Kaiila

The mount of the Wagon Peoples, unknown in the northern hemispheres of Gor, is the terrifying but beautiful kaiila. It is a silken, carnivourous, lofty creature, graceful, long-necked, smooth gaited. It is viviparous and undoubtedly mammalian, though there is no suckling of the young...The kaiila is extremely agile...normally stands about tweny to twenty-two hands at the shoulder, can cover as much as six hundred pasangs in a single day's riding. The head of the kaiila bears two large eyes, one on each side, but these eyes are triply lidded probably an adaptation to the environment which occasionally is wracked by severe storms of wind and dust; the adaptation, actually a transparent third lid, permits the animal to move as it wishes under conditions that force other prairie animals to back into the wind, or like the sleen, to burrow into the ground.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 13-14

The kaiila of these men were as tawny as the brown grass of the prairie, save for that of the man who faced me, whose mount was a silken, sable black...
Nomads of Gor pgs: 14

“Tal!” I called, lifting my hand, palm inward, in Gorean greeting.
As one man the four riders unstrapped their lances.
“I am Tarl Cabot,” I called. “I come in peace!”
I saw the kaiila tense, almost like larls, their flanks quivering, their large eyes intent upon me. I saw one of the long, triangular tongues dart out and back. Their long ears were laid back against the fierce, silken heads.
“Do you speak Gorean?” I called.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 15

"I saw the kaiila tense, almost like larls, their flanks quivering, their large eyes intent upon me. I saw one of the long, triangular tongues dart out and back. Their long ears were laid back against the fierce, silken heads."
Nomads of Gor pgs: 15

"...beneath the clawed paws of four squealing, snorting kaiila....
...the enraged, thundering kaiila, hissing and squealing, at a touch of the control straps, arrested their fierce charge, stopping themselves, tearing into the deep turf with suddenly emergent claws.
The children of the Wagon peoples are taught the saddle of the kaiila before the can walk."
Nomads of Gor pgs: 17

. . .the small horn bow of the Wagon Peoples can be used to advantage not only from the back of a kaiila but, like the crossbow, from such cramped quarters.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 31

I was about to press Kamchak on this matter when we heard a sudden shout and the squealing of kaiila from among the wagons. I heard then the shouts of men and the cries of women and children. Kamchak lifted his head intently, listening. Then we heard the pounding of a small drum and two blasts on the horn of a bosk.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 33

In the crowd, on the back of a kaiila, I noted the girl Hereena, of the First Wagon, whom I had seen my first day in the camp of the Tuchuks, she who had almost ridden down Kamchak and myself between the wagons. She was a very exciting, vital, proud girl and the tiny golden nose ring, against her brownish skin, with her flashing black eyes, did not detract from her considerable but rather insolent beauty. She, and others like her, had been encouraged and spoiled from childhood in all their whims, unlike most other Tuchuk women, that they might be fit prizes, Kamchak had told me, in the games of Love War. Turian warriors, he told me, enjoy such women, the wild girls of the Wagons. A young man, blondish-haired with blue eyes, unscarred, bumped against the girl's stirrup in the press of the crowd. She struck him twice with the leather quirt in her hand, sharply, viciously. I could see blood on the side of his neck, where it joins the shoulder.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 67

“If you win for us,” Albrecht said to her, grinning down from the saddle of the kaiila, “this night you will be given a silver bracelet and five yards of scarlet silk.”
Nomads of Gor pgs: 74

. . .the saber, incidentally, which would be somewhat more effective from kaiilaback, is almost unknown on Gor. . .
Nomads of Gor pgs: 123

“Ah, yes, weapons,” Kamchak was saying, “what shall it be the kaiila lance, a whip and bladed bola, perhaps the quiva?”
Nomads of Gor pgs: 123

“Surely you are aware,” said Saphrar, “that a slave cannot own property - any more than a kaiila, a tharlarion or sleen.”
“I am the richest woman in Turia!” she cried.
Saphrar reclined a bit more on his cushions. His little round pinkish face shone. He pursed his lips and then smiled. He poked his head forward and said, very quickly, “You are a slave!” He then giggled.
Aphris of Turia threw back her head and screamed.
“You do not even have a name,” hissed the little merchant.
It was true. Kamchak would undoubtedly continue to call her Aphris, but it would be now his name for her and not her own. A slave, not being a person in the eyes of Gorean law, cannot possess a name in his own right, any more than an animal. Indeed, in the eyes of Gorean law, unfortunately, slaves are animals, utterly and unqualifiedly at the disposition of their masters, to do with as he pleases.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 132

