Archive for November, 2014


Tuesday, November 18th, 2014


The House of Yuroki Caravan approaching the Oasis of Klima

By Teal Razor

In Port Olni, for the most part, the dwellers go about their tasks in a placid but cautious manner. Well, for the most part, except when sex starved slaves obtain a construction crew to erect an impromptu dance pit in the dead center of the commons. This was the scene last week in the commons of Port Olni.

Passersby were taken aback by this construction zone. Curiously though, the passersby did not report this behavior to a warrior, a magistrate, or the Ubarate. I speculated that those who passed by did not inform the authorities because they thought it was another project by the architectural firm, Buildem & Pray. After all it had all the earmarks of one of their construction sites; rubble, cement dust, and puddles of water everywhere.

So, no one suspected that a slave was actually the contractor. The pit, though, was fabricated so shoddily that there was a hole in the sand of the pit near the perimeter. When the slave/construction manager hopped in the pit to show a visiting physician some new moves she had learned, the hole proved to be a hindrance to her footfalls. At a couple of points in the dance she fell face first into the hole. I had never seen such a movement in any Gorean dance I had learned at the Gorean Dance Academy.

That no punishment was accorded the slave for causing this architectural flaw in the commons is the biggest puzzle of all. After the dance, the slave just walked away casually. Later a warrior saw the mess in the commons and ordered it cleared immediately. He asked around to see if he could learn who was responsible for this monstrosity of a dance pit. Funny, no one was able to identify the “perp” since no one thought a slave would do such a thing and chalked it up to the architectural firm of Buildem & Pray. No one would question THEIR doings in the commons. I think if anyone passing would have stopped to ascertain what was going on, the slave would have been apprehended quickly with a public whipping to follow.

This unquestioning of a questionable act was the forerunner of further aberrant behavior of the Citizens of Port Olni. I tried to figure out why last week, all the citizens believed that the Glorious Empire of Ar raided Port Olni.

The citizens even went so far as to claim injury and capture from the raiders who swooped down from the Glorious Empire of Ar. The peculiar thing about this raid was that it did not take place.

But, you could not reassure the citizens of this fact. The citizens brandished their swords and whacked away at invisible raiders before them.

And yet, for a raid that did not take place, the citizens thought it was real. Women hid, babies cried, alarms were sounded and the bridge raised. Warriors were seen tying themselves in binds, shouting to the thin air that they would kill the sleen from the Glorious Empire of Ar.

I came upon the aftermath of this raid to see people actually standing around discussing it. I felt like I was in a time warp because the Glorious Empire of Ar … does not exist. If it exists somewhere in the future we do not know. I mean, when was the last time a haruspex gazed into the entrails of a giani and said… “By golly, the Glorious Empire of Ar exists in the future. In fact, 400 years in the future.” No one has done this to anyone’s knowledge and yet Port Olni was deluded into thinking the Glorious Empire of Ar existed and they were in fact being raided by The Glorious Empire of Ar.

If the Glorious Empire of Ar does not exist and if by chance it will exist in the future, then in order to raid Port Olni, the raiders from that Glorious Empire would have had to use a time machine. Time machines do not exist, therefore the Glorious Empire of Ar was not in Olni.

I pondered this mass hysteria and decided to check the water supply to see if someone had infused a mind altering drug in the cisterns. I drank it, as a test, hoping I could see things that were not there. It did not happen. I was as sober as a magistrate after drinking a bota full of the stuff. I sniffed the air for some malicious gas that could be floating around. Gas has been known to cause ill effects on the sniffee’s. No gas was detected by me. Just the plain ole clean air of Port Olni.

I then had a bright idea that maybe the city had ingested Sa tarna grains contaminated with ergot. I rushed to the bakery and ate some mouthfuls of the grain hoping for a psychedelic effect. The only thing I received was a stomach ache.

