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         Location    Economy   

         General    Rask of Treve    Raf and Pron of Treve   
         The Camp of Rask of Treve    Rask's Tent    The Shed   


         General    Vika    Ena    Talena    Ute    Elinor   
         Collaring Ceremony    Brand of Treve    Serving    Punishment   

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"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" page 60

"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. 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."
"Priest-Kings of Gor" page 60/1

"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" page 63

"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" page 60

"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" page 191

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"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, retaliatory 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. I had heard poets sing of it. Since that time her depredations had gone unchecked, although perhaps it should be added that never again did the men of Treve despoil the fields of Ar."
"Priest-Kings of Gor" page 61

"The only two cities, other than Ar, which I knew that Treve did not periodically attack were mountainous Thentis, famed for its tarn flocks, and Ko-ro-ba, my own city.
If the issue was grain, of course, there would be little point in going to Thentis, for she imports her own, but her primary wealth, her tarn flocks, is not negligible, and she also possesses silver, though her mines are not as rich as those of Tharna. Perhaps Treve has never attacked Thentis because she, too, is a mountain city, lying in the Mountains of Thentis, or more likely because the men of Treve respect her tarnsmen almost as much as they do their own. The cessation of attacks on Ko-ro-ba began during the time my father, Matthew Cabot, was Ubar of that city.
He organized a system of far-flung beacons, set in fortified towers, which would give the alarm when unwelcome forces entered the territory of Ko-ro-ba. At the sight of raiders one tower would set its beacons aflame, glittering by night, or dampen it with green branches by day to produce a white smoke, and this signal would be relayed from tower to tower. Thus when the tarnsmen of Treve came to the grain fields of Ko-ro-ba, which lie for the most part some pasangs from the city, toward the Vosk and Tamber Gulf, they would find her tarnsmen arrayed against them. Having come for grain and not war, the men of Treve would then turn back, and seek out the fields of a less well-defended city.
There was also a system of signals whereby the towers could communicate with one another and the city. Thus if one tower failed to report when expected the alarm bars of Ko-ro-ba would soon ring and her tarnsmen would saddle and be aflight.
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."
"Priest-Kings of Gor" page 62/3

"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."
"Priest-Kings of Gor" page 63

“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.
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" page 63

"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" page 271

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

"I wish payment now," said the captain of Treve. I whipped my blade from its sheath, angrily, and held it to his throat.
"My pledge is steel," I said. Terence smiled.
"We of Treve," he said, "understand such a pledge." I lowered the blade."
"Raiders of Gor" Page 273

"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" page 298

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Rask of Treve

"Lo Rask," said he, "Rarius. Civitatis Trevis."
"I am Rask," he said, "of the caste of warriors, of the city of Treve."
"Captive of Gor" Page 266

"What did she cost you?" asked Verna. "The merchant," smiled Rask of Treve, "was persuaded to give her to me, free of all costs as a token of his esteem for the men and city of Treve." Verna laughed. "I do not buy women," said Rask of Treve."
"Captive of Gor" Page 304

"Bosk, I am told, set my price at twenty pieces of gold, that he might, as a merchant, take his profit on me. But Rask of Treve does not buy women, for he is of Treve. My price could have been an arrow point or a copper tarn disk, but his answer would he been the same. He takes women. He does not buy them."
"Captive of Gor" Page 365

"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" page 190/1

"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" page 9

"(...) the sky had darkened with a flight of outlaw tarnsmen, more than a hundred of them, under the command of the terrible Rask of Treve, one of the most dreaded warriors on all Gor. Fortunately for Targo he had managed to bring his caravan to the edge of a vast Ka-la-na thicket just before the tarnsmen struck. I had seen several such thickets when I was wandering alone in the fields. Targo had divided his men expertly. Some he set to seize up what gold and goods they could. Others he ordered to free the girls and drive them into the thicket. Others he commanded to cut loose the great bosk that pulled the wagons, and drive them, too, into the brush and trees. Then, but moments before the tarnsmen struck, Targo, with his men driving the girls and the bosk, fled into the thicket. The tarnsmen alighted and ransacked the wagons, setting fire to them. There was sharp fighting in the thicket. Targo must have lost some eleven men, and twenty of his girls were taken by the tarnsmen, but, after a bit, the tarnsmen withdrew. Tarnsmen, riders of the great tarns, called Brothers of the Wind, are masters of the open sky, fierce warriors whose battleground is the clouds and sky; they are not forest people; they do not care to stalk and hunt where, from the darkness of trees, from a canopy of foliage, they may meet suddenly, unexpectedly, a quarrel from the crossbow of an invisible assailant. Rask withdrew his men and, in moments, the captured girls bound across their saddles, the goods of Targo thrust into their packs, they took flight."
"Captive of Gor" Page 62

