Archive for September, 2014


Monday, September 29th, 2014


Picture: Arguing with the Ubar of Brundisium

SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED ~ Or My Life as a Warrior part 2

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

SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior – PART 2
By Teal Razor

In last weeks offerings I felt compelled to reveal the sad story of my abduction and transport to Gor. I had to stop my writing because I was getting so worked up that I feared I might take up one of my Master’s blades, rush out into the lane near his house and challenge the first person I saw to a duel. This action, of course, could have merited me a stint in jail, at the least and impalement, at the worst.

I feel much calmer now and so I feel I can finish writing my twaddle. I left off with being skunk drunk in front of my Master. At his request I was trotting out my crazy story of my arrival on Gor. I was recounting the part of the story in which this Roman type legionnaire had tackled me, cut my clothes off with a dagger, bound my hands and ankles all in a time frame that would have earned first place trophy in a steer roping contest. I was still under the delusion that I was under a hallucinogen and that these “Rodeo Romans” were play acting this whole capture thing.

I decided to play along. I listened for their speech patterns. Their accents sounded like the accents I had heard in my high school Latin class back on earth. I tried to mouth some Latin phrases I recalled to see if they would play along and answer me. I said to them, “Veni, vidi, vici!” The three legionnaire’s turned to look at me from where they were sitting and seemed to swear. I was unable to determine if what I said came out as “I came, I saw, I conquered”, or whether my addled state may have produced a sound more like, “I came, I saw, I vomited”! In any case, they were not amused and one of these actors came and put a gag in my mouth. I felt that this was going too far. After all, I was only trying to communicate. Now they had put a stopper in the hole that was speaking to them. I decided to try grunting in an effort to gain entry into their discourse. That earned me a dragging to a nearby stream and a dunking up and down in it like a teabag.

All the camo paint washed off my face during the dunking and the guy that was dunking me, lifted me up to observe my face sans the green and brown face mask. He held me with one hand and pointed to my face with the other, shouting to the other “actors” something which made them laugh. Now I really did not mind the stripping, binding, and whipping but, being the butt of a joke was not my forte. I resolved to find a chance to humiliate the three of them. That chance never came for anything I could do to them came no where close to what they could do to me.

The “Roman” who was holding me abruptly dropped me and strode over to a pile of goods that was next to where he had been sitting. He rummaged around in it and pulled something shiny from the jumble. He walked back to me, put me on my belly, put his knee on my back to restrain me from wiggling and proceeded to put the shiny metal band around my neck. I at first was terrorized since I thought he was going to cut my throat. I heard what must have been a cylinder lock, close. The “Roman” picked me up and dragged me forward by the hair, to a calm pool where I observed my neck in the polished metal of the collar. It was then, unbeknownst to me at the time, I gained my first Master.

I was growing weary of this day and wished that I would be given some food and water. I was plopped down near the place where the “Roman” actors were sitting in the clearing of trees. The sun was going down. One of them built a fire, another was cleaning what looked like the hind quarters of a deer. The meat was thrust through with a spit and placed over the smoky fire. I sat in silence, observing what I could to hopefully make my escape or at least outsmart my captors. I wondered what intelligence I had to report back as a result of this encounter. I mean what would I tell the team leaders? I kept picturing scenarios in which I told my story. “Sir, permission to speak,” I would say. “Permission granted cadet,” would be the retort from my superior. “Sir, the Romans are at the gates”, or “Sir, beware of Greeks bearing gifts”, or “Sir, I came, I saw, I was totally blown away” were some of the ways I thought to report in.

While mulling this over, my mouth was watering as the delicious smell of the roasting meat was wafting in the evening air. At some point the meat was done and the three of them crouched down eating pieces that they tore off the spit. I was thoroughly pissed that they would be so rude and not offer me some. I tried by several methods to signal them. It was difficult to do as my hands were behind my back and my ankles were bound. With some difficulty I got on my knees and waved my upper torso around to indicate that I needed some attention. This action did merit me some attention since the one who put the gold collar around my neck, arose from his caveman feast and cuffed me down. He stood over me, still eating the meat he had cut from the roast. He laughed, took the gag out of my mouth and straddled me and tore off a small bit of meat and let it fall into the vicinity of my pie hole. I learned quickly that I merely had to open my mouth to receive these morsels that he was dropping. He chewed, then I chewed, then he threw another bit into my mouth aiming it like a basket ball player getting a free throw.

After a time he tired of this game and got up. He went back to the fire and retrieved a bota which he brought over and poured on my face. I opened my mouth to try to catch as much of the liquid, which tasted faintly like water, and swallowed it. After this game, he went back to his comrades and they finished feeding themselves. The sky had grown dark and the three role playing Romans mumbled to each other and fell asleep.

