Archive for the ‘The Slave’s Corner’ Category

ASK TEAL ~ Dubious Advice to Goreans

Wednesday, August 20th, 2014

Port Bazi

Picture: The HoY company trading in Port Bazi

ASK TEAL ~ Dubious Advice to Goreans

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni

This week, I am going to finish answering the free woman who asked this question last week. I wanted to give the lady a complete guide to getting and keeping a man in the dating stage of the courtship. I repeat here her question to me:

I am a free woman who is desperate to find a companion. I see free men everywhere in my city, they are either with companions or walking with a retinue of slaves behind them. In other words, they are most unapproachable. I have been courted by some five men in the past but after a few weeks, they disappear from my life and if I see them in the commons or the market place, they turn the other way or cross to the other side of the street to avoid me. Will I ever find one? Where are all the men? Please advise.

In the last Voice of Gor, I addressed but a few of the forewarnings to watch for when you submit to a free man’s courting. I have now a few more things to impart on your dress and deportment that you might want to incorporate into your body of knowledge.

I will start this week by saying NEVER keep a man waiting who calls on you at your place of residence. If he invites you to the commons or the tea room for snacks, show up at the appointed hour. Try to arrive an ehn or two after he does. The point being that the shorter time he awaits you, the more he will understand that you do not take his attentions lightly.

When I have served the free in the commons, I witnessed free men sitting by themselves, ordering some libation. They sat for the longest time, alone. I always wondered why they did so. They would order a couple of tankards or bowls of alcohol, stand up, stretch, and go about their business. Most of them wandered off either sighing or shaking their heads. About thirty or forty ehns after they left, a free woman would invariably step into the commons, look around while walking through, and exit the commons without sitting down. Putting two and two together, I can safely say, those free women were late to a date. I doubt whether those free women were asked out again or if they were, the free man’s faculties were set on high gear. He would, from there on out, watch for any more red flags that could appear on the horizon. These warning banners can accumulate until the free man finally sees the proverbial “handwriting on the wall” and rejects the free woman totally.

Now, here is another piece of territory I must cover. Part of not keeping the free man waiting is to arrive in front of him fully dressed. I am not suggesting that you would show up half naked to your date. Free woman are required to conceal themselves in robes named for such use. But, to arrive hooking all your veils in place, adjusting your stockings or pulling on your gloves will have you appear to not be organized. This can kill your allure faster than the peasant bow can fell a verr. Dress and adjust yourself in the privacy of your boudoir. And, for the sake of sanitation, comb your locks in private.

Just two weeks ago, a free woman took out a comb in the commons and started pulling at her hair with it. There was much hair on the comb when she finished. She removed the hair from the comb and threw it under the table where she was sitting. I was not the only witness to this disgusting practice. Two other slaves looked at me in horror with their mouths open. At least we saw it and I was able to sweep up the offending garbage from the eating area once she left. I feared to do it while she sat at the table since I speculated that I might be beaten for my insolence.

Oh, and while I am at it, NEVER borrow his rep cloth from his place setting on the table to wipe your cosmetics from your face. You should request a slave bring you a damp rep cloth to discreetly wipe the bits from your mouth or to remove your lip wax.

Lets talk next about a certain physical attribute of women. Female slaves and free women all have breasts. Granted some of us have more bounteous gifts than others. Those free women, whose abundance is evident under the robes of concealment, should make sure to wear uplifting corsets. You never want your courting man to chase you through a field of Sa-Tarna on a late day in En-Var which would cause your ample assets to bounce up and smack you in the face. Restraint, on your part, could lead to a companionship with one of the opposite sex. Which is why you asked your question in the first place.

Regarding the wearing of a supporting corset, I wish that some female slaves had access to such engineering feats in the form of cloth. I saw a female slave not many moons back who was jumping up and down on a table in the commons. A Master had commanded her to do so for his own entertainment. It was evident that the Master was an aficionado of slaves doing jumping jarl’s. The enormous heft and girth of her breasts caused them to fly up in her face. They hit her with such velocity that it knocked her out cold. It was hard for me to fetch a pan of water to throw on her face to rouse her because I was shaking from laughter.

Speaking of other cautions, you should not be familiar with your escort by caressing him in public. You would be exhibiting slave behavior and it might get you collared on the spot. Leave the caressing and cooing over the Master the domain of the slaves. You, on the other hand, are a lady. This fact is supported every time you are called “lady” by other free persons.

One would also hope that you refrain from talking about the latest robes of concealment from the dressmaker or boots at the cobblers. Talk about things the man would be interested in. You could describe a shipment that arrived recently on the docks. It would be good to note down facts to parade before him. You could make a mental picture of the types of goods being rolled out onto the wharves. Describe in detail, appropriate to a male’s curiosity, the colors and scents you perceived while there. Give him a count of the barrels that were taken off and relate any funny incidents like a slave colliding with a barrel of wine and being thrown off into the river. It might be more exciting if a water sleen were to attack the hapless slave. This might set off response in your date. You want to keep him talking. So your conversation should be scintillating and informative at the same time. It could dazzle the free man you are seeking.

While we are on the art of conversation, I want to give you another warning. NEVER talk to another free man in front of the free man who is courting you. Your courting free man should not be regaled with the exploits of your other “friend” when you talk to this other man in front of him. Acknowledge a “friend” who shows up by nodding and giving a courteous greeting. Don’t greet the person as if you would slap him on the back in a “hail fellow well met” gesture. Free women should behave like ladies, demure, accepting, feminine, correct, soft, and empathetic.

Some time back I exited my Master’s house in the direction of the market. As I walked past many residences in Olni Var, a free woman, who I always perceived as a bit of a “Tom boy”, (translating into the Gorean, a Tom-boy, on earth is a woman who adapts the mannerisms of a man) was talking out the side of her mouth like she was a dock worker. The other person, a free male that I recognized, was hit by the free woman’s language, which was saltier than Thassa. I even saw her slap him on the back a few times. The male was not her brother so I speculated that he had been her “friend” at one point and forsook her for someone else. The appalled look on his face told me he dropped courting this free woman, in part, because of her same behavior in the past.

