Archive for the ‘The Slave’s Corner’ Category
I have never seen a river
Thursday, May 2nd, 2019
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….”
Lazy slave, I might be selling you
Thursday, April 11th, 2019
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.
Voice of Gor issue 312
Friday, November 9th, 2018
Voice of Gor v.5 issue 312 (pdf, short online version, complete only inworld)
## ABOUT THE VOICE OF GOR
# The VOICE OF GOR is an almost weekly Gorean newspaper since 2010.
Forerunners were the “Vonda Voice” (since 03-26-2009, issues 1-56, editor Verona Lorgsval), the “Voice of Gor” (since 07-14-2010, issues 1-133, editor Verona Lorgsval), the Ianda Times (since 2011, issues 1-71, editor Rarius Yuroki [Yuroki Uriza]). The VOICE OF GOR will be published periodically from October 2018.
# (OOC) FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTION
Is the VOICE OF GOR OOC or IC?
This newspaper is available IN CHARACTER at message boards in several cities. But it has OOC parts and IC parts which can be identified although many people mix both. We try to keep the two separate. But if you start a storyline based on an IC article of the VOICE OF GOR it would be useful for a moderator to have a log where you have read the message ICly.
The VOICE OF GOR can be true or false, propaganda or journalism like on earth. There is no freedom of the press on Gor. Why let the truth get in the way of a good story?!
“Goreans were not always fooled by posts on boards.
Those who control the public boards, it is said, control the city.
But I was not sure of this.
Goreans are not stupid.
It is difficult to fool them more than once. They tend to remember.”
(Magicians of Gor)
Why is “publicare et propagare” the motto of the VOICE OF GOR?
You all know that Goreans use message boards to spread news, announcements and gossip. Such are found at various points in Ar, such as the vicinity of squares and plazas, near markets, and on major streets and avenues.
Books are rare on Gor and expensive. Paper is the essential trade good of the Rencers and they sell their wares on both the eastern and western edges of the Delta of the Vosk river. The VOICE OF GOR is a collection of rence paper scrolls but the editor paid some message boards too to spread the newspaper. Gorean Public Boards sometimes made people angry. Those who control the public boards, it is said, control the city.
We took our motto from the Acta Diurna [latin: Daily Acts sometimes translated as Daily Public Records] on earth. The Acta Diurna were daily official notices in ancient Rome, a sort of daily gazette. They were carved on stone or metal and presented in message boards in public places like the Forum of Rome.
Acta Diurna introduced the expression “publicare et propagare”, which means “make public and propagate”. This expression was set in the end of the texts and proclaimed a release to both Roman citizens and non-citizens.
# THE VOICE OF GOR is available:
for members of the group Cartographers and Explorers of Gor secondlife:///app/group/7e73816d-8532-5954-3cdc-7567d36f43c6/about
for members of the group Voice of Gor Subscription Group secondlife:///app/group/86d6d293-72ac-83ca-b05b-34429f85848a/about
for members of the group Alliance of Valkyrie Panthers secondlife:///app/group/e5b743e6-3cc4-c119-6fb1-bffd676a3647/about
Available in character:
Ianda on the Isle of Landa (docks) http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Isle%20of%20Landa/3/22/21
Available OOC:
Gorean campus (Library) http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Gorean%20Campus/75/17/25
The VOICE OF GOR https://www.gorean-forums.com
.
The Gorean Weather Girl
Saturday, April 30th, 2016ASK TEAL ~ Dubious Advice to Goreans
Thursday, March 31st, 2016
Picture: Ianda on the Isle of Landa from far
ASK TEAL – Dubious Advice to Goreans
By Teal Razor
DEAR TEAL:
I am a free man who is in a quandary. I am now a mercenary who takes gold for hire. I try to be honest in my dealings with those who employ me. Most of the jobs I take gold for are simple tasks, like escorting free women on their travels and delivering slaves who have been purchased from afar to awaiting owners. There is also the odd war or raid here and there when I am hired as additional muscle.
Recently, I have been offered a contract that pays quite a bit of gold, to steal the Home Stone of a neighboring city. So far I have never undertaken such a dangerous task. I was wondering, if I am captured with the Home Stone of this other city, will I be prosecuted or will the city that asked me to steal the Home Stone be prosecuted?
