The Social Club of Gor Pt. 04

At first, when the space was crowded, the cowbells weren't necessary; but as the number of girls inside dwindled the men relied on the ringing to betray us. The audience cheered and whistled, but for the most part did not offer any verbal guidance, to the hunters or their quarry. Only if a girl ceased moving to prevent the bell giving away her location was it okay for the spectators to call out. We were allowed to evade and resist capture, though with our hands tied that was difficult. Of course, because we were naked, when we were caught the clutches could be very intimate. The most popular was to get behind the girl with both arms around her, the left hand grasping her right breast and the other inserted between her thighs and over the crotch to lift her off the ground. However, this grip was better than being hauled over a guy's shoulder because then there was the danger of him stumbling, and a fall from shoulder height without the use of your arms to save you would be painful.

Girl-catch went on for a long time, until all the men had their turn. And since we slaves were not given a chance to rest, it was another exhausting game for us. Each time I was carried out of the ring, I joined the other captured slaves to lie on our bellies in a "girl pit", a shallow depression in the grass, gagged and hog-tied. There were ten rounds with no respite for us until the game finally came to an end. There were no prizes awarded to the men besides the praise of their peers.

There were other games. The freewomen's role was ascetically passive. The male slaves took part in some and could win their freedom with a particularly impressive performance. All three did, which was galling for Charlotte and the other two mistresses who thereby lost their property.

The men also engaged more conventional warrior activities -- athletics, weapons competitions and wrestling. However, the most spectacular event was the woman-hunt. All the females, slave and free, took part as the prey, and all the males, warrior and slave, were the hunters. On a signal, the blast from a bull's horn, the fifty women scattered in all directions from the centre of the Encampment.

We the prey were given ten minutes to disperse into the forest before the men came after us. All we had were sandals and a small canvas water bottle which we had to carry in the hand as it didn't come with a strap. Most of the fugitives were captured within a few minutes and, not knowing the rules, I expected that all the males would concentrate to gather up the rest of us. But when I was still "free" after maybe an hour it occurred to me that only some of the males were still hunting us. The rest were enjoying their prizes.

The forest was dense with a single, narrow, winding track flanked by thick brushwood. I avoided the path, even though the prickly undergrowth was harsh on my bare legs and torso, and the crunch of dry leaves underfoot was loud enough to betray me if I wasn't careful.

Some girls were less cautious than I. Indeed, I witnessed several being caught as I lurked in the thickets; but the most poignant instance was that of Parvi (the former Jessica aka Princess Pea-green). I heard a twig snap and ducked behind a large fan palm in time to see her coming down the track. She was hunched, staring ahead and sometimes behind her, but very conspicuous. I was about to warn her that she was courting capture but decided against it... though not out of self-interest. I saw that her legs were badly scratched and a pink rash covered much of her body. For her the game had become all too real, and while she was not about to give up without some effort, she was also not prepared to go back into the boscage.

Sure enough, two warriors appeared on the track and chased after her. She ran, but fatigue and despondency slowed her, and she was brought down hard. Her captors bound her wrists behind her back, and her ankles, and one of them flung her over his shoulder. The other peered about intently, and for a few seconds I feared that I would be spotted. After wriggling for a brief moment, Parvi emitted an audible sigh of resignation and her body went limp. The two men, joking and laughing, took their prize back to the Encampment.

I crept away, further into the forest. As the time passed I saw more men patrolling and fewer women. I realized that I must now be one of the handful still at large. I encountered one of the freewomen (but we moved on in different directions). She was naked even though she and her sisters had started the game in camisks. I guessed that she had been captured and stripped but somehow escaped. Then I met Sharna. Of all the women, she was the one you would most want to team up with. She was crouching near the track, her head turning and tilting as she listened for cues and clues. She nodded a greeting but said not a word.

Sharna continued to intrigue me. She was a paradox. She was studying postgraduate civil engineering at the university. She was not classically beautiful, rather how a woman would look if you called her handsome. Her research program included working as a project manager at a construction site on campus and I saw her there occasionally, where statuesque and athletic she loomed over most of her male co-workers. Yet she retained her femininity. Her long golden hair cascaded in waves from under her hard hat, and her long tanned legs flowed like a mellow breeze from cheeky Daisy Duke shorts down to steel-capped work boots. In the tavern, Sharna delighted in the contradiction of being tall and strong yet meek and acquiescent. She didn't see it as inconsistency. She recited the words of the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu: "Nothing in the world is as soft and yielding as water; yet it will wear away rock and penetrate mountains. What is gentle is strong. We know this is true, but few can put it into practice."

