The Voice of Gor

Written on the ship “Phaedra” near the shores of Kargash…

On the second day of the fourth week of En’Var – The First Resting – my free companion drew my attention to the fact that a cloud of unusual size and shape had made its appearance. I had been out in the sun, followed by a cold bath, and after a light meal I was lying down and reading. Yet I called for my sandals, and climbed up to a spot from which I could command a good view of the curious phenomenon.

Those who were looking at the cloud from some distance could not make out from which mountain it was rising – it was afterwards discovered to have been Mount Callera on the northern part of the isle of Landa – but in likeness and form it more closely resembled a tree of a swamp forest than anything else, for what corresponded to the trunk was of great length and height, and then spread out into a number of branches, the reason being, I imagine, that while the vapour was fresh, the cloud was borne upwards, but when the vapour became wasted, it lost its motion, or even became dissipated by its own weight, and spread out laterally. At times it looked white, and at other times dirty and spotted, according to the quantity of earth and cinders that were shot up.

To our Physician and to our Commander Marcus Attilius Flamma the phenomenon appeared one of great importance, which deserved a closer study. Marcus ordered a galley to be got ready, and offered to take me with him, if I desired to accompany him, but I replied that I preferred to go on with my paperwork. Oisin, the Physician of Ianda, and the commander were just leaving the house when the Physician received a written message from lady Dezire, the free woman and scribe of Ianda, who was terrified at the peril threatening her – for her villa lay just beneath the mountain, and there were no means of escape save by shipboard – begging him to save her from her perilous position. So they changed their plans, and carried out with the greatest fortitude the task, which they had started as a scholarly inquiry.

They had the galleys launched and went on board, in the hope of succouring, not only the free woman but many other citizens of Port Ianda, for there were a number of people living along the shore owing to its delightful situation. They hastened, therefore, towards the place whence others were fleeing, and steering a direct course, kept the helm straight for the point of danger, so utterly devoid of fear that every movement of the looming portent and every change in its appearance he described and had noted down by a scribe, as soon as their eyes detected it. Already ashes were beginning to fall upon the ships, hotter and in thicker showers as they approached more nearly, with pumice-stones and black flints, charred and cracked by the heat of the flames, while their way was barred by the sudden shoaling of the sea bottom and the litter of the mountain on the shore. They hesitated for a moment whether to turn back, and then, when the Physician warned to do so,

Marcus Attilius Flamma exclaimed, “Fortune favours the bold; try to reach Rarius Yuroki”. The latter was at Port Ianda, separated by the whole width of the bay, for the sea there pours in upon a gently rounded and curving shore. Although the danger was not yet close upon them, it was none the less clearly seen, and it travelled quickly as it came nearer, so all citizens had got their baggage together on shipboard, and had determined upon flight, and was waiting for the wind which was blowing on shore to fall. The commander and the Physician sailed in with the wind fair behind them and embraced the captain of the ship who was in a state of fright, comforting and cheering him at the same time. Then in order to calm his friend’s fears by showing how composed he was himself, Marcus ordered the slaves to carry him to the bath, and, after his ablutions, he sat down and had dinner in the best of spirits, or with that assumption of good spirits which is quite as remarkable as the reality.

In the meantime broad sheets of flame, which rose high in the air, were breaking out in a number of places on Mount Callera and lighting up the sky, and the glare and brightness seemed all the more striking owing to the darkness of the night. Marcus Attilius Flamma kept declaring that the country people in their terror had left their fires burning, and that the conflagration they saw arose from the blazing and empty villas. Then he betook himself to rest and enjoyed a very deep sleep, for his breathing, which, owing to his bulk, was rather heavy and loud, was heard by those who were waiting at the door of his chamber. But by this time the courtyard leading to the room he occupied was so full of ashes and pumice-stones mingled together, and covered to such a depth, that if he had delayed any longer in the bedchamber there would have been no means of escape. So Marcus was aroused, and came out and joined the rest who had been keeping watch. They held a consultation whether they should remain indoors or wander forth in the open; for the buildings were beginning to shake with the repeated and intensely severe shocks of earthquake, and seemed to be rocking to and fro as though they had been torn from their foundations. Outside again there was danger to be apprehended from the pumice-stones, though these were light and nearly burnt through, and thus, after weighing the two perils, the latter course was determined upon.

They placed pillows on their heads and secured them with cloths, as a precaution against the falling bodies. Elsewhere the day had dawned by this time, but there it was still night, and the darkness was blacker and thicker than any ordinary night. This, however, they relieved as best they could by a number of torches and other kinds of lights. They decided to make their way to the shore, and to see from the nearest point whether the sea would enable them to put out, but it was still running high and contrary.