Aphris looked at him in fury, but then smiled. “Certainly,” she said and the proud Aphris of Turia, kneeling, bent forward, to eat the meat held in the hand of her master.
Kamchak’s laugh was cut short when she sank her fine white teeth into his hand with a savage bite. “Aiii!” he howled, jumping up and sticking his bleeding hand into his mouth, sucking the blood from the wound. Elizabeth had leaped up and so had I.
Aphris had sprung to her feet and ran to the side of the wagon where there lay the kaiila saddle with its seven sheathed quivas. She jerked one of the quivas from its saddle sheath and stood with the blade facing us. She was bent over with rage. Kamchak sat down again, still sucking his hand. I also sat down, and so, too, did Elizabeth Cardwell. We left Aphris standing there, clutching the knife, breathing deeply.
“Sleen!” cried the girl. “I have a knife!”
Kamchak paid her no attention now but was looking at his hand. He seemed satisfied that the wound was not serious, and picked up the piece of meat which he had dropped, which he tossed to Elizabeth, who, in silence, ate it. He then pointed at the remains of the overdone roast, indicating that she might eat it.
“I have a knife!” cried Aphris in fury.
Kamchak was now picking his teeth with a fingernail.
“Bring wine,” he said to Elizabeth, who, her mouth filled with meat, went and fetched a small skin of wine and a cup, which she filled for him. When Kamchak had drunk the cup of wine he looked again at Aphris. “For what you have done,” he said, “it is common to call for one of the Clan of Torturers.”
“I will kill myself first,” cried Aphris, posing the quiva over her heart.
Kamchak shrugged.
The girl did not slay herself. “No,” she cried, “I will slay you.”
“Much better,” said Kamchak, nodding. “Much better.”
“I have a knife!” cried out Aphris.
“Obviously,” said Kamchak. He then got up and walked rather heavily over to one wall of the wagon and took a slave whip from the wall.
He faced Aphris of Turia.
“Sleen!” she wept. She threw back her hand with the knife to rush forward and thrust it into the heart of Kamchak but the coil of the whip lashed forth and I saw its stinging tip wrap four times about the wrist and forearm of the Turian girl who cried out in sudden pain and Kamchak had stepped to the side and with a motion of his hand had thrown her off balance and then by the whip dragged her rudely over the rug to his feet. There he stepped on her wrist and removed the knife from her open hand. He thrust it in his belt.
“Slay me!” wept the girl. “I will not be your slave!”
But Kamchak had hauled her to her feet and then flung her back to where she had stood before. Dazed, holding her right arm, on which could be seen four encircling blazes of scarlet, she regarded him. Kamchak then removed the quiva from his belt and hurled it across the room until it struck in one of the poles of the frame supporting the wagon hides, two inches in the wood, beside the throat of the girl.
“Take the quiva,” said Kamchak.
The girl shook with fear.
“Take it,” ordered Kamchak.
She did so.
“Now,” he said, “replace it.”
Trembling, she did so.
“Now approach me and eat,” said Kamchak. Aphris of Turia did so, defeated, kneeling before him and turning her head delicately to take the meat from his hand. “Tomorrow,” said Kamchak, “you will be permitted after I have eaten to feed yourself.”
Nomads of Gor pgs: 141-142