“I have felt the iron,” I said. “I have felt the whip. I will not kill for you. You may kill me, but I will not kill for you.”
They did not beat me, nor threaten me.
They lifted me by the arm, and dragged me to a side room.
I screamed. There, his wrists bound by ropes to rings, stood a bloodied man, head down, stripped to the waist.
“Eleven men died,” said Haakon of Skjern,” but we have him.”
The man lifted his head, and shook it, clearing his vision. “El-in-or?’ he said.
“Master!” I wept.
I pressed myself to him.
He regarded them. Then he said to me, “I am of Treve. Do not stain my honor.”
"Captive of Gor" Page 356/7

"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 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" page 362

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Raf and Pron of Treve

"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" page 298

"Inge and Rena were not in the basket with me. They had been given to the huntsmen, Raf and Pron. In the fashion of Gorean huntsmen, both girls had then been freed and give a head start of four Ahn, that they might escape, if it were in their power. After four Ahn, Raf and Pron, running lightly, carrying snare rope, left the camp. The next morning they had returned, leading Inge and Rena. The thighs of both girls had been bloodied. Their wrists were bound behind their backs with snare rope. Their slave leashes, too, were formed of a loop of snare rope.
“I see you have caught two pretty birds,” had laughed Rask of Treve.
About the throats of the girls were locked new collars, again of inflexible steel, but now those of huntsmen, vine engraved and bearing the names of their masters.
No scribe it seemed would own Inge, but she would belong to a brutal and powerful huntsman, the handsome Rask of Treve’ and Rena’s captain of Tyros, he who had contracted for her capture, must now surely be disappointed, and his gold lost, for his lovely prize had been taken by another, at whose feet she kneels joyfully, the handsome and splendid Pron, skilled huntsman of lofty Treve. The next day they left the camp, taking their girls with them. We kissed one another good-bye. “I love you, El-in-or,” had said Inge. “I love you, too, Inge,” I had wept. “I love you, El-in-or,” had said Rena. “I, too, love you,” I had said. “I wish you all well.”
They then, in the brief green tunics of the slaves of huntsmen, shouldered their burdens and followed their masters through the double gate of the palisade. Their lives would be hard, but I did not think them dismayed, nor unhappy. The huntsman lives a free and open life, as wild and swift, and secret as the beasts he hunts, and his slaves, whom he insists on accompanying him, must, too, learn the ways of the forests, the flowers and the animals, the leaves and wind. I do not know where Raf and Pron may now be, but I know them well served by two wenches, the slave girl, Inge, and the slave girl, Rena, who were well trained in the pens of Ko-ro-ba, and who loves them."
"Captive of Gor" page 351/2

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The Camp of Rask of Treve

"This was now my second day in the secret war camp of Rask of Treve. When his tarn had dropped, wings beating, into the clearing among the tents, they ringed with a palisade of sharpened logs, some twelve feet high, there had been much shouting, much welcome.
Rask of Treve was popular with his men.
I saw, too, among the warriors, slave girls, collared, in brief rep-cloth tunics. They, too, seemed pleased. Their eyes shone. They crowded near. Laughing, raising his hands, Rask of Treve acknowledged the greetings of his camp.
I could smell roast bosk. It was in the late afternoon."
"Captive of Gor" page 267

“Come with me to the tent of the women,” said the woman.
I arose and, wrists bound, followed her to the women’s tent."
"Captive of Gor" page 269