Then the flames, and the smell of sulphur which gave warning of them, scattered the others in flight and roused them. When daylight returned – two days after the last day I had seen, all citizens including the commander, lady Dezire, the physician, lady Lilly, my free companion and myself and others had reached the shores of Kargash.

Ianda was no more. The homestone was safe.

Published in the VOICE OF GOR, seventh volume (year), issue No. 323, Fifth day of the Fourth Passage Hand of the Month of En’Var (The First Resting) of the year 10170 Contasta Ar (07-18-2019 barbarian calendar]

Pictures mady by a citizen of Ianda who painted them out of memory.

TALES OF A DESERT SLAVE CHAPTER 3

by Moon (daria.galicia)

Silvered in the light of the three moons the caravan reached a convergence of three tracks. The road had become more rocky with each pasang with shrubs and grasses interspersed. They halted, the drovers and tenders along with the few guards riding the length calling all to dismount. The slave scrambled to her knees and pulled back the curtain of the kurdah, peering out and catching the attention of one of the burly guards, a Guard of the Dunes no less, one of the Salt Ubars’ whose dark eyes would slowly travel over what could be seen of her and she in return gave him a smile under her eyes, for after all was she not kajira!? When suddenly her owner shouted as he sat high in the red leather of his kaiila saddle

“GET BACK INSIDE” and rode off along the line disappearing in a swirl of dust. The girl sighed heavily and leaned back on her cushions, it had been soo long, soo long since she had seen that look, the look that told her she was desired. Her new owner had fed her well, at every rest stop, at every encampment but apart from the occasional jesting with her and the fact he was constantly busy with other merchants and his business and suchlike had made no attempt to claim her for his and now her enforced imprisonment within the kurdah had given her time for reflection. She let her hands run the length of her body, over the slightly rounded belly, and the now not so bony hips and turning to one side let them slide softly over a thigh and her high, well rounded bottom, as she fell back she caressed her breasts, full and firm once again and aching for a masters touch…a mouth. Moaning, she tossed and turned as semi-dreaming the masters that had claimed her appeared , the Khan, the Khan of her people, for she was Tajuk slave born and for whom as a young girl she was trained to dance, serve and become desirous for and how that night he had made her kajira. The Kavars who had raided, killed, enslaved and dispersed the tribe and them sorely using her before selling her on. And him, her beloved master whom she lived to serve, and in that moment her heart and slave belly ached for him and her loss.

“CLIMB DOWN” it was the harsh voice of her owner and she crawled out and slipped to the unforgiving stony ground at his feet, kneeling, head lowered in anticipation of some punishment , kissing his feet now and truthfully she felt to beg for the whip if only to remind her of who and what she was and not for its pain, but for its proof of her domination, that she was owned, and wholly, and was going to be mastered.

“Remove the slave djelleba, and wear this” he flung the black haik at her and standing she hurridly did so, she could see his eyes on her as she pulled the haik over her head and her nakedness, and peered through the small, black lace screen at him. “Lift the hem” he bent and placed a chain on her, one with a bell a light walking chain that would tether her ankles.

“We will camp here for some days, I have trading to do, make the camp”, and with that he turned briskly placing the key in his pouch as he did so walking to his other kaiilas, the ones that carried his goods, and to the the drovers who tended them. The slave made the tent in a shelter trench of which many were scattered about, she glanced about for there were no buildings and would ask where the well was sited and carefully she would step down the crumbling steps filling some botas and returning to start the fire, not one person looked upon her now, dressed in the haik of the Tahari.

“So girl, where so you think we are headed?” he enquired of her as he spooned their frugal pot of sa-tarna meal and dates into two bowls.

“My Master, I have visited Tor just once with my former Master but this was not the route we took, so I am confused, I have heard much but know nothing other than the desert Master”.

He smiled and nodded as he spooned the last into his mouth. “Well, the road to the right would take us to Tor to the left many, many pasangs and much danger to Turia, oh speaking of Turia, I have just purchased some silk from some Turian merchants. You may remove the haik to eat” and he passed her the second bowl. So the slave sat there naked and shivering somewhat even though they were next to the fire for the night had truly descended upon them now and ate as she bid and she puzzled on his words.

“Well, the middle road which we will take will lead us to the river port of Kasra” the slave looked up.

“I have never seen a river Master!” her eyes wide now with anticipation “oh its a slow, meandering one, the Lower Fayeen, not a notable river to speak of but there the merchants do ship their goods far and wide and I have a goodly amount of pressed dates and salt pillars thats for sure! Ibn Saran does not have them all and I even have found me some silk, oh and I almost forgot, a Tahari slave, that cost me nothing and might be seen as an exotic by some furthur North, course we will have to have you scrubbed clean, have that wild hair washed and combed and have you perfumed, might make you more sellable” he chuckled and tapped the side of his nose and grinned at her. she would have delighted in the fact he was in a better mood now but his last words unsettled her.

