Role of a She Urt

Hi Kate!

Ahhh she urts, my favorite role, and NOT an easy on to play att all, in fact most girls rarely last more then a month in it. It can be lonely, stressful, harrowing, and you have to have a serious sense of humor, as well as humility to play the part. So if you can't take people telling you, you smell...calling you ugly, telling you to go away, and basically being downright rude, this is NOT the role for you. However, if you have a bit of sass...can smirk and tell them "they don't know what they are missing" head to the next person without worry then it's a great role!

To answer your questions:

-Do they travel from city to city? Depends. Mira ran from her homestone and kept running until she ran out of coin and ended up on the streets of Minus. She has not left since. Once your in a place that allows she urts, thats where you stay, mainly because you won't have coin to travel, nor any real reason to...and you're at risk of a collar any time you ask a man a favor.

-I saw they mostly stay in group, but I also understand they aren't a role often played and so I'm not sure how easy it will be to find a group to stay with. Would it be OK if I stayed on my own? Generally in the books they do travel in packs much like stray dogs. However, a pack has to start with one dog, so I don't see why you can't be alone. Mira is, I actually prefer it to a degree.

- What about their clothing? They are not slaves but I understand they don't have much to wear, sometimes what they wear is close to that of a slave? This is a tricky one. In the books they wore brief tunics, a lot like slave clothing. Mainly because they didn't have a lot of clothing if any, and because they needed to run and it's a tad hard to run in heavy robes. That being said, we don't rp in the books and if I run around in a brief tunic I am just Begging to be mistaken for those Unrealistic unowned slave girls that often wander around. So I make an exception for this and wear ragged robes. I try and cover up the essentials, and I NEVER try and wear anything to revealing. The way I see it, she urts were/ and still are free women and still think to a degree like free women and that would mean they would want some measure of modesty just to make themselves feel better.

- Also how does one become a She Urt? When they do is it possible for them to keep a few of their past belonging, ie: the cloths on their back? Mira's story is very complex. Her father was trying to start a war and since she was to be the Admins companion he decided to sell her secretly and claim she was kidnapped by the enemy. She found out about the plan and ran leaving a note for the Admin of her fathers treachery, now she is hiding from him. All she had was a purse of coin and the cloths on her back...which she kept until the coin ran out and she landed in Minus broke. She has gathered a small amount of clothing that she found discarded in the trash so she has a rotation of rags to wash and wear.

The HARDEST part about being a she urt are other people. People have an earth mentality and most will look upon an urt with pity instead of disgust...they don't understand that by "trying to help the poor urt out" they are in effect killing our roleplay. If they give us tons of coin (which is what usually happens) then we can no longer be she urts because we have enough money to buy our way into normal society. Remember a she is, is a she urt because she is broke. Her caste either shuns her, or doesn't want her, and generally she has no family to turn to. This does not mean a woman on gor can't make it on her own. With enough coin a woman can do just about anything including start her own buisness. So generally if I start to gain to much coin I arrange to get robbed LOL.

Alright, now for some quotes.

(FOR SLAVE INTERACTION)

She Urts ARE Free Women!

The other girl who, too, had been ready to attack, backed now uneasily away. She did not wish to come within reach of my arm.

"Let her go!" said the leader of the four girls. "You can't just take us! We are free! Free!"

"We will call a guardsman!" cried another.

I grinned. How delightful are women. How weak they are. How fit they are to be made slaves.

"I am sorry I struck you as hard as I did," I told the girl I had last struck. "I lost my patience," I said. "I am sorry." She, after all, was not a slave. She was a free woman. Slaves, of course, may be struck as long and as hard as one wishes. The girl between my feet, a slave, would learn, that.

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((She Urts will treat slaves, as slaves. Especially if that slave tried to trick them and hide within their band ))

"Is this your slave?" asked the praetor of Ulafi of Schendi.

"Yes," said he.

"How do I know she is a slave?" asked the praetor. "Her body, her movements, do not suggest that she is a slave. She seems too tight, too cold, too rigid, to be a slave."