This is a puzzle that one cannot solve. It did leave collateral damage in Olni with cuts, bruises, and headaches. They are still talking about it and all I can think of is…why?

southern trade alliance

Meeting of the Southern Trade Alliance – Brundisium

ASK TEAL ~ Dubious Advice to Goreans
By Teal Razor

I am a warrior and in my city I have noticed a steady increase in gambling. I myself like to throw an ostrakan into a basket to judge the way a game will go or not but I am not talking of this casual type of gambling. I have been seeing a more pervasive and insidious game being played where two men are drinking in the tavern. One brings out a pair of dice and tells the other…”I want to cut your head off. I want you to roll the dice and if you roll a number higher than mine, I will not cut your head off. But, if the number you roll is lower than the one I throw, you lose your head. So lets do that to pass the time.” I have seen men agree to this, the dice are thrown and inevitably a head will roll onto the tavern floor accompanied by much blood.

Three of my brother warriors were involved in such nonsense last week. One of them wound up without a right arm, which makes him useless to his caste, another had a dagger stuck in his belly and may not make it, the last was carved up like a vulo on a spit and died. This vice is spreading even to the kennels. Slaves are starting to throw dice to see who will clean up the bosk pens and they even throw the dice to find out how many lashes with a quirt that the first girl will administer.

Free women in the commons have stopped conversing so that they can roll dice on the table. They prearrange with another free woman that if they roll a higher number, that person can kill the slave of the other. If the other woman rolls higher, she gets to impale the other woman’s slave.

How can this madness go on and what can I do to stop it.

Madness is an apt word for what you are experiencing. What you relate is a chilling tale of life being determined by a role of the dice. I mean what does that say for the participants, that they are at a loss for words to work out their differences, that they are so bored out of their minds that they chose not to speak but grunt to one another? I think you are right to rant about this “unspeakable” behavior. I am wondering what you really can do about this. It is a risky business to get between a person and his vice, especially of the vice of gambling.

If you think about it, you could become the object of their wrath and instead of their betting on one another, they could bet who could be next to run you through with a sword. This would be bad for your health.

I really believe that you should look for another city to make your Home Stone. Find a city where the citizens are articulate and have developed the habit of reading. It is doubtful that you will find “dice rollers” in your new city. The sound of soft chatter will be heard instead of the blood curdling screams of those who lose their limbs to a bet.

From the VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 182

SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior PART 5

Saturday, November 1st, 2014


Heavy rains batter the city of Tarnwald (2013)

SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior PART 5

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

I am anxious to finish up the recounting of my kidnapping from Earth and early life on Gor that I related to my Master one cool evening in En-Var. I remember that I left off in the part of the tale where the Ubar of Port Kalana, my Master at the time, went stark raving bonkers.

Well, after the Ubar left the city, a city Administrator was put in charge of dispersing the madman’s property. I knelt under his scrutiny and the sneers of his personal slave. This Admin took one look at me and said, “No one in this city will buy you, in fact, I can’t even give you away. Free citizens speak your name and spit on the ground at the same time. I see no alternative, slut, than to take you back to the city your former Master had purchased you from and see if any there will take you off my hands.” His personal slave told me in a low voice what a piece of sleen crap I was. Vengence is mine sayeth Teal.

The three of us, the Administrator, his slut, and I, journeyed back to Port Olni. Upon arriving, we went up the wide front steps, rang the visitor’s bell, and stood in front of the gates waiting for a person to open them. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when who should be there but my current Master, a warrior who I secretly could not stand the sight of. It was at this point of my story that my Master, upon hearing my assessment of his former self, told me to get the whip with which he then gave me three lashes for my impudence.

But I digress. The warrior, my present Master, asked what business the Administrator of Port Kalana had at the gates of Port Olni. The man said he was there to liquidate the property of the Ubar who fled the city in madness. He said he brought a slave that was bought from this city and had hopes to return her to it saying, “There is no one in Port Kalana who will take her in. Most of the citizen’s of the city wanted her impaled.” The warrior glanced at the slave by the side of the Administrator and began to assess her thinking she was the one who was for sale. The Administrator quickly corrected him and pointed to me. I had been kneeling in back of him, not visible to the warrior at the gates.