If you attempt to leave the wagons at night they will sense you out and rip my pretty little slave girl in pieces.”
“It is true,” I warned Aphris of Turia.
“Nonetheless,” said Aphris, “I will escape.”
“But not tonight!” guffawed Kamchak.
“No,” said Aphris acidly, “not tonight.” Then she looked about herself, disdainfully at the interior of the wagon. Her gaze rested for a moment on the kaiila saddle which had been part of the spoils which Kamchak had acquired for Tenchika. In the saddle, in their sheaths, were seven quivas.
Aphris turned again to face Kamchak. “This slave,” she said, indicating Elizabeth, “would not give me anything to eat.”
“Kamchak must eat first, Slave,” responded Elizabeth.
“Well,” said Aphris, “he has eaten.”
Kamchak then took a bit of meat that was left over from the fresh-roasted meat that Miss Cardwell had prepared. He held it out in his hand. “Eat,” he said to Aphris, “but do not touch it with your hands.”
Aphris looked at him in fury, but then smiled. “Certainly,” she said and the proud Aphris of Turia, kneeling, bent forward, to eat the meat held in the hand of her master.
Kamchak’s laugh was cut short when she sank her fine white teeth into his hand with a savage bite.
“Aiii!” he howled, jumping up and sticking his bleeding hand into his mouth, sucking the blood from the wound.
Elizabeth had leaped up and so had I.
Aphris had sprung to her feet and ran to the side of the wagon where there lay the kaiila saddle with its seven sheathed quivas. She jerked one of the quivas from its saddle sheath and stood with the blade facing us. She was bent over with rage.
Kamchak sat down again, still sucking his hand. I also sat down, and so, too, did Elizabeth Cardwell.
We left Aphris standing there, clutching the knife, breathing deeply.
“Sleep!” cried the girl. “I have a knife!”
Kamchak paid her no attention now but was looking at his hand. He seemed satisfied that the wound was not serious, and picked up the piece of meat which he had dropped, which he tossed to Elizabeth, who, in silence, ate it. He then pointed at the remains of the overdone roast, indicating that she might eat it.
“I have a knife!” cried Aphris in fury.
Kamchak was now picking his teeth with a fingernail. “Bring wine,” he said to Elizabeth, who, her mouth filled with meat, went and fetched a small skin of wine and a cup, which she filled for him. When Kamchak had drunk the cup of wine he looked again at Aphris. “For what you have done,” he said, “it is common to call for one of the Clan of Torturers.”
“I will kill myself first,” cried Aphris, posing the quiva over her heart.
Kamchak shrugged.
The girl did not slay herself. “No,” she cried, “I will slay you.”
“Much better,” said Kamchak, nodding. “Much better.”
“I have a knife!” cried out Aphris.
“Obviously,” said Kamchak. He then got up and walked rather heavily over to one wall of the wagon and took a slave whip from the wall.
He faced Aphris of Turia.
“Sleen!” she wept. She threw back her hand with the knife to rush forward and thrust it into the heart of Kamchak but the coil of the whip lashed forth and I saw its stinging tip wrap four times about the wrist and forearm of the Turian girl who cried out in sudden pain and Kamchak had stepped to the side and with a motion of his hand had thrown her off balance and then by the whip dragged her rudely over the rug to his feet. There he stepped on her wrist and removed the knife from her open hand. He thrust it in his belt.
“Slay me!” wept the girl. “I will not be your slave!”
But Kamchak had hauled her to her feet and then flung her back to where she had stood before. Dazed, holding her right arm, on which could be seen four encircling blazes of scarlet, she regarded him. Kamchak then removed the quiva from his belt and hurled it across the room until it struck in one of the poles of the frame supporting the wagon hides, two inches in the wood, beside the throat of the girl.
“Take the quiva,” said Kamchak.
The girl shook with fear.
“Take it,” ordered Kamchak.
She did so.
“Now,” he said, “replace it.”
Trembling, she did so.
“Now approach me and eat,” said Kamchak. Aphris of Turia did so, defeated, kneeling before him and turning her head delicately to take the meat from his hand. “Tomorrow,” said Kamchak, “you will be permitted after I have eaten to feed yourself.”
Suddenly Elizabeth Cardwell said, perhaps unwisely. “You are cruel”
Kamchak looked at her in surprise. “I am kind,” he said.
“How is that?” I asked.
“I am permitting her to live,” he said.
“I think,” I said, “that you have won this night but I warn you that the girl from Turia will think again of the quiva and the heart of a Tuchuk warrior.”
“Of course,” smiled Kamchak, feeding Aphris, “she is superb.”
The girl looked at him with wonder.
“For a Turian slave,” he added. He fed her another piece of meat. “Tomorrow, Little Aphris,” said he, “I will give you something to wear.”
She looked at him gratefully.
“Bells and collar,” said he.
Tears appeared in her eyes.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 141-143

'...Come along,' he said. 'There is a new kaiila I want to see near the wagon of Yachi of the Leather Workers' Clan.'
Nomads of Gor pgs: 170

Among the animals I saw many verrs; some domestic tarsks, their tusks sheathed; cages of flapping vulos, some sleen, some kaiila, even some bosk; by the Paravaci haruspexes I saw manacled male slaves, if such were to be permitted; commonly, I understood from Kamchak, the Tuchuks, Kassars and Kataii rule out the sacrifice of slaves because their hearts and livers are thought to be, fortunately for the slaves, untrustworthy in registering portents; after all, as Kamchak pointed out, who would trust a Turian slave in the kes with a matter so important as the election of a Ubar San; it seemed to me good logic and, of course, I am sure the slaves, too, were taken with the cogency of the argument.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 171