"She was free, captured by Bejar, in his seizure of the Blossoms of Telnus," said Ulafi. "She is new to her condition."

"Is Bejar present?" asked the praetor.

"Slave! Slave!" screamed the leader of the she-urts to the bound girl. "Slave! Slave!" they cried.

"To think we let you fish garbage with us, when you were only a slave!" cried the leader.

Then the she-urts who had accompanied me to the station of the praetor, kicking and striking with their ropes, fell upon the bound slave.

She wept, kicked and struck. "Slave! Slave!" they cried.

"Get back!" called the praetor, angrily, to them. "Get back, or we will collar you all!
-Explorer's of Gor, John Norman, 1979

This is an incident showing a she urt working with man. She attempts to prostitute herself and is later raped. She is Free, it is understood she is free, however there seems to be little difference between her and a slave save for the understanding of her status.

Rape is a COMMON occurance amonst she urts and should be viewed as "simply another happening" NOT a tragic, traumatizing experiance that will haunt the woman the rest of her life. On Gor it is expected and lived with.

I stopped on the walkway. Ahead, some yards, was a girl dark-haired, lying on her belly on the walkway, reaching with her hand down to the canal, to fish out edible garbage. She was barefoot, and wore a brief, brown rag. I did not think she was a slave. Some free girls, runaways, vagabonds, girls of no family or position, live about port cities, scavenging as they can, begging, stealing, sleeping at night in crates and under bridges and piers. They are called the she-urts of the wharves. Every once in a while there is a move to have them rounded up and collared but it seldom comes to anything.

I was not worried about the girl. I was more alert to the fact that, moments before, two guardsmen had passed. The rounds of guardsmen are generally randomized, usually by the tossing of coins, different combinations corresponding to different schedulings. One of the most practical strategies for those who would avoid guardsmen, of course, is to follow them in their rounds. I was very aware of the fact that I carried, in my sea bag, the ring which the blond barbarian had had on the Blossoms of Telnus and the notes, bearing the signatures and seals of Schendi bankers, who had been made out to Shaba, the geographer of Anango, the explorer of Lake Ushindi, and the discoverer of Lake Ngao and the mysterious Ua River. I thought these might bring him out of hiding, with the Tahari ring, if I could not locate him by means of the blond Earth girl who had been purchased by Ulafi, captain of the Palms of Schendi, merchant, too, of that city.

The girl, hearing my approach, drew her legs up quickly under her, and rose to her feet, turning to meet me. She smiled, brightly. She was pretty.

"Tal," said she.

"Tal," said I.

"You are strong," she said.

We were in the vicinity of the pier of the Red Urt. It is not a desirable district.

I put down my sea bag.

She looked up at me.

"It is dangerous for you here," I said. "You should be home."

"I have no home," she said.

She traced an idle pattern on my left shoulder with her finger tip.

"Who would want to hurt a little she-urt," she said.

"What do you want?" I asked. I was alert to the tiny sound behind me.

"I will please you for a tarsk bit," she said.

I did not speak.

She suddenly knelt before me. "I will please you as a slave girl, if you wish," she said.

"When I want a slave girl," I said, "I will have a real slave girl, not a free woman pretending to be a slave girl."

She looked up at me, angrily.

"On your feet, free woman," I said.

She got up angrily. She was not a slave. Why should I accord her the privilege of kneeling at my feet?

"I'm hot and I'm pretty," she said. "Try me."

I touched her flanks. They were good. I then took her by the upper arms. I looked into her eyes. She lifted her lips to mine.

"No!" she screamed, wild-eyed, as I suddenly lifted her from her feet and spun about, she knowing herself lifted helplessly into the path of the blow. I dropped her inert body to one side.

"You should take your breath," I told him, "before you approach. Too, you should have your arm raised early, that the movement of the sleeve not be audible. Too, you should have the girl, in her diversion, keep her eyes closed. That could be natural enough, and, in that way, you would not be reflected in the mirror of her eyes." It had not been difficult to detect his approach, even apart from the more obvious clues I had called to his attention. The senses of a warrior are trained. His life may depend on it.

