Archive for the ‘Port of Olni’ Category
BLUE FLAMES SINGE THE EARS OF PORT OLNI
Wednesday, February 12th, 2014
By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr, Port Olni Warrior
BLUE FLAMES SINGE THE EARS OF PORT OLNI
Well, who da thunk it? I was witness to a blue flaming of the ears of the good citizens of Port Olni on Friday night at the temple service. The new Initiate, Solaran, was pounding his fists in the air, exhorting who ever would listen, to be better than they were being. It seems the Blessed One has caught wind of a piece of calumny perpetrated in the city. The initiate had the good graces to not reveal the name of the individual. It seems he is more discreet than I would even be.
There is something delightful about naming the names of those who have breached the boundaries of good taste. It can be so delicious to jeer and caste a disapproving eye at another. There are so many times when I have felt compelled to do this. I am guilty. And, the kiss of the whip has finally caused this habit to exit my practice.
Well, the Friday temple service was exciting. I arrived about 15 ehn early to beg the Blessed One to speak louder. I arrived to beat about the bush trying to tell our Holy man about the slaves. The slaves, low beasts that they are, were complaining in the market place about not being able to hear the Blessed Initiate when they had to kneel so far from the door. My entreaties got his attention and as he started the service, his voice rang out in thunderous claps. There was a fisherman floating in a round boat near the Olni shore. He stood in fear, looking around for a possible blue flaming. It was kinda amusing because at the time a thunderstorm started and the rumbles and flashes of lightning matched the words from the Initiate’s mouth.
Barring my ridiculous observations, the content and delivery of the service was bone chilling. There were quite a few attendees inside the temple. Among them were the Ubara of Olni, an Ambassador, the Olni City Kennel Slavers, and three slaves. There were others standing about the temple. I could feel the astonishment in the air coming from inside the service. The only thing I felt from the slaves surrounding me was the hot breath from their yawns. To be sure, it was a cold day. Snow was still on the ground. One of the slaves, gratefully, lit a brazier and we huddled close to it. These slaves may need a dressing down from their owners. But, I guess it is hard to concentrate on the Holy Ones words when your lips and fingers are turning blue. I tried to elicit some conversation but was regaled with things like, “Did you see that so and so’s Master bought her a new set of silks that cost more than the dress his companion wore to their companioning ceremony?” And, “I cooked three suls last night for my Master’s household and all three burst into flame on the hearth.” I nodded dumbly.
The content of the Blessed One’s speech exhorted all of Olni to stop the idol gossip and bickering that was perceived to be present. He said that the Priest-Kings know all about what goes on everywhere including Olni. He intimated that Olni will not be permitted to stand unless we are undivided in our loyalties to the city. The old adage, “a chain is only as strong as its weakest link”, was shouted so loudly that I’ll bet anyone in the public baths could have heard it. And how about that other saying, “a house divided cannot stand”, a truth if there ever was one.
I watched as everyone left the service, their beautiful robes glinting in the setting Tor tu Gor. The Ubara appeared to have tears welling in her eyes. The slavers were uneasy, and more so since the free woman slaver was in need of a toilet. She is nine months pregnant and her bladder could not be counted on to hold its contents for long periods.
The Ambassador, as he exited, turned his attention to the thrall that was kneeling with us. He greeted him and told him to serve with heart. At that point, I was so cold I would have preferred he serve with heat.
I glanced up at the Blessed One as he came out the door and exhorted us all to go in peace. There was a wistful look on his face. One of deep concern. He had the look of a father whose son is being sent off into battle. His eyes were overlaid with love, pride. and fear. I took my leave and went to the commons area to see if there was any buzz about the service. I have not heard any yet, put I will certainly keep my ears open and report back any developments.
From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.3 Issue 144
The Trip – where is he going?
Saturday, February 1st, 2014
Picture: Shipwreck, near the mouth where the Olni river flows into the Vosk
by Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Port Olni
I am making preparations for a trip that my Master is to embark upon and taking me with, but I am not being told where he is going. To be sure, my Master knows, the Priest-Kings know but as I look around the city, there is no one else who knows anything more about this. On my way to the market I dropped by the docks to inquire of the captain of the ship ‘Lucy’ where his floating emporium of ripe smells would be headed in the next few days. The captain, one Philomen of Cos, looked as though he had gastric problems and did not answer my inquiry. There was a small boy, a cabin boy, who told me that they were sailing down the Olni, to the mighty Vosk and out into the waters of gleaming Thassa.
I felt panic since I am a white knuckle traveler on the shipping lanes of Gor. The hazards are myriad, from man eating sea sleen to river tharlarion. If you have never seen a free woman or man fall overboard and meet their death by one of these creatures, you haven’t lived. I would prefer that my Master hire a tarn to take us wherever he is traveling to.