"I wandered about the camp. It was a war camp, lying in a remote, hilly area, covered with trees. I supposed it to be somewhere in the realm of Ar, perhaps to its northeast, among the foothills of the Voltai range. It was a typical Gorean war camp, though small. It had its compound where tarns were hobbled, and its cooking and washing sheds. There were many warriors about, perhaps a hundred or more, the men of Rask of Treve, and perhaps a hundred or more, lovely ones, in brief work tunics, busying themselves with their tasks, cooking, cleaning leather, polishing shields. 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. Earlier, I knew, he had despoiled the fields and attacked the caravans of Ko-ro-ba. He was now in the realm of Ar. He was a bold tarnsman indeed. I expected Marlenus of Ar, its Ubar, said to be the Ubar of Ubars, would give much to know the location of this small, palisaded camp. I enjoyed the smells of the camp, and its sounds. I watched two warriors practicing with their swift, short blades on a square of sand. (...)
I went to examine the palisade about the camp. It was some twelve feet high and of sharpened logs.
I traced its interior perimeter.
I put my fingers and hands on the logs, which had been smoothed, and were closely fitted together. I looked up at the points, so far above my head. I could not have scaled the wall. I was closed within.
I continued to walk about the inside wall. I avoided this only where the tarn compound adjoined it.
Soon I had arrived at the gate.
It, too, was of logs, though here they were separated somewhat. It was a double gate, with, in effect, log bars. It was shut, two beams in brackets, chained, locking it. To my surprise I saw that there was another gate, though of solid logs, beyond that one, and that the camp was ringed, actually, with a double palisade. The exterior palisade had a catwalk, for defending the wall. The interior palisade, on the side of the camp, was without a catwalk. I was angry. The exterior wall permitted them defense. The interior wall, high and smooth, a quite effective barrier, served well to keep their slaves within. I was furious.
“You will not escape,” had said Ena.
“Girls may not linger by the gate,” said a guard.
“Yes, Master,” I said, and turned away.
How furious I was!
I continued to walk about the wall. At one point I found a tiny door, no more than eighteen inches in height. It was such that one man, at a time, could crawl through it. And it, too, was secured, fastened shut with two heavy chains and locks. And it, too, was guarded.
I saw that I could not, even by standing on the chains, remotely approach the top of the palisade. I imagined myself standing on my toes and stretching my arms and fingers. My fingers would have still been several feet beneath the points. It was so futile!
I was well imprisoned within.
“Move on, Girl,” said the guard.
“Yes, Master,” I said, and again turned away.
“You will not escape,” had said Ena."
"Captive of Gor" page 271/3

Tomorrow I, Elinor Brinton, would be collared!
I then began to walk through the camp. I saw the tents and the fires, and the men talking, and the girls about their tasks. I hated men. They made us work! Why did they not do their own cooking, and polish their own leather, and go to the stream or the washing shed and wash their own clothes? They did not do so because they did not wish to do so. They made girls do their work! I hated men. They dominated us and exploited us!
I found, in one place in the camp, a grassy area, on a slight hill. There was a metal ring there, near the top of the slight hill. It was fixed in a heavy stone, buried level with the grass.
In another place, I found a horizontal pole, itself set on two pairs of poles, leaning together and lashed at the top. It was, I gathered, a pole for hanging meat. Oddly enough, there was also an iron ring, set in a stone, buried in the ground, beneath the center of the horizontal pole. Off to one side, in an open area there was a small iron box, a square of some three feet in dimension. In the front of the box there was a small iron door, with two slits in it. One, near the top, was about seven inches in width and about a half inch in height; the other, its top formed by a rectangular opening in the bottom of the door, its bottom formed by the iron floor of the box, was about a foot wide and two inches in height. The door could be closed with two heavy, flat, sliding bolts, and locked with two padlocks. I wondered what could be kept in such a box.
I continued to walk about the camp.
In one place I found a long, low shed, formed of heavy logs. It was windowless. Its heavy plank door was locked with two hasps and staples, secured by two heavy padlocks. I supposed it a storage shed."
"Captive of Gor" page 273/4

"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. How skeptically, and eagerly, with the other girls, I would silently appraise her, comparing her, always unfavorably, on some ground or another, with myself. Once Rask of Treve, from the saddle, looked directly at me, finding me among the mere work slaves, in their work tunics. I had felt an indescribable emotion, an utter weakness, when our eyes had met. I put my hand before my mouth. How magnificent he seemed, how mighty among those mighty warriors, he, their fierce leader.
Many of he girls ran to individual warriors, their eyes shining, leaping up and seizing the stirrups, pulling themselves up and putting their cheeks against the soft leather boots. And more than one was hauled to the saddle and well held and kissed before being thrown again to the ground.
When the tarnsmen would return, with their captives and booty, there would be a feast."
"Captive of Gor" page 290/1