“I have heard there are Masters in the North who live in dark caves and are covered in hair and smell of bosk fat Master, is this true?” she would reply most earnestly with wide and questioning eyes for the thought of them had filled her with horror and the merchant nearly choked on the verr milk he was drinking spitting it about and all over her… tears of laughter running down his cheeks as he slapped his thigh.

“Slave, you amuse me….”

TALES OF A DESERT SLAVE CHAPTER 2

The lumbering tharlarion swayed beneath her, rocking the pathetic slaves little body into slumber, Occasionally she would wake, blinking her eyes and sip water from the bota, placed nearby for her but the gentle undulation of the huge beast would send the exhausted slave back to sleep once more. Dreams overcame her, The merchant would cock an ear as they rode, her whimpers reaching him. He thought he might sell her for use as a pot slave for she was skinny indeed and truly not worth the effort but he had made a promise, he was a man of honour after all and with that in mind would lift her from the tharlarion and feed her gruel and dates in some attempt to keep her alive. He was disappointed for the last of villagers had ransacked the mans’ house before they had left and this was all they had left, the dying man having told him to take all if he would save his slave.

She, meanwhile, was tortured by dreams, dreams of running and hiding in the rocks of the dunes as they raided her Masters home, and them taking all the fine things she had so lovingly cared for, even their verr which she had tried so hard to feed and keep alive. And it was then she had realized she might die here, all alone. She saw the Zads circling silent and menacing above her, their huge wings casting a dark shadow and she swat at the sting flies as she dragged herself back to the empty house and to what she thought was her slow death and curled up in the corner of the now empty house until he had come, he who would save her!

They were now in an Oasis, a large one, and she sat up, gripping the straps that encircled the beast beneath her for they were entering a square with an Inn and she smiled for she knew from past experience that here she might be well fed and have the opportunity to bathe as she could hardly look at the man who brought her here, ashamed of what she had become. And so it was, he pulled her down and gave her to a woman” feed her well, have her bathe and clothe her in something more becoming than those rags then put her to work as payment” he barked at her “its been a long journey and I have affairs to see too” And it was here they stayed for many days for it would seem the Salt Merchant was trading, she rarely saw him and she was put to work in their kitchens where she would glance out the window to an auction block and on one day she saw him talking there with a slaver, and she would wonder…

There were writings on some wood nailed up on the block, she couldn’t read the cursive Tahari script even though her former master had tried to teach her drawing them beautifully in the sands and he would laugh fondly at her endeavours but she was always distracted by his presence and she would tease her master’s eyes to her thighs with a flex of her supple, tanned legs and now she cursed herself for not learning them. The work was hard in the kitchens, big pots to be scrubbed and cleaned and to be carried to and from the fires, and always the mistress over her shoulder, her voice shrill and loud in her ears. Never had she been put to work so harshly and her little body ached, ached not only from the work but also for what she once was, she reasoned that after all she was still alive right? and her body and skills worthy of the attention of any master. She had been trained well, even though she did not always realize that was so. And she reminded herself, she had never been trained those years past to be a lazy slave.

All the same she fell to the floor sobbing into her hands as she wondered if this was to be her life when suddenly she felt fingers grabbing at her collar on the back of her neck and yanking her to her feet “Lazy slave, I might be selling you” it was the familiar voice of the master who had saved her and chuckling he threw her over his shoulder as he made his way out of the hot kitchen. “no need to cry kajira, I will not be leaving you here, I made an oath remember?” and with that they left the Inn and into the courtyard where he pushed her up and into a kurdah, atop a sand kaiila, the kurdah covered completely with layers of white rep cloth, to reflect the sun, with the exception of the front, which was closed with a center-opening curtain, also of white rep-cloth. She pulled back the curtain as she sat on a silk cushion and watched as the master stood in his much larger and heavily laden kaiilas’ stirrups and pulled his burnoose over his head and with the wind carrying the pleasing sound of caravan bells she knew then that they were in for a long journey and eventually catching them up they joined the long, slow moving line that moved into the red sliding sands and northward.

TALES OF A DESERT SLAVE CHAPTER 1

The Oasis was hidden by the high rocks which surrounded it and beyond that the dunes, there was only one way in and one way out so often it was overlooked but of course it was well known to the nomadic peoples of the Great Tahari and to the travelling merchant caravans.

The Oasis was a small one, but truly beautiful. Verdant fladah trees and tall date palms, the kanda shrub grew generously and the Tor light bush would shine bright yellow or a dazzling white shimmering in the sun, all of which encircled the water, The water was so deep, it would bubble up from under the ground in fact you could swim and without any danger from salt sharks for there were none, the water being sweet and crystal clear. Veminium flowers nodded all about, their purple petals opening to the morning sun, the sweet smell of them wafting on a sudden, unexpected breeze before the blazing sun reached its highest point and they enfolded once more.

