet, pressing it against her belly, swaying sensuously before him. She was then again in the center of the tiles, among the tables. She made as if to speak, and then, suddenly, stopped, as though startled. Then she took a wad of her long, golden hair and, swiftly balling it, thrust it, as though insolently, in her mouth. She then looked at the men reproachfully. It was as though a man, perhaps not desiring to hear her speak,