As I've said, not all the women in the tavern were beauty queens and supermodels. Some, of course, were in that class -- Parvi, former doyenne of the freewoman, and Mira (formerly Monique), the raven-haired girl sold alongside Parvi, were truly gorgeous. They had the power to captivate any man, or woman; but they abandoned hauteur and embraced servitude. Of course, they were playing a role and never appeared altogether seduced by the fantasy. Indeed, most of the slavegirls fit this model. Little Chloé, enslaved on the same night as Parvi, Mira and Sharna, and now called Hereena, never lost her defiant attitude. She changed masters (and names) on a regular basis; yet she never tried to regain her liberty.

Like myself, as freewomen they had chafed under the restrictions placed on them in the tavern because of their sex. We decided: "If I'm going to be downtrodden because I don't have a penis, I may as well revel in being what I am and what I'm not." Anyway, that's how we rationalized shedding our inhibitions and becoming the property of men.

But I have wandered off-topic again.

The undergrowth had become so thick and thorny that, being naked, we had no choice but to stay on the track, visible and exposed. This gave an unfair advantage to the men, our pursuers, who had the protection of clothes, but it was a challenge that we savored. Sharna and I worked together, she watching the path ahead while I kept an eye on our rear. We knew we couldn't evade our pursuers forever, but a sense of pride kept us going, forbade surrender. Several times we took refuge in the undergrowth as warriors passed by, more than once within touching distance. A couple were carrying bound prisoners. One of these, slung over her captor's shoulder, caught sight of us in the bushes but did not betray us.

I don't think anyone predicted that the game would go on for so long that we might have to contend with nightfall. But the sun was already low in the western sky when Sharna and I emerged from the tree line at the farthest point from where we'd started some nine hours before. The long yellow grass waved serenely and sensuously in the warm breeze; silver tendrils of cloud scudded across a crystal-blue sky. Everywhere around us was an eerie silence. The weather was not oppressively hot or humid, but we had consumed all our water, so our throats were parched. We hadn't eaten since an early breakfast. Our bare limbs and torsos were lacerated. Our backs ached from the constant crouching and ducking. But our ordeal just made us feisty. So when we were spotted, we decided that rather then flee into the forest, we would fight.

My skill in leg wrestling did not translate into this form of combat, but Amazonian Sharna proved more than a match for our three assailants.

"Surrender!" one of them bellowed before being thrown to the ground, landing with a thud. The second leapt at her but Sharna flipped him and forced him down, onto his back. She sat on his chest, her knees clamped his shoulders, pinning his wrists over his head with her hands, her breasts pressed into his face as if to smother him or stifle his yells. The third warrior, who had stood by in stupefied paralysis, moved behind Sharna, seized her arms to pinion them behind her, and hauled her off his comrade. So I leapt forward and the three of us tumbled into the grass. I tried to hold him down while Sharna dealt with the others. I was too weak, but she was more than equal to the task and returned to deal with my man just as he was getting the better of me. But suddenly she lowered herself to her knees and clasped her hands behind her head. I joined her as I heard voices getting louder. I glanced up. Three more warriors were approaching, bringing along one captive.

Sharna and I had fought well; but while a fellow warrior might be granted dispensation by his fellows for a gallant resistance, a recalcitrant slavegirl can expect no such mercy. We were thrust onto our bellies, our hands were tied roughly behind our backs, and we were blindfolded before being marched back through the forest. We may have been the final women to be brought in, and for our efforts we were given a whipping. It was not severe, but the last of the marks did not fade until morning.

The woman-hunt was held on the tenth day of the GorFest, and its aftermath was felt for the rest of the two weeks, and beyond. The freewomen, having been classed for the game as talunas, wild women, and thereafter captured, were naturally enslaved. They accepted their fate passively; and when we returned to the tavern a week later, they were still slaves. The redoubtable Charlotte had come full circle, returning to her kajira status.

But it has been written...

"Gorean men, on the whole, do not free slaves. The freeing of a girl is almost unheard of. This makes sense. They are not free women. They are belongings, valuables, slaves, treasures. Who discards precious possessions, who surrenders treasures? If the slave girl were worth less perhaps she would be freed more." (John Norman, Explorers of Gor)