Archive for the ‘Tahari’ Category
Al Tariq
Thursday, October 10th, 2019
The Most Remote Place on Gor!
Friday, October 4th, 2019
Oasis of Klima (restricted access)
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.
Oasis of the Three Moons
Tuesday, March 26th, 2019
TALES OF A DESERT SLAVE CHAPTER 1
The Oasis was hidden by the high rocks which surrounded it and beyond that the dunes, there was only one way in and one way out so often it was overlooked but of course it was well known to the nomadic peoples of the Great Tahari and to the travelling merchant caravans.
The Oasis was a small one, but truly beautiful. Verdant fladah trees and tall date palms, the kanda shrub grew generously and the Tor light bush would shine bright yellow or a dazzling white shimmering in the sun, all of which encircled the water, The water was so deep, it would bubble up from under the ground in fact you could swim and without any danger from salt sharks for there were none, the water being sweet and crystal clear. Veminium flowers nodded all about, their purple petals opening to the morning sun, the sweet smell of them wafting on a sudden, unexpected breeze before the blazing sun reached its highest point and they enfolded once more.
The villagers in their simple mud built houses were contented dwellers for as a rule the Great Tahari could be very harsh. And here they grew a multitude of products such as sa-tarna, beans, berries, onions, melons, turnips, carrots, radishes, larma, tospits, katch, kort, apricots, melons, suls, and pomegranates. Due to the very warm climate, and the water they generally had two growing seasons so they had little need to import food. Kaiila and verr herds were kept in the oasis though not numerous, but enough for their needs. The nomadic peoples of the Tahari were the primary herders of kaiila and they ate little meat as they considered their animals too precious because of their hair, milk and trade value and they would encamp in their colorful tents all about the Oasis bringing much excitement to the village as they heard the bells of their animals, women and slaves approaching!
And it was here in this pleasant Oasis a little slave lived with her Master, she would keep his house whilst he was away and tend their small herd of verr whilsy he travelled with the caravans buying and trading the precious Tahari salt, sometimes he took her with him and she had seen for herself the splendors of the City of Light, Tor. But on this occasion he did not and she was perturbed and puzzled as all were within their oasis for they noticed the level of the water was ever decreasing, the bubbling up had ceased and the villagers were alarmed for this had never happened in anyones memory. As the water level dropped so the verdant growth all around slowly shrivelled in the hot, unforgiving sun and then followed the crops, the villagers fighting amongst themselves over the water. The slave girl rung her hands as she hid in her masters house, he had been gone so long and she would leave an oil lamp, a lamp of love, burning every night in the window opening where she slept. She watched the narrow path where the nomads now left as quickly as they came, time dragged on and still no sign of him. The villagers dug in the water hole as she did too but still no sign of the precious water. Over time the villagers left with the nomadic peoples and there she was, alone, she would never leave, she was His and always would be, but then nothing is certain in the life of a slave.
She managed to survive by saving the water from the night dew which she would collect after the cold nights on the few remaining broad leaves of the fladah trees and suck on pomegranates, living on what little supplies they had left. And it was was then, when she had almost given up and in such despair a Salt Trader travelling atop a huge tharlarion appeared on the narrow road in, she thought for an ehn that it was a mirage and she had finally succumbed and was on her way to the City of Dust for the beast was heavily laden with goods and precious water! Waving her arms and running to greet them she fell to her knees before the master as he offered a bota . She grabbed at it and quenched her thirst , the man watched and waited and then told her such news she did not wish to hear. Her owner and master was dead, bitten by an ost , and before he died he had told him where she was, on the Salt Traders route back, and so he took her, rescued the pathetic, sobbing slave, swung her up and lay her on the tharlarions broad back, for the slave was weak and exhausted, after covering her with a tent like shade he mounted too and they went on their way… and she to a new future…
City of Kasba
Tuesday, March 26th, 2019
City of Kasba. In order to travel to Kasba, you would have arrived by one of numerous trade caravans, or via the river.
Zerzura – City of Dionysos
Tuesday, March 26th, 2019
Zerzura – City of Dionysos – nestled in the desert at the southern edge of chartered territories of the Gorean Tahari
Oasis of Three Moons, revisited
Sunday, February 17th, 2019
Oasis of the Three Moons, Tahari. The Oasis is now member of the Southern Trade Alliance (STA).
Oasis of the Three Moons
Friday, January 18th, 2019
Oasis of the Three Moons, Tahari.
In the Tahari there is an almost constant wind. It is a hot wind, but the nomads and the men who ply the Tahari welcome it. Without it, the desert would be almost unbearable, even to those with water and whose bodies are shielded from the sun.
I listened to the caravan bells, which sound is pleasing. The kaiila moved slowly.
Prevailingly, the wind in the Tahari blows from the north or northwest. There is little to fear from it, except, in the spring, should it rise and shift to the east, or, in the fall, should it blow westward.
We were moving through hilly country, with much scrub brush. There were many large rocks strewn about. Underfoot there was much dust and gravel.
On the shaded sides of some rocks, and the shaded slopes of hills, here and there, grew stubborn, brownish patches of verr grass. Occasionally we passed a water hole, and the tents of nomads. About some of these water holes there were a dozen or so small trees, flahdah trees, like flat-topped umbrellas on crooked sticks, not more than twenty feet high; they are narrow branched, with lanceolate leaves. About the water, little more than muddy, shallow ponds, save for the flahdahs, nothing grew; only dried, cracked earth, whitish and buckled, for a radius of more than a quarter of a pasang, could be found; what vegetation there might have been had been grazed off, even to the roots; one could place one’s hand in the cracks in the earth; each crack adjoins others to constitute an extensive reticulated pattern; each square in this pattern is shallowly concave. The nomads, when camping at a watering place, commonly pitch their tent near a tree; this affords them shade; also they place and hang goods in the branches of the tree, using it for storage.”
John Norman: “Tribesman of Gor”, page 71
Oasis of Klima, the most remote place on Gor
Friday, November 9th, 2018
A caravan of merchants of the Southern Trade Alliance has made the way to the Oasis of Klima again. The path was lost for a long time.
In the distance, below, perhaps five pasangs away, in the hot, concave, white salt bleakness, like a vast, white, shallow bowl, pasangs wide, there were compounds, low, white buildings of mud brick, plastered. There were many of them. They were hard to see in the distance, in the light, but I could make them out.
«Klima, »said Hamid.
Most salt at Klima is white, but certain of the mines deliver red salt, red from ferrous oxide in its composition, which is called the Red Salt of Kasra, after its port of embarkation, at the juncture of the Upper and Lower Fayeen.
“For twenty days had we marched. Some thought it a hundred. Many had lost count. More than two hundred and fifty men had been originally in the salt chain. I did not know how many now trekked with the march. The chain was now much heavier than it had been, for it, even with several sections removed, was carried by far fewer men. To be a salt slave, it is said, one must be strong. Only the strong, it is said, reach Klima.”