Lastly, a free man deserves and desires your entire attention. If you look through this little compendium of advice I think you might find which areas need the most attention in your dating arsenal. I hope that you write me back and tell me of any success you might have by following these folios.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 169

GRUEL IS CRUEL – A New Recipe is born

Tuesday, July 15th, 2014

panther en

Picture: Gorean Panther En

GRUEL IS CRUEL ~ A New Recipe is born

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni

My Master was away for a day and after I finished my chores in the house I looked around for something to eat. I was so busy fixing snacks for my Master to take on his short trip that I neglected to eat my first meal of the day. I had an unpleasant feeling of shakiness and a small headache from the lack of food. As I looked around the house I found a half eaten piece of bread that had seen better days. I did not fancy eating moldy Sa-Tarna bread and I chucked it out in the street for the birds to peck at. I was getting mighty hungry. There was no coin in the house either to purchase something at the market stalls. I thought about asking the baker to put some fresh bread on my Master’s account but he has been put out with me since I poked my finger inside a cream cake on his shelf. I just wanted to taste it but, I was caught. He told me not to come back any time soon.

I thought maybe I would go to the vegetable merchant and ask him for a few suls and put the cost on my Master’s account but, the last time I went there to buy vegetables, the merchant and I had a heated argument and to spite him, I rubbed a sul in my butt crack, put it back in his display, and thumbed my nose at him. He chased me but, he is an enormous man and I out distanced him and got away. He should eat more of the vegetables he sells. Maybe he could then win a foot race with me.

I was going to have to go to where the food was plentiful, albeit, distasteful. Yes my friends, I went to the city kennel. It was there that I met the slaver of Port Olni, Master Tuor, a Tuchuck. Our slaver is a very kind man and the girls that come in for processing and training are well treated.

As all of Gor knows, the food that is commonly given slaves is a gruel consisting of Sa-Tarna meal mixed with water. This is a cheap but life sustaining repast. Before one ingests this substance, you find yourself asking, do I live to eat or do I eat to live? Slave gruel is definitely something that you eat in order to live. And so you eat it to ward off death.

And so I begged the Master Tuor to go to the kennel kitchen and get some Sa-Tarna meal. He was most accommodating and said I could have half a sack if I wanted it. I took a sack that was open and about 1/3 full. I thanked him profusely and went home. At the house I put the sack on the counter and peered in at the substance. It was yellow and coarse similar to the cornmeal I had known on Earth. First I tried mixing a half of a cup with water and heating it up in a pan. The smell that came from it was not appetizing and even with my great hunger, I threw it out into the street for the birds to peck at.

I looked around the kitchen and remembered a pitcher of bosk milk that had soured but had not been thrown out yet. So I took two cups of the soured milk, three cups of Sa-Tarna meal, and some baking soda and salt and mixed them in a bowl. It started to look more like a cake batter. I tasted the mixture and realized it was missing something. The missing ingredient could be obtained for free. I ran out the door and through the Olni Var gate to the Olni Var park. It is there that our Ubar keeps his bee hives. A low table is set up with pots of honey and a barrel full of honey. The Ubar encourages the residents to partake freely of his honey and so I took a pot of it home.

I mixed half a pot of honey into the batter and tasted it. By this time my hunger was so great that I was sampling the honey to keep from having the low sugar shakes. I took some butter from the counter and slathered the inside of the baking pan.

I poured the batter into the pan, covered it, and shoved it in the hearth, covering it with coals. I waited, sucking the honey off my fingers for about 20 ehn. I uncovered the pan and inside was a pretty good replica of the earth starch, corn bread. I cut a huge piece out of it and started gobbling it with honey.

I wound up eating the whole pan and suffered from the results of my gluttony afterward. I slept the rest of the day like an ost who just swallowed a large urt.

I was thinking of writing on a scroll my recipe for this “gruel on steroids” and passing it on to the cook at the House of Spiritweaver city kennel. I think it would even be better with a couple of vuolo eggs in the batter.

I heard a knock on the door much later and the next door neighbor wanted to know if I was throwing food out into the streets to attract urts. She made me clean it up.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 166

ASK TEAL – Dubious Advice to Goreans

Tuesday, July 15th, 2014


Picture: Working in the fields – City of Naath

ASK TEAL ~ Dubious Advice to Goreans

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni

I am a free woman who is desperate to find a companion. I see free men everywhere in my city, they are either with companions or walking with a retinue of slaves behind them. In other words, they are most unapproachable. I have been courted by some five men in the past but after a few weeks, they disappear from my life and if I see them in the commons or the market place, they turn the other way or cross to the other side of the street to avoid me. Will I ever find one? Where are all the men? Please advise.

By the three moons, there must be an epidemic on Gor. Yours is the third scroll I have received this week written about the same dilemma. You give me little to go on. I would need more information to give you the sound advice I am used to dispensing in The Voice of Gor. (coughs) For instance, how mature are you, when was your last bath, do you use mouth wash, are your clothes freshly laundered, do you pick your teeth in public. These may all be clues as to why men flee from your side. Since I have a dearth of answers to the aforementioned I will now impart a primer on dating for free women. Maybe after taking these admonitions to heart you will find the free companion of your dreams.

If your hygiene is not lacking and your robes of concealment cover your natural assets demurely, then I would look to behaviors that could be the “kiss of death” to a budding relationship.

Here are some red flags that a prospective mate will not find appealing in a date. First off, do not make sentimental appeals to his emotions. Don’t expect him to say things he is not comfortable revealing. He may not want to tell you of the last man he ran through with his blade or the paga slut he used last night. You might be moved to tears. And generally speaking, men prefer not to see a woman in tears, especially in public. And, you will be in public during your courtship. Think of HIS discomfort when you starting weeping openly in the commons.