When the warrior got a gander at who it was, he laughed long and loud and then remarked, “I have no doubt that the citizens of Port Kalana wanted to “lynch” her. She has had to talk her way out of many a death sentence here in Port Olni.” And, with that he offered a copper for me to the Administrator. The Administrator seemed pleased that his journey was not for naught and willingly accepted the pittance from the warrior. The warrior then said, “And here is a silver for your troubles.” With that I became the slave of Captain Siri Emerald jr., Red caste, Port Olni.

He took me to his office, filled out paperwork on me for the records, and beat me till I begged him to stop. Then used me well. During my questioning, he asked me my name. I told him rather smartly that it was “Ruby Tuesday”. He smirked at me and wrote on the scroll, “Ruby”. He said, “That is your name from now on. And don’t think you own it.” I not only did not want to own the odious name, I started introducing myself as “Cadet” since it more aptly matched my former station on Earth.

This Master owned me for exactly one Gorean day before he sold me to a private slaver in the city of Port Olni who happened into the commons where we were sitting. The warrior did not really want to sell me. He saw in me a slave who would not only become totally devoted to him but also provide a foil for his personality, since I myself was of the “Warrior Caste” on Earth.

Captain Siri Emerald Jr. did not want to put up with my punching, kicking, slapping, yelling and throwing of things. His person was not subjected to this but his First Girl was. She and I had engaged in a battle royale. During the one Gorean day I was in his household, I managed to thrust my knee in her groin several times, smash her in the face with a flat pan, put her in a choke hold and force her to eat grass and bugs. I can’t say she was any less hospitable. I had the bruises to show for it. Rather than have us both kill each other, he chose to sell me and keep his first girl.

This was lucky and unlucky at the same time. Lucky for his first girl that I did not maim or kill her but rather unlucky for me. It turns out this private slaver in Port Olni had gone the way of the former Ubar of Port Kalana. He was a megalomaniac who was deep within his disease. He started trying to change me into his former slave who escaped from his clutches. In order to effect my total change he took me to dressmakers, hair salons, and doctors who could effect this transformation with surgery.

It was with luck that a warrior from Sais rented me for two weeks. He was one of those warriors who read extensively and was fond of writing Gorean verse. He encouraged me to pen sweet missives to him on rence paper which he provided to me. It was all very nice until I was accused of hiding a dagger on my person by some jealous slaves who where at the gate in Sais when he brought me into the city. The guard at the gate threatened to cut my tongue out for the offense. The charge was ridiculous really, I was totally naked at the time. When my hair was searched they found nothing. But my Master was told to whip me publically for the alleged offense and so he did. That was not pretty.

After the two weeks were up on the rental, my Master was loathe to bring me back to the demented slaver but he realized that a slave from Port Olni, living in Sais, a warring city, was not a good match. So I was back in Port Olni. It was another stroke of good luck that I caught the eye immediately of a mercenary who was residing in Olni at the time. A no nonsense fellow who came into the slaver’s office, plunked down a gold tarn, grabbed me by the hair and took me to the metalsmith to have his collar locked on me.

This free man became my “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” Master as he shoved me back to the insane slaver once more. It was back in the private slave house that I became frightened for the first time in my life on any planet. My fears became reality when this crazy house escapee choked me and left me for dead in one of the side streets of Port Olni. Thankfully I was found by a kind Master and taken to the infirmary where the marvelous physicians brought me back to life.

After the healing I went back into the city kennels, the House of Spiritweaver. Unable to speak because of the severe bruising of my larynx, I started to go into mad reveries of what I might say could I communicate. To all outward appearances, I nodded, obeyed, knelt, and served with proper deference. Underneath it all, I plotted the death of all and bringing down of the walls of Port Olni.

At around that time, Captain Siri Emerald Jr. came back into my life. He had chosen not to renew his companioning contract with his mate. It seems she had what on earth is termed “a multiple personality disorder”. He grew tired of her lies and so she left for another city and took the first girl with her. He was renting a slave himself at the time to serve his needs. This rented slave had her own mental meltdown and went off to get pregnant by another warrior. He immediately terminated her rental and sent her packing.