"This afternoon, for this first time in weeks, the raids of Rask of Treve had been successful. Eleven girls had been brought in, and much treasure. Laughing, bloody tarnsmen, with strings of pearls thrown about their necks, and cups and goblets tied at their saddles, and their saddle packs bulging with the weight of golden tarn disks, had brought their tarns down, wings beating, to receive the greetings of the camp. Merchants brought sides of bosk, and thighs of tarsk, and wines and fruits to camp, and cheeses and breads and nuts, and flowers and candies and silks and honeys. There was much bustle and laughter about the camp, much preparation and shouting. In the women's tent, eleven girls, tomorrow to be collared, crouched in fear. Slave girls staggered under the weight of plunder, carrying it to the tents of the warriors."
"Captive of Gor" Page 321

"Sometimes there were visitors to the camp of Rask of Treve, though, one gathers, these were men in the confidence of Treve. Generally they were merchants. Some brought food and wines. Others came to buy the plunder of the tarnsmen. Several of my work-mates were sold, and others, captured, brought in on tarnback, took their place, perhaps to be sold as well in turn."
"Captive of Gor" Page 292/3

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Rask's Tent

"My steps now, inadvertently, took me toward the center of the camp." 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. Inside, the tent was floored with heavy, soft rugs, from Tor and Ar, perhaps the booty of caravan raids. And, within, from extensions of certain of the tent poles, there hung, on hooks, burning tharlarion-oil lamps of brass. It was a bit chilly tonight. And it was growing dark now. The interior of the tent seemed inviting, redly warm and dark. I put the thought from my mind that I wished I was within that tent. I wondered what it would be like to lie within such a tent, naked and collared, on its soft furs, in the light of the small fire, the tent flaps tied shut, completely at the mercy of its master. Against its far wall I could see great chests, heavy and bound with iron, filled doubtless with a raider’s abundant booty, gems and golden wire, and necklaces and coins, and pearls, and jewelries and bracelets and bangles, (pg. 275) set perhaps with precious stones, which might serve to adorn the limbs of exquisite female slaves. Much booty was there. And I reminded myself that I, too, as much as any coin or precious cup in such a chest, or in this entire camp, was booty. I, too, was booty. I wondered, too, if those chests might contain the light, precious chains of silver and gold, wrought by slavers so cunningly, to hold a girl in given positions, while she was subdued at a master’s leisure. I trembled. And I wondered, too, if they might contain nose rings, and if one would be put on me. I shuddered.
“Whose tent is this?” I asked a passing slave girl.
“Foolish Kajira,” she said, “it is the tent of Rask of Treve.”
"Captive of Gor" page 274/5

"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."
"Captive of Gor" page 330/1

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The Shed

"She stood before the long, low shed, which I had seen before, when I had examined the camp. It was windowless, and formed of heavy logs. It had a heavy plank door, which was now open. When I had seen it before, it had been locked by two hasps and staples, secured by two heavy padlocks. A lovely girl, in brief work tunic, emerged, and went about the camp. I had supposed it a storage shed. I now realized it was a dormitory for female work slaves. And I realized, to my horror, that I would be such a slave."
"Captive of Gor" page 285

"I rose to my feet and, naked, entered the dark shed. Ute closed the door behind me, plunging me into darkness. I heard the hasps cover the staples, one after the other, and then I heard the heavy padlocks snapped shut.
The floor of the shed was dirt, but here and there, under my feet, I felt a rounded metal bar. I fell to my hands and knees and, with my fingers in the dirt, felt the floor. Under the dirt, an inch or so, and in some places exposed, was a heavy gridwork of bars.
Girls locked within this shed would not tunnel their way to freedom.
There was no escape.
Suddenly, locked within, alone in the darkness, I grew panic-stricken. I flung myself against the door, pounding on it in the darkness with my fists. Then, sobbing, I slipped to my knees and scratched at it with my fingernails. “Ute!” I sobbed. “Ute!”
Then I crawled to one side of the door and sat down, my knees drawn up under my chin, in the darkness. I was lonely and miserable. I felt the steel collar, so smooth and obdurate, fastened on my throat.
I heard a tiny scurrying, of a tiny brush urt, in the darkness.
I screamed.
Then it was silent, and again I sat alone in the darkness, my knees drawn up under my chin. In the darkness I smelled the scent of the Turian perfume."
"Captive of Gor" page 288/9