When I handed Hereena to him the poor girl was shivering and moaning in terror, uncontrollably trembling. She, a girl of the plains, familiar with fierce kaiila, herself a proud, spirited wench, brave and daring, was yet like many women utterly for some reason terrified of a tarn.
Nomads of Gor pgs: 230

"You were beaten," I said, "because you ran away. Normally a girl who does what you did is maimed or thrown to sleen or kaiila, and that he touched you with the whip, the Slaver's Caress, that was only to show me, and perhaps you, that you were female."
Nomads of Gor pgs: 281

Some of the riders of the Steels, I recalled, seeing it among the belongings of Gladius of Cos, had jested with me about it, asking if it were a toy, or perhaps a training bow for a child; these men, of course, had never, on kaiila back, and it is just as well for them, met Tuchuks.
Assassin of Gor pgs: 366

A stimulation cage is an ornately barred, low ceilinged cage; it is rather room, except for the low ceiling, about five feet high. The girl cannot stand erect in it without her head inclined submissively. In such a cage, and in training, when not in such a cage, the girl who is housed in the stimulation cage is not permitted to look directly into the eyes of a male, even a male slave. This is designed, psychologically, to make the girl extremely conscious of males. When she is sold, then only, if the master wishes, he may say to her, "You may look into the eyes of your master." When she, frightened, tenderly, timidly lifts her eyes to him, if he should deign to smile upon her, the girl then, in gratitude and joy, at last permitted to relate to another human being, often falls to her knees before him, an adoring slave. When next she looks up, his eyes will be stern, and she will look down, quickly, frightened. "I will try to serve you well, Master," she whispers. The accouterments of the stimulation-cell are also calculated with respect to their effect on the slave. There are brushes, perfumes, cosmetics, slave jeweleries, heavy necklaces, armlets, bracelets and bangles; there is no clothing; there are also cushions, bowls of copper and lamps of brass. Importantly, there are also surfaces of various textures, a deep-piled rug, satins, silks, coarsely woven kaiila-hair cloths, brocades, rep- cloth, a tiled corner, a sleen pelt, clothes woven of strung beads, cloaks of leather, mats of reeds, ect. The point of this is that the senses and body of the slave, stripped save for brand and collar, and whatever perfumes, cosmetics or jewelries she may wear under the instruction of her trainer, are being taught to be alive, to sense and feel the great sensitivity; the senses and skins of many human beings, in effect, are dead, instead of being alert and alive to hundreds of subtle differences in, say, atmospheres, temperatures, humidities, surfaces, ect.
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 24

"Kaiila and verr are found at the oases, but not in great numbers. The herds of these animals are found in the desert. They are kept by nomads, who move them from one area of verr grass to another, or from one water hole to another..."
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 37

The war kaiila, rearing on its hind legs. . . He thrust the jaws away with the buckler. . .
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 59

Make me tea,' I said." "...'Is it ready?' I asked. I looked at the tiny copper kettle on the small stand. A tiny kaiila-dung fire burned under it. A small, heavy, curved glass was nearby, on a flat box, which would hold some two ounces of the tea. Bazi tea is drunk in tiny glasses, usually three at a time, carefully measured. She did not make herself tea, of course."...... "She lifted the kettle from the fire and, carefully, poured me a tiny glass of tea. I took the glass."
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 139

Following such rains, great clouds of sand flies appear, wakened from dormancy. These feast on kaiila and men. Normally, flying insects are found only in the vicinity of the oases."
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 152

"The zadit is a small, tawny-feathered, sharp-billed bird. It feeds on insects. When sand flies and other insects, emergent after rains, infest kaiila, they frequently light on the animals, and remain for some hours, hunting insects. This relieves the kaiila of the insects but leaves it with numerous small wounds, which are unpleasant and irritating, where the bird had dug insects out of its hide. These tiny wounds, if they become infected, turn into sores; these sores are treated by the drovers with poultices of kaiila dung."
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 152 | Chapter: 10:12

