5.7: Collaring and Ceremonies

Collaring ceremonies? Sounds awful D/s'ish doesn't it? Well... not really. In reading through the books there are several different types of ceremonies that were performed surrounding a collaring. Of course there is the most basic. Reaching into his bag/pack pulling out a collar and slapping it on a girl's throat. (( One ref. being in Mercenaries of Gor, p. 11 )) This of course you see often in the online role-playing atmosphere.

A common form of a ceremony is the submission. Where a woman kneels and begs for the collar of a man. The posturing and positioning of the female along with her spoken words placing her in the bonds of slavery. Many times a slave when passed from one owner to the next will be forced to speak some sort of phrase, or oath of submission. One example of a submission follows:

"Assume the posture of female submission, I told her. She did so, kneeling back on her heels, her arms extended, wrists crossed, her head between them, down. She was weeping.
"Repeat after me," I told her. "'I, once Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, of the planet Earth--'"
"I, once Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, of the planet Earth--" she said.

"'--herewith submit myself, completely and totally, in all things--"'
"--herewith submit myself, completely and totally, in all things--" she said.

"'--to him who is now known here as Hakim of Tor--"'
"--to him who is now known here as Hakim of Tor--" she said.

"'--his girl, his slave, an article of his property, his to do with as he pleases--"'
"--his girl, his slave, an article of his property, his to do with as he pleases," she said.

Hassan handed me the collar. It was inscribed 'I am the property of Hakim of Tor'. I showed it to the girl. She could not read Taharic script. I read it to her. I put it about her neck. I snapped it shut.
"'I am yours, Master"', I said to the girl.
She looked at me, tears in her eyes, her neck in my locked collar. " I am yours, Master," she said.
"Congratulations on your slave!" said Hassan. "She is lovely meat. Now I must attend to my own slave." He laughed, and left.
The girl sank to the straw, and looked up at me. Her eyes were soft with tears. She whispered. :I am yours now, Tarl," she said. "You own me. You truly own me."
"What is your name?" I asked.
"What ever Master wishes," she whispered.
"I will call you Vella," I said.
"I am Vella," she said, her head down....
Tribesmen of Gor, page 359-360

The most complete and personal ceremony can be found in Captive of Gor, where in the war camp of Rask of Treve, the girl Elinor becomes officially his.