Next on the list, and these are not in order of importance as they are ALL important, when in the presence of a free man, alighting on a cushion or chair, for the sake of the Priest-Kings, do it with a little grace. Do not assume awkward positions. A lady in robes of concealment should not sit with her knees up, spread apart, letting her gown settle in between her legs. You are not at the physicians office getting a gynecological examination. Now this rule is thrown out the window when in the privacy of your own quarters away from judgmental eyes. In that instance you may behave in the sluttiest of attitudes.

In the same vein as your body deportment, the movement of your mouth should be considered. If your intended and you share a meal, chew your food and keep your lips closed while doing so. Do not bolt it down like a tarn tearing apart a tabuk. This should not be too hard, as all women, at some point in their lives, have to learn to use their mouth and lips in pleasing ways. Also, a woman must cultivate a clear speaking voice. They must learn to laugh charmingly. They must learn to move their lips to express desire for the man. They must also learn to hold their tongues when tempted to tell the man that he smells like a rotted old corpse of a dead sleen if in fact she is trying to court his favor.

To please a man, think of watching your mother making a cake. She would be using all sorts of delightful ingredients. You would be watching her deft movements and imagine the delights of the soon to be present, cake. In that way you have learned cake making. And so it is that you could learn to please a free man, from observing those who are already doing so. Slaves learn this early on so it would behoove a free woman to learn from the observations of how good slaves treat their Masters, which is the least painful method of learning. Or, you could take years learning by trial and error, making corrections to your “How to Please a Free Man” recipe. These minor corrections to the recipe, which take place every time you have tasted a too bitter or a too sweet or a too salty concoction, can lead to the constant heart break of losing some very expensive cake ingredients because you have not treated them right. It can be compared to coming to the new love interest with a pantry of separate experiences that you could not meld into one pleasing mix. This is maybe the main reason why you have not succeeded in keeping a male in your life. It could also explain why you could be a terrible baker. But, that of course is pure supposition on my part.

Another salient point is this, be interested in what the male is saying. I am not telling you to appear interested, I am saying “BE INTERESTED”. You may say, “But, he is a boring person. How can I find what he says of interest?” I am here to say, if you find little of interest in what he says, you are with the wrong man. You had best get out of that relationship sooner than later. Find a man you are interested in. Looks fade but the intellect, if not marred by accident and disease, lasts to the end of life. One should pick brains over looks any day of the week. Although a cute smile couldn’t hurt.

The answer to your question of where are all the men and how can you get and keep one is turning into a novella of sorts. The answers to your question are long and intricate. I must say that writing about them is going to take a few more publications of this news scroll, The Voice of Gor. I would like to finish your answer this week but my Master is giving me the evil eye because I have occupied his desk in the study for too long. He permits me to write this column as long as I am not using his desk while he is home. He is motioning for me to assume the position of a pleasure slave. Uh oh, he is tapping his foot. Never fear, true to my purpose of supplying questionable advice, I will finish your answer on next week’s scroll.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 167


Tuesday, July 15th, 2014

city of Naath

Picture: The new Tharna


By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni

My Master, being the Gorean male that he is, studies the scrolls of Gor’s historian, Master John Norman. I am commanded by him to study those same scrolls. My Master actually, should have been born into the Magistrates caste since he has an exacting air about him. He is, though, a brave warrior who has sent many enemies to their deaths. Woe to this slave when she does not please her Master. He will come down on my “little pipe dream” that I am lost in and wake me the hell up.

So I study the scrolls. And as I do, I am flooded with some misgivings about my “career” as a slave. The Historian lays it on the line for me. I am an animal. I am a creature without rights whose total objective in life is to work and serve the free pleasingly. This is a sobering fact for me as it most likely has been for other slaves.

Animals are bought and sold everyday. It seems that not one of these animals, who are bought and sold, have stood up and said that they refused to be sold.

Goreans are fond of naming their livestock. And so when they acquire the slave of another, who may come with the name of, let us say, “Rina”, the next owner changes the name of the animal to suit his ear. He may call the beast, “Bina” or “Gertrude”, it matters not and the slut must speak her new name when asked for it.

Slaves are given away as gifts on many occasions. When a slave is put on the auction block, she finds out very quickly that she is a performing animal. She is prodded into positions that only my physician on Earth would be privy to. Yet, there can be no embarrassment. The slave must exhibit well to fetch a high price. Goreans, who sell other types of livestock, make sure to brush the burrs out of the hair of their beasts to make them more appealing to a prospective buyer. But alas, some slaves are delivered to the auction block “en deshabille” and their prices can plummet.

But, back to the fact that slaves can be given away as gifts. Many people feel most generous around Se’Var or the winter solstice. I am not sure why that is but, I see a lot of gift giving during this period of the calendar than at any other time. At the solstice, when I am serving in the commons, I will notice the disappearance of slaves that I have been accustomed to serving alongside. It could be that they were given as gifts to their Master or Mistresses friend. I also witness. In that same commons, slaves who suddenly appear with another name. As disconcerting as that is, that same slave will scowl at you when you try to call her the old name. I would really hate to be given away as a gift to someone. And, it is a possibility. A factoid that my Master makes sure I am cognizant of.

I look back on this scroll, and though I have only written a small sample about the concept of slavery. What I already know about slavery gave me cause to pause in the commons the other day. There was a very pleasant, if somewhat preoccupied, Master sitting at a table. He was accompanied by two kajira. The three of them sat in silence. I wondered if the Master required me since there was no other slave in the commons at the time.

I approached the Master to ask if he needed service. His kajira both sneered at me. The Master thanked me and indicated that the sluts at his feet would see to his needs.

And so I arose and went back to sweeping. As I passed them, one of his slaves hissed at me. What she said made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I then looked at the pair of them with different eyes. Instead of two silk clad kajira, there appeared, in my mind’s eye, two “wanna be” free women dressed in royal purple. On their craniums they wore crowns imbedded with semiprecious stones. I had to shake my head so that my vision returned to what was reality. I went back to my sweeping.