The Captain was sitting in the commons and lamented to me, as I served him cup after cup of black wine, how disgusted he was with trying to find a slave who could meet his needs. A small digression here as I tell you why I had to keep serving him cup after cup of his favorite libation. It seems that at the time, each serve of this black wine was not done as per his instructions. This caused him great consternation and he poured the cup of black wine over my head and made me go back to get the order right.

I think he was pleased with the stoic and rather ingratiating way I took his orders. After all, I was of the warriors caste myself. So it came about that later that day I attended a reading of the historian Master Norman’s work, by the Ubara of Port Olni. The Captain was there and proclaimed to the Ubara that he had every intention of collaring me. She looked over with a smirk and told him, “Do you know how MANY Masters she has had? Captain, I give her to you.” With that, our sainted Ubara waved her hand thusly “gifting” me to him. And that is how I came to the collar of my present Master. I hope you have been slightly entertained by this. Next week I will get back to the more serious work of offering my advice in “ASK TEAL”.

From the VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 181

ASK TEAL – Dubious Advice to Goreans

Saturday, November 1st, 2014


Island of Asperiche (2008) – Rarius Yuroki’s first vulo

ASK TEAL ~ Dubious Advice to Goreans

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

Before I conclude, hopefully, the story of how I came to Gor, I must answer some pressing questions that have been sent by scroll for Teal to answer. Also, in the last few weeks I have had numerous scrolls arriving at my Master’s house and frankly, he cannot stand the dust they are gathering. To avoid another whipping I will answer two of these scrolls so that he will see the goodwill I am extending by eliminating two more dust collecting scrolls. I will then send them on to the editor, the Rarius Yuroki, for him to deal with.

I am a free woman set to be companioned to a free male who at first seemed to be the man of my dreams. I have known this man since I was a little girl. We have lived in the same city all our lives. And we lived down the same lane. I thought, after all that time, since I knew his personality and intelligence, why not accept his offer of companionship. However, the ceremony has not taken place yet.

Here is what disturbs me. I have been a spectator to his performances in the melee games held in the city arena. In the last man standing bout where all of the free male competitors rush out to the sands to do battle with whomever comes their way they must have excellent stamina. Now, stamina is really how the game is won. I have seen my intended hang back against the wall, run around, not drawing his sword and wait until all the other men in the melee are defeated but one. He then charges after this last exhausted participant and downs him easily. Using this less than honorable ploy, my intended has been considered victorious in many of these melee’s as of late. I am wondering whether he will manifest this peculiar trait of a “sneak” in our companioning.

I would say that you have the gift of prophecy, a true prognosticator. By asking your question, you have already answered it. There is an expression that I will translate into the Gorean, it is, “once a sneak, always a sneak”. I know this to be true on a personal level because I too have exhibited this sneaky trait in the past. It takes a lot of hard soul searching to stop this very bad habit or it takes the five bladed whip to drive it far from you. Either way it is hard on the mind and body.

I cannot tell from which city your scroll was sent since it is ragged and stained but I think it may have come from afar. As I see it, you may not read this answer for a couple of months being that the mail moves at a snails pace on Gor. When you do finally get to read my reply, I hope that you will have made the decision that I am about to dispense, translated into Gorean, “kick the bum to the curb”.

As an aside, when I had arrived at my first city on the planet and saw actual streets of stone, I found it pretty amazing that the streets were laid out with walkways for pedestrians which leave the middle of the street for wastes, animals, and carts. So to say “kick the bum to the curb” actually has meaning on Gor. If you kick him to the curb, he might roll into the street where his garments will be soiled with human waste.

So I hope that at the time you read the Voice of Gor you will be happily looking for another prospective companion. Now, you might even look at it another way. His action in the arena could be a strategy, although a questionable one. One could be lead to believe that his sneakiness is being stealthy, but one would be wrong. It is a gimmick that requires little stamina, waiting for the exhausted last man to finish his reserves of strength and succumb to a few blows to the head. Yes, to be sure, a less than honorable move

You may have a budding career as a haruspex. You could take your show on the road to the Turian plains. You could hit up all the Tuchuk camps. I hear they give their fortune teller’s much respect. Make sure you have a shiny crystal ball though. It makes it look more legit and anyway, do you really want to slit open animals to gaze into their intestines?

