Archive for September, 2011
Landa Dance Competition
Monday, September 26th, 2011
[12:19] Dezire Sciarri: Our next dancer is Kira Swordthain, slave of Wulf Thorgaard. Her dance is “Rapture of Fire” to the song Invocation by Medwyn Goodall.
[12:20] Kira Swordthain ‘s muscles strain under the weight of the wood she carries to the hearth. Dipping low, auburn silk drapes over her shoulder as she lays each log in place. Amber eyes full of anticipation glance fervently to the door, a soft sigh slips over pink lips as her attentions return to the fire.
[12:20] Kira Swordthain emits a low growl, the fire’s embers wane as each log is placed. Slender fingers pull back thick curls of red silk, her body bends low, head tilts as she blows on the smoldering ashes. Gasps and sputters as the ashes cover her in their sooty blanket. Suddenly, her body stiffens, a slow movement of her head, auburn curls tumble over her a slender shoulder as she turns to look behind her. Trembling, she tucks limber legs tightly under her bottom, a hesitation in her voice “Greetings my Master”
[12:21] Kira Swordthain lowers her eyes, trembles as His voice fills the room “I have guests in the hall. You are to entertain them with your beauty. Prepare yourself and HARTA!” limb over limb she crawls to His boots cowering as she feels His look of disdain fall upon her. “Yes my Master” In careful preparation, small hands scrub fiercely at the soot, gently mint green silks float over each curve of her body accentuating the smallness of her waist, enhancing the swell of ample breasts that rise and fall with each deep breath.
[12:22] Kira Swordthain gracefully, she enters the hall. Soot and ash replaced with soft sensual smells of lavendar oils permeating the air. Soft brown eyes lock with His of emerald green, a curt nod of His head and she takes the floor. Obediently she anchors herself. Long lashes flutter over golden flecked eyes.
[12:22] Kira Swordthain draws a deep breath steadying herself. A slight shiver rocks her lithe frame; arms and legs float through the air in time with the music as she sashays about the floor
[12:23] Kira Swordthain ‘s willowy arms stretch over silken locks of auburn, ample breasts strain against the thin fabric as she moves about the floor; diaphanous silks flutter about her, revealing hints of well toned legs as she dances for Him.
[12:24] Kira Swordthain ‘s crimson nails enticingly trace the curves of her body; muscles in her abdomen tighten with each pass of her fingers. Long sinuous legs extend outwards, fawn eyes look up from beneath dark lashes as she watches Him; searching the strong lines of His face, yearning in vain for the smallest sign of approval.
[12:24] Kira Swordthain ‘s exquisite face betrays none of the sorrow in her heart as He continues His conversations; completely oblivious to the passionate offering of her dance. Silken fabric clings to each curve of her sylphlike body. Pearls of persipiration trickle cover the oil sheened skin as they begin to dance between the valley of supple breasts. She glides in His direction eyes lock with each Master in passing.
[12:25] Kira Swordthain gasps suddenly, eyes of chocolate flash wide as a greasy hand reaches and strips her free of silks; revealing an opulent body. A low laughter of amusement echoes through the hall as she flashes a brief angry glare in the direction of the slovenly Master; shivers slightly, slipping from his eager hands and bends forward, beguiling hips gyrate, thrust, as nipples harden in the cool breeze.
[12:26] Kira Swordthain gracefully lowers to the floor, shimmering skin, accentuated by straining muscles, stretches tightly. Svelte arms reach overhead in supplication as she writhes upon the floor; brown eyes beseeching a sign of approval from her Master. A low gutteral growl slips past pink lips, still He makes no indication of approval towards the girl as she continues sensually dancing across the cold tile. The elegance of her movements and the sensuality of her dance betray nothing of the growing ache in her heart as she looks longingly to him.
[12:27] Kira Swordthain ‘s undulating hips move gracefully like the waves of the ocean. Her breathing heavy, chest rising and falling with each drawn breath; perspiration trickling down the svelte frame.