Through the tree trunks of the wooded area, I saw a moon starting to rise. I watched it as it made it’s way up and over the tree tops till it seemed above me. The strangest feeling came over me when I noticed that it was not just one moon but three. I realized that no one could fake this and that if I were under the influence of a hallucinogenic, it would have worn off many hours ago. My mind seemed to shut down at that point as I tried to use logic to determine what was happening. Mercifully, sleep intervened and I did not wake ’til the sun was up.

I felt the nudge of a man’s foot. I looked up and saw the same face who had put the gold collar on my neck. He looked down and said, “Tu kajira.” I looked at him numbly. He repeated, “Tu kajira!” Once again I screwed up my face to impart to him my ignorance of what he was saying. This did not go over too well. He took the whip from his belt and lashed me twice. Then he repeated his little made up phrase, “Tu kajira, again and again.” He whipped me a few more strokes during his litany ’til I fairly screamed out “Tu kajira”. He stopped, startled, and changed his rant to “La kajira”. Oh, he is teaching me a new made up word in this game and so I parroted back to him, “La kajira, La kajira, La kajira”, over and over.

I must have said the magic words since he stopped beating me and smiled. I was glad that was over. He walked back to the fire where the other two were breaking camp. As he walked back, he would turn around to glance at me. Each time I saw him do this, I looked at him and repeated, “La kajira!” When all the gear was on their backs the one who was teaching me the silly language, he had made up, came over and hooked a leash to my collar and proceeded to jerk me to my feet. We started our march to where I do not know.

I looked around the area we were walking in to see if I could recognize a physical landmark. This could have been another planet for all I knew because I failed to find a single familiar sight. We walked for about an hour through some tall grass and then in the distance we saw a small dust cloud arise. It came closer and closer. The Romans stood at attention and forced me to my knees. The cloud of dust turned out to be a line of highly decorated wagons drawn by monsters. There were also men walking by the wagons seemingly tending to the monsters drawing this caravan. The whole scene, shocking though it was to me, also pushed my thought into some incredible realizations. This was not a training exercise, I had not been catapulted back in time, I was not under the influence of powerful drugs. This was real. The scene out of an old “Cecil B. DeMille” movie was authentic. I had never seen animals like these drawing wagons. They looked like large lizards and I wondered what caliber ammunition should be used to kill them.

My Master has just signaled me to stop writing for today. I must go to the market to purchase his dinner. While I am there, I hope I can poke a cream cake at the baker’s.

To be continued…

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 175


Monday, September 29th, 2014

gorean Tarn

Picture: Near the Foothills of the Voltai Mountains

SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED ~ Or My Life as a Warrior