DEAR SOON TO HAVE A PIKE SHOVED UP HIS ASS:
I think you need a physician to check you over. Do you have a fever? Hmm, if not, may I inquire as to why, after all this time of making a living on Gor, would you want to take a job where death will surely overtake you? I mean going into battle is a cakewalk compared to what can possibly turn into the greatest misadventure that you will ever experience.
Let us look at this logically, suppose you get captured, no, scratch that, you WILL be captured. So there you stand with the Home Stone of a city on your person. If you are lucky, the Home Stone is a pebble or a small gem. If that is the case you could quickly swallow it and wait for it to emerge from your other end in a couple of days, less if you consume a lot of fruit, grain, and water. But how would you know the size of the Home Stone? The Home Stone in my city is a very very large cut gem. You would need a bosk to haul it out on a sturdy wagon, or so I have been told. But, you would not know, until such time when you arrive at the place in which the Home Stone is displayed, what dimensions you are dealing with.
You would have to “case the joint” for days to determine where it lies, the size of it, how many guards block your way to it, and if the building that it resides in is locked. After careful calculations, you might be able to pull this off. I highly doubt it though. Do you have a tarn to make a quick getaway? More importantly, does the city you plan to rob have a legion of tarnsmen ready to shoot down your ass when you take flight?
You give me no details except the fact that you are looking at the gold coin you will earn. How many citizens live there? How many warriors are roaming the city at any one time? When you go to the city, what will be your reason for being there? (The tourist thing has really worn quite thin these days.) Do you have a fake ID or will you be using your real credentials? Will you bring help? Will you wear a disguise? These are all things to contemplate before going just for the gold.
Now, heed this. I say again, you WILL be caught. And as to your question who will be blamed for this operation? I have a suggestion, take out a mirror and gaze into it. Who do you see there? You are a mercenary. Any city that hires a mercenary to steal the Home Stone, or anything precious from another city, is not going to own up to some confession from a person who says, “But, your honor, the Ubarate of Fartsville made me come here and take your Home Stone.” I can guarantee you that the Ubar of Fartsville will come and help shove that pike up your rear.
Stick to escorting lovely free women on their shopping trips and waving your steel around in the odd war. This will be much safer than the road you are about to trod.
DEAR TEAL:
I am a free man, a member of the warrior’s caste. I was asked to take the commander’s position of the city I reside in. I had a mishap and was on leave. I have now come back into the city and find I am no longer respected by my brothers in arms. They all say that I do not know the city laws, that I have not recruited any warriors to serve under me, that I sit in the common area ogling the slaves and that I am looking to serve the needs of my own cock and not the city.
I am feeling despondent over these accusations and to top it off, one of the High Council members is seeking to kick me out of my position. How do I cope with this depressing situation?
DEAR NEEDING A DOSE OF REALITY:
I read your scroll three times wondering if you wrote your own question or if you had someone else write it for you? Have you read your question aloud to yourself? Let us test you on this…hold your hand up in front of your face, can you see it? Is it not plain?
If you are parroting back the concerns of your fellow warriors then I would say they all hold water. Warriors live by their codes. I guess you know that, or do you? A commander can only be granted power to command by his fellow caste members. If they are saying these things, guess what, you’re toast. I would say stand down, let the warriors choose a replacement that really cares about the rank and file. They think you are just goldbricking, which seems to be the case.
Have you read the laws of your city? Do you understand them? If you can’t read, let someone read them to you. Ask questions. Go out there and seek men who will serve the city well. Quit sitting in the common areas staring at the penis between your legs and wondering when it will see action. You appear to be a commander who has totally shirked his responsibilities. Things will not bode well for you if you do not become active and command the respect of your men once more. If a high ranking member of the High Council is gunning for you, start packing your bags.
Taken from the VOICE OF GOR v. 5, issue 255
Ask Teal – Dubious Advice to Goreans
Saturday, October 17th, 2015VOICE OF GOR – The Slave’s Corner: What a Week!
Saturday, September 26th, 2015THE SLAVE’S CORNER ~ A Satiric View of Life on Gor, by Teal Razor ~ slave of Siri Emerald Jr, Admin of Ianda on the island of Landa
Published in the VOICE OF GOR, fifth volume, issue No. 229, first day of the second hand of the month of Se’Kara (The Second Turning) of the year 10166 Contasta Ar
Tour of Ianda
Sunday, September 13th, 2015WHERE DOES THE GLORIUS EMPIRE OF AR EXIST?