I have this really nice broom and I like to use it. Sometimes, when no one is around, I practice wielding it as a weapon. Thank goodness, slaves are allowed to beat back the enemy. Although, all we can use are rolling pins, brooms and pans. No range weapons. The Ubara calls my janitorial equipment, the “broom of doom”. That has a nice ring to it.

I have been researching the Historian’s scrolls for any mention of slaves wearing silks before dusk. So far I have not found any prohibition on the matter. But, it should be a law. I’m just sayin’.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 165

ASK TEAL – Dubious advice to Goreans

Tuesday, July 15th, 2014

city of Naath

Picture: The new Tharna

ASK TEAL ~ Dubious advice to Goreans

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni

I am a free woman.  I recently travelled to another city to visit a friend.  My friend is also a free woman.  She has a male slave.  Her slave is quite attractive.  I found myself wanting to get in the furs with this slave and so I asked my friend if I could use him.  She looked at me in shock and said, “Certainly NOT, and besides in this city the Couching Laws are in effect.”  I just nodded and changed the subject.  Truth is, I do not know what the “Couching Laws” are.  I am too embarrassed to ask anyone here in my city.  Could you give me the information on these “Laws”?
Oh I am right there with you on that one.  It is awkward to not be aware of the laws of a city.  And, I have heard it said that ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it.  I have never advised a free woman or slave on this subject and so I myself, “hit the books” in the great library of Port Olni to do some research on your question.
At first I thought it was a group of laws,  you know like two or more people sitting on a couch?  I started to think in the direction of sofa’s, settee’s, living room suite’s, big comfy chairs.  Then my musings took me to psychiatric couches where some of us wind up when we have enough money to pay Master Freud or Master Jung to help us come to grips with the planet. 
After a couple of afternoons of sneezing from the dust, hauling scrolls off the shelves of the library, I found your answer.  In the simplest of explanations here is the Couching Law that some cities adhere to. 
A free woman, if she owns a slave, may take him or her to the furs.  After all, that slave is the property of the free woman and she should be accorded the total use, display, and punishment (if needed) of that property.  A free woman must be discrete in her use of her slave for those reasons.  In other words, you can’t make a public display of sexual congress in the commons area, the front gates, or the arena.  Heaven forbid that a free woman would lower herself to make use of a slave at the front gate.  Yes, it would be acceptable for a free woman to take her slave to the furs in her own domicile away from prying eyes.
Now, the Couching Laws state that a free woman may not take to her furs, the slave of another.  It would be an unwise choice and dangerous.
I have here, copied onto this scroll, a quote from the Couching Laws of Port Olni.
“Any free woman who couches with another’s slave, or readies herself to couch with another’s slave, becomes herself a slave, and the slave of the slave’s Master.”
I think the law speaks for itself.  It would be advantageous to curb your sexual appetites and save them for a free man.  Now, if that is not possible….well it just has to be possible or your friends will soon see you naked, whipped, and collared.

I am a free man. My companion and I have just moved to another city. This new city is much nearer the caravan trade routes and allows me to buy merchandise for my stall much more cheaply. My companion and I were both born in the city which we just left. We have a fondness for the city of our birth. When we left we packed our flag which has the city crest on it. In our new city we are fond of flying this insignia over the stall where we sell goods in the market place. I was asked by the landlord of the stall rentals, to take down the ensign of my old city.
He said we lived in the town of “Ramberry” and he felt it was disrespectful to display the ensign of another city in the market stalls of “Ramberry”.

I am really irked by this man. I told him, “Perhaps I will, Sir and perhaps my Mother will turn into an ost next waiting hand.” I know I have to give him an answer as he is harassing us. What should I do so as not to cause a war between the two cities over my need to fly this banner?

Hmmmm…I think I have seen your stall in “Ramberry”, the last time I was there. You sell a lot of glittery things, right? You know, nothing says “love” like receiving a present that glitters. It seems the more “love” you want to express to the recipient the more glittery the gift has to be. I remember my Master stopping by that stall. He purchased a small perfume amphora. The glass was exquisite, delicate, glittery. I hoped he was buying it for me but alas he bought it for the Ubara. He said she deserved nice things more than me. He could be right.

But I digress. Yes…I saw that flag waving in the beautiful breezes of En’var. The flags colors were brilliant against the sky. You should be proud of your former ensign. Now about the Keeper of the Stall Rents, if he is not satisfied you will continue to be accosted by him.

To avoid these frequent confrontations…you could use this flag debacle as a “marketing moment”. I would be a liar, and woe betides the slave who lies, if I told you my Master and I were not attracted to the colorful flag flown from your stall. It is a fabulous way to generate interest in your stall and its contents. I noticed that not one of the other stalls flew a banner.

I am sure, that in the market, there are diverse populations of shopkeepers, not all of whom were born in “Ramberry”. You might suggest to the Keeper of Rents that he permit all stall owners to fly the flags of the cities they are now or formerly from. Have them place a professional and tasteful display of his or her flags on their stalls. It would be surprising to learn that maybe the stall owner next to you from your old city.

This would be a civil way of solving this predicament. The market could sport a more cosmopolitan look. Also the citizens of your old city would be more apt to shop at a stall that was flying the banner of their city.

Once again, a win win situation. By the way, do you have any more of those perfume amphora? I am pestering my Master to buy me one.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 164

Bizzy Slut

Wednesday, June 25th, 2014

city of Naath

Picture: Selling Verrs, City of Naath

Bizzy Slut

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni

I present for your perusal part three of – “She’s Baaaaaaack”. It is incredible how just a month, a hand, a coupla weeks and a few days can get you out of the loop. My senses have been heightened by my absence. My thoughts might not be interesting to all but I hope they will at least entertain some Masters and Mistresses out there and some slaves could possibly relate to them as well. Just when you think you have “figured someone out”, they change everything about themselves down to their hair color and sometimes even their sex. It would be nice to know of these facts before you meet the person again. So one has to be acutely aware of these changes, so that social gaffes will not be committed. One must be diligent in finding out the gossip that is fresh and new.