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

We have all met them. Free and slave alike, who insist on regaling us with snippets of their life on Gor. I must admit I am curious, at times, as to how some persons arrived here. I wonder whether they were brought on slave ships, born to free persons or slaves, or maybe even crawled out of the sea in some predawn mistake by a Priest-King to liberate a fish who had suddenly developed a penchant for breathing air. In fact I think some of my previous Masters may have come up through the ranks of land dwellers brought into Gor by such a mistake. Most were no more developed than troglodytes addicted to mouth breathing and they remain in such a state even today.
And so the curiosity of my Master was piqued last night. I finished serving him his evening repast, a most delicious bosk steak, fresh sa-tarna bread, and a medley of vegetables. As I brought him a warm bowl of paga he encouraged me to fill a pitcher with extra paga. He sat back and had me drink from his bowl. I was content as we sipped the paga and sat warming ourselves by the lighted brazier. Even though it was En Var, there was a chill coming off of the Olni River and the heat was welcome. We sipped and sat in silence. After about a quarter of an ahn he surprised me by asking a question he had never put forth before.
“Teal, mine,” he said slowly, “tell me how it is you came to Gor. When I bought you, I knew you were a barbarian. I desire to know your story.” I put my head down so that he would not see the look of concern on my face. I have never been asked this question by any free or slave so I wondered if it was a test and most of all, if it was a test, would I pass it?
Slaves are never supposed to lie to the free, right? That’s a big “correct” on that one. And so I was not prepared to trot out my story to anyone let alone the Gorean man I serve. So at that point I grabbed the pitcher that the paga was in, filled the bowl, raised it to my lips and drank the whole damn thing down. After that I filled the bowl again and drained the second one. I thought my Master was going to ask me to get the whip, but he was so startled that all I caught was the raising of his eyebrows at my poor behavior.
In retrospect, I should have told him with a logical sober brain how it was that I was “hatched” on this world of Gor. But stupidity intervened and I had a hard time not injecting emotion into this soliloquy of my boring arrival. Also, I had to keep asking my Master for permission to speak while maintaining my placeholder in my thoughts. He would stop me to ask a question and before answering I would say, “May your slave be permitted to speak Master.”
I related physical facts. Master’s like to hear the straight facts. Therefore, as with my Master, I must speak to him with a bullet list of facts. On earth I was trained to give short and “to the point” answers to everything. One must communicate clearly. One must give the “who, what, when, where, why and how” of a situation. As in when I ask my Master for permission to do the marketing for his home. There are two ways in my mind to approach this task. The first and more logical presentation would be to hand my Master a list of groceries that need to be purchased to garner his approval. I would kneel smartly and offer it to him with upraised hands, head bowed between them. I would reveal to him that these supplies are needed so that he will remain comfortably fed this coming week. It never fails that I am granted this request as these appeals are pleasing to the ear of my Master.
Now, the second way takes longer and results in irritating my Master. His face will be a picture of annoyance as he suffers through my rambling presentations. He does not need to know that the birds are outside singing or that the river is flowing downstream and the rate at which it takes paint to dry. All this palaver just to ask permission to buy some vegetables and something from the butcher is a bad way to demonstrate your intelligence. The fact that my Master is of the warrior caste makes it all the more important that I give him the facts…just the facts. Whining and nagging is an unfortunate flaw in a person and in a slave, it is a “whip worthy” offense.
And so it was that I related the story of my exposure to Gor. The facts were spilled but every once in a while my emotions would kick in the door and display my deepest desires. I was irritated with myself for exposing my flanks. I actually should not look upon my Master as an enemy who needs be defended against. I believe this conditioning comes out of the “old brain” that looks upon everyone who is not you as the foe. This dictates that you must look upon yourself as the protagonist and everyone else as antagonists in an “every man for himself” attitude.
Thinking back I remember actually meeting my “slaver” on earth on one of his voyages of acquisition. I wish I could go back to the location that I was kidnapped from to warn other unsuspecting females. The fact that at the time of my abduction I was dressed in full battle gear should have given my abductor cause for concern. I was packing a scoped M4 rifle with an offset tactical aiming laser. In my holster was a fixed blade combat knife, four grenades and some flash bangs. Strapped to my leg was an M9 Beretta pistol. Why anyone would attempt to collect a woman armed to the teeth and shove her aboard a craft bound for another planet seems a foolhardy proposition.
I was out on training maneuvers with another cadet who was also studying at this prestigious military school. We were put in a situation that simulated two soldiers behind enemy lines sent to obtain intelligence on enemy positions and weapons strength. These training maneuvers took place over many days where I was to learn to “have the back” of my fellow soldier at all times. How I was taken in mid week away from my comrade-in-arms by the stalking slaver is beyond me. He must have drugged us both in order to get me. I thought about the shock and awe my partner must have experienced as he woke and discovered that I was no where to be found and had apparently disappeared into thin air.
I related my story to my Master in terms he could understand, explaining the weapons as best as I could. As I spoke I watched his eyes widen and his body stiffen. I imagine it was because I was mentioning handling weapons. He looked at me as though I was about to use a knife to slit his throat due to the passionate way I described my arms.
I continued with my story telling him how I remembered coming to, I know not the hell where, in a clearing in a wooded area. Curiously I was still dressed in my fatigues with my face covered in brown and green camouflage paint. My weapons were missing.

A few yards from me were three men wearing scarlet tunics. They appeared to be Roman legionnaires and were inspecting my person.
To say I was “weirded” out would be an understatement.

True to my training I jumped up and prepared to defend myself in hand to hand combat. I was quickly made aware that this attempt was foolish when I was easily taken to the ground by a seeming giant of a man who reared up to show his umbrage at my “David vs. Goliath” attempt. I am no David to be sure. Although I got in a few blows, the strikes were like bothersome mosquito bites to the male who was squashing me like a pillow. I quickly found myself bound hand and foot. That it was done with such efficiency and speed left me marveling and wondering how I could learn such an act. I was still exhibiting the demeanor of a warrior. In my mind, I perceived this scenario to be some strange tactic of my instructors. I was convinced that I had been given a hallucinogen and was therefore interpreting the scene in a drug induced fantasy. Although, the whipping I received after having my clothing cut off certainly felt real.
After swilling down another bowl of paga while talking to my Master, I started pounding one fist into another to emphasize points in my story. I think I am going to have to wait for my next column to reveal the rest of this saga since I am getting myself all worked up writing about it. It does not help that I need to go sharpen the edges on my Master’s blades after putting down my quill.