I do not know how to address this situation that has arisen in my life. I am a free woman who is companioned to a magistrate in my city. We have had a blissful two years together. This bliss was shattered recently. He brought home three female slaves a couple of weeks ago. Prior to this I was the only one who performed all of the household duties for my companion. It was not necessary to have nosy slaves here to destroy our privacy.

Now I have three of his slaves to contend with. My problem is that I have no authority over these sluts. They argue with each other every ahn of the day. They mock me when I request something. They are the laziest beasts I have ever known. As well, I am STILL doing all the work and cleaning up after them. Either there will be a coronation of three princesses in my home or I will put a contract out on the three of them. Help me, I am going insane.

Your plea filled me with much pity. Well, maybe empathy would be a better word. These three members of the royal family sound like they all need a severe lashing. I realize that your companion has not given you dominion over his animals. This is a tricky situation. I have witnessed being acquired into a household with one slave in its pen. When I entered this Master’s abode, the slave sneered at me as I was offered a mat by the hearth to sleep on while she had her own room to sleep in. We battled over the choice of foods to give the Master, where and upon what he would eat his meal and the question of “have you ever eaten bark off of a tree.

During this encounter with the sneering slave, she slapped me so I applied my knee to her groin. That started a Battle of Bitches. We slapped, punched, screamed, kicked, bit, and cursed each other. The Master was in his room planning out some new hearth for his kitchen remodel. He would shout down, half heartedly, every once in a while. His admonition was to, “Stop the Priest-King awful racket down there.” Of course we did not stop until I got her in a choke hold. I could feel the adrenalin coursing through my veins. I was getting high with the feeling that I could end her life right now.

Instead, I made her vow to sit down and talk to me “mano y mano” after the Master had eaten his dinner off of my back while I was put down on all fours in front of him. We spent the rest of the evening, talking it out. As I talked to her I realized that she was an illiterate female slave who did not consider anything to be fun. She could express herself only in fits and starts of poor Gorean. After awhile I found myself dozing off to the sound of her voice which was as pleasant as the squawks of a vulo about to be butchered.

The evening ended with me begging the Master to sell me to the highest bidder so he would make some coin on me. He knew that I was unhappy. Next morning he sold me to a slaver. It was best that the sale happened. If I had been in that Master’s house one more day, his first girl would be lying in a pool of blood.

I say this because the idea to “off” all three of them could put you in peril. I do like the idea of hiring an assassin to clean house for you. Make sure you find your assassin in another city as there is less likelihood your secret would leak out. I certainly wanted to murder the first girl of that Master and if I had the coin and the clout, I would have hired an assassin to cut her head off. So I sit in no judgment.

You could try this, leave the house in the morning and do not return until your companion does. You both meet at the door of your house and enter. You will both be greeted by a filthy house and squabbling slaves. It won’t take but a few days for your companion to see the error of his purchase and sell the sluts to the city kennel.

I hear that Port Kar is lovely this time of year. Maybe you and your companion can travel to this slave auction destination and make a holiday out of it.

From the VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 180


Saturday, November 1st, 2014


For those who don’t know here is a brief history of the Newspapers having used the name known throughout the lands as “VOICE OF GOR”. This Newspaper began it’s life as The Vonda Voice and was some time later renamed the VOICE OF GOR.

In 2009 after the fall of Vonda it moved it’s offices to the City of Olni and published it’s last issue (132) in 2012.

In contrast the NEW VOICE OF GOR formally known as the Landa Times (2011) began life after volume two, issue 72 of the “Times” and has since moved it’s offices to Tancred’s Landing.

And so comes a new era as the NEW VOICE OF GOR takes the original title “VOICE OF GOR”. The VOICE OF GOR continues to bring you the latest Gor-wide news, articles and writings gathered by our writers or sent to our offices.

