The girl now, on her belly, yet subtly to the music, crawled toward us, lifted her hand piteously to us ...
The dancer now lay on her back and the music was visible in her breathing, and in small movements of her head, and hands. Her hands were small and lovely.
She lay on the map floor, her head turned toward us. She was covered with sweat. I snapped my fingers and her legs turned under her, and she was kneeling, head back, dark hair on the tiles. Her hands moved, delicate, lovely. Slowly, if permitted, she would rise to an erect kneeling position; her hands, as she lifted herself, extended toward us. Four times said I, "No", each time my command forcing her head back, her body bent, to the floor, and each time, again, to the music, she lifted her body. The fifth time I let her rise to an erect kneeling position. The last portion of her body to rise was her beautiful head. The collar was at her throat. Her dark eyes, smoldering, vulnerable, reproachful, regarded me. Still did she move to the music, which had not yet released her.
With a gesture I permitted her to rise to her feet. "Dance your body, Slave," I told her, "to the guests of Samos."
Angrily the girl, man by man, slowly, meaningfully, danced her beauty to each guest. They struck the tables, and cried out. More than one reached to clutch her but each time, swiftly, she moved back ...
The dancer, now behind us, continued to move before the low tables. The eyes of the men gleamed.
Before each man, for moments seemingly his alone, she danced her beauty ...
The dancer turned from the tables and, hands high over her head, approached me. She swayed to the music before me. "You commanded me to dance my beauty before the guests of Samos," said she, "Master. You, too, are such a guest."
I looked upon her, narrow lidded, as she strove to please me.
Then she moaned and turned away, and, as the music swirled to its maddened, frenzied climax, she spun, whirling, in a jangle of bells and clashing barbaric ornaments before the guests of Samos. Then, as the music suddenly stopped, she fell to the floor, helpless, vulnerable, a female slave. Her body, under the torchlight, shone with a sheen of sweat. She gasped for breath; her body was beautiful, her breasts lifting and falling, as she drank deeply of the air. Her lips were parted. Now that her dance was finished she could scarcely move. We had not been gentle with her. She looked up at me, and lifted her hand. It was at my feet she lay.
{Tribesmen of Gor, page 8}