Suddenly the girl at the tent flap whispered excitedly, gesturing back toward us, "Prepare her! Prepare her!"
"Stand," said Ena.
I did so.
I gasped as they brought forth a long, exquisite garment, hooded, of shimmering scarlet silk.
Behind me, swiftly, one of the girls wound my hair into a single braid and then, coiling it, fastened it at the back of my head with four pins. The pins would be undone by Rask Of Treve.
The garment was placed upon me. The hood fell at my back. The garment was sleeveless.
"Place your hands behind your back and cross your wrists," said Ena.
She had in her hand, an eighteen-inch strip of purple binding fiber, about half an inch in width, flat, set with jewels.
I felt my wrists lashed behind my back.
Ena then gestured to the girl with the small, ornate bottle. The girl removed the stopper and, quickly, again, touched me with the scent, behind each ear, a tiny drop on her finger. I smelled the heady perfume. My heart was beating rapidly.
Then Ena again approached me. This time she carried coiled in her hand, some seven or eight feet of slender, coarse rope, simple camp rope. She knotted one end of this about my neck, tightly enough that I felt the knot. My wrists would be bound by jeweled binding fiber but I would be led forth on a simple camp rope.
"You are very lovely," said Ena.
"A lovely animal!" I cried, tethered.
"Yes," said Ena, "a lovely, lovely animal."
I looked at her with horror.
But then I realized that Elinor Brinton was indeed an animal. For she was a slave.
It was thus not inappropriate that she should find herself so, as she was, tethered, about her neck, knotted, a simple length of camp rope, slender and coarse, fit for leading verr or girls.
I turned my head to one side.
Ena drew the hood up from my back and over my head.
"They are ready!" said the girl at the entrance to the tent.
"Lead her forth," said Ena.
I was led through the camp, and, here and there, some men and slave girls followed me.
I came to a clearing, before the tent of Rask of Treve. He was waiting there. On my tether I was led before him. I looked at him, frightened.
We stood facing one another, I about five feet from him.
"Remove her tether," he said.
Ena, who had accompanied me, unknotted the rope, and handed it to one of the girls.
I wore the long, scarlet garment, hooded, sleeveless. My hands were bound behind my back with binding fiber.
"Remove her bonds," said Rask of Treve.
In his belt I saw that he had thrust an eighteen-inch strip of binding fiber. It was not jeweled. It was about three quarters of an inch in thickness; it was of flat, supple leather, plain and brown. of the sort commonly used by tarnsmen for binding female prisoners.
Ena untied my wrists.
Rask and I regarded one another.
He approached me.
With one hand he brushed back my hood, revealing my head and hair. I stood very straight.
Carefully, one by one, he removed the four pins, handing them to one of the girls at the side.
My hair fell about my shoulders, and he smoothed it over my back.
One of the girls, she with the purple horn comb, combed the hair, arranging it.
"She is pretty," said one of the girls in the crowd.
Rask of Treve now stood some ten feet from me. He regarded me.
"Remove her garment," he said.
Ena and one of the girls from the tent parted the garment and let it fall about my ankles.
Two or three of the girls in the crowd breathed their pleasure.
Some of the warriors smote their shields with the blades of their spears.
"Step before me naked," said Rask of Treve.
I did so.
We faced one another, not speaking, he with his blade, and in his leather, I with nothing, stripped at his command.
"Submit," he said.
I could not disobey him.
I fell to my knees before him. Resting back on my heels, extending my arms to him, wrists crossed, as though for binding, my head lowered, between my arms.
I spoke in a clear voice. "I, Miss Elinor Brinton, of New York City, to the Warrior, Rask, of the High City of Treve, herewith submit myself as a slave girl. At his hands I accept my life and my name, declaring myself his to do with as he pleases."
Suddenly I felt my wrists lashed swiftly, rudely, together. I drew back my wrists in fear. They were already bound! They were bound with incredible tightness. I had been bound by a tarnsman.
I looked up at him in fear, I saw him take an object from a warrior at his side. It was an opened, steel slave collar.
He held it before me.
"Read the collar," said Rask of Treve.
"I cannot," I whispered. "I cannot read."
She is illiterate, said Ena.
"Ignorant barbarian!" I heard more than one girl laugh.
I felt so ashamed. I regarded the engraving on the collar, tiny, in neat, cursive script. I could not read it.
"Read it to her," said Rask of Treve to Ena.
"It says," said Ena, ---I am the property of Rask of Treve.
I said nothing.
"Do you understand?" asked Ena.
"Yes," I said. "Yes!"
Now, with his two hands, he held the collar about my neck, but he did not yet close it. I was looking up at him. My throat was encircled by his collar, he was holding it, but the collar was not yet shut. My eyes met his. His eyes were fierce, amused, mine were frightened. My eyes pleaded for mercy. I would receive none. The collar snapped shut. There was a shout of pleasure from the men and girls about. I heard hands striking the left shoulder in Gorean applause. Among the warriors, the flat sword blades and blades of spears rang on shields. I closed my eyes, shuddering.
I opened my eyes, I could not hold up my head. I saw before me the dirt, and the sandals of Rask of Treve.
Then I remembered that I must speak one more line. I lifted my head, tears in my eyes.
"I am yours, Master," I said.
Captive of Gor page 281-284

Traditionally in some cities, a young man has the mission to steal a woman from another city to have care for his personal needs. Such instances have their own ceremony as the man displays his capture, and makes her his.

Something of the nature of the institution of capture, and the Gorean's attitude toward it becomes clear when it is understood that one of a young tarnsman's first missions is often the capture of a slave for his personal quarters. When he brings home his captive, bound naked across the saddle of his tarn, he gives her over, rejoicing, to his sisters, to be bathed, perfumed and clothed in the brief slave livery of Gor.

That night, at a great feast, he displays the captive, now suitably attired by his sisters in the diaphanous, scarlet dancing silks of Gor. Bells have been strapped to her ankles, and she is bound in slave bracelets. Proudly, he presents her to his parents, his friends and warrior comrades.

Then, to the festive music of flutes and drums, the girl kneels. The young man approaches her, bearing a slave collar, its engraving proclaiming his name and city. The barbaric crescendo, which stops suddenly, abruptly. The room is silent, absolutely silent, except for the decisive click of the collar lock.