Now that I knew the direction in which he was proceeding I conjectured that he might be travelling to Port Cos. It was probably going to be a long river and Thassa journey and that is why the provisions he had me buy were many and varied. I took out clean piece of rence paper and wrote down the ever growing list that my Master was insisting I purchase.
It was a little disconcerting because many of these provisions needed to be cooked which means I had to pack a large stew pot and other vessels used for steeping and baking. I have travelled before. Sometimes I have stayed at inns around Gor while accompanying the Master. This is the best way to travel. There is something to be said about staying in a four star inn and having room service. The proprietors of these inns, my Master books on travels, are very knowledgeable of the type of service my Master expects.
He is sent the best foods the area has to offer and the cutest of slave boys for me to flirt with. These Inn Keepers are not blind to MY needs in that department. While my Master is sleeping with a sumptuous repast in his tummy, I am off playing Strip Zar with the slave boys. This beats traveling to a place where I have to use someone else’s kitchen to set up shop to prepare my Master’s meals.
Now that we are travelling on a ship I will have to use the galley of the vessel and try to get my Master’s meals prepared before the ship’s cook comes in to prepare the bread, onions, and peas for the crew. I always hesitate to use the galley’s on ships my Master embarks on. The small spaces that are allocated to these floating kitchens make excellent traps where the cooks can grab me and have a go.
I must be off shopping for now and will finish telling this on going story next week.
From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.3 Issue 141
All is not quiet on the northern Front
Saturday, February 1st, 2014
Picture: The new headquarters of the NEW VOICE OF GOR, Tancred’s Landing
by Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Port Olni
This week I felt compelled to pen this observation. I will not reveal the name of my source. I will not reveal any information even close to sounding like a name. And, it is my fervent hope that the people who recognize themselves, in this story, take heed. They will be secure in the fact that I will never expose them. For in the end, we all eventually expose ourselves.
I must say that I always have a case of “the nerves” when I am needed for serving in the commons. It is not that I dislike serving, for I am commanded to serve all free by my Master, a most generous and kind Master. The fear of displeasing my Master though, by displeasing a free person is not a situation I care to experience. This guilt by proxy is unnerving to say the least. My Master’s sense of justice is swift and fueled only by his certain knowledge that a transgression has taken place. He is none to kind with the use of the lash at this point. So, on the whole, I would say, I will not, under any circumstances, cause a constipated look on my Master’s face. He will only have relief of his constipation when he beats the shit outta ME.
Well, that is neither here nor there. The fact is, there are many things I love about serving. One is the view you are afforded. It is a view that most never experience inside the city. Where else can you see the latest styles as worn by the free women and the new weapons purchased from the metal workshops around Gor.
If I may digress for a moment, it is inherent in me to ogle the swords and bows that men carry. I am spellbound by tales of weapons, combat and war. There are certain reasons for this but that is another story.
But, then again, I am just as fascinated by the rich materials that the beautiful free women use to adorn themselves. The fabrics and decoration are just as mesmerizing as the sharpened steel blades.
The commons is also a place where there is food cooking, fruits on display, casks of strong drink and bottles of sweet Turian wine. And, the prime mover for serving in the commons, the proximity to cake. It is here also, that a variety of Gorean life parades in an ever changing tableau of dialects, colors, customs, and personalities.
Everyone who is anyone comes through the gates of Port Olni. Only the riff raff, for example, Trevian raiders on tarns, fly down from the walls.
So the gates being in front of the commons offers you a changing view of Goreans in various modes of undress.
The commons is the hub of any city. Visitors bring news of other neighboring and faraway places they have traveled to. It is also an amusing place where the free and slave gossip and flirt. These stories make ripe telling when a Master is bored and commands you to entertain him.
I always strive to please the free. It is actually a win win situation. I please them, they feed me. Sometimes I get candy and cream cakes.
Now because the commons is the heart of the city and the cross roads of the town, it is fitting for this important place to have an air of quiet and professional dignity. Craftsmen, even now, are drawing up new plans for the transformation of this port city. I am told that broad plaza’s of stone and tile will be set down shortly.
I believe the architectural firm of Buildem and Pray has been engaged once more to edit and reedit the city’s monuments. They may be having problems choosing which edifices, built by past architects who have “bit the City of Dust”, to eradicate from the skyline.
It was within such a scene that I overheard the most flagrant disruption of the space time continuum as ever there was.