[12:28] Kira Swordthain , collapsing in sheer exhaustion as the music ends, giving a final look towards her Master, a dejected sigh over quivering lips as she is dismissed without the sought after approval. “la Kajira!” * she whispers*
[13:37] Dezire Sciarri: The final dancer in our competition today is Nimue (Luca Cadell), owned by Liam Whiteson of the CIty of Landa. Nimue will be dancing a “Magic of the Tavern” to Musica Romantica by Art of Noise.
[13:38] Luca Cadell eyes closed she breaths heavily with fear and desire as she waits for the beat and the rhythm of the drum. Her small delicate hands infront, the darkness of her hair mixing with that of the darkness of night that envelops her.
[13:38] Luca Cadell she stills her breath a moment as her eyes feast upon the crowd ,slowly bringing her hands up over her head wrists touching, she points a toe towards them with a soften gaze,as the gentle beating of her heart begins to embrace her .
[13:39] Luca Cadell her body a fiery gleam ,glistening it shines against the firepits of the tavern .The scent of strong paga igniting her senses ,a soft smile spreads across her luscious ruby tinited lips. Her eyes dart around the room she glares at the Masters eyes defiant ,her body trembling ,throbbing to the melodious, sensual command of the music .
[13:40] Luca Cadell she slides her soft hands along her belly her fires deep within her flickering as a deep growing passion is ignited stirring her soul.
Fear it lights her face and she drops to her knees twisting and turning fire dancing in her eyes that are as deep and blue as the Thassa sea. Her need rising within as she awakens all her senses her body bewitched her heart racing .
[13:40] Luca Cadell her hands trace the body letting them linger on top of firm breasts, finding comfort in the warmth of velvety skin listening to the sounds of the tavern .**SNAP** her hands grasp her head , long legs slightly spread moveing turning till the slender of her back is displayed .
[13:41] Luca Cadell she drinks in the music the sounds of the drums ,her hair deep auburn dancing and falling around her like the leaves of the spring willow trees. Her senses aroused flowing she dances …….the fight of her inner desires driving her mad .
[13:41] Luca Cadell sweat beads on her creamy flesh ,mystic air surrounds the room her hands lifting from her hair caressing her long slender limbs. Fruitless her efforts to fight…….lush hips swing ,they grind aluring as the eyes that are fixed upon her ,small mounds of supple swelling breasts lifting and falling as she drinks deeply the air that she breaths.
[13:41] Luca Cadell gasping tender lips part ,nostrils flare,her heat mixing with the sand in the pit ,small hands dance upon her silken flesh ,as delicate fingers grazing across its warmth her body arches ,head tilted back flowing tendrils of auburn mixing with the sand .
[13:42] Luca Cadell eyes wild and pleading drums beating the rhythm pulsating her body thrashing distorting under the oillamps ,shone with a sheen of sweet sweat , gasping for each breath ,her delicate body was beautiful ,curvaceous , alluring ……..
[13:42] Luca Cadell movements turning more fluid and sensual as she twists herself to face the Masters . Dipping low ,creamy thighs spead apart, hips grind ,back arched suductivly. Trailing graceful hands up over the taut defind stomach drawing attention to the bodies curves.
[13:42] Luca Cadell excitment rises deep within her core, the body provocative used to tease and intice. Leaning forward flirtatious inviting glances through dark lashes dancing entertaining the Masters.
[13:43] Luca Cadell stretching shapely toned alabaster flesh ,cheeks flush red eyes burning like fire ,soft wet tongue escaping .Explict moans erupting from pouting lips. She falls exhausted to her knees ,the tavern flames licking and danceing , fingers of crimson and yellow spilling into the night .She is at the mercy of the Masters her lilith body lies damp against the sands heaving as she dreams of how she will again please her Master ………….’ La Kajira”
[12:43] Dezire Sciarri: Melody (Nocturnal Melody) is our next dancer. She is the owned by Ardeesha Algoma of the City of Landa and will be dancing “Tile” to the song Dulcissima by Corvus Corax.
[12:44] Nocturnal Melody: the soft horizon light shimmers over the girl lying in the middle of the pit like a lover’s caress over her body, her long legs extend with toes pointed towards the sky as the light plays over her small frame… she lies there to compose herself, feeling the hot sands on her frame, her breathing is slow and slumberous..her breast rising and falling in a sweet rhythm as her Tile dance begins….
