A branding scene from the scrolls
~The Branding of a Girl~
"It is here," said Hassan. He moved back the heavy iron door and we entered the room. I looked about, at the chains and devices. Tarna shrank back. She could not run, for my hand was on her arm. She seemed faint. I steadied her. It was dark in the room, except for a small tharlarion-oil lamp on a chain in one corner, and a brazier, glowing, near the branding rack. Hassan stirred the coals in the brazier. In a large Kasbah irons are kept always hot. The slaves know this.
I ripped the bit of cloth away from her hips and threw her against the rack. I swung shut the two heavy bands and with the two twist handles, tightened them on her thigh. She turned, trying to pound at the metal that held her. I took her wrists and pulled them forward, to the two posts, some six inches apart, part of the branding rack, putting them in the snap bracelets which dangled there, one from each post. These are simple mechanisms. It is quite easy to open and shut them, and it may be done with a snap of the finger, one for each bracelet. As the bracelets are situated, some inches apart, of course, and as the snap is on each bracelet itself, at the wrist, the girl herself cannot get her finger, of either hand, on the mechanism. Others may open them easily; she, on the other hand, is perfectly held. I took again the twist handles. I turned them extremely tightly. "Oh, oh," she cried. She pulled futilely at the snap bracelets. Then I again turned the twist handles. "Please!" she cried. "Be quiet," I told her. She bit her lip. I tightened the handles more and put in the locking device, that they might not
slip back. Her thigh was absolutely immobile.
"I see you like a left-thigh-branded girl," said Hassan.
The girl can writhe in the rack or squirm, or scream, but the held thigh will not move. It is held for the kiss of the iron.
With a heavy glove, Hassan pulled an iron from the brazier. "What do you think of this brand?" he asked. It was the Taharic slave mark.
"It is beautiful," I said. "But let us assure ourselves that this will be a common slave, one fit to sell north."
"A good idea," said Hassan. He returned the one iron to the brazier and reached for another. It glowed red. It was a fine iron, clean and precise. At its tip, bright red, was the common Kajira slave mark of Gor. Tarna looked upon it with horror.
"It is not yet hot enough, my pretty," said Hassan. He returned it to the brazier. We heard shouting, as though from far away. Hassan looked at me. "I shall investigate," I said. I left the room and ascended to the third level. The noise was coming from the level above, the second. A soldier was stumbling by.
"What is going on?" I asked. "On the level above?"
"They are searching for Tarna," he laughed. He then stumbled away.
I saw two slave girls led past me, on wrist chains, in the grip of another soldier.
I returned to the fourth level. I returned to the room where Hassan waited.
"They are searching for Tarna," I said.
"On what level are they?" asked Hassan.
"The second," I said.
"Ah," said Hassan, "then we have plenty of time." In a few Ehn he removed the iron from the coals, and examined it. He then again replaced it. Shortly thereafter, however, for it must have been almost ready, he drew it forth again. It glowed white.
"You may scream and cry out, my pretty," said Hassan, not unkindly.
She struggled in the bracelets, she watched the iron. Then she screamed. For five long Ihn Hassan held the iron, pressing it in. I saw it sink in her thigh, smoking and hissing. Then he, cleanly, withdrew it. Tarna was marked. She sobbed, wildly. We did not rebuke her. I freed her thigh of the rack. She fell on her knees at the posts, sobbing. I freed her wrists of the snap bracelets. I lifted her, sobbing, in my arms."
~Tribesman of Gor, page 337 & 338~