Archive for March 1st, 2011
Kajuralia, the Festival of Slaves
Tuesday, March 1st, 2011The Head Slaver and the Kennel Mistress announce that the ‘Kajuralia‘, the Festival of Slaves”, will be celebrated in Besnitt on the last day of the Twelfth Passage Hand (Tuesday March 15th). Further Details of planned activities that day will be available in the next weeks.
“Upon this day, slaves may take liberties which are otherwise not permitted them during the year, including the drinking of wine and liquor, the freedom to roam at will (provided of course they do not attempt to escape from their owners permanently), the freedom to choose their own sexual partners and to couch with slaves of the opposite sex whom they find attractive, temporary suspension of all work and duties, and even the opportunity to play (minor) tricks and practical jokes upon freepersons. After the twentieth ahn, however, they are expected to be back in their respective kennels and slave quarters to resume the services required by their imbonded status; slaves who “go renegade” during Kajuralia are typically punished severely if recaptured, and are often executed for such an offense.” (Assassin of Gor, page 229)
“Kajuralia!” cried the slave girl hurling a basket of Sa-Tarna flour on me, and turning and running. I had caught up with her in five steps and kissed her roundly, swatted her and sent her packing.
“Kajuralia yourself!” I said laughing, and she, laughing, sped away.
About that time a large pan of warm water splashed down on me from a window some sixteen feet above the street level. Wringing wet I glared upward.
I saw a girl in the window, who blew me a kiss, a slave girl. “Kajuralia!” she cried and laughed.
I raised my fist and shook it and her head disappeared from the window.
A Builder, whose robes were stained with thrown fruit, hastily strode by. “You had better be indoors,” said he, “on Kajuralia.”
(Assassin of Gor, page 223)
Urt infestation in tavern while mending clothing
Tuesday, March 1st, 2011[15:49] Zara Janic turning her body carefully into the tavern ..the flat of her feet padding across the ground gracefully as she walks into the kitchen.. the sway of her hips leasurly, and smooth. looking around the shelves her sea green eyes searching restlessly, her fingernails drumming along the counterpayne. eyes sparkle like showers of due upon grass as she notices the box of linons, rags, square cloths and much needed string hiding on the very bottom of the kitchen…picking up the tiny carved box in her soft hands. she walks back over to the fireplace. back to the lone articles of clothing
[15:50] Zara Janic: setting the box on the floor, she leans close to the firelight, her heat instantly warming next to the closeness of it. she lays down flat on the cushion her legs dangling up. as she adjusts her position her ass gives a jiggle. her lushious thighs parting in an unspoken invitation, she props herself up on her elbows and clasps the cotten shirt to her breast, inspecting the gash throughly. about five inches in legnth and thin. she instantly imagines the battle that must of taken place. ja Vana’she quick, fierce and unwavering as a larl…looking down at the shirt she notices no blood just bits of dirt and grime. instantly beaming, glad that the Jarl must of come inches to getting cut badly. laying the shirt out before her she grabs the box of needle and thread looping it through expertly, her fingers trail along the fabric in a unspoken caress, the sent of the shirt instantly wafting to her, a heady scent, of the wheat fields, soap, and the exotic spicy male scent of ja Vana’she….
[15:51] Zara Janic a rush of heat wafting over her body and pooling low in her abdomin…she begins s by looping the beginning of the gash with the needle, drawing the thread through carefully, her tiny fingers deftly guiding the thread through the shirt’s gash. choosing to do a cross stitch that her mother had once tought her, telling her long ago that a cross stich insured that once repaired would never have to be repared again. making an X across the line of the Gash she stitches up soundlessly. giving the thread a sure tug as she ties tiny knots as she works through the stitch. as she reaches the end of the gash she ties four knots close to the gash’s stitched.
[15:57] Zara Janic holding the thread out toughtly, she reaches her head gracefully forward and bites the thread. but just in that moment. a large..house-cat sized urt rushes out of the corner of her eyes. with a loud ‘BAM’ the wooden sewing box drops to the floor. she screams atop her lungs looking wildly around the room….seeing another urt she gasps and shakes her head swiftly…filthy nasty creatures. she watched them scurry about the floor looking for dropped food…keeping never losing her gaze from the urt she quickly bites the thread. cutting it through with her teeth. putting the needle and box of cloth back at the kitchen. she returns to the garmet and inspecting her work. streatching the shirt from right to left making sure there was no popping of thread and that from anyway it moves tis molded to the shirt. hefting the basket she quickly dances past the tables and scurries away…marking the tavern off as places not to come until the urt infestation was under control