Beasts of Gor by John Norman

‘There is nowhere to escape to,” she said.
    “I hate you!” said the girl who had struggled. The dark-haired girl shrugged.
    Two more men walked by, casually casting a glance upon the confined goods.
    The girls were silent, and knelt back, small.
    The men saw nothing of interest in them. There were many beauties on display.
    “I cannot stand the way they look at us,” said the blond.
    “What does it mean?” asked the third girl on the chain.
    “Masters!” called a girl, in Gorean, some yards down the platform, accosting the two men who were passing. She knelt on one knee, and flexed and extended her other leg, beautifully, touching the boards of the platform with her toes. She lifted her body and thrust forth her lovely breasts to them. “Masters,” she whimpered, “take me home with you!”
    “Do you beg to be purchased?” asked one of the men.
    “Yes, Master!” she said.
    “Slave,” said he, scornfully.
    “Yes, Master!” she said.
    “Do you find her of interest?” asked the first man, he who had questioned her, to his fellow.
    “Stand, Slave,” said the second man.
    She stood before them, beautifully, almost nude in the platform tunic.
    A slaver’s man, seeing their interest, came to where they stood.
    “Would you care to see the pretty little slut?” he asked.
    The four Earth girls, though they could not speak Gorean, watched, horrified, the enactment of a common Gorean episode, the attempt on the part of a slave to interest masters in her purchase.
    The blond girl gasped and shrank back when the slaver’s man, joining the girl on the platform, jerked loose the cord at her right hip and, with two hands, standing behind the girl, held back the tunic, well displaying her to the gaze of the inquirers.
    They could not, of course follow the conversation, but it was clearly one of appraisal, and of commerce.
    Then the Earth girls, with the exception of the dark-haired girl, who watched, fascinated, eyes shining, turned their eyes away, shuddering. One of the men had joined the slaver’s man and the girl on the platform. The girl cried out, startled, being ruthlessly appraised. Then she writhed on the platform, obedient to the touch of the masters.
    “Look!” said the dark-haired girl.
    The other three girls then looked too, in horror and fascination.
    They saw the beauty being swiftly put through slave paces.
    Then they saw her sold. There was a clear exchange of money. The girl was released from her chains and braceleted by one of the men. She was put in a collar and leash and led from the platform. Behind then was left only the discarded chains and a discarded, crumpled tunic. The girl was gone.
    “Do you still ask what manner of place this is?” asked the dark-haired girl bitterly of the girl at the chain’s end.
    That girl, dark-haired, too, shook her head with horror. “It cannot be,” she whispered.
    The dark-haired girl, who had worn the pull-over, turned angrily to the blond, at the other end of the chain. “Do you still think,” she asked, “they will not ‘dare’ to look at your precious body?”
    The blond shrank back, terrified in the chains.
    “Do you truly think now,” pressed the dark-haired girl, furiously, “that you have rights, you foolish little thing? Do you think before such men you would have rights? These are not men of Earth!”
    The blond girl looked at her with horror.
    “These men will have their way with women,” she said. “Can you not see it in their eyes? They will have what they want from women.” And she laughed bitterly, “And we are women,” she said.
    “This place then—” stammered the girl at the end of the chain.
    “Yes,” said the dark-haired girl. Then she looked at the blond. “Do you still think,” she asked, “that we are merely some sort of prisoners?”
    “No, no,” wept the blond girl.
    “This is a slave market,” said the dark-haired girl, “and we are slaves.”
    The blond girl moaned and threw her head back. The