[12:45] Nocturnal Melody ‘s sensuously rises to her feet, every movement an invitation to dark delights, her own dark eyes glittering under long lashes she looks around at the crowd gathered, as she thinks back to a time when she was left in the care of a cruel Master, rythmically she starts to lose herself in the pounding rythmn, her own tiny feet stamping out a response to the incessant drumming, she moves back and forth
[12:45] Nocturnal Melody: slowly she moves her slender arms, they sway joyously, as she runs effortlessly though the long grass to meet her Master, her slave belly aching for his touch. Soon she reaches him and sinks low to his boots, her face bright and full of adoration as she looks up at him expecting to feel the affectionate of his powerful fingers through her long raven tresses.
[12:46] Nocturnal Melody: Her face falls, a look of deep dismay over her young face, her dark eyes suddenly downcast as he barks at her in his powerful Master’s voice “Girl I must travel, I will be away for several months, you will kennel with the Slaver”
[12:46] Nocturnal Melody: Her Master, leashes her and yanks her to his side, She has to run to keep up with his powerful strides. In the distance she sees him, the hated Slaver, the huge belly rolling over a thick leather belt, the bloodshot eyes from too much paga. Her heart sinks.
[12:46] Nocturnal Melody: Her leash exchanged, she’s His for what feels like an eternity. A hot tear rolls down her face leaving a streak of sorrow as she watches her beloved Master depart. The fat grotesque monster drags her, down, down, endless dark, dank stairs, to chain her alone in the dark, nothing but urts for company.
[12:47] Nocturnal Melody: By day he works her hard, she cleans, she serves, but thankfully never once does he lay a hand upon her delicate skin. By night she’s chained alone in the dark, neglected, her heart calls out to her Master, her mind filled with images and memories of him, of his touch, of his musk, her slave heart aches for him, longs for him….
[12:47] Nocturnal Melody: Day after tedious day rolls by, night after night of helpless torment, glistening tears roll down her cheek to pool on the red tiles of the dank dungeon floor. Her ache for her Master’s touch builds to a burning, then to a firey furnace of longing. Her tiny fingers creep down to her heat to console herself to ease the torment of neglect, she moans her mind consumed with images of his powerful frame.
[12:47] Nocturnal Melody: Late now, the early hours, none but the bats awake, fluttering from dank wall to dank wall keeping her awake. A footstep in the distance, a clunk as a thick key turns in heavy lock, a door creaks wide, her pounding heart fit to escape her chest, has the slaver come to satisfy his lust of her at last?
[12:48] Nocturnal Melody: A great shadow fills the doorway and envelopes her in its inky blackness she cannot see but a huge but strangly familiar sillouhette surrounded on all sides by the gleaming lights of the corridor outside of her prison.
[12:48] Nocturnal Melody: Then a voice she had longed to hear, that gruff controlling voice that she ached for “Mine, heel to me” Her heart leaped for joy as she scrambles to his boots, but the chain about her neck pulling her short, an agony of closeness to him a yearning to touch denied!!
[12:48] Nocturnal Melody: The months of neglect tormenting her soul, she reaches out to him, but he stands amused, not letting her feel his powerful fingers on her soft flesh.
[12:48] Nocturnal Melody: She cannot bear it a second longer, her fingers creep to her slave heat. The fire immeasurable in strength…raging like a torrent through her blood…hands clasping as if drawn by an unseen force…snatching at soft luscious flesh.
[12:49] Nocturnal Melody: Tiny hot slave body surrenders to her needs falling to the grainy sands…long thighs spreading and opening in display as glorious jet manes curl around flushed face…head arched back exposing delicate neck in steel binds.
[12:50] Nocturnal Melody: hips bucks uncontrollably against her fingers as she rolls towards Him..toying with and displaying her glistening body…belly raging…slithering to slide closer…..fingers outstretched for His pity….as she murmurs “please my Master, have pity on me..such pitiful needy slave.” ((La Kajira!))