A merchant who does business trading in the northern forests was elaborating about his recent encounter with a panther tribe. He has done commerce with this tribe on his trade route and makes it into their lands about every six months. There is no wonder that he is not captured and made a thrall but his rotundity makes him ill equipped for waiting on a panther hand and foot.
The merchant was giving a warning to all present and even asked to have an audience with the Ubar and the Commander of Port Olni. He wanted one and all to hear of a warning he brought back from the north. It seems this panther tribe he deals with has gone rogue. Their members have become true man-haters. This misandry was spreading like a disease through the tribe. Former panthers who were mainly interested in honing their hunting skills and capturing hapless males who wandered past their borders, were now crying for blood. They were planning a full scale attack on a large city on the Olni River. Their plan was to kill as many men as they could and then capture the free women and slaves. Only the Priest-Kings would know what could ensue then.
As ludicrous as this sounds coming from the Falstaffian merchant, the man was unnerved enough to quaff his libation with a shaking hand. He told of a horrific scene he witnessed when two free persons were brought into the panther camp. The captured free man was assaulted by derision and stripped naked. His companion was tied and made to watch the disgusting display of misanthropic vengeance. After much abuse and punches to his genitalia, the man’s throat was cut. His companion looked on helpless. Her wails were heard all through the forest. The merchant, not having weapons or the authority to stop this, fled the scene.
It seems that there were just a few rotten apples in this panther camp that were causing the psyches of the others to whither and rot as theirs had. The merchant stopped in Olni to entreat the administration to send warriors and a magistrate to put down this dangerous uprising. He was begging anyone who would listen to help him arm himself and put together a battalion of free men and warriors to bring the murderous women to justice.
I was chilled to my core after hearing this and sat closer to a brazier to warm myself. When most of the commons cleared out except for a warrior and a slave who were feeling each other up in a corner, I ran home and waited for my Master’s return.
When the door opened I set about helping him remove his gear and when he was relaxed I related the story of the merchant in the commons. I could see the anger in his eyes. He told me if it was a true story, the warriors of Olni would wipe that tribe off the face of Gor. After saying this he put his heavy cloak on and took off for the Ubar’s office in the admin cylinder.
I smiled because I could feel safe in the knowledge that retribution would be swift. To sum it up for the poor panther’s who brought this on, “payback’s a bitch.”
From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.3 Issue 140
Ask Teal – Dubious Advice to Goreans
Saturday, February 1st, 2014
Picture: New Tancred’s Landing
by Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Port Olni
DEAR TEAL:
I am a slave who has committed a blunder and I need to know how to come out of it smelling like a rose. It concerns my Master’s signet ring. This ring was passed down from his Great Grandfather, to his son, my Master’s grandfather and subsequently to my Master’s father, who, at one point in his life was held captive in Port Kar. He knew that if his captors in Port Kar found the ring, it would have been confiscated and melted down. The way his Father looked at it, this ring was his son’s birthright. He’d be damned if any pirates were gonna put their greasy hands on his boy’s birthright, so he hid it, in the one place he knew he could hide something: his ass. Five long years, he wore this signet ring up his ass. Then, before he died, he gave the signet ring to my Master.
I was playing with this ring and dropped it. An urt ran out and picked it up in its teeth and off he ran to I know not where. Help me.
DEAR CLUMSY OAF:
Your whole question smacks of another time and place. I am recalling a movie I saw on earth that had a segment in it that gave a similar recounting. It matters not that you know what a movie is, but just take it from me….this will not be easy to solve without using a grand set of prevarications.
When you think about it, the urt could have jumped up on the table and taken the ring just on principle. Since for every warm body on Gor, there exists at least two urts, the possibility of having an urt problem in one’s abode is very real. Your urts are rather bold to surface in the light of day.
What I am going to give you is a series of plausible lies that can be used to cover your own rear end. Yes, yes, I know that slaves should never lie and this one will not quite be a lie. You will just have to leave out the part of the story that set you in the middle and close the gaps.
How about you start crying profusely when your Master returns, telling him you were cleaning when an urt jumped up on the desk and ran off with the signet ring. This first scenario totally absolves you from blame and your Master’s wrath will be turned against the filthy, furry thief.
My second scenario includes you taking the ring to the local gemstone dealer for a good cleaning. This will give you time to set up traps inside and outside the house to try and catch the obnoxious creature. Of course, you have no ring to take to the jeweler so you will have to concoct a story of believable magnitude to prevent him from going off to the jeweler to reclaim his precious piece.
But let’s get back to the trapping of the disgusting filth that absconded with the ring in the first place. If you tell your Master and urt ate it or that you took it to the jeweler, it does not matter since either way you can still put out traps everywhere in the house further implicating the urt and covering your proverbial ass.