Now that is not fair of me to say it is gossip, it is really a source of news. A citizen or slave needs to be forewarned about events that have occurred so as not to appear clueless in front of others. I once knew a Master who made the embarrassing blunder of talking about the relationship between his friend and his white silk slave in front of the his friend’s companion. The Master was never warned of the fact that the free companion was never meant to know what was divulged. This social gaffe set off Defcon 3.

Gor has the lack of high speed communiqué’s that Earth dwellers have. That in itself could be either a blessing or a curse. On Gor, we depend on the conspiratorial whisper, the furtive glance, the clandestine meeting to enlighten us about the “goings on” about town. It is amusing to find out “who shot who”. Not that we wish death on anyone. Well there are those who wish death upon others and those that do, hire assassins to kill them. It is also amusing to see that the spelling of assassin starts with the word “ass”. I have to stop a moment so that I can ponder that one.

The information that I was privy to had become common knowledge. It seems that everyone reads the same newspaper. I heard these news snippets from everyone. Most would say that I spill all these news bulletins into the scroll of the Voice of Gor. Mostly I just listen to all the “news” and put it together with my observations to create a blown up version of Gor life.

In fact, maybe there should be a 4 color publication called Gor Life. I like the sound of that. With the lack of a financial backer, it would be impossible to pull off and publish in a timely manner such as this scroll, The Voice of Gor, is.

Looking back over what I have penned in this scroll, it seems that I owe myself a slap in the face. My digression has turned into another story. Since my coming back to Port Olni, I have realized the importance of communication between Gorean’s. Scrolls are really the only way to make sure that the words you want to communicate are written plainly. The person on the receiving end reads your words, if they can read, and knows that these are YOUR wishes and not someone else’s. Scrolls passed from one to another can eliminate most of the puzzlement associated with dubious transmissions.

I have been told of slaves and free alike who have been sent to another city with a verbal message to speak into the ears of another. This is never a good way to handle your communications with others. The slave or the free person may have a faulty memory or decides he or she does not like the information you are imparting, in which case they will change the message to suit their needs. Now, if you cannot write in plain Gorean, all bets are off. You had best get someone who can write the scroll for you.

Thankfully, “White Out” correction fluid does not exist on Gor. To change the wording of a scroll, one would have to meticulously scrape minuscule fibers off of the portion of the paper that is infused with ink. If the amount scraped off makes an indent in the paper, it would be a sure sign that something has been altered.

And so to end this scroll, I will say, that if a message of yours gets misconstrued so that it creates a border skirmish, you better go in person to correct the information and not send an entire ambassadorial staff to do it for you.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 163

I am back – The Return of the Prodigal

Saturday, June 7th, 2014


Picture: Isle of Landa [April 2011]

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni

I’M BAAAAAAACK ~ The Return of the Prodigal

In the first place you could say, “She’s back? I didn’t know she was gone.” and in the second place, you could say, “Oh God no! If she calls, tell her I’m not here.” Either way I am glad to be back and I want to warn you, don’t duck into the nearest alley when you see me coming.

There were so many things to observe and hear in Port Olni on my first day back. My Master rented a house. He wanted to rent the same house he was living in when he left Olni. Unfortunately someone had rented his old house and he took the house across the lane. The houses are similar in everyway except they are across from each other. When he told me that we could not have the old dwelling, I tried to hide my piteous cries by stuffing my face with a cream cake.

He could see through my deception which means either I am a poor liar or I find it amusing to feign distress through a mouthful of cake. In any instance, he said, “Would you like me to gag you slut? I think I will gag you, then you can’t make noise and you can’t eat. That will solve your problem and mine.” I rather thought he was being harsh with me but I quickly remembered that I had no rights as I am an animal. So I stopped screwing around and came correct.

It turned out okay because the new house is more commodious. I would like to say to the citizen that rented the old house of my Master in Olni Var…I don’t like what you have done with the place.

I was actually hoping that my Master would have changed his hair color, taken on a new caste and moved to Vonda. I would also have disguised my appearance. Moving to Vonda would have made it expeditious to poison the wells there and kill off the vermin who inhabit the city.

But, I am happy to be back in Port Olni. I am familiar with the market stalls and those who keep them. The proprietors were glad to see me back with my marketing basket. They give me free samples of their wares so I will stand by their places of business and attract men which brings in needed tarsks.

It is also easier to write my column in Port Olni. It is very quiet in Olni Var. One my first day back I was stopped by our sainted Ubara. She was carrying a scroll case loaded down with scrolls that had arrived for me while I was gone. They were from Gorean’s who had sent in questions for “ASK TEAL”. I must get to answering them.

There were a lot of things that have taken place though since my Master left. A few of them, architectural in nature. The first building I was greeted by is a new tavern that was erected by Buildem and Pray, the architectural firm that the Ubar and Ubara so often put into their employ. The tavern is a public building that is now worthy of the town of Olni.

The new tavern off the commons is akin to a four star restaurant on earth and probably would receive two stars in the Guide Michelin if it were an earth bound establishment. But as it is a Gorean tavern the men could care less if there was excrement on the floors. I, on the other hand, appreciate a well designed and sumptuously decorated space. The new tavern off the commons is now such a place. There is a full kitchen, tasteful art on the walls and a nice dance pit. The only disconcerting note inside the building was a low wooden table with bench seats. The wood used in its building appeared to have been taken from some weathered material in an outdoor picnic area. I overheard that the Ubara is having a lovely marble table constructed for the tavern which will soon replace the old one.