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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" page 64/5

"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" page 73

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"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 pleasnatry. 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" Page 274

"The ringing of the metal excited and frightened me, the swiftness and cruelty of it. How brave men must be, I thought, to stand so to one another, so close, in combat so near, face to face, wrist to wrist, eye to eye, short, vicious, sharpened ringing blade to short, vicious, sharpened ringing blade. I could not have done this. I would have cried out and fled. What could a woman be but the prize of such men? For a moment I wished myself back on Earth where there was little for a man to do which could not be done as well, or better, by a woman. But then, as I watched the (pg. 272) warriors at their practice, something deep in me did not wish this. Something deep in me, primitive, helpless, and vulnerable, rejoiced that I stood not on Earth, but on Gor, where there were such men. Suddenly my legs felt very bare, and my arms. I was suddenly frightened. What if they should finish their sport, and turn to look upon me, and command me to serve them? Would I not, as a woman, have to give them immediate response? Could I have helped myself, kept myself from yielding immediately and completely to them? When such men command, what could a woman do?
“Ho!” cried one of the warriors, and their exercises were finished.
I turned and fled away."
"Captive of Gor" Page 271

"It was like a small, veined, metal leaf, narrowly ovate in shape. It had a tiny hole in the wider end, in which, in a tiny loop, there was twisted a small wire. On the leaf, indented in, was a sign, and some tiny printing. (...)
'It is the sign of Treve,' he said.
'(Below) is my name,' said the man. 'Rask.'
'It is with these devices,' said the man, holding up the tiny leaf, with its wire, sign and printing, 'that we of Treve, in our various ventures of raiding, mark our booty.'
'Please, no, Master!' I cried.
I shrank back against the wall. He held my left ear lobe, pulling it taut. I cried out, wincing, as the wire pierced the lobe, and then he threaded the wire through and, twisting the ends together, formed a tiny loop, from which the silver leaf dangled. I felt it on my cheek."
"Slave Girl of Gor" page 277

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"'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" page 60

"I wondered if many of Treve’s women were as beautiful as Vika. If they were it was surprising that tarnsmen from all the cities of Gor would not have descended on the place, as the saying goes, to try chain luck."
"Priest-Kings of Gor" page 61

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"She was incredibly beautiful. She wore a collar. Her garment was white, and came to her ankles, in classic folds. She did not wear the brief work tunic of the other girls. I gathered she was high girl in the camp and that I, and the other girls, would have to obey her. It is not uncommon, where several girls are concerned, to put a woman over them. Men do not care to direct us in our small tasks. They only wish to see that they are done. (...)"
"Men are beasts," said the woman. Rask of Treve threw back his great head, like the head of a larl, and laughed. "and you, Handsome Rask," said she, "are the greatest of the beasts." How bold she was! Would she not be beaten? Rask laughed again, and wiped his face with the back of his right hand."
"Captive of Gor" Page 267/8

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“Have you see the dark-haired girl who sometimes tends his tent?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. I had indeed seen her. She was an incredibly beautiful slave female. She was even more beautiful than Ena, who was one of the most beautiful female slaves I had ever seen. Her hair was glossy and black, and her master had had her cut it at the small of her back. her features, and body, were breath-takingly beautiful. She had an exciting mouth and lips. She was a stunningly figured, green-eyed, olive-skinned slave girl. She would bring a high price on the market. Always she wore only the brief garment of scarlet, diaphanous silk. Always, about her left ankle, fastened, were two golden bangles."
"Captive of Gor" Page 300