Tuesday, November 18th, 2014
The House of Yuroki Caravan approaching the Oasis of Klima
WHERE DOES THE GLORIUS EMPIRE OF AR EXIST? ~ 400 Years in the Future
By Teal Razor
In Port Olni, for the most part, the dwellers go about their tasks in a placid but cautious manner. Well, for the most part, except when sex starved slaves obtain a construction crew to erect an impromptu dance pit in the dead center of the commons. This was the scene last week in the commons of Port Olni.
Passersby were taken aback by this construction zone. Curiously though, the passersby did not report this behavior to a warrior, a magistrate, or the Ubarate. I speculated that those who passed by did not inform the authorities because they thought it was another project by the architectural firm, Buildem & Pray. After all it had all the earmarks of one of their construction sites; rubble, cement dust, and puddles of water everywhere.
So, no one suspected that a slave was actually the contractor. The pit, though, was fabricated so shoddily that there was a hole in the sand of the pit near the perimeter. When the slave/construction manager hopped in the pit to show a visiting physician some new moves she had learned, the hole proved to be a hindrance to her footfalls. At a couple of points in the dance she fell face first into the hole. I had never seen such a movement in any Gorean dance I had learned at the Gorean Dance Academy.
That no punishment was accorded the slave for causing this architectural flaw in the commons is the biggest puzzle of all. After the dance, the slave just walked away casually. Later a warrior saw the mess in the commons and ordered it cleared immediately. He asked around to see if he could learn who was responsible for this monstrosity of a dance pit. Funny, no one was able to identify the “perp” since no one thought a slave would do such a thing and chalked it up to the architectural firm of Buildem & Pray. No one would question THEIR doings in the commons. I think if anyone passing would have stopped to ascertain what was going on, the slave would have been apprehended quickly with a public whipping to follow.
This unquestioning of a questionable act was the forerunner of further aberrant behavior of the Citizens of Port Olni. I tried to figure out why last week, all the citizens believed that the Glorious Empire of Ar raided Port Olni.
The citizens even went so far as to claim injury and capture from the raiders who swooped down from the Glorious Empire of Ar. The peculiar thing about this raid was that it did not take place.
But, you could not reassure the citizens of this fact. The citizens brandished their swords and whacked away at invisible raiders before them.
And yet, for a raid that did not take place, the citizens thought it was real. Women hid, babies cried, alarms were sounded and the bridge raised. Warriors were seen tying themselves in binds, shouting to the thin air that they would kill the sleen from the Glorious Empire of Ar.
I came upon the aftermath of this raid to see people actually standing around discussing it. I felt like I was in a time warp because the Glorious Empire of Ar … does not exist. If it exists somewhere in the future we do not know. I mean, when was the last time a haruspex gazed into the entrails of a giani and said… “By golly, the Glorious Empire of Ar exists in the future. In fact, 400 years in the future.” No one has done this to anyone’s knowledge and yet Port Olni was deluded into thinking the Glorious Empire of Ar existed and they were in fact being raided by The Glorious Empire of Ar.
If the Glorious Empire of Ar does not exist and if by chance it will exist in the future, then in order to raid Port Olni, the raiders from that Glorious Empire would have had to use a time machine. Time machines do not exist, therefore the Glorious Empire of Ar was not in Olni.
I pondered this mass hysteria and decided to check the water supply to see if someone had infused a mind altering drug in the cisterns. I drank it, as a test, hoping I could see things that were not there. It did not happen. I was as sober as a magistrate after drinking a bota full of the stuff. I sniffed the air for some malicious gas that could be floating around. Gas has been known to cause ill effects on the sniffee’s. No gas was detected by me. Just the plain ole clean air of Port Olni.
I then had a bright idea that maybe the city had ingested Sa tarna grains contaminated with ergot. I rushed to the bakery and ate some mouthfuls of the grain hoping for a psychedelic effect. The only thing I received was a stomach ache.
This is a puzzle that one cannot solve. It did leave collateral damage in Olni with cuts, bruises, and headaches. They are still talking about it and all I can think of is…why?
Meeting of the Southern Trade Alliance – Brundisium
ASK TEAL ~ Dubious Advice to Goreans
By Teal Razor
DEAR TEAL:
I am a warrior and in my city I have noticed a steady increase in gambling. I myself like to throw an ostrakan into a basket to judge the way a game will go or not but I am not talking of this casual type of gambling. I have been seeing a more pervasive and insidious game being played where two men are drinking in the tavern. One brings out a pair of dice and tells the other…”I want to cut your head off. I want you to roll the dice and if you roll a number higher than mine, I will not cut your head off. But, if the number you roll is lower than the one I throw, you lose your head. So lets do that to pass the time.” I have seen men agree to this, the dice are thrown and inevitably a head will roll onto the tavern floor accompanied by much blood.