To be continued…

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 173

New Voice of Gor No. 167-176

Monday, September 29th, 2014

New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 176 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 175 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 174 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 173 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 172 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 171 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 170 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 169 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 168 (shorter online version)
New Voice of Gor, vol. 4, issue 167 (shorter online version)

GORTECHTURAL DIGEST ~ Reviews of Rebuilds and Home Remodels

Friday, September 12th, 2014


Picture: Kasra – Fayeen River


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

I usually do not use second hand information without checking it out myself first. But, after talking with an old friend, who recently made a visit to a city I am no longer welcome in, I decided to consider his report on recent construction activity there. I am always excited by the erection of a new structure. I, in turn, like to share that excitement with free and slave alike in the hopes that they too will visit the particular city where these buildings are being done and “check them out”.

My friend is a talented artist and brought back sketches of this city as it now stands. It seems the dust has cleared, at least in the air. I must say I was impressed by the changes made to the city he visited. As I looked at these sketches, I was puzzled as the city seemed much smaller than the city I had visited some time before. I hoped that vicious rumors that the city in question was experiencing an exodus at its gates was not true. The thought, that ANY city was being neglected or in need of some repair on the perimeter walls, made me nervous, fearful, and sad, very very sad. The thought that maybe I was being fed lies regarding this and any other city that was allegedly proceeding “to dust”, also depressed me. Thankfully I seldom hear of disastrous remarks that are false in anyway. I grant kudos to all who impart the truth for quashing nasty rumors and speaking out in the name of accuracy. And I pray for a city that may be experiencing the upheaval that a city is prone to, stay in business, so to speak, and stick around for the total enjoyment of all.

As I listened to this friend about his visit to the rebuilt city and mulled over the drawings he gave me, I was struck by how this grand reorganization and use of sturdy materials made the city seem clean, practical, organized, and strangely beautiful. Although it seemed smaller, the buildings erected inside the walls suited the area nicely.

My friend’s only confusion came at the disembarkation point on the docks. There, against some rocks, were waves crashing atop the stones. He was not aware that this city was anywhere near roaring white water. But, none the less, he thought the sounds thundering from the fresh water waves were reassuring. The wharf area was nicely laid in limestone giving a polished touch to an area usually associated with shabby buildings. I was, thought, disheartened by the approach to this city. I could not remember from the last time I was there, if the entrance from the docks proceeded straight from the wharf as you look up to the city on the hill, but I could be wrong. The drawings now show a pathway that zig zags to the main gates. To be sure the path created is a lovely one set in limestone blocks that conduct you to the main entrance.

I am convinced that the main portal into a walled city should be impressive, clean, direct, and decorated with the best the city planners can incorporate into their steps and ramps. It also should be armed “24/7” with guards or at least a video surveillance camera. Disregard the remark about a camera, it would take too long to explain it. I cannot think of any city that I have visited that has put a massive and easily found entrance to the portals of their turf. I wondered why such easily placed ingress was not designed. Then I came up with the realization that if raiders were about, a convoluted entryway would slow them down and create time for a defensive response to an intrusion. It still would be nice to have a more imposing façade of stairs facing the docks or entry points to a city. What comes to mind is the famous steps to the capitol building in Washington, D.C. on the planet earth. For those not in the know, there is a butt load of stairs on either side of that building to ascend. Impressive but now closed to the public because of raiders that could enter the structure and damage it.

It seems that most cities have this zig zag approach. The reason for this type of construction could also be the lack of land to build a direct approach to the metropolis. Either way, I prefer cities that use limestone or granite in the path to the city. Therefore, this city I am talking about should be applauded for it’s good taste. The entryway sees sturdy from the drawings although not quite as rococo as my taste would have it. I had to remind myself that this city was not designed by the Waniyanpi but by a member of the Gorean Builders Caste. The city interior was nicely arranged on a grid.

It is difficult to give directions when a city is laid out in a mish mash of buildings. There are times when I have asked directions to a place and have been told, “Just wander on down to the market and when you see the stall with household goods, turn left.” These are very unhelpful because many a time the citizen with the household goods stall has moved to a kiosk down the road. It helps when things are laid out on a logical progression of squares and you can say, “the dressmakers is at the corner of 3rd and Main.” It was comforting to see that this city was laid out on this type of grid.

As I carefully examined the renderings my friend made and asked questions it seemed that the city was more compact but nicely maintained inside and out. He mentioned the continuity of design and use of material. He showed me a very nice coliseum on a promontory overlooking the river. It seemed a spectacular place for an arena. He mentioned the requisite housing area outside the walls of the city and also mentioned a rather chi chi area on a cliff above the city and housing area. There were no buildings to speak of, only a group of tents. Now, tent materials can vary from exquisite to cheesy, these particular tents were all constructed of quality black fabric, pitched in an imposing way. I am a slut for organization and my friend assured me that the tents matched and were smartly arranged. I think, if I were an assassin, I would want to live in portable housing, on a cliff overlooking any approach by an enemy, but be able to do it in style.

The only misgiving I have is not being able to revisit this city once more. I guess I shall have to content myself with second hand information regarding any more structural changes within its walls.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 172