Post by pup on Jun 13, 2006 12:19:02 GMT -5
few of quotes i found re the kirtle's
"I saw four small milk bosk grazing on short grass. In the distance, above the acres, I could see mountains, snow-capped. A flock of verr, herded by a maid with a stick, turned bleating on the sloping hillside. She shaded her eyes. She was blond; she was barefoot; she wore an ankle-length white kirtle of white wool, sleeveless, split to her belly; about her neck I could see a dark ring."
Marauders of Gor, page 81
"Gunnhild, angrily, with two hands, jerked her kirtle to her waist, and stood straight, proudly before the Forkbeard, her breasts, which were marvellous, thrust forward."
- MARAUDERS OF GOR, Pg. 85
The girls, though collared in the manner of Torvaldsland, and serving men, were fully clothed. Their kirtles of white wool, smudged with dirt and grease, fell to their ankles; they hurried about; they were barefoot; their arms, too, were bare; their hair was tied with strings behind their heads, to keep it free from sparks; their faces were, on the whole, dirty, smudged with dirt and grease; they were worked hard; Bera, I noted, kept much of an eye upon them; one girl, seized by a warrior, her waist held, his other hand sliding upward from her ankle beneath the single garment permitted her, the long, stained woolen kirtle, making her cry out with pleasure, dared to thrust her lips eagerly, furtively, to his; but she was seen by Bera; (will look for page number when i get home)
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
"So that," said Ottar, his hands on his heavy belt, inlaid with gold, "is Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!"
"Gunnhild is better!" said Pouting Lips.
"Who is Gunnhild?" asked Hilda, coldly.
"I am Gunnhild," said Gunnhild. She stood proudly on the arm of the Forkbeard, the white kirtle split to her belly, the black iron at her throat.
"A bond-maid!" laughed Hilda, contemptuously.
Gunnhild stared at her, in fury.
"Gunnhild is better!" said Pouting Lips. ~Marauders of Gor, page 123
Mead was replenished in the drinking horn by a dark-haired bond-maid, who filled it, head down, shyly, not looking at me. She was the only one in the hall who was not stripped, though, to be sure, her kirtle, by order of her master, was high on her hips, and, over the shoulders, was split to her belly. Like any other wench, on her neck, riveted, was a simple collar of black iron. She had worn a Kur collar before, and, with hundreds of others, had been rescued from the pens. ~Marauders of Gor, pages 277-278
"I saw four small milk bosk grazing on short grass. In the distance, above the acres, I could see mountains, snow-capped. A flock of verr, herded by a maid with a stick, turned bleating on the sloping hillside. She shaded her eyes. She was blond; she was barefoot; she wore an ankle-length white kirtle of white wool, sleeveless, split to her belly; about her neck I could see a dark ring."
Marauders of Gor, page 81
"Gunnhild, angrily, with two hands, jerked her kirtle to her waist, and stood straight, proudly before the Forkbeard, her breasts, which were marvellous, thrust forward."
- MARAUDERS OF GOR, Pg. 85
The girls, though collared in the manner of Torvaldsland, and serving men, were fully clothed. Their kirtles of white wool, smudged with dirt and grease, fell to their ankles; they hurried about; they were barefoot; their arms, too, were bare; their hair was tied with strings behind their heads, to keep it free from sparks; their faces were, on the whole, dirty, smudged with dirt and grease; they were worked hard; Bera, I noted, kept much of an eye upon them; one girl, seized by a warrior, her waist held, his other hand sliding upward from her ankle beneath the single garment permitted her, the long, stained woolen kirtle, making her cry out with pleasure, dared to thrust her lips eagerly, furtively, to his; but she was seen by Bera; (will look for page number when i get home)
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
"So that," said Ottar, his hands on his heavy belt, inlaid with gold, "is Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!"
"Gunnhild is better!" said Pouting Lips.
"Who is Gunnhild?" asked Hilda, coldly.
"I am Gunnhild," said Gunnhild. She stood proudly on the arm of the Forkbeard, the white kirtle split to her belly, the black iron at her throat.
"A bond-maid!" laughed Hilda, contemptuously.
Gunnhild stared at her, in fury.
"Gunnhild is better!" said Pouting Lips. ~Marauders of Gor, page 123
Mead was replenished in the drinking horn by a dark-haired bond-maid, who filled it, head down, shyly, not looking at me. She was the only one in the hall who was not stripped, though, to be sure, her kirtle, by order of her master, was high on her hips, and, over the shoulders, was split to her belly. Like any other wench, on her neck, riveted, was a simple collar of black iron. She had worn a Kur collar before, and, with hundreds of others, had been rescued from the pens. ~Marauders of Gor, pages 277-278