| The Dance of the 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 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. T 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, page 260 Teibar's Tuka Dance Tuka, Tuka!" called another fellow. "She is extremely pretty," I said. "She knows something of slave dance," said a fellow, licking his lips. "Oh?" I said. "Yes" he said. "Tuka, Tuka, Tuka!" called more men. The fellow, Teiber, looked down at his slave, who looked up at him, and quickly, timidly, kissed at his thigh. How much she was his, I thought. "Tuka, to the circle!" called a fellow. "She is a dancer," said a man. "She is extraordinary," said another. "Put Tuka in the circle!" called a fellow. "Tuka, Tuka!" called another. Teiber snapped his fingers once, sharply, and the slave leaped to her feet, standing erect, her head down, turned to the right, her hands at her sides, the palms facing backward. She might have been in a paga tavern, preparing to enter upon the sand or floor. I considered Teiber's Tuka. She had an excellent figure for slave dance. "Clear the circle!" called a fellow. The other dancers hurried to the side, to sit and kneel, and watch. I considered the slave. She was beautiful, and well curved. Teiber gestured to the circle. "Ahh!" said men. "She moves like a dancer," I said. "She is a dancer," said a fellow. I considered the girl. She now stood in the circle, relaxed, yet supple and vital, her wrists, back to back, over her head, her kneels flexed. "She is a bred passion slave," I said, "with papers and a lineage going back a thousand years." "No," said a man. "Where did he pick her up," I asked, "at the Curulean?" "I do not know," said a fellow. I supposed she was perhaps a capture. I did not know if a fellowsuch as this Teiber,who did not seem of the merchants or rich, could have affordered a slave of such obvious value. A fellow, for example, who cannot afford a certain kaiila might be able to capture it, and then, once he has his rope on its neck, and manages to make awaywith it, it is his mount. "Aii!" cried a fellow. "Aii!" said I too. Dancing was the slave! "She is surely a bred passion slave," I said. "Surely the blood line of such an animal go back a thousand years!" "No! No!" said a man, rapt, not taking his eyes from the slave. I regarded her, in awe. "She is trained, of course," said a man. Only to obviously was this a trained dancer, and yet, too, there was far more than training involved. Too, I speak not of such relatievey insignificant matters as the mere excellence of her figure for slave dance, as suitable and fitting as it might be for such andart form, for women with many figures can be superb in slave dance, or that she must possess a great natural talent for such a mode of _expression, but something much deeper. In the nature of her dance I saw more than training, her figure, and her talent. Within this woman, revealing itself in the dance, in its rythem, its joy, its spontaneity, its wonders, were untold depths of femaleness, a deep and radical feminity, unabashed and unapologetic, a rejoicing in her sex, a respect of it, a love of it, an acceptance of it and a celebration of it, a wanting of it, and of what she was, a woman, a slave, in all of its marvelousness. "Tuka, Tuka!" called men. Men clapped their hands. The slave danced. Much it seemted to me, though there might be two hundred men about the circle, she danced for her Master. Once he even indicated that she should move more about which, instantly, commanded, she did. "Tuka, Tuka!" even called some of the other slaves about the edges of the circle, sitting and kneeling there, unable to take their eyes from her, clapping, too. Teiber's Tuka it seemed, was popular even with the other slaves, of which she was such a superb specimen. I watched her moving about the circle. "Aii!" cried men, as she would pause a moment to dance before them. I had little doubt she might once have been a tavern dancer. Such dancers must present themselves in such a fashion before customers. This gives the customer an opportuinity to assess them, and to keep them in mind, if he wishes, for later use in an alcove. "Aii," cried another fellow. I speculated that she would not have languished for attention in the alcoves. "She is superb," said the fellow next to me. "Yes," I said. She was working her way about the circle. It was interesting to me that a Master would dare to display such a slave publicly. I gathered that he was quite confident of his capacity to keep her. He must then, I suspected, be excellent with the sword. "Ah," said the fellow next to me. The dancer approached. How marvelous are the Gorean women, I thought. And I thought then, too, sadly, of the women of Earth, so many of them so confused, so miserable, so unhappy, women not knowing what they were,orwhat they might be, women trapped in a maze of ultimately barren artifices, women subjected to social coercions, women sujected to antibiological constraints, women forcedt o deny themselves and their depth natures in the name of freedom, women trying to be men, not knowing how to be women, women torturing themselves and others with their confusions, their inhibitions, their pain, their frustrations. But I did not blame them for they were the victims of pathological conditioning programs. Any beautiful, natural creature can be clipped and then instructed to rejoice in its mutilations and mishapenness. So inhibite, so frigid, so inert, so anesthetic. That so many of them could even feel their pain was, I supposed, a hopefulsign. If their culture was correct, or judicious, why did it contain so much unhappines and pain? In a body, pain is an indication that something is wrong. So, too, it is in a culture. Then the dancer was before me, and I was awed with beauty. I kept her there before me for a moment, not letting her move away, my gaze holding her. I wept then for the men of Earth, that they would not know such beauties. How utterlymarvelous are the Gorean females! How utterly different they are from the women of Earth! How impossible would it be for a female of Earth to match them! I watched the dancer then move to the next fellow, and turn about. Suddenly I was stunned. High on her left arm there was a small, circular scar. It was not, surely, in that place, and given its nature, the result of a marking iron. Indeed , it is by means of such tiny indications, fillings in the teeth, and such, that a certain sort of girl, for which there is a market on Gor, is often recognized. "She is not from Gor!" I said. "She is from far away," said the fellow next to me. "From the distandland," said another. "Called 'Earth,'" said another. "Yes," I said. The mark on the girl's arm had not been the result of the imprint of a master's iron. It had been a vaccination mark. I had noted, too, interestingly, just before she had whirled away, that she was shy. I assessed her as being quite intelligent, extremely sensitive, and an excellent slave. She had now, as the music swirled to its finish, returned to move before her Master. Then,the dance ended, men striking their left shoulders in Gorean applause, shouldting their vociferous approval, some armed warriors striking their shieleds with spear blades, she sanktothe ground, on her back, breathless, breasts heaving, covered with a sheen of sewar, before her Master, her left knee raised, her head turned toward him, then palms of of her hands, at her sides, vulnerably exposed. She had been superb. My shoulder was sorewhere I had much struck it. Then with a sensuous, fluid movement she rose to her knees before her Master. She spread her knees, widely. She regarded him, beggingly. The danced had much arounsed her, and she was totally his, completely at hiswill, his pleasure and mercy. "Our gratitude , Teiber!" cried a fellow. Magicians of Gor, pages 52-56 |
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