Another building I was glad to see reinstated was the male and female bath house. I think water had become precious in Olni at one point and the bath house was demolished. In its place was a rickety old building that one felt afraid to go into. There was no privacy for men or women and it languished for a time. Olni was starting to smell ripe since no one wanted to use the bath house. I took to swimming in the Olni River everyday. Now a bath house that is accessible in a garden setting. It is also far enough out of the city that loud late night parties will not disturb anyone.

While covering the new construction in Port Olni I have one sad note to report. It is the existence of a group of apartment cylinders in the Olni Var garden. I visited them briefly and felt immediately trapped inside their forbidding walls. I think we need to put the jail where the apartments are and replace the jail with the apartments. With a few deft touches the jail could become a sought after address and the cylinder apartments would function nicely as roomy jail cells.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 161

PAGA, PAGA, PAGA ~ Festival in Sulport

Tuesday, May 13th, 2014


Picture: Oasis of Klima, Tahari desert

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Sulport

PAGA, PAGA, PAGA ~ Festival in Sulport

This weekend, merrymaking was at its best in Sulport. I am still recovering from the copious bowls of paga my Master fed me. I try to stay away from paga drinking. It seems one bowl is enough to cause me to shed what little clothing I have on and dance on table tops. One could say slaves should be doing these actions on a daily basis, well the dancing on tables part at least.

Sulport was awash not only in paga barrels, but revelers of all types willing to quaff the brew that was offered in tents set up around the city. Sulport was built with the word “par-tay” in mind. To be sure the buildings are neoclassical in fabrication but the arrangement of broad stone set plazas that surround them offer perfect places to set up festive booths and rides. Sulport took on the air of an earth carnival.

I was taken by my Master to one plaza that contained many venues. The first that attracted my attention was a kissing booth. I was quick to stand behind its counter and pucker up for the lips of my Master. I also looked around for any stray lips that wanted kissing but only free women were in the vicinity. After the smooching was over, he walked around to each tented and gaily decorated booth and examined them closely. I was especially taken with the candy booth. As luck would have it I was the recipient of a large honey candy which I commenced eating. Once my head is in candy, nothing much matters. A point that is well taken with my Master and he used the occasion of my zombie-like behavior to feed me the first of the paga bowls.

With my head reeling from the alcohol I continued to follow my Master around the fair. Our next stop was the snake charming basket. I looked in it to see an ugly ost. My Master picked up a flute and started playing and thumping the ground in front of the disgusting, wriggling, scaly thing. It popped its head out and started hissing at which point I backed off. I went to the revolving swings nearby and hopped on. Sucking on the candy was the only thing that saved me from displaying the contents of my stomach since the paga made me woozy and the action of the merry-go-round swings intensified the paga’s effect. After a while the feeling passed and my Master hopped on the swings also. He shoved his sandal up my butt from behind which caused us both to laugh.

Our next venue was the puppet show booth which was not manned at that moment. I called over to a kajira I have made acquaintance with by the name of Kayla. I was told she was going to put on a puppet show, which would have been highly amusing but, her Master, impatient with the slowness of the preparations, dragged her off so that he could swill from the flowing spigot of the paga barrel. This fact annoyed me but her Master got his comeuppance of a sort when he volunteered to be the dunkee in the dunk tank. I begged my Master to purchase me some projectiles to hurl at the bull’s eye target. He obliged me and I stood on the marker with stone in hand ready to pitch it at the destination which would cause Kayla’s Master to fall into the tank. The Priest-Kings were with me as I hit the mark on the first try and into the tank went Master Lorr Tren. I walked away smirking, satisfied that if I could not be privileged to see his girl’s puppet show, at least he was cold and wet because of my accurate throw.

After another ahn, my Master left to take a nap after he had downed a few bowls of paga himself. He bought me a honey pop and a nice piece of spiced and dried bosk meat. I was in tarsk heaven. Kneeling in the plaza, eating, and observing the free and slaves at their festivities was a pleasant pass time.

I was startled when a tarn and rider landed rather abruptly in the middle of this paga fest. The rider was hooded. His eyes scowling. He inquired about a dance competition that he was sure would be taking place at the Paga Festival. I informed him rather brightly that it would be starting in 2 ahn. A nearby slave got rather close to the tarn’s beak and was warned off by the cantankerous man who rode it. I was far enough away and called out to see if it would be permissible to throw a piece of candy to the tarn. The rider let fly a series of epithets which I countered with the supposition that he had arisen on the wrong side of the furs that morning.

Not wanting to be inhospitable, I asked him if it would not be more pleasant for him to come down off his high tarn and let me serve him paga and sweet meats while he was waiting for the dancers. This lead to further malevolent and inflammatory language from the tarnsman. He threatened in a loud voice to kill all the inhabitants of Sulport, raze the city, and bind all the slaves and sell them at auction in Port Kar. This ridiculous bellowing was heard by a free woman who was passing by. She demanded to know if the tarn rider was wanting to start a war.

Without warning the one man army atop the tarn instructed his bird to kill and devour me. I was alert for this one. After he called me a smart mouth slave I knew he was not to be cajoled in any way shape or form and arose to my feet and started backing away. It was a good thing I did. The tarn grazed my buttocks with it’s massive beak causing a nasty bruise. I ran for the apartments of my Master, the idiot on tarnback in pursuit. I reached safety and ventured out after a few ehn to see if he was still around. I glanced up to see if I could see the bird and noticed in the distance the tarn and its obnoxious rider sitting on the roof of the inn. They seemed to be awaiting the return of the prey, namely me.

I went back in and started cooking for my Master and vowed not to venture out for the rest of the day. My Master thought the bruise on my ass was from an overzealous paga drinker and I did not elaborate on its origins. Let sleeping sleens lie is a motto that has saved my bruised ass on many an occasion.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 158

ASK TEAL – Dubious advice to Goreans

Tuesday, April 8th, 2014


Pictures: Docks of the city of Olni – Saleria

ASK TEAL ~ Dubious advice to Goreans
By Teal Razor

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Port Olni Warrior

Here is my problem. I have a fast approaching pre-arranged companioning with one of the my caste; the caste of warriors. I recently witnessed him denouncing his superior and refusing to defend his Home Stone while the city was under attack. His actions have chilled me to the bone. I want to escape the coming ceremony that I have no control over. It seems my mother and father are adamant that this one is a “keeper” and have elaborate plans costing a sack of gold tarns which my family can ill afford to spend. It might ruin my family. Do you have a suggestion?