With a cry of rage the man attacked. I caught the club hand, which was clumsy, and, twisting it, dashed his face first into the walkway. I then took him by the hair and thrust the side of his head into the wall. He slumped down, unconscious. I took binding fiber from my sea bag and tied his wrists together behind his back, and crossed and tied his ankles. I then turned to the girl. I tied her hands behind her back, and then took her by the ankles and held her upside down, thrusting her head and shoulders, and upper body, under the cold waters of the canal. In a few seconds I pulled her up, sputtering, and sat her, tied, against the wall across from me. She gasped for air; she tried to clear water from her eyes. She choked. Her hair and the rag she wore were wet. She backed further against the wall, drawing her legs up, pressing her knees closely together. She looked at me, frightened. "Please, let me go," she said. Dawn would be well glistening now over the marshes to the east. It was still rather dark in the canal streets with the buildings on each side. There was fog visible on the canals.

"Please, let me go," she said. "It will mean the collar for me."

"Do you recall what you said to me," I asked, "shortly before I turned you about?"

"No," she said.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yes, yes!" she said.

"Say it, again," I told her.

"Please," she begged.

"Say it," I said.

"I'm hot and I'm pretty," she stammered. "Try me," she said. She swallowed hard.

"Very well," I said.I drew her to me by the ankles.

"Please let me go," she said. "It will mean the collar for me. Oh, oh."

Then in moments she moaned and wept.

I forced her to yield well, to the very limits of the free woman. Then I was finished with her.

She looked up at me. "Have I pleased you?" she asked, tears in her eyes.

"Yes," I said.

"Let me go," she said.

I took her ankles, crossed and tied them. Then I threw her beside the man, her head to his feet. I tied her neck to his feet, and her feet to his neck. They would wait, thus, for the guardsmen.

"They will banish him and collar me," she said.

"Yes," I said.

I knelt down on one knee beside her. I took a tarsk bit from my pouch, and thrust it in her mouth. She was a free woman. Since I had no intent of enslaving her myself, it seemed fit that I should pay her for her use. She had asked, as I recalled, for a tarsk bit. Had I intended to keep her, I might have simply raped her, and then put the collar on her. A slave has no recourse.

I rose to my feet, and, shouldering my sea bag, whistling, continued on toward the pier of the Red Urt, where Ulafi's ship, the Palms of Schendi, was moored.

I soon hurried my steps, for an alarm bar had begun to ring.

I heard steps running behind me, too, and I tamed about, A black seaman ran past me, he, too, heading toward the wharves. I followed him toward the pier of the Red Urt.

-Explorer's of Gor, John Norman, 1979
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She Urts "may" fight back...but generally we are compliant when confronted.

"Where do the she-urts band?" I asked.
"Let me go!" she cried.
I shook her. "Oh, oh," she cried.
I then stopped shaking her. I held her by the arms, her toes barely touching the ground. She was then quiet, looking up at me. Her eyes were frightened. I saw she was ready to be obedient.
"There are some girls behind the paga taverns, on the northern shore of the Ribbons alley," she said.
I released her and she sank to her knees, gasping.
The Ribbon is one of Port Kars better-known canals. A narrower canal, somewhat south of it, is called the Ribbons alley. It was a bit past dawn and the paga taverns backing on the smaller canal would be throwing out their garbage from the preceding night. She-urts sometimes gather at such places for their pick of the remnants of feasts.
Explorers of Gor Book 13 Page 61

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She urts are Incredibly territorial. They know that every bit of garbage they can claim could mean the difference between living and dieing.

