Slave girls being put through their paces on Gor

Simply a scene in which a girls first efforts at a task are not accepted. She is commanded and prodded to improve - to give more
Not allowed to skip the kissing of his cup in her serve
“Did you not neglect to kiss it?’ I asked her.
She drew back the cup and, pressing her lips to it, kissed it.

Efforts not accepted, prodded to do better
“Is that how a slave kisses the cup of a master?” I asked.
She again turned her head to the side and pressed her lips softly, lingeringly, against it. Then she kissed it. I saw a tremor course through her body. I think , then, for the first time, she had begun to understand what it might be truly, to kiss the cup of a master. Then again, kneeling back on her heels, her knees wide, extending her arms to me, the cup in her hands, she proffered me the drink.

Mistakes in her positioning are not allowed to pass, they are pointed out and corrected
“Your head should be down, between your arms,” I said. She put her head down. Again I saw a small movement in her body, a tremor, subtle. She had put her head down before a man. Another consequence of this position is that the girl’s eyes, in the specific act of her serving, do not meet those of the master. They are lowered before his, as one who submits.
This is also reminiscent, in an experienced girl, of her training. Often, in training, a girl is not permitted to look into the eyes of the trainer, unless he should specifically extend this permission. Indeed, in some cities, the girl in training may not raise her eyes above the trainer’s belt, unless, again, specifically accorded this permission.
“Speak,” I said to her.
“Your paga, Master,” she said.
But I did not take the paga.

Commanded to offer more, to show her knowledge, again and again
“Do you know other phrases?” I asked. There were many, actually, and they tended to vary from tavern to tavern, and from city to city. There was, really, no standardization in such matters.
She trembled, head down, proffering me the paga.
“Your girl brings you drink, Master,” she said.
“Any others?” I asked.
“Here is your drink, Master,” she said. “I beg to serve you further in any way I may.”
“Another,” I said.
“Do not forget I come with the price of the cup,” she said. “Use me as you will, Master.”
“Another,” I said sharply.
“For your pleasure,” she said, “I bring you paga and a slave.”
“Personalized phrase,” I said.
“E.,” she said.
“Evelyn,” I corrected her.
“Evelyn tenders drink humbly to Master,” she said. “Evelyn hopes Master will later find her suitable to give him pleasure.”
“Another,” I said.
“I am Evelyn,” she said. “I serve you, naked and collared. Take me later to the alcove. I beg to be taught my slavery.”
I then took the paga. “You may now serve others,” I said to her.
“You made her serve well,” said Shaba.
“Thank you,” I said.
Explorers

A slave put through her paces with positions
Commanded to perform them one after another for the Master
“Lesha,” snapped the second officer to the blond girl.
She spun from facing him, and lifted her chin, turning her head to the left, placing her wrists behind her, as though for snapping them into slave bracelets.
“Nadu!” he snapped.
She swiftly turned, facing him, and dropped to her knees. She knelt back on her heels, her back straight, her hands on her thighs, her head up, her knees wide.
It was the position of the pleasure slave.
“Sula, Kajira!” said the man.
She slid her legs from under her and lay on her back, her hands at her sides, palms up. her legs open.
“Bara, Kajira!” he said.
She rolled quickly to her stomach, placing her wrists behind her, crossed, and crossing her ankles, ready to be bound.
“She is a pretty thing,” said Ulafi, and turned away.
“Yes,” I said.
“Sula!” said the man. “Bara! Nadu! Lesha! Nadu! Bara! Sula! Nadu!”
The girl was gasping. There were tears in her eyes, as she knelt on the deck. Once she had been struck when her transition between two of the movements had been insufficiently beautiful. Another time she had been struck when her response had been insufficiently prompt.
Explorers