The Famous Library of Landa
Wednesday, September 21st, 2011
The Ianda Times vol. 1, issue 20
Wednesday, September 21st, 2011The Ianda Times, vol. 1, issue 20 (shorter online version)
The Ianda Times vol. 1, issue 19
Wednesday, September 21st, 2011The Ianda Times, vol. 1, issue 19 (shorter online version)
The Ianda Times vol. 1, issue 18
Wednesday, September 21st, 2011The Ianda Times, vol. 1, issue 18 (shorter online version)
The Ianda Times vol. 1, issue 17
Wednesday, September 21st, 2011The Ianda Times, vol. 1, issue 17 (shorter online version)
Approaching Landa by Boat
Saturday, September 17th, 2011
Kajuralia in Landa
Friday, September 9th, 2011
The Kajuralia, or Holiday of Slaves, or Festival of Slaves, occurs in most of the northern, civilized cities of known Gor once a year. The only exception to this that I know of is Port Kar, in the delta of the Vosk. The date of the Kajuralia, however, differs. Many cities celebrate it on the last day of the Twelfth Passage Hand, the day before the beginning of the Waiting Hand; in Ar, however, and certain other cities, it is celebrated on the last day of the fifth month, which is the day preceding the Love Feast.
Assassin of Gor, pg. 229
“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, pg. 223
Three male house slaves stumbled by, crowned with odorous garlands woven of the Brak Bush. They were passing about a bota of paga and, between dancing and trying to hold
one another up, managed to weave unsteadily by. One of them looked at me and from his eyes I judged he may have seen at least three of me and offered me a swig of the bota, which I took. “Kajuralia,” said he, nearly falling over backwards, being rescued by one of his fellows, who seemed fortunately to be falling in the opposite direction at the same time. I gave him a silver coin for more paga. “Kajuralia,” I said, and turned about, leaving, while they collapsed on one another.
Assassin of Gor, pg. 309-310
At that time a slave girl, a blond girl, sped by and the three slaves, stumbling, bleary-eyed, bumping into one another, dutifully took up her pursuit. She turned, laughing in front of them, would run a bit, then stop, and then when they had nearly caught up with her, she would run on again. But, to her astonishment, coming up from behind, catching her by surprise, another male seized her about the waist and held her, while she screamed in mock fear. But in a moment it was determined, to the rage of all save the girl, that she wore an iron belt. “Kajuralia!” she laughed, wiggled free and sped
away.
Assassin of Gor, pg. 310
I dodged a hurled larma fruit which splattered on the wall of a cylinder near me.
The wall itself was covered with writing and pictures, none of it much complimentary to the masters of the area. I heard some breaking of pottery around the corner, some angry cries, the laughing of girls.
I decided I had better return to the House of Cernus.
I turned down another street. Here, unexpectedly, I ran into a pack of some fifteen or twenty girls who, shrieking and laughing, surrounded me in a moment. I found myself wishing that masters belled their girls for Kajuralia, so that they might be heard approaching. Their silence in the street a moment before I had turned into it told me they had been hunting. They had probably even had spies, advance scouts. Now they crowded about me, laughing, seizing my arms.
“Prisoner! Prisoner!” they shrieked.
I felt a rope thrown about my throat; it was drawn unpleasantly tight.
It was held in the hand of a black-haired girl, collared of course, long-legged, in brief slave livery.
“Greetings,” said she, “Warrior.” She jerked menacingly on the rope. “You are now the slave of the girls of the Street of Pots,” she informed me.
I felt five or six more ropes suddenly looped about me, drawn tight. Two girls had even, behind me, darted unseen to my ankles, and in an instant had looped and drawn tight ropes on them. My feet could be thus jerked from beneath me should I attempt to run or struggle.
“What shall we do with this prisoner?” asked the black-haired girl of her fellows.
Numerous suggestions were forthcoming. “Take off his clothes!” “Brand him!” “The whip!” “Put him in a collar!”
“Now look here,” I said.
But they had now set off down the street, dragging me
along amongst them.
We stopped when I was pushed stumbling into a large room, in which there were numerous baskets and harnesses hanging about, apparently a storeroom of sorts in an unimportant cylinder. A wide area had been cleared in the center of the room, on which, over straw, had been spread some rep-cloth blankets. Against one wall there were two men, bound hand and foot. One was a Warrior, the other a handsome young Tarn Keeper. “Kajuralia,” said the Warrior to me, wryly.