I would use as bait that smelly comestible known as bosk milk cheese. Urts are crazy about it and no doubt the ring itself was perceived to be a smelly treat by the urt since Master’s are not given to frequent hand washing. Hence their hands smell like moldy cheese. Once you catch the vermin, you will know what to do, namely deprive it of the life it almost cost you. The ring should be inside its intestines as I don’t think an urt’s anal opening is big enough to pass a ring of that size. It might be shrewd of you to enlist the help of another slave. Just make sure the other does not know of your ruse since they would be punished for your transgression also.
Good luck with the ring. If you find it, ask your Master to keep it firmly wedged in between his buttocks for safekeeping. Except if he is captured in Treve, the ring will definitely be discovered straightway.
From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.3 Issue 139
GORITECHTURAL DIGEST
Tuesday, December 31st, 2013
by Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Port Olni
I am sitting downstairs in my Master’s house next to a brazier keeping warm. It is snowing on and off in Port Olni and the ground has been covered for a couple of weeks with it. I can remember the snow on earth and how it would get kinda dirty in a couple of days with a layer of soot over it.
The snow here on Gor is a different animal. Since there is no petrochemical particulate in the air, the snow remains pristine for a long while. The only discoloration on the snow are the urine pools the warriors deposit on their rounds. I figure they have to go somewhere and I have yet to see a Porta Potty inside the city of Olni. I don’t mind seeing this as it is a natural occurrence. What isn’t natural are the fantastical pictures these urine taggers leave behind. The other day, while walking to the admin cylinder, I was knocked backwards by the sight of an etching into the snow made by some pisser, of our sainted Ubar using the rear end of a tharlarion as a sexual toy. For all I know it could have been the Ubar himself who painted this tableau because not a minute later the Ubara walks by rolling her eyes and was heard to chuckle at the indecorous piss painting.
Well, so much for warriors. My mind was actually going over the arrival of the Initiate in Olni. He had been gone for more than a year. Because of his return, the Ubara wanted to see to the comfort of the Blessed One, a man called Noventum. The Temple in Olni lies outside the city gates in a lovely park by the river. I enjoy going out the back on warm days to swim in the river and ogle the Assassin’s lair. The Temple lies quite near the hidey hole in which one of our black caste members camouflages his nasty self. I never could figure out why the assassin shared the same neighborhood as the Initiate. Then it dawned on me that the representative of the Priest-Kings needs to be in proximity to the person who executes their direct orders. It helps to just “walk across the street”, so to speak, than getting in a boat or caravan or tarn. All that, just to visit the person you are giving the name of a target he is being paid to murder.
And so out of convenience was born beauty. The Temple in Olni is a stunning example of a respectful house in which to worship. The insides, from what I have determined by looking through the doorway, are lined with white alabaster. The sacrificial area has the simplicity and richness that only the use of quality stone in its construction can lend to such a solemn place. I have found the stairs leading up to the temple to be a little less than grand for such a high minded plaza. There is a nice colonnaded walkway around the building.
The Ubara set about, with her free woman friends, to clean and polish everything to a spotlessly high sheen. Slaves are not allowed in the Temple, even to clean. The circular doorway surrounds and the matching one inside the building are silver. I have always thought them quite lovely myself but I heard the initiate say they should actually be gold. Such as it is, the Ubara then turned her attention to the residence of the Initiate. In anticipation of his arrival the Blessed One sent his belongings by ship ahead of him. The contents were unloaded at the docks and carried to the building where the Initiate was to live. I was allowed into the home with some other city slaves and the Ubara’s boy. We were to help her place the pieces to have it look as pleasing as possible for the Initiate’s eyes.
I was a little disconcerted by the inactivity of the Ubara’s boy as he looked on at myself and some other small women slaves while we moved furniture from one wall to another to satisfy the Ubara’s sense of perfect placement. I greeted the thrall with glares throughout the process and he, in turn fingered the whip on his belt as he glared back at me.
The other two slaves and I cleaned and polished everything while the Ubara laid a fire for him. It had the look of quiet dignity when we finished.
The day of Noventum’s arrival was quite a confusing one. He came at a time when only the gate guard was present. The rest of the city was holed up in their homes keeping warm next to the hearth or in meeting in various rooms in government offices. The city was a virtual ghost town. The guard placed the Blessed One in front of a brazier so he could warm himself as the warrior marched off to find the Ubara. The uniformed guard burst into the basement chamber of the administration cylinder where he knew the Ubara would likely be and scared the tarsk crap out of me. I was taking down notes as the head of the Revel’s Committee droned on and on about how the Winter Solstice festival needed all of our concentration and would I please stop scratching myself. Breathlessly the guard informed the Ubara and all present that the White Caste Initiate was indeed warming his backside in the commons. He pleaded with the Ubara to come greet him.
