KeDjA

Kedja = Kette = chain

bad bow, but cute ;-)

Kedja was born in the north of Gor, the only daughter of a farmer. Her father and brothers were killed in a raid. Her mother fell as a war booty to one of the men of the clan who claimed her father's land. Kedja herself was to become the mate of the Jarl's son, but proved too recalcitrant. Even then, she wore her heart on her sleeve. She speaks faster than she thinks. With a brand and a ironcollar around her neck, she served the Clan of the Feuerbringer on Scagnar for many years. A raid by a rival clan changed everything. She managed to escape in the chaos of battle and found a blacksmith who opened her collar. From then on, she lived on the outskirts of a town in the harbour area as She-Urt. Until a man fell from his tarn... Her life took a turn she would never have dared to dream of. A tough education, a long road of carrots and sticks. She learnt a lot, was trained in things that a simple bondmaid would never learn. She learnt about the North and the South, the art of healing, fighting, reading and writing, love. Many things that lead to the fact that there is only one way out of HIS collar: death.

"There is a time, of course, to show a woman kindliness, compassion, and understanding, and then a time to put her to her knees and remind her that she is only a slave."
~Kur of Gor, page 50~

"Here," he said. He had reached down and picked up the bit of black silk, from the floor of the chamber. He tossed it against my body, and I clutched it. "Put it on, Phyllis," he said. I looked at him.
"Yes, Master," I said. "What is your name, slave?" he said. "Phyllis, Master," I said, well apprised of the name that had been put on me. I was Phyllis. It was the will of the master. I looked down at the tiny bit of silk in my hands.
"What is it?" I asked. "A tunic," he said. "Put it on. I slipped it over my head, and tried to pull down the hems at the side. "It is short, so little, almost nothing, such fine silk," I said. "It is diaphanous. I can be seen through it."
"I would see it on you." "We like our girls so clad," he said, "when we permit them clothing." "What house is this?" I asked. "Where am I?" "You are in the Black Court of Brundisium," he said.
~Plunder of Gor~

How alive and vital they seemed! Their hair was loose, in the fashion of bond-maids. Their eyes shone; their cheeks were flushed; each inch of them, each marvelous imbonded inch of them, was incredibly alive and beautiful . How incredibly feminine they were, so living and uninhibited and delightful, so utterly fresh, so free, so spontaneous, so open in their emotions and the movements of their bodies; they now moved and laughed and walked, and stood, as women, pride was not permitted them; joy was. Only a kirtle of thin, white wool, split to the belly, stood between their beauty and the leather of their masters."
~Marauders of Gor, page 100~


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