Let us delve into your dilemma. I perceive that you are a free woman since you mentioned an upcoming companioning ceremony and that you are of the honorable warrior’s caste. So I am certain you know the codes as any honorable Gorean and would be distraught at someone defecating on them. I can say, as a slave, I would not want a traitor to darken my doorstep and I cast a dim view on the outcome of this event. The worse that can happen is that you will need to stick around and endure his personal shame for a year. Then when the anniversary of your ceremony comes due, you will choose not to renew. Then “you’re home free baby!”

Sorry, I forgot you do not know that term. It was effective communication on earth. I have to keep reminding myself that there is a little blue ball out there called earth. A place I have some fond memories of. But, such is life and one must make the best of it.

I am getting off track. Back to the copious piles of gold that will be spent on this catered affair. It seems to matter not if you run from the affair or stay and be a party of the companioning to this spitting image of bosk dung, you probably WILL, if companioned, leave your companion after a year, (that poor excuse for a meat suit) which will cause your parents to lament the day your were born. If you run pre-companioning, your parents would not only regret ever knowing you, they might lose their retirement. Either way your parents lose even though you will come out about even. So let’s see what can be done to let your parents back out of this dubious “celebration” with good graces and seem heroic for having done so.
It will be up to you to mount a grass roots campaign to declare your “future companion” unfit. All of Gor needs to know of the “warrior” who defecated on his caste codes. Gor must be warned when this type of mental illness creeps on board. No self-respecting free woman would allow the progeny of this psychotic to exit from her womb let alone enter her womb.

Again, I digress. So, in mounting a crusade, you will be vindicated. Your parents will be proud that you stood up for true caste members where ever they may be, and you will be relieved of the guilt and shame of causing the ruination of your parents.

By the way, if you need a campaign manager, I am available on short notice.


I am a slave. I used to live in the northern climes of Gor. There, we called our masters, Jarls. We did not have to kneel in the presence of the free. We could walk by them and not be concerned that the free would want a report of who we were and where were we going. We had too much work to do to be kneeling down and relaxing. I was bought by a new Master and he lives in a southern clime. In the new city, I have to kneel constantly in the presence of the free, I have to say Master this and Master that. I am not happy with all this regimentation. I do not want to run away. Do you have a solution for me?

You seem to know little about how things are done around here. I appreciate that you come from a land that you have good feelings about. I too know of such feelings myself. Here is what I don’t do, though. I don’t kneel all the time in the presence of the free. Think about it, if you got on your knees to every free person you passed, even though they may not give a rosy red urts ass as to the reason you are walking around , you would never be able to accomplish tasks.

I do kneel when I am speaking to them or they are speaking to me or if I am serving them. Otherwise a slave does not have to spend their lives on their knees. It is a bad habit in any case and can cause prepatellar bursitis. So if you are cooking, cleaning, and marketing, etc. you obviously, should be on your feet. It is always a good idea to get on your knees when your own Master enters your presence.

I also don’t do this. I don’t vocalize the sentiments that my previous place of residence was superior to my present city. This kind of talk can lead to a good cuffing or at the very least, being captured and abused. When in Treve, do what the Trevian’s do. For example, in Treve, you might see slave’s spitting in the pots of food awaiting the free. You see that this slave is not being admonished or punished in anyway and continues to get away with this detestable act. Does this mean you join in and jump over the cliff like the rest of the lemmings. This kind of insubordination spreads like wildfire. It is called anarchy. Turning a blind eye to one infraction will, down the road, leave plenty of space for other noxious practices. Maybe slaves will take up swords against the free and defy their Masters, threatening them with death.

Start practicing saying the word Master or Mistress. It is just a small contribution to stave off certain anarchy. Then practice and perfect a graceful kneel. Make it a game with yourself. Tell yourself to “mean it” when you do kneel. Don’t give one of those, “toss back your hair, utter an audible word of disgust at having to do this kneeling thing, and look up into the eyes of the free with a nauseous look and tell them in a sarcastic manner that you would be only too “happy” to comply with whatever they are asking you.” Give them a heartfelt kneel and response. Is it too awful to suggest that? You will be surprised at how much candy you will be tossed.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 153


Tuesday, April 1st, 2014


Pictures: Village of Abydos

Who were these men…Strange strangers at the gate

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Port Olni Warrior

I had a “run-in”, of sorts, this week and when it was over, I retained bad feelings about the whole encounter.

My Master was on gate duty and he was having some rather odd interaction with a few questionable Gorean males. They spoke a strange dialect, which made the questioning even more difficult than normal.

These strangers at the gate were acting like urts, looking like urts, and boy did they smell ripe. Oh excuse me; I am not to criticize the free. Now, there is no way I will try to soften that. I mean picture a bosk; picture all the long hair on that wondrous mammal. Now think about the heat at the highest point of La Torvis on a day in the middle of En’Var. The bosk has been lying down in its filth. Now if you inhale deeply you will have the scent of these strangers at the gate. My eyes were starting to water and so I excused myself from my Master’s side, feigning some malaise or other. I ran to the gate that took me to the inside walls where I climbed 3 flights of stairs to get to the top of the walls. Once up there, I inhaled deeply of the cool breeze that was blowing off the Olni River. I stayed on the wall until my eyes cleared and my stomach stopped churning.