I saw her with several other girls, behind the rear court of the Silver Collar. They were fishing through wire trash containers. These had been left outside until, later, when the girls had finished with them, when the residues would be thrown into the canals. It was not an act of pure kindness on the part of the attendants at the paga tavern that the garbage had not been flung directly into the canals.
I looked at the girls. They were all comely. There were seven of them there, not including the one in whom I was interested. They wore rags of various sorts and colors; they had good legs; they were all barefoot.
I saw the blond-haired barbarian standing back. She, apparently, was repulsed by the garbage. She did not wish to touch it. The other girls paid her no attention.
Except for her failure to exhibit interest in the garbage she might have been only one she-urt among the others. She was as pretty, and as dirty, as the rest.
Suddenly she saw me. For an instant I saw she was frightened. Then she doubtless reassured herself that I could not know her. She was, after all, only another she-urt. Her thighs were unmarked.
She went then, as not noticing me, to the basket of garbage. She tried to saunter as a she-urt. Steeling herself she thrust her hand into the fresh, wet garbage. She looked up at me. She saw I was still watching her. In her hand there was a half of a yellow Gorean pear, the remains of a half moon of verr cheese imbedded in it. She, watching me, lifted it toward her mouth. I did not think it would taste badly. I saw she was ready to vomit.
Suddenly her wrist was seized by the girl, a tall, lovely girl, some four inches taller than she, in a brief white rag, who stood with her at the basket. "Who are you?" demanded the girl in the white rag. You are not one with us." She took the pear from her, with the verr cheese in it. "You have not laid with the paga attendants for your garbage," she said. "Get out!" Any woman, even a free woman, if she is hungry enough, will do anything. The paga attendants knew this.
"Get out," said the girl in the white rag. "This is our territory." The other girls now, too, belligerently, began to gather around. "Get out," said the girl in the white rag, "or we will tie you and throw you into the canal."

The blond-haired barbarian backed away, not challenging them. The girls then returned to the garbage. The blond-haired girl looked at me. She did not know which way to go. She did not wish to pass me, but yet, on the other hand, she did not wish to leave a vicinity where the she-urts were common.

The buildings were on one side, the canal on the other. Then she began to walk toward me, to pass me. She tried to walk as a she-urt. She came closer and closer. She tried not to look at me. Then when she was quite close to me, she looked into my eyes. Then she looked down. I think she was not used to seeing how Gorean men looked at women, at least slaves and low women, such as she-urts, assessing them for the furs and the collar. Then she looked boldly up at me, brazenly, trying to pretend to be bored and casual. Then she tossed her head and walked past me. I watched her walk past me. Yes, I thought, she would make a good slave.

I began to follow her, some twenty or thirty feet behind her. Surely this made her nervous, for she was clearly aware of my continued nearness. Surely she must have suspected, and fearfully, that I knew who she was. But she could not know this for certain.

Behind us we heard two girls squabbling over garbage, contesting desirable scraps from the wire basket.

I would let her continue on her way. She was going in the direction which I would take her.

In a few moments, beside one of the canals leading down to the wharves, in the vicinity of the Spice Pier, we came on four she-urts. They were on their bellies beside the canal, fishing for garbage.

The blond-haired girl joined them. Her legs and ankles were very nice.

I knew she was intensely aware of my presence. Boldly she reached out into the water and picked up the edible rind of a larma. She looked at me. Then she bit into it, and then, tiny bite by tiny bite, she forced herself to chew and eat it. She swallowed the last bit of it. I had wanted her to eat garbage out of the canal. It would help her to learn that she was no longer on Earth.
Explorers of Gor Book 13 Page 62

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She urts get there food where ever they can.

The Ribbon is one of Port Kar's better-known canals. A narrower canal, somewhat south of it, is called the Ribbon's alley. It was a bit past dawn and the paga taverns backing on the smaller canal would be throwing out their garbage from the preceding night. She-urts sometimes gather at such places for their pick of the remnants of feasts.

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She Urts ARE Free Women and respected AS Free Women. They will fight to prove what they are but as any Free Women they will back down when bested very quickly.