"Stand!" said the merchant. "Head back! Hands behind head! Bend backwards! Farther! Farther!" He turned to us. "Acceptable," he said. Then to the girl he issued orders, rapidly, harshly. I watched, with interest, as the girl, tears in her eyes, responded to his swiftly issued, abrupt commands. For more than four Ehn he put her through a swift, staccato regimen of movement, a set of slave paces, assessment paces, designed to exhibit, vulnerably, decisively and publicly, her beauty, in all of it major attitudes and positions.
"Hands on hips! Be insolent! Hands behind back! Hands crossed before you, as though bound! Hands at throat, as though chained to collar, fingers before mouth! Fall to the floor! Kneel! Head down! Head up! Bend backwards! Farther! Roll to the floor, on your side, on your back, right leg high, now flexed, left leg high, now flexed, to your side, right leg extended, palms on floor, left leg extended, palms on floor! Appear angry! Appear frightened! Appear aroused! Smile!" He did this with the same swift, expert objectivity, and clinical detachment, that a physician might bring to a routine medical examination; this examination, of course, was a beauty examination, assessing the desirability of a female slave. The whip cracked again.
Tribesmen

Even an exquisite well-trained dancer is commanded in her performance
Those at the table paid us little attention. All eyes were on the dark-haired dancer, the skirt of diaphanous scarlet dancing silk low upon her hips. Her hands moved as though she might be, starved with desire, picking flowers from a wall in a garden. One saw almost the vines from which she plucked them, and how she held them to her lips, and, at times, seemed to press herself against the wall which confined her. Then she turned and, as though alone, danced her need before the men.
...
I idly observed the dancer. Her eyes were on me. It seemed, in her hands, she held ripe fruits for me, lush larma, fresh picked. Her wrists were close together, as though confined by the links of slave bracelets. She touched the imaginary larma to her body, caressing her swaying beauty with it, and then, eyes piteous, held her hands forth, as though begging me to accept the lush fruit. Men at the table clapped their hands on the wood, and looked at me. Others smote their left shoulders. I smiled.
...
The girl now knelt before me, her body obedient still, trembling, throbbing, to the melodious, sensual command of the music.
...
I reached across the table and took her in my arms and dragged her, turning her, and threw her on her back on the table before me. I lifted her to me, and thrust my lips to her, crushing her slave lips beneath mine. Her eyes shone. I held her from me. She lifted her lips to mine.
I did not permit her to touch me. I jerked her to her feet and, half turning her, ripping her silk from her, hurled her to the map floor, where she half lay, half crouched one leg beneath her, looking at me, stripped save for her collar, the brand, the armlets, bells, the anklets, with fury.
"Please us more," I told her. Her eyes blazed. "And do not rise from the floor, Slave," I told her. The music, which had stopped, began again.
She turned furiously, yet gracefully, extending a leg, touching an ankle, moving her hands up her leg, looking at me over her shoulder, and then rolled, and writhed, as though beneath the lash of masters.
"You discipline her well," said Samos, smiling.
I grinned.
The girl now, on her belly, yet subtly to the music, crawled toward us, lifted her hand piteously to us.
...
The dancer now lay on her back and the music was visible in her breathing, and in small movements of her head, and hands. Her hands were small and lovely.
She lay on the map floor, her head turned toward us. She was covered with sweat.
I snapped my fingers and her legs turned under her, and she was kneeling, head back, dark hair on the tiles.
Her bands moved, delicate, lovely. Slowly, if permitted, she would rise to an erect kneeling position; her hands, as she lifted herself, extended toward us.
Four times said I "No," each time my command forcing her head back, her body bent, to the floor, and such time again, to the music, she lifted her body to an erect kneeling position. The last position of her body to rise was her beautiful head. The collar was at her throat. Her dark eyes, smoldering, vulnerable, reproachful , regarded me. Still did the move to the music, which had not yet released her.
With a gesture I permitted her to rise to her feet. "Dance your body, Slave," I told her, "to the guests of Samos."
Angrily the girl, man by man, slowly, meaningfully, danced her beauty to each guest. They struck the tables, and cried out. More than one reached to clutch her but each time, swiftly, she moved back.
Tribesmen