"Perhaps you will find some fellow willing to do so," I said, "who will then expect that you will fling yourself into his arms, agreeing to be his companion."

"Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "I gather that that sort of thing has worked for you before," I said. "Yes," she said.

"And his reward then," I speculated, "would be a grateful peek through your veil?"

"I am a free woman," she said. "I trust not."

"Perhaps, then, a grateful glance, a squeezing of a hand, a heartfelt utterance of thanks?"

"The important thing," she said, "is to make certain that your bills have been paid, and that you are in the clear. After that, you may simply leave. I often merely turn my back upon them, for they are fools. They stand there then, knowing they have been tricked."

"I would suppose that that sort of thing might not work with all men," I said, "perhaps not with even all gentlemen."

"True," she said, "it is wise to reward some with at least the squeezing of the hand, an expression of gratitude, or such, before hurrying away."

"You must leave a few frustrated fellows in your wake," I speculated. "I enjoy frustrating me," she said, angrily. I gathered from her vehemence that she was disappointed in men, that she had decided to despise them, that she wished to hold them in contempt. I gathered, too, however, that she was fascinated with them, and that something in her feared them, or what they might be.

"Fortunately I managed to elude them," she said.

"I wonder what they had on their mind," I said.

"I have no idea," she said.

On Earth, as I understand it, there are certain romantic notions about, for example, that heroes may expect to «in» damsels in distress, so to speak, by the performance of certain heroic behaviors, which, for example, might bode little good to dragons, evil wizards, wicked knights, and such. These damsels in distress, once rescued, are then expected to elatedly bestow their fervent affections on the blushing, bashful heroes, and so on. Needless to say, in real life, to the disappointment, and sometimes chagrin, of the blushing, bashful heroes, this denouement often fails to materialize. Although such notions are not unknown on Gor, the average Gorean tends to be somewhat more practical and businesslike then the average hero of such stories, if we may believe the stories. For example, the damsel of Earth, if she found herself rescued on Gor, might not have to spend a great deal of time gravely considering whether or not to bestow herself on the rescuer. She might rather find her wrists, to her surprise, being chained behind her, her clothing being removed and a rope being put on her neck. She might then find herself hurrying along on foot, beside his mount, roped by the neck to his stirrup. If he finds her pleasing, he might keep her, at least for a time. If he does not, she will be soon sold.

"I must find a gentleman to redeem me," she said, "a true gentleman, one who will take pity on me and nobly buy me out of my difficulties."

"Another fool?" I asked.

"Yes!" she laughed.

I was silent.

"But do you think I will find one?" she asked, anxiously. "Never before have I been stripped and put in a chain collar."

"Perhaps," I said.

"I must!" she said, firmly.

There are many mythologies having to do with human beings. Many function like ideological garments, designed to conceal or misrepresent reality. The misrepresentations and concealments, of course, are then called "truth." Truth, crushed to earth, is supposed to rise again, but if it didn't, we wouldn't know it. Indeed, if it did have the temerity to show up, it could probably count on being suppressed again as rapidly as possible, in the name, of course, of "truth." The name of truth all prize; the face of truth most fear. Yet I think the nature of truth is not that terrible. It is just that it is different, and more beautiful than the lies. The demythologization of a man has yet to take place. His reality exceeds the myths; it is reality which is darker and more dangerous than the myths; but it is also glorious and more real.

"But what am I to do until I can find such a fool?" she asked.

"It is true," I asked, "that sometimes, when a fellow bought you out of your difficulties, you merely turned your back upon him?"

"Yes," she said.

"Turn your back upon me, now," I said.

"Please!" she said.

"Do so, now," I said.

She did so. "Oh!" she said, gripped.

"Bend forward," I said.

She obeyed.

"I think I can give you some idea," I said, "as to what you will be doing until you find such a fool."

"Please," she said, "Mercy!"

"Look at it this way," I said. "You lived off men, with very little recompense to them. You will now, in a sense, for the time being at least, merely continue doing that, that is, continue to receive your living from me, only now, as opposed to before, you will be doing something for it, indeed, a great deal. You are, at least, going to be good for something. Men, at long last, are going to get some food out of you."

"I am not a slave!" she said. "Oh!" she said.

"Before," I said, "men, in a sense, were subject to you. Now you are subject to them."

She moaned.

"You may move or not, as it pleases you," I informed her.

She writhed briefly, trying to reach back, but could not escape. She cried out in frustration, and then fear. She then lay extremely quiet."

"I am not a slave," she said.

"At least not a legal slave," I said.

She trembled, her entire body, interestingly, responding to these words. "a€”yet," I added.

Again her entire body, helplessly, wholistically, organically, spasmodically, responded.

"Please!" she begged. "Do not speak so."

The wholisticality of the female's response is an interesting one. Their response is a whole, physical, emotional and intellectual. Men have sex; women are sex.

"Why did you pay a tarsk bit for me?" she asked. "Why did you not pay for an inn girl? Were they too expensive? Could you have afforded one?" "I think so," I granted her. Thanks, of course, to the coins from the brigands' coin box, taken from them by the road, if nothing else, my finances were currently in excellent order.

"Then it was I, truly I, whom you wished delivered to your space," she whispered.

"Yes," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"I thought you could use a little humbling," I said, "and a little informing as to the nature of your womanhood."

"I hate you!" she said. "I hate you!"

Her body seethed with hatred. It was pleasant.

"I am giving you pleasure, aren't I?" she asked, angrily.

"Yes," I said.

She then tried to hold herself absolutely still.

"Too," I said, "of course, I find you of sexual interest."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you think anyone else would?" she asked.

"Certainly," I said.

"Oh!" she said suddenly, softly. "Ohh!"

"You moved," I said.

"I am a free woman," she said, angrily. "Yet I am at the mercy of the keeper! I am a free woman! Yet I was made to serve at the tables! Now I have been delivered to a guest, as though I might be a slave!"

I was silent. I did not tell her that the most common thing that is done with debtor sluts is to sell them into slavery.

"Do you think that I will find another fool?" she asked.

"I do not know," I said.

"I must," she said. "I must! Else something terrible might happen." "What?" I asked.

"I might be sold to the collar," she said. "Then I would be a slave!" "If I were the keeper," I said, "Such would certainly be my decision." "What?" she said.

"I would sell you into slavery," I said.

"Never!" she said. "Never!" "You should be a slave," I told her.

"No! No!" she said.

"You are moving," I cautioned her.

She cried out in frustration.