The sainted woman rushed off, pulling her cloak around her, to see the defrosting guest in the commons. When she came back we were all startled to see that she had the Initiate in tow. He seemed like a pleasant fellow, bald and dressed all in white he matched the snow on the ground outside. The Ubara introduced the man to all and I quickly learned to refer to him as Blessed One. This was not a Master. I believe only Master’s make use of us in the furs. Initiates are not eunuchs to be sure but they put their sexual thoughts to a higher purpose.
I was quite amused when the Blessed One chimed right up in the meeting informing us of all his contacts in other cities that could help the committee in its plans. These were politely accepted by the members. I think when there are considerable distances between cities, one would have to plan a year ahead to contact friends in other towns to obtain their planning help.
I kept popping honey candies in my mouth which made the quill I was writing with kind of sticky. The Initiate raised his eyebrows at the sight of me sucking on my fingers to dissolve some of the sticky goodness from them. The meeting concluded and we all went our separate ways. I departed for the commons where the slave bell was being rung for a slave to come serve. I started serving two visitors to Olni who had delusions of grandeur. One of them was so pompous that he would not speak to me to give me his order. His other royal highness, presumably his friend, told me in no uncertain terms that he would be speaking for his majesty and proceeded to order two warm pagas.
He used the royal “we” as I walked away, all the while making comments about my rear end. I tried my best to find the nicest bowls and heated the paga up beautifully. I hurried back to the “king” and his “vassal” with a bowl of warm paga in each hand. I was greeted by a booming voice, it was coming from the Initiate. The Blessed One had found his way back to the commons and was demanding to be served by me. To say the hair turned white on my head, would have been an oxymoron as it is already platinum. I wondered whether I should just drop the bowls with a clatter on the stones and turn to fulfill his order. I was saved in a way by the two strangers who challenged the Blessed One. They shouted at him that they had been there first and he could damned well wait his turn. These royal personages declared themselves Pani. The Pani have a different belief system much like the Japanese sense of giri which connotes obligation to others whether public or private.
They did save my neck though. But, as a consequence the Initiate stormed off. It took a few days for the White Caste member to speak to me again. When he did though, it must have been after an epiphany he had regarding one slave having to face a commons full of people and deciding who gets what, when. He is really a kind man and had me take down a decree to be posted in the city. He wants all free and slave alike to knock on his residence door and feel welcome. In this time of dwindling attendance by the high caste it seems logical to appeal to the low caste who are fervent in their superstitious beliefs in the powers on high. Fresh congregants are needed to fill prayer rosters and what better way to do that, than appealing to the most faithful. He even told me he would give slave catechism classes as long as he could do it standing behind a screen so he would not have to look at the abomination we slave’s are.
As I think back on this, I am pleased at myself for establishing a bond of sorts with our new White Caste member. At least he will not blue flame me in the near future.
From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.3 Issue 138
The new Tancred’s Landing
Thursday, May 9th, 2013
Tancred’s Landing – seen from the docks of Olni
Minting Coins for Olni
Wednesday, December 5th, 2012
Approaching Olni
Monday, October 15th, 2012
Hiring a Killer
Friday, October 5th, 2012
Journey to Olni
Saturday, September 29th, 2012
JOURNEY TO OLNI
by Lady Wendie, HoY scribe in Olni
Leaving Minus in the dead of night, the three boats loaded independently with a share of the bullion and coin of the bank of Hoy. Guards in the employ of the bank are trusted men who have served the house for years never the less there was a nervous feeling before the boats set sail.
A short run down river saw us enter the lake skirting the Swamp forest then taking the verl river.The three ships had to be rowed due to the slow patches of the river. Passing Tabuk’s Ford in the early hours of the morning the only city which had to be skirted.
The trip so far had been uneventful as the three well armed ships moved at a good pace to the outskirts of Iskander .There in the fields alongside the river was a caravan of sluggish Tharlarion, the high wheeled carts were soon loaded. With a crack of the whip the caravan began their way in land crossing the prairie. Three days later the caravan camped outside of Vonda for the night before moving on to the city of Port Olni. A remarkable journey made all the more remarkable in that the caravan was not attacked, not a single Tarsk bit was lot .
Before the gates of Olni Yuroki gave thanks to the priest kings.
To the members of the caravan I thank you for your dedication and hard work that has bought the House of HoY safely to Olni and the NEW VOICE OF GOR is back to its Homestone to honor the tradition and work of the old Voice of Gor mady by Lady Verona, scribe in Olni.