Mill girls on Gor

You are a mill girl now, Tiffany," he said.
Kajira

Mill girls are female work slaves (SEE ALSO Work slaves))
Hair is cropped short or shorn
Seldom can aspire to even kettle-and-mat slaves ((SEE ALSO Kettle slaves))
Usually are sold in multi-item lots to the mill owner/manager
There was another reason I was retracing our steps on the Argentum road. Yesterday I had seen another open slave wagon, a long, wide wagon much like I had seen a few days ago. It, too, had contained several girls, their individual neck chains strung to a common central chain, their hair cropped as insolently short as mine. The similarity of the two wagons and the chaining arrangements suggested that a single company was involved. I had made inquiries. These were girls of the sort sometimes referred to as female work slaves. It is a very low form of slave, indeed, perhaps the lowest. Seldom can they aspire even to the status of the kettle-and-mat girl. They do not bring high priccs. They are usually sold in multi-item lots in cheap markets and are usually purchased to be used in such places as the public kitchens or laundries, and the mills. From these applications, they are sometimes referred to, naturally enough, as "kitchen girls," "laundry girls," "mill girls," and so on.
Kajira

When a free woman is sentenced to slavery by a court, she is not usually tossed into the arms of a man but instead sent to be chained in a mill as a slave
The mills, incidentally, like certain other low slaveries, such as those of the fields, the kitchens and laundries, serve an almost penal function on Gor. For example, a free woman, sentenced to slavery for, say, crimes or debts, may find herself, once enslaved, by direction of the court, sold for a pittance into such a slavery. Such slaveries also provide a place to utilize women who are thought to be good for little else. Most women, after a short time in such a slavery, strive to convince masters of their fuller potentialities for service and pleasure. If the woman prefers to remain in such a slavery, of course, that, too, is found acceptable by the masters.
Kajira

Tiring - Ahn in and Ahn out standing chained in place, working in the mill
It was hot and stuffy in the slave sack, but it was, at least, a respite from the work with the loom. It is tiring, Ahn in and Ahn out, standing, chained, by the loom, operating it.
There is the raising and lowering of the warp threads to form the lines between which the weft is placed. There is the flinging back and forth of the shuttle, inserting the weft. There is the moving of the batten, attached to the reed, thrusting the weft back and locking it in place, Too, one must feed the cloth properly and remove it correctly. One must attend to the rollers, the weights and stretchers.
I suddenly became aware that hands were unlacing the slave sack.
"You are Tiffany, aren't you?" said a voice. "Come out of there."
"Yes, Master," I said. It was one of the mill officials. He was over ten work chains.
"Why aren't you at your loom?" he asked.
"I don't know, Master," I said.
"What were you doing in there?" he asked.
"I don't know, Master," I said. "Perhaps I was being punished."
"What for?" he asked.
"I do not know, Master," I said.
"Come along," he said. "Aemilianus, the nephew of Mintar, is in the mill."
"What is he doing here?" I asked.
"It is supposedly merely a surprise inspection," he said, "but one supposes there is something more to it."
I then, almost running, hurried after him, returning to my loom.
"Borkon should be trounced," he said.
I quickly obeyed.
Borkon, not looking pleased at all, was standing nearby.
"Step forth, here, child," said the young man, "and turn slowly before me."
Kajira

Almost any woman, I supposed, could become pleasing.
And even women who, objectively, seemed rather plain, I knew, as their attitudes changed, and as they became submissive, and yielding to their femininity, in their deepest emotions, could become beautiful. Still, of course, in a mill, few would know this. Such a woman, I supposed, aching for a mans touch, might be kept indefinitely in the mill, working her long hours of tiring labor, her left ankle chained to the loom.
Kajira

Mill girls have one of the lowest and hardest of slaveries
Mills are secure, slaves do not have chance to escape
Furthermore I knew the security in the mills, behind those high, gray walls, was for most practical purposes absolute.
Similarly, there presumably I would be branded, collared and, if permitted clothing, put in distinctive garb. Thus, even if one did manage to get beyond the wails, one would presumably be apprehended swiftly and returned to the mill masters.
Similarly the mills had their own sleen, both for patrolling the yard at night and, if need be, trailing slaves. No, girls did not escape from the mills. Too, I was horrified at the thought of going to the mills, for they were one of the lowest and hardest slaveries on Gor. That would be the end of Tiffany Collins, I feared, a slave in a Gorean mill. On the other hand I had, honesfly, and joyfully, kissed at the driver's feet for the mercy shown to me. Had he turned me over to the authorities I would doubtless have eventually been returned to Speusippus as his strayed Lita, and then conveyed by him, probably in chains, to Argentum, there presumably to be commended to the attentions of the impaling spear.
As it was, in the mill, in Ar, I should be hidden and safe. There, though a slave, I would be concealed, fed and protected. I did not think anyone would think of looking in a mill for the Tatrix of Corcyrus, and certainly not one in Ar. My feelings were thus mixed in this matter.
Kajira