Three of my brother warriors were involved in such nonsense last week. One of them wound up without a right arm, which makes him useless to his caste, another had a dagger stuck in his belly and may not make it, the last was carved up like a vulo on a spit and died. This vice is spreading even to the kennels. Slaves are starting to throw dice to see who will clean up the bosk pens and they even throw the dice to find out how many lashes with a quirt that the first girl will administer.
Free women in the commons have stopped conversing so that they can roll dice on the table. They prearrange with another free woman that if they roll a higher number, that person can kill the slave of the other. If the other woman rolls higher, she gets to impale the other woman’s slave.
How can this madness go on and what can I do to stop it.
DEAR LEAVING LAS VEGAS:
Madness is an apt word for what you are experiencing. What you relate is a chilling tale of life being determined by a role of the dice. I mean what does that say for the participants, that they are at a loss for words to work out their differences, that they are so bored out of their minds that they chose not to speak but grunt to one another? I think you are right to rant about this “unspeakable” behavior. I am wondering what you really can do about this. It is a risky business to get between a person and his vice, especially of the vice of gambling.
If you think about it, you could become the object of their wrath and instead of their betting on one another, they could bet who could be next to run you through with a sword. This would be bad for your health.
I really believe that you should look for another city to make your Home Stone. Find a city where the citizens are articulate and have developed the habit of reading. It is doubtful that you will find “dice rollers” in your new city. The sound of soft chatter will be heard instead of the blood curdling screams of those who lose their limbs to a bet.
From the VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 182
SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior PART 5
Saturday, November 1st, 2014
Heavy rains batter the city of Tarnwald (2013)
SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior PART 5
By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni
I am anxious to finish up the recounting of my kidnapping from Earth and early life on Gor that I related to my Master one cool evening in En-Var. I remember that I left off in the part of the tale where the Ubar of Port Kalana, my Master at the time, went stark raving bonkers.
Well, after the Ubar left the city, a city Administrator was put in charge of dispersing the madman’s property. I knelt under his scrutiny and the sneers of his personal slave. This Admin took one look at me and said, “No one in this city will buy you, in fact, I can’t even give you away. Free citizens speak your name and spit on the ground at the same time. I see no alternative, slut, than to take you back to the city your former Master had purchased you from and see if any there will take you off my hands.” His personal slave told me in a low voice what a piece of sleen crap I was. Vengence is mine sayeth Teal.
The three of us, the Administrator, his slut, and I, journeyed back to Port Olni. Upon arriving, we went up the wide front steps, rang the visitor’s bell, and stood in front of the gates waiting for a person to open them. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when who should be there but my current Master, a warrior who I secretly could not stand the sight of. It was at this point of my story that my Master, upon hearing my assessment of his former self, told me to get the whip with which he then gave me three lashes for my impudence.
But I digress. The warrior, my present Master, asked what business the Administrator of Port Kalana had at the gates of Port Olni. The man said he was there to liquidate the property of the Ubar who fled the city in madness. He said he brought a slave that was bought from this city and had hopes to return her to it saying, “There is no one in Port Kalana who will take her in. Most of the citizen’s of the city wanted her impaled.” The warrior glanced at the slave by the side of the Administrator and began to assess her thinking she was the one who was for sale. The Administrator quickly corrected him and pointed to me. I had been kneeling in back of him, not visible to the warrior at the gates.
When the warrior got a gander at who it was, he laughed long and loud and then remarked, “I have no doubt that the citizens of Port Kalana wanted to “lynch” her. She has had to talk her way out of many a death sentence here in Port Olni.” And, with that he offered a copper for me to the Administrator. The Administrator seemed pleased that his journey was not for naught and willingly accepted the pittance from the warrior. The warrior then said, “And here is a silver for your troubles.” With that I became the slave of Captain Siri Emerald jr., Red caste, Port Olni.
He took me to his office, filled out paperwork on me for the records, and beat me till I begged him to stop. Then used me well. During my questioning, he asked me my name. I told him rather smartly that it was “Ruby Tuesday”. He smirked at me and wrote on the scroll, “Ruby”. He said, “That is your name from now on. And don’t think you own it.” I not only did not want to own the odious name, I started introducing myself as “Cadet” since it more aptly matched my former station on Earth.