Caprus Scarian, staff and scribe of the VOICE OF GOR

ANARCHY IS AFOOT ~ Chinks in the Armor of Gor

Saturday, November 1st, 2014

olni river

Olni River – Saleria

ANARCHY IS AFOOT ~ Chinks in the Armor of Gor

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

I am almost finished telling you the story of my landing on Gor and the Masters that have populated my life. But, I have to stop a moment with that narrative because I was much disturbed this week by the activities I was witness to. These happenings were clearly the avant garde of creeping anarchy.

One of the treasured feelings I have since arriving on Gor is the pecking order of caste’s and the place of slaves in all this. The world I came from permitted migrations across class structure. Sometimes this was for the good as when an uneducated person crosses into the dominion of the educated. But these migrations can have a negative side as when a person lies their way into a situation that is over their heads. These arrivistes lay waste the class that they are pushing themselves into. They cause small anarchies which are observed and mostly followed by those who lack morals, scruples, and logic. I am saddened that these anarchists are becoming rampant on Gor and no one is there to stop them.

I witnessed this week a so-called free woman arrive at the gates, ask for entrance and then run around the commons like a vulo with its head cut off. It was strange since this so-called free woman had been slave just a short time ago. Her collar was removed for no good reason and she left the city that freed her and travelled to parts west and north. This woman arrived unescorted. She was closely questioned by two warriors who informed her that she was begging to be collared. They demanded her manumission papers, the whereabouts of her escort, and the reason why she was darkening the door of the city once more. Her answers were none too convincing. The Warriors threatened her with a lockup in the kennels. They were within their total right. All this was as it should be according to the great historian of Gor, Master Norman. The anarchy appeared in the form of a couple of free men who outright told the warriors that they were incorrect. It was a face palming moment for me but thankfully the warriors stood their ground.

Anarchy of course means disorder due to the absence or the non recognition of authority. In its simple form it means, do what you want, do what you feel and to hell with the consequences because, guess what, there are none.

Well, the lady in question had to produce her manumission papers which appeared forged but were accepted by the magistrate.

There were other moments when I saw the planet’s free espousing party lines that had no basis in fact. There was an incident where a free man was questioning a slave about her mischief. She traded jibes with the free male as if he was a street vendor. If that wasn’t bad enough, a newly minted slave freshly arrived from Earth, told the free man off. She said that he had no right to whip the mischievous slave and proclaimed this loudly. In the Gor that I have previously known, both those slaves would have been whipped publically. If they chose to commit a second offense like that to a free, they would have been impaled.

The free man reluctantly whipped one slave and used strong speech on the other. I expected him to say to them, “Go and sin no more,” and give them passes to a dinner out and a show.

This little travesty was also witnessed by a thrall who definitely looked strange. Looking at him you would have thought that he should have been quarantined for he looked like the Bazi Plague had taken over his body. This poor unfortunate had blue hair and the spots of a Earth leopard painted on his body. We know from the Master Historian that Goreans did not have blue hair nor did they have tattoo’s scattered all over their body. He definitely had crawled out from a rock and snuck by the powers that be to sleaze around the city.

Awhile back I recounted this nightmare I had whilst I slept. It bears repeating here. In this nightmare, I “saw” the commons area peopled with slave and free. The free women were without veils and their beautiful robes of concealment turned into wispy skirts that revealed their naked pudenda’s as they sat with their thighs spread open on cushions. Their bodices had disappeared and in their place was transparent cloth straining to cover breasts that clearly were exposed. The nightmare grew darker still as slaves, all carrying weapons, sullenly went about their tasks standing over and looking down on the free insulting them as they offered their service. I suspected that the male slaves were actually admiring the breasts of the free women, unrestrained and bouncing free.

Also in that dream, over at the gates, warriors were standing. I felt comforted at their sight until I got closer and the sight made my jaw drop. It was hard to discern the sex of the warriors at first but it became evident that they were all women! Their legs were hairy, their underarms doubly so, and they stood around talking about gate admittance procedures scratching their privates and passing gas. One of these freaks was being referred to as COMMANDER. For all their posturing they were poor imitations of men. I had the feeling though that I might be able to “take” them down in battle.