"Rask clapped his hands once, and four musicians, who had been waiting outside, entered the tent. And took a place to one side. Two had small drums, one a flute, the other a stringed instrument.
Rask clapped his hands twice, sharply. And the black-haired, green-eyed, olive-skinned slave girl stood before him. “Put her in slave bells,” said Rask, to one of the musicians. The musician fastened leather cuffs, mounted each with three rows of bells, on her wrists and ankles.
“Please, Master,” begged the girl, “not before a woman.” She referred to Verna. I was only a slave.
Rask of Treve threw the girl one of the oysters, from a silver plate on the low, wooden table.
“Eat it,” he said.
There was a rustle of slave bells. She complied with the dictum of her master.
“It was destined for the table of Marlenus of Ar,” said Rask of Treve.
“Yes, Master,” said the girl.
She stood facing him.
Verna and I watched.
“Remove your garment,” said Rask of Treve.
“Please, Master,” she begged.
“Remove it,” said Rask of Treve.
The beautiful, olive-skinned girl parted the garment and dropped it to one side. “You may now dance, Talena,” said Rask of Treve.
The girl danced.
“She is not bad,’ said Verna.
“Do you know who she is?” asked Rask of Treve, eating a piece of meat.
“No,” said Verna. “Who is she?”
“Talena,” said Rask, smiling, “the daughter of Marlenus of Ar.”
Verna looked at him, dumbfounded, and then she laughed a great laugh, and slapped her knee. “Splendid!” she cried. “Splendid!”
She leaped to her feet and, closely, moving about her, examined the girl as she danced, now slowly, to a barbaric, adagio melody. “Splendid!” cried Verna. “Splendid!”
Now the melody became more swift, and it burned like flame in the girl’s slave body.
“Give her to me!” cried Verna.
“Perhaps,” said Rask of Treve.
“I am the enemy of Marlenus of Ar!” cried Verna. “Give her to me!
“I, too, am the enemy of Marlenus of Ar,” said Rask. He held out his goblet and I, the meat on which I was feeding clenched between my teeth, filled it.
“I will well teach her the meaning of slavery in the northern forests!” cried Verna.
I could see fear in the girl’s eyes, as she danced. I continued to eat the piece of meat on which I had been feeding.
She was beautiful and helpless as she danced, before her enemies. The firelight glinted on her collar, which had been placed on her throat by Rask of Treve. But I did not feel sorry for her. She was no business of mine. She was only another slave.
“I have taught her something of slavery already,” smiled Rask of Treve.
The girl’s eyes seemed agonized, as she danced.
“How is she?” asked Verna, who had now again resumed her place, seating herself cross-legged by Rask of Treve’s side.
“Superb,” said Rask of Treve.
Humiliation and shame shone in the eyes of the dancing slave girl.
“Where did you get her?’ asked Verna.
“I acquired her about a year ago,” said Rask of Treve, “from a merchant of Tyros, who was traveling by caravan overland to Ar, with the intention of returning her, for a recompense, to Marlenus of Ar.”
“What did she cost you?” asked Verna.
“I do not buy women,” said Rask of Treve.
I shuddered.
“It is marvelous!” cried Verna. “Your secret camp lies within the very realm of Ar itself! Splendid! And in this camp you keep the daughter of your worst enemy, the daughter of the Ubar of great Ar itself, as slave! Magnificent!”
I watched the girl dancing, the slave.
Rask clapped his hands again, twice, sharply. The musicians stopped, and the girl stopped dancing. “This is enough, Slave Girl,” he said.
She turned to flee from the tent.
“Do not forget your garment, Girl,” said Verna.
The slave girl reached down and snatched up the bit of red silk she had dropped aside and, holding it, with a jangle of slave bells, fled from the tent of her master.
Rask of Treve, and Verna, laughed."
"Captive of Gor" Page 302/5

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"I looked up at Ute. “You wear the Kajira talmit,” I said.
“The first girl of the work slaves,” said Ute, “had been sold shortly before my capture. There had been dissensions, factions, among the girls, each wanting one of their own party to be first girl. I was new. I had no allegiances. Rask of Treve, by his will, and because, for some reason, he trusted me, set me above them all.”
“Am I to be a work slave?” I asked.
“Did you expect to be sent to the tent of the women?’ asked Ute.
“Yes,” I said. I had indeed expected to live in the tent of the women, not in a dark shed, among work girls.
Ute laughed. “You are a work slave.”
I put my head down."
"Captive of Gor" Page 286

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"The slave girl, with a touch of her finger, put perfume behind my ears.
It was not the morning of my second day in the war camp of Rask of Treve.
This was the day of my collaring.
I was not permitted cosmetics.
Kneeling within, slave girls preparing me, I looked through the tied-back opening of the tent of the women. Outside, I could see men, and girls, passing back and forth. The day was sunny and warm. There were soft breezes.
Today Elinor Brinton would be collared.
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."
"Captive of Gor" pages 269/270