This Master owned me for exactly one Gorean day before he sold me to a private slaver in the city of Port Olni who happened into the commons where we were sitting. The warrior did not really want to sell me. He saw in me a slave who would not only become totally devoted to him but also provide a foil for his personality, since I myself was of the “Warrior Caste” on Earth.
Captain Siri Emerald Jr. did not want to put up with my punching, kicking, slapping, yelling and throwing of things. His person was not subjected to this but his First Girl was. She and I had engaged in a battle royale. During the one Gorean day I was in his household, I managed to thrust my knee in her groin several times, smash her in the face with a flat pan, put her in a choke hold and force her to eat grass and bugs. I can’t say she was any less hospitable. I had the bruises to show for it. Rather than have us both kill each other, he chose to sell me and keep his first girl.
This was lucky and unlucky at the same time. Lucky for his first girl that I did not maim or kill her but rather unlucky for me. It turns out this private slaver in Port Olni had gone the way of the former Ubar of Port Kalana. He was a megalomaniac who was deep within his disease. He started trying to change me into his former slave who escaped from his clutches. In order to effect my total change he took me to dressmakers, hair salons, and doctors who could effect this transformation with surgery.
It was with luck that a warrior from Sais rented me for two weeks. He was one of those warriors who read extensively and was fond of writing Gorean verse. He encouraged me to pen sweet missives to him on rence paper which he provided to me. It was all very nice until I was accused of hiding a dagger on my person by some jealous slaves who where at the gate in Sais when he brought me into the city. The guard at the gate threatened to cut my tongue out for the offense. The charge was ridiculous really, I was totally naked at the time. When my hair was searched they found nothing. But my Master was told to whip me publically for the alleged offense and so he did. That was not pretty.
After the two weeks were up on the rental, my Master was loathe to bring me back to the demented slaver but he realized that a slave from Port Olni, living in Sais, a warring city, was not a good match. So I was back in Port Olni. It was another stroke of good luck that I caught the eye immediately of a mercenary who was residing in Olni at the time. A no nonsense fellow who came into the slaver’s office, plunked down a gold tarn, grabbed me by the hair and took me to the metalsmith to have his collar locked on me.
This free man became my “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” Master as he shoved me back to the insane slaver once more. It was back in the private slave house that I became frightened for the first time in my life on any planet. My fears became reality when this crazy house escapee choked me and left me for dead in one of the side streets of Port Olni. Thankfully I was found by a kind Master and taken to the infirmary where the marvelous physicians brought me back to life.
After the healing I went back into the city kennels, the House of Spiritweaver. Unable to speak because of the severe bruising of my larynx, I started to go into mad reveries of what I might say could I communicate. To all outward appearances, I nodded, obeyed, knelt, and served with proper deference. Underneath it all, I plotted the death of all and bringing down of the walls of Port Olni.
At around that time, Captain Siri Emerald Jr. came back into my life. He had chosen not to renew his companioning contract with his mate. It seems she had what on earth is termed “a multiple personality disorder”. He grew tired of her lies and so she left for another city and took the first girl with her. He was renting a slave himself at the time to serve his needs. This rented slave had her own mental meltdown and went off to get pregnant by another warrior. He immediately terminated her rental and sent her packing.
The Captain was sitting in the commons and lamented to me, as I served him cup after cup of black wine, how disgusted he was with trying to find a slave who could meet his needs. A small digression here as I tell you why I had to keep serving him cup after cup of his favorite libation. It seems that at the time, each serve of this black wine was not done as per his instructions. This caused him great consternation and he poured the cup of black wine over my head and made me go back to get the order right.
I think he was pleased with the stoic and rather ingratiating way I took his orders. After all, I was of the warriors caste myself. So it came about that later that day I attended a reading of the historian Master Norman’s work, by the Ubara of Port Olni. The Captain was there and proclaimed to the Ubara that he had every intention of collaring me. She looked over with a smirk and told him, “Do you know how MANY Masters she has had? Captain, I give her to you.” With that, our sainted Ubara waved her hand thusly “gifting” me to him. And that is how I came to the collar of my present Master. I hope you have been slightly entertained by this. Next week I will get back to the more serious work of offering my advice in “ASK TEAL”.
From the VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 181