I caught up with her quickly, took her by the back of the neck and, shoving, thrust her, stumbling, running obliquely, against the wall to my right. I tossed the sea bag to her left. As I had thrown her to the wall it would be most natural for her to bolt to the left. She stumbled over the sea bag and half fell. Then I had her left ankle in my left hand and her right ankle in my right hand. I dragged her back, towards me, on her belly. I then knelt across her body and jerked her small hands behind her. I tied them there.

A small fist struck me. "Let her go!" cried a girl. I felt hands scratching at me. Small fists pounded at me. The four girls who had been fishing for garbage in the canal leaped upon me. "Let her go!" cried one. "You can't simply take us!" cried another. "We are free! Free!" cried another.

I stood up, throwing them off me. I cuffed two back and two others crouched, ready to leap again to attack.

I stood over the blond girl, one leg on. each side of her. She lay on her belly, her hands tied behind her.

Another girl leaped toward me and I struck her to one side with the back of my hand. She reeled away and sank to her knees, looking at me. I think she had never been struck that hard before. Her hand was at her mouth, blood between the fingers.

The other girl who, too, had been ready to attack, backed now uneasily away. She did not wish to come within reach of my arm.

"Let her go!" said the leader of the four girls. "You can't just take us! We are free! Free!"

"We will call a guardsman!" cried another.

I grinned. How delightful are women. How weak they are. How fit they are to be made slaves.

"I am sorry I struck you as hard as I did," I told the girl I had last struck. "I lost my patience," I said. "I am sorry." She, after all, was not a slave. She was a free woman. Slaves, of course, may be struck as long and as hard as one wishes. The girl between my feet, a slave, would learn, that.

"Free her," said the leader of the girls, pointing to the blond-haired barbarian helpless between my feet.

"You cannot just take her," said another girl. "She is a free woman."

"Do not fret your heads about her, my pretty, little she-urts," I said. "She is not a free woman. She is an unmarked slave, escaped from Ulafi of Schendi."

"Is it true?" asked the leader of the she-urts.

"Yes," I said. "Follow me, if you will, to the praetor station, where this fact may be made clear to you."

"Are you a slave?" asked the leader of the girls to the girl between my feet.

"She does not speak Gorean," I said, "or much of it. I do not think she understands you."

The girl between my feet was crying.

"If she is a slave," said one of the girls, "she had best learn Gorean quickly."

I thought that was true.

"I hope for your sake," said the leader of the she-urts to the girl, "that you are not a slave." Then she said to the other girls, "Find pieces of rope."

"Are we going to the praetor station?" asked one of the girls, uneasily.

"Of course," said the leader.

"I do not want to go to the praetor station," said one of the girls.

"We have done nothing," said the leader. "We have nothing to fear."

"There are men there," said one of the girls.

"We have men to fear," said another.

"We are going," said the leader, determinedly.

I picked up the Earth-girl slave, and threw her over my shoulder. She squirmed helplessly, crying. I picked up my sea bag then, and, the girl on my shoulder, the sea bag in ray left hand, made my way toward the pier of the Red Urt.

"Are her thighs marked?" asked the praetor.

"No," said a guardsman. He had already made this determination.

The girl stood, her hands bound behind her, in the brief rag of the she-urt, before the tribunal of the praetor. The neck strap of a guardsman was on her throat.

"Is this your slave?" asked the praetor of Ulafi of Schendi.

"Yes," said he.

"How do I know she is a slave?" asked the praetor. "Her body, her movements, do not suggest that she is a slave. She seems too tight, too cold, too rigid, to be a slave."

"She was free, captured by Bejar, in his seizure of the Blossoms of Telnus," said Ulafi. "She is new to her condition."

"Is Bejar present?" asked the praetor.

"Slave! Slave!" screamed the leader of the she-urts to the bound girl. "Slave! Slave!" they cried.

"To think we let you fish garbage with us, when you were only a slave!" cried the leader.

Then the she-urts who had accompanied me to the station of the praetor, kicking and striking with their ropes, fell upon the bound slave.

She wept, kicked and struck. "Slave! Slave!" they cried.

"Get back!" called the praetor, angrily, to them. "Get back, or we will collar you all!
-Explorer's of Gor, John Norman, 1979

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A She Urt could be collared at ANY time.