“Young warrior,” asked Hassan, of a youth, no more than eight, “have you heard aught of a tower of steel?”
His sister, standing behind him, laughed. Verr moved about them, brushing against their legs.
The boy went to the kaiila of Alyena. “Dismount, Slave,” he said to her.
She did so and knelt before him, a free male. The boy’s sister crowded behind him. Verr bleated.
“Put back your hood and strip yourself to the waist,” said the boy.
Alyena shook loose her hair; she then dropped her cloak back, and removed her blouse.
“See how white she is!” said the nomad girl.
“Pull down your skirt,” said the boy.
Alyena, furious, did so, it lying over her calves.
“How white!” said the nomad girl.
The boy walked about her, and took her hair in his hands. “Look,” said he to his sister, “silky, fine and yellow, and long.” She, too, felt the hair. The boy then walked before Alyena. “Look up,” said he. Alyena lifted her eyes, regarding him. “See,” said he to his sister, bending down. “She has blue eyes!”
“She is white, and ugly,” said the girl, standing up, backing off.
“No,” said the boy, “she is pretty.”
“If you like white girls,” said his sister.
“Is she expensive?” asked the boy of Hassan.
“Yes,” said Hassan, “young warrior. Do you wish to bid for her?”
“My father will not yet let me own a girl,” said the youngster.
“Ah,” said Hassan, understanding.
“But when I grow up,” said he. “I shall become a raider, like you, and have ten such girls. When I see one I want, I will carry her away, and make her my slave.” He looked at Hassan. “They will serve me well, and make me happy.”
“She is ugly,” said the boy’s sister. “Her body is white.”
“Is she a good slave?” asked the boy of Hassan.
“She is a stupid, miserable girl,” said Hassan, “who must be often beaten.”
“Too bad,” said the boy.
“Tend the verr,” said his sister, unpleasantly.
“If you were mine,” said the boy to Alyena, “I would tolerate no nonsense from you. I would make you be a perfect slave.”
“Yes, Master,” said Alyena, stripped before him, her teeth gritted.
“You may clothe yourself,” said the boy.
“Thank you, Master,” said Alyena.
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 171-172

"I observed the rider; I saw him smile; I saw the kaiila rear up; I saw the lance fall into position; he lanced in sport; I faced him in war.."
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 297

“You are a runaway slave girl,” he said.
She wept, but did not break the position of the slave dance.
“Too,” said he, “at the oasis you cried my name.”
These were serious offenses.
“Forgive me, Master,” she cried.
Toward the beginning of the fourth group I saw another girl I remembered. She turned away, trying to hide her face. I stopped the kaiila. Sensing that I had stopped, she fell to her knees and faced me, her head down.
“Forgive me, Master,” she whispered.
“Look at me, Slave Girl,” I told her.
She looked up, frightened. It was Zaya, the red-haired girl, who had served sugars with the black wine in the palace of Suleiman Pasha. She had testified against me at Nine Wells.
Tribesmen of Gor pgs: 344

I then saw the kaiila pass. It was lofty, stately, fanged and silken. I had heard of such beasts, but this was the first time I had seen. It was yellow, with flowing hair. Its rider was mounted in a high, purple saddle, with knives in the saddle sheaths.
Fighting Slave of Gor pgs: 178

The kailiauk in question, incidently,is the kailiauk of the Barrens. It is a gigantic, dangerous beast, often standing from twenty to twenty five hands at the shoulder and weighing as much as four thousand pounds. it is almost never hunted on foot except in deep snow, in which it is almost helpless. From kaiilaback, riding beside the stampeded animal, however, the skilled hunter can kill one with a single arrow. He rides close to the animal,not a yard from its side, just outside the hooking range of the trident, to supplement the striking power of his small bow. At this range the arrow can sink in to the feathers. Ideally it strikes into the intestinal cavity behind the last rib, producing large scale internal hemorrhaging, or closely behind the left shoulder blade, thence piercing the eight valved heart."
Savages of Gor pgs: 40

The kaiila lance takes, on the whole, two forms, the hunting lance and the war lance. Hunting lances are commonly longer, heavier and thicker than war lances. Too, they are often undecorated, save perhaps for a knot of the feathers. . .The point of the hunting lance is usually longer and narrower than that of the war lance. . .The head, of metal, or of bone or stone, with sinew or rawhide, and also sometimes with metal trade rivets. . .The tarn lance, it might be mentioned, as is used by the red savages who have mastered the tarn, is, in size and shape, very similar to the kaiila lance. It differs primarily in being longer and more slender.
Savages of Gor pgs: 43