“Kajuralia,” I said to him.
The black-haired girl, the tall girl, walked back and forth before me, her hands on her hips. She also strode over to the other two men, and then she returned to me.
“Not a bad catch,” said she.
The other girls laughed and shrieked. Some leaped up and down and clapped their hands.
“Now you will serve us, Slaves,” announced the black-haired girl.
We were freed, save that two ropes apiece were kept on our throats, and a rope on each ankle, each rope in the care of one of the girls.
We were given some small cups of tin, containing some diluted Ka-la-na that the girls had probably stolen.
“After we have been served wine,” announced the girl, “we will use these slaves for our pleasure.”
Before we were permitted to serve the wine, garlands of talenders were swiftly woven about our necks. Then each of us gave some of the girls wine, asking each
“Wine, Mistress?” to which each of the girls, with a laugh, would cry out, “Yes, I will have wine!”
“You will serve me the wine, Slave!” said the long-legged, black-haired girl. She was marvelous in the brief slave livery.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said, as humbly as I could manage. I reached out to hand her the small, tin cup.
“On your knees,” she said, “and serve me as a Pleasure Slave!”
The girls gasped in the room. The two men cried out in anger.
“I think not,” I said.
I felt the two ropes on my throat tighten. Suddenly the two girls on the ankle ropes jerked on their ropes and I fell heavily forward, spilling the wine to the stones.
“Clumsy slave,” jeered the long-legged girl.
The other girls laughed.
“Give him more wine,” ordered the long-legged girl.
Another small tin cup was placed in my hands. I no longer much cared for their foolery. The long-legged girl, doubtless a miserable slave most of the year, seemed intent on
humiliating me, taking revenge probably on her master, for whom I now stood as proxy.
“Serve me wine,” she ordered harshly.
“Kajuralia,” I said, humbly.
She laughed, and so did the other girls as well. My eye strayed to a room off the storeroom, in which I could see some boxes, much dust.
Then the room was very still.
I put down my head, kneeling, and extended the small tin cup to the girl.
The other girls in the room seemed to be holding their breath.
With a laugh the long-legged girl reached for the tin cup, at which point I seized her wrists and sprang to my feet, swinging her off balance and, not releasing her, whirled her about, tangling her in the ropes, preventing them from being drawn tight. Then while the girls shrieked and the long-legged girl cried out in rage I swept her into my arms and leaped into
the small room, where I dropped her to the stones and spun about, throwing the door shut and bolting it. I heard the angry cries of the girls and their fists on the door for a moment, but then I heard them suddenly begin shrieking, and crying out, as though slavers might have fallen upon them. I glanced about the room. There was one window high in one wall, narrow, barred. There was no escape for the girl locked within with me. I removed the ropes from my body, coiled them neatly, and dropped them inside the door. I put my ear to the door, listening. After about five Ehn I heard only a number of sobs, frustrated noises of girls in bonds.
I opened the door and, not to my surprise, discovered that the Warrior and Tarn Keeper, preventing the girls from escaping, and having freed themselves in the moment of surprise and tumult in which I had seized the long-legged girl, had, probably one by one, while the other girls had looked on miserably, cuffed away if they tried to interfere, bound the girls of the Street of Pots. A long rope, or set of ropes knotted together, ran behind the kneeling girls, with which their wrists were bound; another rope, or set of ropes tied together,fastened them by the throat, as in a slaver’s chain. The long-legged girl was pushed into the larger room to observe her helpless cohorts.
The black-haired girl sobbed.
There were tears in the eyes of several of the girls.
“Kajuralia!” said the Warrior, cheerfully, getting to his feet, after checking the knots that bound the wrists of the last girl on the ropes.
“Kajuralia!” I responded to him, waving my hand. I took the black-haired, long-legged girl by the arm and dragged her to the line of bound girls. “Behold the girls of the Street of
Pots,” I said.
Assasins of Gor, pgs. 310-315
Slave Dance
Thursday, September 8th, 2011
Giani
Friday, September 2nd, 2011
Giani: tiny cat-sized panther of solitary habits which inhabits the low branches of ground level in rainforests inland of Schendi. (Book 13: Explorer’s of Gor, page 312)