The villagers in their simple mud built houses were contented dwellers for as a rule the Great Tahari could be very harsh. And here they grew a multitude of products such as sa-tarna, beans, berries, onions, melons, turnips, carrots, radishes, larma, tospits, katch, kort, apricots, melons, suls, and pomegranates. Due to the very warm climate, and the water they generally had two growing seasons so they had little need to import food. Kaiila and verr herds were kept in the oasis though not numerous, but enough for their needs. The nomadic peoples of the Tahari were the primary herders of kaiila and they ate little meat as they considered their animals too precious because of their hair, milk and trade value and they would encamp in their colorful tents all about the Oasis bringing much excitement to the village as they heard the bells of their animals, women and slaves approaching!

And it was here in this pleasant Oasis a little slave lived with her Master, she would keep his house whilst he was away and tend their small herd of verr whilsy he travelled with the caravans buying and trading the precious Tahari salt, sometimes he took her with him and she had seen for herself the splendors of the City of Light, Tor. But on this occasion he did not and she was perturbed and puzzled as all were within their oasis for they noticed the level of the water was ever decreasing, the bubbling up had ceased and the villagers were alarmed for this had never happened in anyones memory. As the water level dropped so the verdant growth all around slowly shrivelled in the hot, unforgiving sun and then followed the crops, the villagers fighting amongst themselves over the water. The slave girl rung her hands as she hid in her masters house, he had been gone so long and she would leave an oil lamp, a lamp of love, burning every night in the window opening where she slept. She watched the narrow path where the nomads now left as quickly as they came, time dragged on and still no sign of him. The villagers dug in the water hole as she did too but still no sign of the precious water. Over time the villagers left with the nomadic peoples and there she was, alone, she would never leave, she was His and always would be, but then nothing is certain in the life of a slave.

She managed to survive by saving the water from the night dew which she would collect after the cold nights on the few remaining broad leaves of the fladah trees and suck on pomegranates, living on what little supplies they had left. And it was was then, when she had almost given up and in such despair a Salt Trader travelling atop a huge tharlarion appeared on the narrow road in, she thought for an ehn that it was a mirage and she had finally succumbed and was on her way to the City of Dust for the beast was heavily laden with goods and precious water! Waving her arms and running to greet them she fell to her knees before the master as he offered a bota . She grabbed at it and quenched her thirst , the man watched and waited and then told her such news she did not wish to hear. Her owner and master was dead, bitten by an ost , and before he died he had told him where she was, on the Salt Traders route back, and so he took her, rescued the pathetic, sobbing slave, swung her up and lay her on the tharlarions broad back, for the slave was weak and exhausted, after covering her with a tent like shade he mounted too and they went on their way… and she to a new future…

City of Kasba. In order to travel to Kasba, you would have arrived by one of numerous trade caravans, or via the river.

Bargaining at Nykotos – City of the Moons. Nykotos is now a member of the Southern Trade Alliance.

Zerzura – City of Dionysos – nestled in the desert at the southern edge of chartered territories of the Gorean Tahari

Oasis of the Three Moons, Tahari. The Oasis is now member of the Southern Trade Alliance (STA).

Relations between the Oasis of Sand Sleen and the other members of the Southern Trade Alliance (STA) are under stress, as a number of southern merchants and commentators on Gor have confirmed to the VOICE OF GOR.

One indication was Sand Sleen’s Pasha Angel Firethorn’s statement to the assembly of STA members the fifth day of the fifth hand of the eleventy month in Esalinus: “I will not vote till we have a quorum”! And he added snorting: “Klima has been disputed since the start. Ibn Saran Salt Ubar lives in my oasis! A director of a prision is not a salt ubar!”

The background was: The STA had shrinked and only five members were left. A delegation from the associated member Tharna was hamperded by the bad and muddy roads and did not succeed to join the meeting. A delegation from Tabuk’s Ford had been announced, but did not reach the meeting for unexplained reasons. So only Klima, Sand Sleen and Ianda had the right to vote new members in.

By simple majority in the vote the City of Esalinus, the City of Nykotos and the Oasis of the Three Moons became new and full members of the Southern Trade Alliance.

The delegation from Genesian Port announced to stay in observer status at the moment although “there is no objection within our caste or from the administrator”.

The situation was not improved, but more complicated when the delegation from Klima announced: “It’s obvious Klima is the only place where red salt is produced since Kasra has falled. So Klima with agreement of Pasha will double the price of red salt.”

Political commentator and editor Rarius Yuroki agreed that relations between Sand Sleen and the Oasis of Klima are going through “a rough phase as is was since years”.

Taken from the VOICE OF GOR v.5 Issue 317