The small bow has many advantages. High among these is the rapidity with which it may be drawn and fired. A skilled warrior, in the Gorean gravity, can fire ten arrows into the air, the last leaving the bow before the first has returned to the earth. No Gorean weapon can match it in its rate of fire. At close range it can be devastating. Two further advantages of the small bow that might be mentioned are its maneuverability and its capacity to be concealed, say beneath a robe. It can be easily swept from one side of the kaiila to the other.
Savages of Gor pgs: 46

A child is often put on kaiilaback, its tiny hands clutching the silken neck, before it can walk.
Savages of Gor pgs: 47

" 'How many kaiila do you have?' he asked.
'Two,' I said, one to ride, another for the trade goods.'
'That is fortunate,' said the fellow. 'No more than two kaiila are to be brought by any single white man into the Barrens. Too, no party of white men in the Barrens is permitted to bring in more than ten kaiila.'
'These are rules in Kailiauk?' I asked.
'They are rules of the red savages,' he said.
'Then,' said I, 'only small groups of white men could enter the Barrens, or else they would be on foot, at the mercy of the inhabitants of the area.'
'Precisely,' said the fellow.'"
Savages of Gor pgs: 137

“You, yourself,” I said, “do not seem much infected by the lunacy of the Waniyanpi.”
“No,” she said. “I am not. I have had red masters. From them I have learned new truths. Too, I was taken from the community at an early age.”
“How old were you?” I asked.
“I was taken from the enclosure when I was eight years old,” she said, “taken home by a Kaiila warrior as a pretty little white slave for his ten-year-old son. I learned early to please and placate men.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“There is little more to tell,” she said. “For seven years I was the slave of my young master. He was kind to me, and protected me, muchly, from the other children. Although I was only his slave, I think he liked me. He did not put me in a leg stretcher until I was fifteen.”
Savages of Gor pgs: 236

My mount, a lofty black kaiila, silken and swift, shifted nervously beneath me.
Blood Brothers of Gor pgs: 7

It is difficult to make clear to those who are not intimately acquainted with such things the meaning of the Pte, or Kailiauk, to the red savages. It is regarded by them with reverence and affection. It is a central phenomenon in their life, and much of their life revolves around it. The mere thought of the kailiauk can inspire awe in them, and pleasure and excitement. More to them than meat for the stomach and clothes for the back is the kailiauk to them; too, it is mystery and meaning for them; it is heavy with medicine; it is a danger; it is a sport; it is a challenge; and at dawn, with a lance or bow in one's hand, and a swift, eager kaiila between one's knees, it is a joy to the heart....
Blood Brothers of Gor pgs: 8

They were resplendent in finery and paint. Feathers, each one significant and meaningful, in the codes of the Kaiila, recounting their deeds and honors, adorned their hair.
Blood Brothers of Gor pgs: 25

Some of these rode kaiila to which travois were attached. Some had cradles slung about the pommels of their saddles. These cradles, most of them, are essentially wooden frames on which are fixed leather, open-fronted enclosures, opened and closed by lacings, for the infant. The wooden frame projects both above and below the enclosure for the infant. In particular it contains two sharpened projections at the top, like picket spikes, extending several inches above the point where the baby’s head will be located. This is to protect the infant’s head in the event of the cradle falling, say, from the back of a running kaiila. Such a cradle will often, in such a case, literally stick upside down in the earth. The child, then, laced in the enclosure, protected and supported by it, is seldom injured.
Such cradles, too, vertical, are often hung from a lodge pole or in the branches of a tree. In the tree, of course, the wind, in its rocking motion, can lull the infant to sleep. Older children often ride on the skins stretched between travois poles. Sometimes their fathers or mothers carry them before them, on the kaiila. When a child is about six, if his family is well-fixed, he will commonly have his own kaiila. The red savage, particularly the males, will usually be a skilled rider by the age of seven. Bareback riding, incidentally, is common in war and the hunt. In trading and visiting, interestingly, saddles are commonly used. This is perhaps because they can be decorated lavishly, adding to one’s appearance, and may serve, in virtue of the pommel, primarily, as a support for provisions, gifts and trade articles.
“It is simply splendid,” said Cuwignaka, happily.
“Yes,” I said.
Children, too, I noted, those not in cradles, greased, their hair braided, their bodies and clothing ornamented, in splendid finery, like miniature versions of the adults, some riding, some sitting on the skins stretched between travois poles, participated happily and proudly, or bewilderedly, in this handsome procession.
Blood Brothers of Gor pgs: 26