Outside I saw the guardsman unchaining the girl who had been the she-urt, Sasi. Her hands were now bound before her body, and she already had his strap on her throat.

"You did not sell her?" I asked.

"Who would want a she-urt?" he asked. "I am going to take her now to the public shelves."

Looking at me the small, lovely, dark-haired girl drew back.

"What do you want for her?" I asked.

'It cost a copper tarsk to brand her," he said.

I looked at her. She looked at me, and trembled, and shook her head, negatively.

I threw him a copper tarsk.

"She is yours," he said.

He took his strap off her throat, and unbound her hands.

"Submit," I told her.

She knelt before me, back on her heels, arms extended, head down, between her arms, wrists crossed, as though for binding.

"I submit to you, Master," she said.

I tied her hands together; she then lowered her bound wrists; I pulled up her head. I held before her an opened collar, withdrawn from my sea bag. I had had one prepared.

"Can you read?" I asked her.

"No, Master," she said.

"It says," I said, " 'I am the girl of Tarl of Teletus.'"

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then collared her. I had thought that some wench, probably one to be purchased in Schendi, would have been a useful addition to my disguise, as an aid in establishing and confirming my pretended identity as a metal worker from the island of Teletus. This little wench though, now locked in my collar, I thought would serve the purpose well. There was no particular reason to wait to Schendi before buying a girl. Besides, the collar on her might help to convince Ulafi, who seemed to me a clever and suspicious man, that, whatever I might be, I was a reasonably straightforward and honest fellow. I traveled with a girl who wore a name collar.

"Are there papers on her?" I asked the guardsman.

"No," said the guardsman. Most Gorean slaves do not have papers. The brand and collar are deemed sufficient.

I pulled the little slave to her feet, and pointed out the Palms of Schendi.

"Do you see that ship?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Run there as fast as your little legs will carry you," I said. "And tell them to cage you."

"Yes, Master," she said, and ran, sobbing, toward the ship.

-Explorer's of Gor, John Norman, 1979

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She Urts V. Slaves

sometimes when a woman is freed, for one reason or another, as can happen upon rare occasions, she becomes, sometimes after an initial elation, restless, and later, miserable. She often becomes unpleasant and irritable, consequences of her frustration. Often she attempts to inflict her dissatisfaction on others. Often she tries to dominate males in her vicinity, perhaps in an attempt to punish them for their inability or cruel refusal to understand or relieve her discomfort, perhaps, too, in an attempt to provoke them into an action which will restore her to her place in nature. She has once been in that place, and she cannot fail to recollect it. Perhaps it would have been better if she had never tasted nature. It is difficult, thereafter, to be satisfied with politics. Ignorance, as always, remains myth's sturdiest bulwark. Such women often, eventually, take to walking the high bridges or frequenting exposed areas, sometimes outside the city walls. They are courting capture and the collar. They wish to kneel again, slaves, before a man.

"I have been had many times when I was a she-urt," she said. "I have lain for paga attendants, hoping to be thrown a handful of garbage. I have been raped by vagabonds. Many times did I pleasure Turgus. Yet never did I feel anything like what you did to me."

"Of the three types of experiences you have mentioned," I said, "the nearest to what you recently felt occurred when you hoped to be thrown garbage by paga attendants."

She looked at me with wonder. "Yes," she said, "how did you know that?"

"Because in that experience you were most under the domination of a man, dependent on him even for food. Would he or would he not throw you a few scraps? Would you be sufficiently pleasing to win from him even a few shreds of garbage?"

"Yes," she said. "It is the woman in the position of submission and subordination."

"Doubtless sometimes they even ordered you to dance naked before them," I said.

"Yes," she said.

"What occurred later then," I asked, "when they had you?"

"I reached orgasm quickly," she said.

"Of course," I said. "But still you were free. If you wished you could starve for another day, or you could seek garbage elsewhere, or beg, or fish for scraps in the canals."

"Yes," she said.

