Notes on Habiliment













My assistant and I knelt before her, at her feet. She wore, beneath her green velvet, golden shoes. Marauders of Gor, page 115
Free women view the platform with stern disapproval; on it, female beauty is displayed for the inspection of men; this, for some reason, outrages
them; perhaps they are furious because they cannot display their own beauty, or that they are not themselves as beautiful as women found fit, by
lusty men with discerning eyes, for slavery; it is difficult to know what the truth is in such matters; these matters are further complicated, particularly in
the north, by the conviction among free women that free women are above such things as sex, and that only low and loose girls, and slaves, are
interested in such matters; free women of the north regard themselves as superior to sex; many are frigid, at least until carried off and collared; they
often insist that, even when they have faces and figures that drive men wild, that it is their mind on which he must concentrate his attentions; some
free men, to their misery, and the perhaps surprising irritation of the female, attempt to comply with this imperative; they are fools enough to believe
what such women claim is the truth about themselves; they should listen instead to the dreams and fantasies of women, and recall, for their
instruction, the responses of a free woman, once collared, squirming in the chains of a bond-maid. These teach us truths which many women dare not
speak and which, by others, are denied, interestingly, with a most psychologically revealing hysteria and vehemence. “No woman,” it is said, “knows
truly what she is until she has worn the collar.”  Some free women apparently fear sex because they feel it lowers the woman. This is quite correct. In
few, if any, human relationships is there perfect equality. The subtle tensions of dominance and submission, universal in the animal world, remain
ineradicably in our blood; they may be thwarted and frustrated but, thwarted and frustrated, they will remain. It is the nature of the male, among the
mammals, to dominate, that of the female to submit. The fact that humans have minds does not cancel the truths of the blood, but permits their
enrichment and enhancement, their expression in physical and psychological ecstasies far beyond the reach of simpler organisms; the female slave
submits to her master in a thousand dimensions, in each of which she is his slave, in each of which he dominates her.






















Free women might retire early from the hall of their men...after making the life of bond-maids miserable of course...

Male thralls turned the spits over the long fire; female thralls, bond-maids, served the tables. The girls, though collared in the manner of Torvaldsland,
and serving men, were fully clothed. Their kirtles of white wool, smudged and stained with grease, fell to their ankles; they hurried about; they were
barefoot; their arms, too, were bare; their hair was tied with strings behind their heads, to keep it free from sparks; their faces were, on the whole,
dirty, smudged with dirt and grease; they were worked hard; Bera, I noted, kept much of an eye upon them; one girl, seized by a warrior, her waist
held, his other hand sliding upward from her ankle beneath the single garment permitted her, the long, stained woolen kirtle, making her cry out with
pleasure, dared to thrust her lips eagerly, furtively, to his; but she was seen by Bera; orders were given; by male thralls she was bound and, weeping,
thrust to the kitchen, there to be stripped and beaten; I presumed that if Bera were not present the feast might have taken a different turn; her frigid,
cold presence was, doubtless, not much welcomed by the men. But she was the woman of Svein Blue Tooth. I supposed, in time, normally, she would
retire, doubtless taking Svein Blue Tooth with her. It would be then that the men might thrust back the tables and hand the bond-maids about. No Jarl
I knew can hold men in his hall unless there are ample women for them. I felt sorry for Svein Blue Tooth. This night, however, it seemed Bera had no
intention of retiring early. I suspected this might have accounted somewhat for the ugliness of the men with the entertainers, not that the men of
Torvaldsland, under any circumstances, constitute an easily pleased audience. Generally only Kaissa and the songs of skalds can hold their attention
for long hours, that and stories told at the tables. Marauders of Gor, page 195-196


And so it goes..that men do collar their northern women

Mead was replenished in the drinking horn by a dark-haired bond-maid, who filled it, head down, shyly, not looking at me. She was the only one in the
hall who was not stripped, though, to be sure, her kirtle, by order of her master, was high on her hips, and, over the shoulders, was split to the belly.
Like any other wench, on her neck, riveted, was a simple collar of black iron. She had worn a Kur collar before, and, with hundreds of others, had been
rescued from the pens. The fixing of the Kur collar, it had been decided by Svein Blue Tooth, was equivalent to the fixing of the metal collar and, in
itself, was sufficient to reduce the subject to slavery, which condition deprives the subject of legal status, and rights attached thereto, such as the
right   to stand in companionship. Accordingly, to her astonishment, Bera, who had been the companion of Svein Blue Tooth, discovered suddenly that
she was only one wench  among others. From a line, as part of his spoils, the Blue Tooth picked her out. She had displeased him mightily in recent
years. Yet was the Blue Tooth fond of the arrogant wench. It was not until he had switched her, like any other girl, that she understood that their
relationship had under-gone a transformation, and that she was, truly, precisely what she seemed to be, now his bond-maid. No longer would her
dour presence deprive his feasts of joy. No longer would she, in her free woman’s scorn, shower contempt on bond-maids, trying to make them
ashamed of their beauty. She, too, now, was no more than they. She now had new tasks to which to address herself, cooking, and churning and
carrying water; the improvement of her own carriage, and beauty and attractiveness; and the giving of inordinate pleasure in the furs to her master,
Svein Blue Tooth, Jarl of Torvaldsland; if she did not do so, well she knew, as an imbonded wench, that others would; it was not, indeed, until her
reduction to slavery that she realized, for the first time, how fine a male, how attractive and how powerful, was Svein Blue Tooth, whom she had for
years taken for granted; seeing him objectively for the first time, from the perspective of a slave girl, who is nothing herself, and comparing him with
other free men, she realized suddenly how mighty how splendid and magnificent he truly was. She set herself diligently to please him, in service and in
pleasure, and, if he would permit it, in love. Bera went to the next man, to fill his cup with mead, from the heavy, hot tankard, gripped with cloth, which
she carried. She was sweating. She was barefoot. The bond-maid was happy. Marauders of Gor, page 277-278



















Later…

I rose to my feet and regarded Telima. She stood some ten feet away, her hand before her mouth.