Then, suddenly, the two men with the kaiila quirts struck her across the back and, before she could do more than cry out, she was, too, pulled to her feet and forward, on the two tethers.
She then stood, held by the tethers, wildly, before the pole.
Cancega pointed to the pole.
She looked at him, bewildered. Then the quirts, again, struck her, and she cried out in pain.
Cancega again pointed to the pole.
Winyela then put her head down and took the pole in her small hands, and kissed it, humbly.
"Yes," said Cancega, encouraging her. "Yes."
Again Winyela kissed the pole.
"Yes," said Cancega.
Winyela then heard the rattles behind her, giving her her rhythm. These rattles were then joined by the fifing of whistles, shrill and high, formed from the wing bones of the taloned Herlit. A small drum, too, then began to sound. Its more accented beats, approached subtly but predictable, instructed the helpless, lovely dancer as to the placement and timing of the more dramatic of her demonstrations and motions.
"It is the Kaiila," chanted the men.
Winyela danced. There was dust upon her hair and on her body. On her cheeks were the three bars of greases that marked her as the property of the Kailla. Grease, too, had been smeared liberally upon her body. No longer was she a shining beauty. She was now only a filthy slave, an ignoble animal, something of no account, something worthless, obviously, but nonetheless permitted, in the kindness of the Kaiila, a woman of another people, to attempt to please the pole.
I smiled.
Was this not suitable? Was this not appropriate for her, a slave?
Winyela, kissing the pole, and caressing it, and moving about it, and rubbing her body against it, under the directions of Cancega, and guided sometimes by the tethers on her neck, continued to dance.
I whistled softly to myself.
"Ah," said Cuwignaka.
"It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.
"I think the pole will be pleased," I said.
"I think a rock would be pleased," said Cuwignaka.
"I agree," I said.
Winyela, by the neck tethers, was pulled against the pole. She seized it, and writhed against it, and licked at it.
"It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.
"It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.
A transformation seemed suddenly to come over Winyela. This was evinced in her dance.
"She is aroused," said Cuwignaka.
"Yes," I said.
She began, then, helplessly, to dance her servitude, her submission, her slavery. The dance, then, came helplessly from the depths of her. The tethers pulled her back from the pole and she reached forth for it. She struggled to reach it, writhing. Bit by bit she was permitted to near it, and then she embraced it. She climbed, then, upon the pole. There her dance, on her knees, her belly and back, squirming and clutching, continued.
Winyela now knelt on the pole and bent backwards, until her hair fell about the wood, and then she slipped her legs down about the pole and lay back on it, her hands holding to the pole behind her head. She reared helplessly on the pole, and writhed upon it, almost as though she might have been chained to it, and then, she turned about and lay on the pole, on her stomach, her thighs gripping it, her hands pushing her body up, and away from the pole, and then, suddenly, moving down about the trunk, bringing her head and shoulder down. Her red hair hung about the smooth, white wood. Her lips, again and again, pressed down upon it, in helpless kisses.
Winyela, helplessly, piteously, danced her obeisance to the great pole, and, in this, to her master, and to men.
In her dance, of course, Winyela was understood to be dancing not only her personal slavery, which she surely was, but, from the point of view of the Kaiila, in the symbolism of the dance, in the medicine of the dance, that the women of enemies were fit to be no more than the slaves of the Kaiila. I did not doubt but what the Fleer and the Yellow Knives, and other peoples, too, might have similar ceremonies, in which, in one way or another, a similar profession might take place, there being danced or enacted also by a woman of
Blood Brothers of Gor pgs: 39

In her dance, of course, Winyela was understood to be dancing not only her personal slavery, which she surely was, but, from the point of view of the Kaiila, in the symbolism of the dance, in the medicine of the dance, that the women of enemies were fit to be no more than the slaves of the Kaiila. I did not doubt but what the Fleer and the Yellow Knives, and other peoples, too, might have similar ceremonies, in which, in one way or another, a similar profession might take place, there being danced or enacted also by a woman of another group, perhaps even, in those cases, by a maiden of the Kaiila. I, myself, saw the symbolism of the dance, and, I think, so, too, did Winyela, in a pattern far deeper than that of an ethnocentric idiosyncrasy. I saw the symbolism as being in accord with what is certainly one of the deepest and most pervasive themes of organic nature, that of dominance and submission. In the dance, as I chose to understand it, Winyela danced the glory of life and the natural order; in it she danced her submission to the might of men and the fulfillment of her own femaleness; in it she danced her desire to be owned, to feel passion, to give of herself, unstintingly, to surrender herself, rejoicing, to service and love.
Blood Brothers of Gor pgs: 42

