Lara stood beside me, clad as a free woman but not in the Robes of Concealment. She had shortened and trimmed one of the gracious Gorean garments, cutting it to the length of her knees and cutting away the sleeves so that they fell only to her elbows. It was a bright yellow and she had belted it with a scarlet sash. Her feet wore plain sandals of red leather. About her shoulders, at my suggestion, she had wrapped a cloak of heavy wool.
Outlaw of Gor Book 2 Page 211

The Gorean male, at ease, usually sits cross-legged and the female kneels, resting back on her heels. The position of the Tower Slave, in which Vika knelt, differs from that of a free woman only in the position of the wrists which are held before her and, when not occupied, crossed as though for binding. A free woman’s wrists are never so placed. The Older Tarl, who had been my mentor in arms years ago in Ko-ro-ba, had once told me the story of a free woman, desperately in love with a warrior, who, in the presence of her family was entertaining him, and whose wrists, unconsciously, had assumed the position of a slave. It was only with difficulty that she had been restrained from hurling herself in mortification from one of the high bridges. The Older Tarl had guffawed in recounting this anecdote and was scarcely less pleased by its sequel. It seems she thereafter, because of her embarrassment, would never see the warrior and he, at last, impatient and desiring her, carried her off as a slave girl, and returned to the city months later with her as his Free Companion. At the time that I had been in Ko-ro-ba the couple had still been living in the city. I wondered what had become of them. The position of the Pleasure Slave, incidentally, differs from the position of both the free woman and the Tower Slave. The hands of a Pleasure Slave normally rest on her thighs but, in some cities, for example, Thentis, I believe, they are crossed behind her. More significantly, for the free woman’s hands may also rest on her thighs, there is a difference in the placement of the knees. In all these kneeling positions, incidentally, even that of the Pleasure Slave, the Gorean woman carries herself well; her back is straight and her chin is high. She tends to be vital and beautiful to look upon.
Priest-Kings of Gor Book 3 Page 46 – 47


I knew what must now pass, and it was what would have passed in any city or on any road or trail or path in Gor. She was a captive female, and must, naturally, submit to her assessment as prize; she must also be, incidentally, examined for weapons; a dagger or poisoned needle is often concealed in the clothing of free women.
Nomads of Gor Book 4 Page 37


Aphris of Turia, pleased with herself, assumed her place between the merchant and Kamchak, kneeling back on her heels in the position of the Gorean free woman.
Her back was very straight and her head high, in the Gorean fashion.
Nomads of Gor Book 4 Page 94


“I now understand,” she said, “why it is that free women never enter Paga taverns.”
Assassin of Gor Book 5 Page 22


I remember the days in Ko-ro-ba fondly, though there were certain problems.
Or perhaps one should say, simply, there was Elizabeth. Elizabeth, besides speaking boldly out on a large number of delicate civic, social and political issues, usually not regarded as the Province of the fairer sex, categorically refused to wear the cumbersome Robes of Concealment traditionally expected of the free woman. She still wore the brief, exciting leather of a Tuchuk wagon girl and, when striding the high bridges, her hair in the wind, she attracted much attention, not only, obviously, from the men, but from women, both slave and free.
Once a slave girl bumped into her on one of the bridges and struck at her, thinking she was only slave, but Elizabeth, with a swift blow of her small fist, downed the girl, and managed to seize one ankle and prevent her from tumbling from the bridge. “Slave!” cried the girl. At this point Elizabeth hit her again, almost knocking her once more from the bridge. Then, when they had their hands in one another’s hair, kicking, the slave girl suddenly stopped, terrified, not seeing the gleaming, narrow band of steel locked on Elizabeth’s throat. “Where is your collar?” she stammered.
“What collar?” asked Elizabeth, her fists clenched in the girl’s hair.
“The collar,” repeated the girl numbly.
“I’m free,” said Elizabeth.
Suddenly the girl howled and fell to her knees before Elizabeth, kneeling trembling to the whip. “Forgive me, Mistress,” she cried. “Forgive me!”
When one who is slave strikes a free person the penalty is not infrequently death by impalement, preceded by lengthy torture.
“Oh, get up!” said Elizabeth irritably, jerking the poor girl to her feet.
They stood there looking at one another.
“After all,” said Elizabeth, “why should it be only slave girls who are comfortable and can move freely?”
“Aren’t you slave?” asked one of the men nearby, a Warrior, looking closely.
Elizabeth slapped him rather hard and he staggered back, “No, I am not,” she informed him.
He stood there rubbing his face, puzzled. A number of people had gathered about, among them several free women.
“If you are free,” said one of them, “you should be ashamed of yourself, being seen on the bridges so clad.”
“Well,” said Elizabeth, “if you like walking around wrapped up in blankets, you are free to do so.”
“Shameless!” cried the free girl.
“You probably have ugly legs,” said Elizabeth.
“I do not!” retorted the girl.
“Don’t choke on your veil,” advised Elizabeth.
“I am really beautiful!” cried the free girl.
“I doubt it,” said Elizabeth.
“I am!” she cried.

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