“I have something for you,” I told her. From my pouch I withdrew the golden armlet which had been hers. It had been that which, presented to me in
Port Kar, bloodied, had lured me to the north, seeking to avenge her.

She placed the golden armlet on her upper left arm. “I shall return to the rence,” she said.

“I have something else for you,” I told her. “Come here.

She approached me. From my pouch I drew forth a leather Kur collar, with its lock, and, sewn in leather, its large, rounded ring. “What is it?” she
asked, apprehensively. I took it behind her neck, and then, closing it about her throat, thrust the large, flattish bolt, snapping it, into the locking
breech. The two edges of metal, bordered by the leather, fitted closely together. The collar is some three inches in height. The girl must keep her chin
up. “It is the collar of a Kur cow,” I told her.

“No!” she cried. I turned her about and, taking a pair of the rude iron slave bracelets of the north, black and common, which bond-maids are commonly
secured locked her wrists behind her back. I then, with the bloodied Quiva, the Tuchuk saddle knife, cut her clothes from her Then, by a length of
binding fiber, looped double in the ring of her collar, tied her on her knees to the foot of the Kur Then, with the knife, I knelt at the Kur’s throat.
Marauders of Gor, page 274-275
All rights reserved.
This research is done on the series of books written by John Norman, the comments in italics are mine and my point of view.
Woman of Gor
Free Women of Different Cultures
Free Women of Gor
Free Women of Torvaldsland
“Shameful!” cried the free woman.
In the lowering of the woman, of course, a common consequence of her helplessness in the arms of a powerful
male, her surrenderings, her being forced to submit, she finds, incredibly to some perhaps, her freedom, her
ecstasy, her fulfillment, her exaltation, her joy; in the Gorean mind this matter is simple; it is the nature of the
female to submit; accordingly, it is natural that, when she is forced to acknowledge, accept, express and reveal this
nature, that she should be almost deliriously joyful, and thankful, to her master; she has been taught her
womanhood; no longer is she a sexless, competitive pseudoman; she is then, as she was not before, female; she
then finds herself, perhaps for the first time, clearly differentiated from the male, and vulnerably, joyfully,
complementary to him; she has, of course, no choice in this matter; it is not permitted her; collared, she submits; I
know of no group of women as joyful, as spontaneous, as loving and vital, as healthy and beautiful, as excited, as
free in their delights and emotions, as Gorean slave girls; it is true they must live under the will of men, and must
fear them, and the lash of their whips, but, in spite of these things, they walk with a sensuous beauty and pride;
they know themselves owned; but they wear their collars with a shameless audacity, a joy, an insolent pride that
would scandalize and frighten the bored, depressed, frustrated women of Earth.
“I do not approve of the platform,” said the free woman, coldly.

Forkbeard did not respond to her, but regarded her with great deference.

“These females,” she said, indicating the Forkbeard’s girls, who knelt at her feet, their heads to the turf, “could be
better employed on your farm, dunging fields and making butter.” Marauders of Gor, page 155, 156
Hilda was not a common women of the North, her father was the richest men known or very close
to it, she didn’t need to go outside and walk in the mud and do chores like most common free
women would so her habiliment are not standard.

She wore rich green velvet, closed high about her neck, trimmed with gold.

She took the next vial, which I had opened for her. “No,” she said, handing it back to me.

Her hair, long, was braided. It was tied with golden string. Marauders of Gor, page 112

Her hands wore many rings. About her neck she wore, looped, four chains of gold, with pendants.
On her wrists were bracelets of silver and gold. Marauders of Gor, page 114
Now came slave girls bearing skins of water. They walked slowly, bent over, placing each step carefully, that they
not lose their balance, heavy skins, bulging and damp, across their shoulders. I saw Honey Cake among them, and
the Forkbeard’s golden girl, the southern silk girl, too, she laboring as any other bond-maid. I do not think that in
The girl moaned, and staggered to the gangplank, and, slowly, foot by foot, her bare feet pressed by the weight
deeply into the rough boards, climbed, carrying her burden, to the deck of the ship. Among the girls, too, I saw
Bera, she one of the Blue Tooth’s girls, one of several, who had been placed under the orders of Wulfstan to assist
in the loading. She was naked. The other girls, resenting the tunic she had been given, had stripped her. Svein
Blue Tooth had laughed Masters do not interfere in the squabbles of slaves. Marauders of Gor, page 288-289

This quote should serve as a warning to free women that seek to taunt,  they will someday taunt one man that will
change their lives forever. In fact, it might be that they only taunt those men that they know will do nothing for
whatever reasons.

“Yes,” she said, drawing herself up, beautifully. I wondered if she were wise, to stand so beautifully before a
Gorean warrior. Marauders of Gor, page 271