"You see," I said, "you were not totally dependent on them. You were not totally helpless. You were not their slave."

"Are you going to let me eat tomorrow?" she asked, suddenly, apprehensively.

"Perhaps," I said. "I will make that decision in the morning."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Do you begin to see what I am saying to you?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she whispered. "I could cot have earlier had the feelings you induced in me."

"Yes," I said.

"Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"The very nearest thing to what I recently felt occurred on the northern walkway of the Rim canal, when you, not a vagabond, but a strong, free man, who had subdued both Turgus and myself, simply took me and used me for your pleasure."

"I recall," I said. "Too, I recall that you responded well, considering that you were at that time only a free woman."

"You treated me as a slave," she chided.

"I saw the potential slave in you," I said. "Accordingly I handled you as I would have handled a slave."

"That is why I could not help responding to you as I did," she said.

"And yet," I said, "that did not compare with what you recently felt."

"No," she said.

"That is because before you were a free woman," I said. "You did not then truly belong to men."

"I do now," she said.

"Yes," I said. "Now you are a slave."

"That is the difference," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"The orgasm was rudimentary?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Just as you could not, as a free woman, attain to the heights of the rudimentary slave orgasm recently inflicted upon you so, too, you, as a new slave, cannot yet attain to the overwhelming and degrading ecstasies familiar to a girl longer in the collar."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You have a long way to go in slavery, little Sasi," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"But in a year or two," I said, "I think you will be superb. And beyond that it is just a matter of continued growth."

"Does any woman ever learn her full slavery?" she asked.

"No," I said, "I think no woman ever learns the fullness of her slavery."

"I want to be a good slave," she said.

"Men will see that you are," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"May I please have my ears pierced, Master," she begged.

"Would you be so degraded a slave?" I asked. Ear piercing, on Gor, is regarded in most cities as the most degrading thing that can be done to a girl. It is commonly done only to the lowest of pleasure slaves. Compared to it, fixing a ring in a girl's nose is regarded lightly. Indeed, among the Tuchuks, one of the Wagon Peoples of Gor, even free women wear nose rings. These matters are cultural, of course.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"That I might be kept always a slave," she said.

"I see," I said. A girl with pierced ears on Gor might as well, for all practical purposes, give up even the slimmest of hopes, should she entertain them, of freedom. What Gorean man, seeing a woman with pierced ears, could treat her as, or accept her as, anything but a slave?

"Please, Master," she said.

-Explorer's of Gor, John Norman, 1979

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She Urts and Slavery.

How, too, could I live in the city? I might try to live by begging and scavenging garbage for a time as do those vagrant free women sometimes called she-urts, but I, being collared, could never pass for one. The she-urts often wear tunics almost as short as those of slaves. This is supposedly to make it easier for them to flee from guardsmen. On the other hand the guardsmen usually ignore them. Sometimes they will catch one and bind her helplessly, just to let her know that she can be caught, if men wish. These she-urts have their gangs and territories. I had little doubt but what they might set upon me and bind me, and turn me over to guardsmen, hoping for some small reward. I, being a slave, could hope for no mercy from them. They would hate and despise me, As low as they might be they were a thousand times higher than I. They were free women. Once or twice a year, particularly when there are complaints, or they are becoming nuisances, many of them will be rounded up and taken before a praetor. Their sentence is almost invariably slavery. Interestingly, once branded and in the collar, and knowing themselves helpless and under suitable male discipline, it is said they become joyful and content. It is almost as if they had adopted their mode of life and slavelike costumes because, in some part of themselves, perhaps some deep, hidden part, they were begging men to take them and make them slaves. They thought they hated men but they were, in fact,, only begging to be put at their feet. --Kajira of Gor

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Strays

I saw some girls rummaging through a garbage can. They wore short tunics but they were not slaves. Goreans sometimes refer to such women as “strays.” They are civic nuisances. They are occasionally rounded up, guardsmen appearing at opposite ends of an alley, trapping them, and collared. - Kajira of Gor