"He extended his goblet to me. “Drink,” he said, offering me the cup.
I looked at the rim of the cup. I shook with terror. “A slave girl dares not touch with her lips the rim of that cup which has been touched with the lips of her master,” I whispered.
“Excellent,” said Verna.
“She was trained in the pens of Ko-ro-ba,” said Rask of Treve.
He then, from his own cup, poured some wine into a small bowl, which he handed to me.
“Thank You, Master,” I breathed.
With his head back Rask of Treve gestured me to one side, and I went and knelt to one side, as I had before.
I put back my head and drank the wine. It was Ka-la-na wine. I felt it almost immediately."
"Captive of Gor" Page 302

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Collaring Ceremony

"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.
"Captive of Gor" pages 270/1

"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."
"Captive of Gor" pages 281/2

"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 282/4

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Brand of Treve

"If a girl is already branded," I said, causally, but frightened, "she would not be again branded, would she?" "Commonly not," said Ena. "Though sometimes, for some reason, the mark of Treve is pressed into her flesh." She looked at me. "Sometimes too," she said, "a girl may be branded as punishment, and to warn others against her." I looked at her, puzzled. "Penalty brands," she said. "They are tiny, but clearly visible. There are various such brands. There is one for lying, and another for stealing."
"Captive of Gor" Page 276

"I have never seen a 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" page 277

"Four men held me, naked, near the brazier. I could feel the heat blazing from the cannister. The sky was very blue, the clouds were white.
"Please, no!" I wept.
I saw Rask, with a heave glove, draw forth one of the irons from the fire. It reminated in a tiny letter, not more that a quarter of an inch high. The letter was white hot.
"This is a penalty brand," he said. "It marks you as a liar."
"Please, Master!" I wept.
"I no longer have patience with you," he said. "Be marked as what you are." I screamed uncontrollably as he pressed in the iron, holding it firmly into my leg. Then, after some two to four Ihn, he removed it.
I could not stop screaming with pain. I smelled the odor of burned flesh, my own. I began to whimper. I could not breathe. I gasped for breath. Still the men held me.
"This penalty brand,' said Rask of Treve, lifting another iron from the brazier, again with a tyny letter at its glowing termination, "marks you also as what you are, as a thief."
"Please, no, Master!" I wept.
I could not move a muscle of my left leg. It might as well have been locked in a vise. It must wait for the iron. I screamed again, uncontrollably. I had been branded as a thief.
"This third iron," said Rask of Treve, "'is, too, a penalty iron. I mark you with this not for myself, but for Ute."
Through raging tears I saw, white hot, the tiny letter.
"It marks you as a traitress," said Rask of Treve. He looked at me, with fury.
"Be marked as a traitress," he said. Then he pressed the thrid iron into my flesh. As it entered my flesh, biting and searing, I saw Ute watching, her face betraying no emotion. I screamed, and wept, and screamed. Still the men did not release me.
"Rask of Treve lifted the last iron from the fire. It was much larger, the letter at its termination some one and a half inches high.
It, too, was white hot. I knew the brand. I had seen it on Ena's thigh. It was the mark of Treve. Rask of Treve decided that my flesh should bear that mark. "No, Master, please!" I begged him.
"Yes, Worthless Slave," he said, "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 a liar and a their, 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" page 310/1

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"From the chest I took forth several of the garments, small, clean and neatly folded. I had washed several myself, and, sprinkling them with water, and sweating, had pressed them on a smooth board, using the small, heavy, rounded Gorean irons, heated over fire. I had folded them, too, and placed them in the chest."
"Captive of Gor" Page 294

"Behind the kitchen shed, I was ironing. To one side there was a large pile of laundered work tunics, which I had washed in the early morning. The smooth board was set before me, mounted on two wooden blocks. A bowl of water was nearby, and a fire, over which, on an iron plate fixed on stones, there were, heating, five, small, flat-bottomed, rounded, wooden-handled Gorean irons. I had been kneeling before the board, ironing the tunics, which I would then fold and place to one side. Behind the kitchen shed, I had not been able to see the alighting of the tarns. I could hear, however, the delighted cries of the girls and the loud, warm, answering shouts of the men."
"Captive of Gor" Page 295/6

"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 wishes 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.
When he had almost finished, he beckoned me to him, and I went to kneel at his side. He put his hand in my hair and held my head back.
"Open you mouth," he said.
I did so, and he, spilling some from the broad rim of the crater, I feeling it on my chin, and throat, as it trickled under my collar, and body, poured the remainder of wine down my throat. It was bitter from the dregs in the botom of the cup, and, to my taste, scalding. I, my eyes closed, my head held painfully back, throat burning, swallowed it. When I had finished the wine he thrust the wine crater into my hands. "Run, El-in-or," he said, "put it back, and return to me." I ran to the side of the tent and put back the wine crater, and fled back to his side."
"Captive of Gor" Page 331/3

