I observed Phyllis Robertson performing the belt dance, on
love furs spread between the tables, under the eyes of the Warriors of Cernus and the
members of his staff. Beside me Ho-Tu was shoveling porridge into his mouth with a horn
spoon. The music was wild, a melody of the delta of the Vosk. The belt dance is a dance
developed and made famous by Port Kar dancing girls. Cernus, as usual, was engaged in a
game with Caprus, and had eyes only for the board...
The belt dance is performed with a Warrior. She now writhed on the furs at his feet,
moving as though being struck with a whip. A white silken cord had been knotted about her
waist; in this cord was thrust a narrow rectangle of white silk, perhaps about two feet
long....
Phyllis Robertson now lay on her back, and then her side, and then turned and rolled,
drawing up her legs, putting her hands before her face, as though fending blows, her face
a mask of pain, of fear.
The music became more wild.
The dance receives its name from the fact that the girl's head is not suppose to rise
above the Warrior's belt, but only purists concern themselves with such niceties; wherever
the dance is performed, however, it is imperative that the girl never rise to her feet.
The music now became a moan of surrender, and the girl was on her knees, her head down,
her hands on the ankle of the Warrior, his sandal lost in the unbound darkness of her
hair, her lips to his foot... In the next phases of the dance the girl knows herself the
Warrior's, and endeavors to please him, but he is difficult to move, and her efforts, with
the music, become ever more frenzied and desperate...
The belt dance was now moving to its climax and I turned to watch Phyllis Robertson...
Under the torchlight Phyllis Robertson was now on her knees, the Warrior at her side,
holding her behind the small of the back. Her head went farther back, as her hands moved
on the arms of the Warrior, as though once to press him away, and then again to draw him
closer, and her head then touched the furs, her body a cruel, helpless bow in his hands,
and then, her head down, it seemed she struggled and her body straightened itself until
she lay, save for her head and heels, on his hands clasped behind her back, her arms
extended over her head to the fur behind her. At this point, with a clash of cymbals, both
dancers remained immobile. Then, after this instant of silence under the torches, the
music struck the final note, with a mighty and jarring clash of cymbals, and the Warrior
had lowered her to the furs and her lips, arms about his neck, sought his with eagerness.
Then, both dancers broke apart and the male stepped back, and Phyllis now stood, alone on
the furs, sweating, breathing deeply, head down.
Assassin of Gor, pg. 185