I came around to my senses and went back down the walls and into the gate keepers fortress and peeked through the notch to observe the going’s on at the gate well out of range of my olfactory’s. The exchange between these male stink machines and my Master was not heading in any plausible direction. I came out and knelt by the inside commons gates. It was about as close as one could get without passing out from the noxious off gassing from their collective personages. I looked above to the landing of the warrior’s hall and there stood Captain Atlas with a bemused look on his face. I wanted to shout to him to get closer to the action down below, thinking that I would see a very different look on his face once he breathed deeply of the fetid cloud that surrounded these strangers.

They claimed to be from Vonda. I found that fact ludicrous. I have been to Vonda and all I can remember was the scented oils and delicious food smells. Vonda’s citizens appeared bright and shiny in their clean robes and tunics. The slave’s seemed well arranged and sweet smelling. How were these escapee’s from the cesspool related to those lovely folk in Vonda? I immediately thought, “These men are from Treve and they have come to case the joint.” My jaw dropped when my Master, having no reason to keep them out of Port Olni, opened the gate, checked them for bows, and opened the gate to the commons.

Another slave came to join me. Since this slave was newly acquired by the House of Spiritweaver, her name was 3040. This 3040 knelt next to me and wanted to know the skinny on the gate hubbub. I started to tell her when the strange, malodorous trio came over to 3040 and myself. They loomed large in body and in scent. I looked over to the other kajira and I could see her eyes start to water from the stench. I could not help but laugh and I was immediately chastised by one Master Fetid. If that wasn’t his name, it should have been. I immediately offered my services to bring them hot food and drink. They ignored this offer and just stood there making grunting noises. The vocalizations emanating from the pie holes in their faces went something like this: “ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhhh, piss piss, piss piss, hog, and hog hog.” They also kept putting a “Z” in front of every noun. For instance, “Z” slut, “Z” gate, “Z” ale, etc. I kept wondering who the hell “Z” was.

This was all confusing to say the least. They stopped all their grunting to demand that they be taken to the tavern. This I dutifully did. I watched my Master through the bars of the gate, frowning at him as I passed. I mean, I loved serving in the commons; you get to meet so many travelers, it gives you a chance to hobnob with the good citizen’s of Olni. But…in the tavern, Gorean males usually have other needs which I was not willing to fulfill at the moment. I was not disappointed in my supposition, for once the doors of the tavern slammed, the odor crew demanded sexual acts. The slave 3040 was a little disconcerted and I was glad she was there to help “relieve the burden”. One of the strangers, who were ostensibly from Vonda, was mute because of having his tongue sliced off. It is really too bad he did not have his tongue, it might have been better if he had lost his nose. The mute one kept saying, “ahhhhhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhhhh…” while forcing the head of 3040 into his lap. The other two, amused themselves with pouring ale over my head for kissing the side of the tankard and deciding which one was going to use my mouth first.

I have poured over the scrolls of the historian Master Norman as my Master has directed me in his lessons. I realize that this tavern travesty was not unknown in the past on the planet Gor. Gorean males are sexy beasts to be sure. Please forgive me for using the word “beast” but it is an apt descriptor of Gorean man meat. Furring is usually on their minds. Although, it has been my experience that when a free man uses me, he turns into a romance machine. These men desire bathing in hot scented pools of water and being massaged with delicious oils. It is a delight to pleasure them at these times. The historian writes of males who take what they want, when they want. This is as it should be and I do remember that the historian admonished, “If it is not beautiful, it is not Gorean.” It appears that the historian, Master Norman, has put us all on notice. We all need to have within us, exquisite beauty. I mean really, what are we all residents of Port Kar or Treve? I think not. We are people of cosmopolitan thinking, for the most part. On earth there was a word being popularized among the dwellers. It was a “made up” word to define a male cosmopolite. The word was “metro sexual”. I think I have translated it into the Gorean with sufficient aplomb.

Not to say that Gorean males should go around carrying a fresh pair of panties in their back packs, but rather be groomed for the odd occasion that may present itself when searching for someone to couple with. Every slave thinks fondly of such encounters with males who manscape and smell like a fresh breeze off Thassa.

Once again, I digress. You see, this humiliating show was witnessed, through the foggy window by passers by. I wondered if my Master would appear through the doors to oversee this episode in my life. I was unaware that his duties increased at the gate and he was detained. I felt ill-treated by these fish-monger’s bastards. This is one of the few times since arriving here that I was in fear for my life. They made veiled references to our displeasing them and the punishment that they could reign down on 3040’s head and my own.

When they tired of amusing themselves with us, they made a beeline for the gate and to the docks.

I followed my Master as he opened the gates. He closed them after the gas clouds left. He stood looking out the gate and I sat in silence. After a few ehn he turned to me and looked down as if to say, “Oh, you’re here.” He said, “Something is wrong, you seemed vexed.” I was happy that my change in tone, resorting to my “Mr. Roboto” voice, caught his attention. I was mumbling things under my breath; some of them caught the eardrums of Captain Atlas. When that warrior asked if I had said anything, I told him I was remarking about the lovely new flowers on the hills. My Master knew better than to buy into my deception. After the warrior left, my Master started using the third degree on me.
“My slut”, he said, “those men were of Vonda, and they would not dare to hurt you. And I pray that you pleased the free as you know you should.” I snorted at the “Vonda” part.
He went on to say, “I do not wish you to be harmed in the least and I am pretty certain that I have expressed my love for you. Do you doubt that?”
I replied, “I try not to think on it too much my Master. Since a slave should not be curious about whether someone loves them or not. It is unbecoming to a slave. I serve you to the best of my ability. I serve with passion and try to live up to my slave paces. I am not required to do any more I believe. I am your property after all.” I could tell that this cut him to the quick. It was impudent of me to give such a cold answer after the kindnesses he has extended to my unworthy self.
He cleared his throat, lifted my chin and said quietly, “Teal, I love you with all my heart. You are my love slave. There is no other and that is my final word on that.”
I know my Master to be a Gorean of integrity. I knew he was telling me the truth. I said happily…”My Master lets go home and soak in the tub and then afterward……..”

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 152