"But, too, sometimes, Rask of Treve, after touching me, would hold me, and kiss me, for long hours. I did not truly understand him in these hours, but his arms lay content and fulfilled. And then one night, when the fires were low, for no reason I clearly understood, I begged that I might be permitted to know him. "Speak to me of yourself," he said. I told him of my childhood, my girlhood, and my parents, and the pet my mother had poisoned, and of New York, and my world, and my capture, and my life before it had begun, before he had seen me naked in the cell of the Ko-ro-ba pens. And, too, in various nights, he had spoken to me of himself, and of the death of his parents, and most of his training as a boy in Treve, and his learning of the ways of tarns and the steel of weapons. He had cared for flowers, but he had not dared reveal this. It seemed so strange, he, such a man, caring for flowers. I kissed him. But I feared, that he had told me this. I do not think there was another to whom he had ever spoken this small and delicate thing.
We had begun to take long walks beyond the palisade, hand in hand. We had much spoken, and much loved, and much spoken. It was as though I might not have been his slave. It was then that I had begun to fear that he would sell me."
"Captive of Gor" Page 353

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"My thigh felt as though it were burning. Tears, streamed from my eyes. I coughed, and could not breathe. I heard the voice of Rask of Treve. “To begin,” he was saying, “you will receive one stroke for each letter of the word, “Liar,” then one stroke for each letter of the word ‘Thief’, and then a stroke for each letter of the word ‘Traitress’. You will count the strokes.”
I sobbed.
“Count,” commanded Rask of Treve.
“I am illiterate,” I wept. “I do not know how many to count!”
“There are four characters in the first expression,” said Inge.
I looked at her with horror. I had not seen her until now. I did not want her to see me being beaten. I saw, too, now, for the first time, that Rena, too, stood nearby. I did not want them to see me being beaten.
“You made a great fuss when you were branded,” said Inge.
“That is certainly true,” agreed Rena.
“Count,” commanded Rask of Treve.
“One!” I cried out in misery.
Suddenly my back exploded. I screamed but there was no sound. There seemed no breath in my body. And then there was only pain, and I almost lost consciousness. I hung by the wrists. There had been the terrible sound of the leather, and then the pain.
I could not stand it.
“Count!” I heard.
“No, no!’ I cried.
“Count,” urged Inge, “or it will go hard with you.”
(pg. 313) “Count,” pressed Rena. “Count!” The lash will not lower your value,” she said. “The straps are too broad. They only punish.”
“Two,” I wept.
Again the leather fell and I gasped and twisted, hanging, burning from the pole. “Count!” said Rask of Treve.
“I cannot!” I wept. “I cannot.”
“Three,” said Ute. “I will count for her.”
The lash fell again.
“Four,” said Ute.
Twice, in my beating I lost consciousness, and twice I was revived, chilled water thrown on me.
At last the strokes had been counted. I hung my head down, helpless.
“Now,” said Rask of Treve, “I shall beat you until it pleases me to stop.”
Ten more strokes he gave to the helpless slave girl, who twice more lost consciousness, and twice more was awakened to the drenching of cold water. And then, as she scarcely understood, hanging half conscious in the fires of her pain, she heard him say, “Cut her down,”
The binding fiber was removed from her wrists but her hands, that she might not tear at her brands, were snapped behind her back in slave bracelets. Then, by the hair, she stumbling, scarcely able to stand, he dragged her to the small, square iron box which sat near the whipping pole, and thrust her within. Crouching inside the box, I saw the door shut, and heard the two heavy, flat bolts sliding into place. I then heard the click of two padlocks, securing them in place.
I was locked inside. I could see a tiny slit of the outside through the aperture in the iron door, about a half an inch in height and seven inches in width. There was a somewhat larger opening at the foot of the door, about two inches in height and a foot wide. The box itself was square, with dimensions of perhaps one yard square. It was hot, and dark.
I remembered that a slave girl, on my first day in the camp of Rask of Treve, had warned me, that if I lied or stole, I would be beaten and put in the slave box."
"Captive of Gor" Page 313/4

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