Only way out for a slave is to somehow please her way out
However, if a slave is too pleasing, the whip masters will hide her to keep her
I stood in a long line, single-file, of some twenty girls. We were all naked. We were in the yard of one of the linen mills of Mintar, of Ar.
I heard the second of the two heavy gates close behind us.
I looked back, and about me, across the yard, at the high walls, with their guard stations.
"Do not even think of escape, Tiffany," said a girl behind me, Emily.
"There is only one way out of here," said another girl, behind her, "and that is to please your way out."
...
"But that, too, is dangerous," said another girl, "for if you are too pleasing, the whip masters will hide you and keep you for themselves."
Kajira

"Next," said the man at the table.
I then stood before the table, naked.
"Thigh," he said.
I turned sideways, so that he might see my left thigh.
"Common Kajira mark," he said, and made an entry on a sheet. "Face me, Girl," he said.
I did.
"Arrived sheared," he said, and made another entry. "what is your name?" he asked.
'Whatever Master wishes," I said.
"What have you been called?" be asked. "Quick!"
"I have been called Tiffany," I said.
"You are now 'Tiffany,'" he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. He wrote something down, presumably the name. He seemed to have heard it before, unlike the drivers. Some other "Tiffany" had perhaps, at some earlier time, stood where I stood. I also realized that I had now been named. I had lost the name "Tiffany Collins" a few Ahn ago, when I had been marked, when I had become slave. That name was gone, as soon as the iron, hissing, curling smoke, had been lifted from my flesh. A free person had been locked in the branding rack. A mere mammal was released from it.
The name "Tiffany" had now been put on me as a mere slave name, a name which might be removed or changed at the whim of masters. I wore the name "Tiffany" now as Susan had worn the name "Susan," now merely as a named animal, merely by the will and decision of masters.
"Have you had experience in a mill, Tiffany?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
"Come around to the side of the table and kneel here," he said. I did so. He then bent over and, cupping his left hand under my left breast, held it steady and, with a grease pencil, across it, above the nipple, inscribed four characters. "That is your mill number, Tiffany," he said, "four thousand and seventy-three."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Now, go there," he said, indicating another table, several yards away, near the wall.
Kajira

Slaves are numbered (although they do still have names)
Mill girls are put in company collars (whatever company owns the business they work in)
I now stood before a man near the wall Behind him was a table, on which there were, aligned, several collars, all seemingly identical in appearance and design. He had an aide with him.
The man looked at my left breast, reading the characters written there.
"Four-zero-seven-three," he said. He was then handed a collar, the next in a series of diminishing rows.
"Name?" he asked.
"Tiffany, if it pleases Master," I said.
"Can you read?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
He then showed me the collar, indicating the engraving on it.
"This is a company collar," he said. "It says, 'I belong to Mintar of Ar. I work in Mill 7. My number is four-zero-seven-three.'"
"Yes, Master," I said. The collars would die then, only in the Girl Numbers. "Lift your chin, Tiffany," he said.
I did so, and the collar was placed about my neck and snapped shut. The first collar I had worn had been a color-coded transfer collar, put on me at the holding area outside the gate, probably primarily to comply with the ordinance that female slaves in Ar must wear a visible token of their bondage; otherwise we might simply have had our destinations written on our bodies. This was my first owner collar.
Kajira

"What is your name?" he asked. "Tiffany," I said.
"In what mill do you work?"
"Mill 7."
"What is your girl number?"
"4073," I said.
"Whose collar do you wear?"
"The collar of Mintar of Ar."
"Who owns you?"
"Mintar of Ar."
"Who do you love?"
"Mintar of Ar."
"Welcome to Mill 7, Tiffany," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
He then replaced the whip on the table and handed me, from a basket, two tunics. They were folded, and washed, and brown. "Thank you, Master," I said. I held them close to me. I would later discover that they were rather common slave tunics, brief, with no nether closure. Too, they were sleeveless, slit at the sides, and with a plunging neckline. On the front of the left shoulder there was a design, in white and yellow, bearing what I would later learn was an inscribed "Mu." This was a design, I would later learn, which was common to many of the different enterprises of Mintar. "Mu" is the first letter of the name Mintar.
White and yellow, or white and gold, are the colors of the merchants. The tunic had nothing specific to the mills, of Mill 7. Such a tunic might have been worn by girls laboring or serving in almost any of his holdings. It was thus, in a broad sense, a company tunic. I wondered how many girls Mintar owned, or were owned by the enterprises of Mintar.
"Go now, over there," he said, pointing, "and get in that line, where you see that small yellow flag. You will be in the chain of Borkon. He will be your whip master."
"Yes, Master," I said. Borkon, I realized, whoever he was,' was he whom I must now strive to please. "Is that all, Master?"
"Yes," he said. "Did you expect to be intricately measured, to be toe-printed, and such? You are not a high slave. You are a low slave, a mill girl."
"Yes, Master," I said. "Forgive me, Master." I then leapt up and ran to stand in the indicated line. In a few Ehn I was joined there by Emily and Luta. The other girls were being sent to other lines.
In a few Ehn more we were approached by a short, muscular man in a half tunic. He came walking towards us, across the yard. He had emerged from one of the mill buildings. His arms were extremely thick. There was a whip at his belt.
Kajira