It is a sound the girl will never forget.

As soon as the lock closes, there is a great shout, congratulating, saluting the young man. He returns to his place among the tables that line the low-ceilinged chamber, hung with glowing brass lamps. He sits in the midst of his family, his closest well wishers, his sword comrades, cross-legged on the floor in the Gorean fashion behind the long, low wooden table, laden with food, which stands at the head of the room.

...At the end of her dance, she is given a cup of wine, but she may not drink. She approaches the young man and kneels before him, her knees in the dictated position of the Pleasure Slave, and, head down, she proffers the wine to him. He drinks. There is another general shout of commendation and well wishing, and the feast begins, for none before the young man may touch food on such occasions. From that moment on, the young man's sisters never again serve him, for that is the girl's task. She is his slave.

As she serves him again and again throughout the long feast, she steals glances at him, and sees that he is even more handsome than she had thought. Of his courage and strength, she has already had ample evidence. As he eats and drinks with gusto on this occasion of his triumph, she regards him furtively, with a strange mixture of fear and pleasure. "Only such a man," she tells herself, "could tame me."
Outlaw of Gor, page 51-54

A slave could also be unceremoniously collared like in the north with a simple band of metal hammered shut around her neck:

"Do not move your head, Bondmaid," said the smith.
Then, with great blows of the iron hammer, he riveted the iron collar about her throat.
A man then pulled her by the hair from the anvil and threw her to one side. She lay there weeping, a naked bondmaid, marked and collared.
"Next," called out the Forkbeard.
Weeping, another girl was flung over the branding log.
Marauders of Gor, p. 87

So then you move onto confessions. Things that make a woman a slave before a collar is encircling her throat. It is said that what makes a slave comes from within, not the physical representations such as the collar on the throat. (( Savages of Gor, page 210 )) Thus in its own way a confession of being a slave is a ceremony unto itself. Once she admits to being a slave openly by calling a man Master or proclaiming herself as one she then becomes locked into the bonds of slavery whether a collar encircles her throat or not.
These admissions, incidentally, once made, cannot be taken back. The woman who has, for example, in a siege situation or when she is to be punished, chosen to admit to being slave and begged for a collar, is not likely to be freed by those of her home once the war or battle is over, or should it turn out to be won by them. Rightly so, these admissions are considered a stain on said home and the newly collared girl will remain in the bonds to which she professed to belong.

The following will often be the case in situations of war or other forms of battle or capture, where the free woman, to avoid death, will publicly claim to having been secret slaves and beg to be collared. Similarly, in situations where a free woman is found guilty of a crime, she will often beg enslavement rather than face justice and possibly death. For Example:

"Let the sentence be carried out," said Mahpiyasapa. Behind him, and standing about, as well, were the members of the council. Others, too, stood about.
Cuwignaka seized Bloketu from behind by the arms. "No, no!" she cried, wildly, throwing her head back. Cuwignaka forced her inexorably, implacably, to the edge. "I beg the alternative!" screamed Bloketu. "I beg the alternative!" screamed Bloketu. "I beg the alternative!"
Cuwignaka looked at Mahpiyasapa.
"What alternative?" cried Iwoso, wildly.
Mahpiyasapa made a sign and Cuwignaka, at the very edge of the surface, released Bloketu. She fell to her knees and scrambled back from the edge, her knees abraded on the rock. She, kneeling, her hands tied behind her, her ankles thonged, wildly, faced Mahpiyasapa. "I beg the alternative," she wept, hysterically, "Master!"
"Master?" asked Mahpiyasapa.
"Yes, 'Master'!" she cried. "As a slave I must address all free men as 'Master.'"
"You are not a slave," said Mahpiyasapa. "You are a free woman."
"No, Master!" she cried. "I am a slave! I am a slave! I pronounce myself a slave! I have been a slave for years, a secret slave. I now confess my deception, acknowledging that I am, and have been, a slave, only a slave, for years! Forgive me, Masters!"
Blood Brothers of Gor, page 454

After a raid in the north:

In the end only Aelgifu was left.
The Forkbeard, with the heel of his boot on the ground, drew a bondmaid circle.
She looked at it.
Then, to the laughter of the men, her head high, lifting her skirt, she stepped to the circle, and stood, facing him, within it.
Marauders of Gor, 87-88