“Mitakola,” I said. This, in the language of the Kaiila, means ‘my friend’.
Blood Brothers of Gor pgs: 268

“We must place our trust in the Priest-Kings,” said a man. Across from us, about seven feet away, on the other side of the narrow street, was the free woman who had secured her robes, that they might not touch an Initiate. She rose to her feet, looking after the procession. We could still hear the bells. The smell of incense hung in the air. Near the free woman was a female slave, in a short gray tunic. She, too, had been caught, like Phoebe, in the path of the procession. She had knelt with her head down to the street, the palms of her hands on the stones, making herself small, in a common position of obeisance. The free woman looked down at her. As the girl saw she was under the scrutiny of a free person she remained on her knees. “You sluts have nothing to fear,” said the free woman to her, bitterly. “It is such as I who must fear.” The girl did not answer. There was something in what the free woman had said, though in the frenzy of a sacking, the blood of the victors racing, flames about, and such, few occupants of a fallen city, I supposed, either free or slave, were altogether safe. “It will only be a different collar for you,” said the free woman. The girl looked up at her. She was a lovely slave I thought, a red-haired one. She kept her knees tightly together before the free woman. Had she knelt before a man she would probably have had to keep them open, even if they were brutally kicked apart, a lesson to her, to be more sensitive as to before whom she knelt. “Only a different collar for you!” cried the free woman, angrily. The girl winced, but dared not respond. To be sure, I suspected, all things considered, that the free woman was right. Slave girls, as they are domestic animals, are, like other domestic animals, of obvious value to victors. It is unlikely that they would be killed, any more than tharlarion or kaiila. They would be simply chained together, for later distribution or sale. Then the free woman, in fury, with her small, gloved hand, lashed the face of the slave girl, back and forth, some three or four times. She, the free woman, a free person, might be trampled by tharlarion, or be run through, or have her throat cut, by victors. Such things were certainly possible. On the other hand, the free women of a conquered city, or at least the fairest among them, are often reckoned by besiegers as counting within the yield of prospective loot. Many is the free female in such a city who has torn away her robes before enemies, confessed her natural slavery, disavowed her previous masquerade as a free woman, and begged for the rightfulness of the brand and collar. This is a scene which many free women have enacted in their imagination. Such things figure, too, in the dreams of women, those doors to the secret truths of their being. The free woman stood there, the breeze in the street, as evening approached, ruffling the hems of her robes. The free woman put her fingers to her throat, over the robes and veil.
She looked at the slave, who did not dare to meet her eyes.
“What is it like to be a slave?” she asked.
“Mistress?” asked the girl, frightened.
“What is it like, to be a slave?” asked the free woman, again.
“Much depends on the master, beautiful Mistress,” said the girl. The slave could not see the face of the free woman, of course, but such locutions, “beautiful Mistress,” and such, on the part of slave girls addressing free women, are common. They are rather analogous to such things as “noble Master,” and so on. They have little meaning beyond being familiar epithets of respect.
“The master?” said the free woman, shuddering.
“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.
“You must do what he says, and obey him in all things?” asked the free woman.
“Of course, Mistress,” said the girl. “He is the Master.”
“You may go,” said the free woman.
“Thank you, Mistress!” said the girl, and leaped to her feet, scurrying away.
The free woman looked after the slave. Then she looked across at us, and at Phoebe, who lowered her eyes, quickly. Then, shuddering, she turned about and went down the street, to our left, in the direction from whence the Initiates had come.
Magicians of Gor pgs: 18-19

"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 fellow such as this Teiber, who did not seem of the merchants or rich, could have afforded 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 away with 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 relatively insignificant matters as the mere excellence of her figure for slave dance, as suitable and fitting as it might be for such and art 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 rhythm, its joy, its spontaneity, its wonders, were untold depths of femaleness, a deep and radical femininity, 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 seemed 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 opportunity to assess them, and to keep them in mind, if he wishes, for later use in an alcove. "Aii," cried another fellow.
Magicians of Gor pgs: 52-56