In the dream I walked back to the commons hoping to find a change in the atmosphere. It had become worse. The free women were ordering the free men around. I heard one yell at her male companion, “What a poor excuse for a companion you are. You can’t satisfy your slave and you certainly have problems maintaining an erect member with me. Worthless mul.” I looked on as the man hung his head and my heart went out to him. Oh, and it did get worse from here…

As I “looked” upon the commons in my nightmare who should appear but myself! I was horrible to behold. I stood clothed in black leather with my feet encased in stilettos. They were the kind of foot coverings that the men of earth referred to as “knock-me-down-and-fornicate-with-me” shoes. It was a beastly sight, even for THIS beast. The dream-state me was brandishing a rather long sword, a bow with a quiver full of arrows and daggers inserted throughout my hair. I looked like a cross between a medusa and an “über” panther. And talk about rude! I was shouting from the kitchen to a Mistress. “What the blazes do you want now Mistress Tam? More fookin’ chocolate? Get off your fat ass and get it yourself. Can’t you see I have my mouth full of your companions baby maker?”

The strident sounds emitting from my cruelly twisted lips thankfully woke me up with a start.

Anarchy is hard to arrest. It grows, watered by self deception and ignorance. I was thinking that if Gor were to have another caste created it would be the “Watcher” caste. These cast members would have the vast knowledge of the Master Historian’s Scrolls. Their knowledge would be different from scribes and magistrates as their sole purpose would be to take care of the harebrained comments by those who have never studied the scrolls. This “Watcher” caste would have their own meetings in their own cities and Gor wide conventions where the asinine mouthing’s of Goreans who invent their own truth are aired in public and analyzed.

This, of course, will never take place as most would say, who would “watch” the “watchers”? I leave you with that for the moment and retire to the commons area to find everything in its place for now. I will go back to a Gor where gracious and obedient slaves pleasantly perform their tasks of serving the free. Where concealed and thankful free ladies sip tea in the afternoon. Where handsome and protective Masters oversee the beauty around them and swear silently to protect this way of life. All is right with the world for at least another ahn.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 179

SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior PART 4

Saturday, November 1st, 2014

Island of anango

Picture: Island of Anango

SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior PART 4

By Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Olni
My chronicle of abduction, collaring, branding, and subsequent ownership by various free males caused me to relive some very sad moments in my life on the planet Gor. As I repeated aloud these unwanted adventures to my Master, it evinced the strong feelings I had while suffering through them. But, to use an old Earth expression, I soldiered on. This story only took me a night to reveal to my Master but writing about it has taken longer. I apologize to readers of The Voice of Gor for such lengthy explanations.
I left off with the Master most called, “the roaming dude”. The first day that I misbehaved in the commons he had me in a headlock underneath the table. It kinda looked like I was performing fellatio out in public but it was not anything like that. My head was in a vise grip under his legs and feet. When the free women left the table, Master Dude dragged me to the jails and beat me senseless. I refused to make a whimper which proved how stubborn I was. All I wanted was to be given back my weapons so I could clear this place of these backward and ignorant people whom I considered “the enemy”.
After the beating, this Master took me to the outskirts of a city called the Oasis of Seraphina. There he had pitched a tent outside the city’s high protective walls. It was a nice place really. The tent was laid out beside a watering hole containing palm type trees. I am constantly amazed when I look at houses, villages, towns and great cities on Gor. They all look like a set designer had thought them into being. It was that way with the tent. I inhabited that tent for 3 days, on and off. I grew to love it and felt very rich being there. The sand was covered with priceless handmade carpets and the colorful tent that was erected above them was brilliant against the beige sands of the oasis.
Well the “Dude” took off. I then started to worry about what would happen to me. I decided that I would go up into the Oasis of Seraphina, the entrance of which was at the top of a long flight of stairs. At the wooden gate I was faced with some forbidding guards. They let me through with some minimal questioning. While walking through the streets, I met the Pasha of the Oasis. I asked him if I could perform some service to him, and in exchange I would be permitted to live in the tent at the foot of the high walls.
I am just chomping at the bit to digress here. I was inside a city that was built with the sole purpose of letting people be what they wanted. Free women would come to this city to shed their “robes” and run around naked performing slave “duties”. You never saw the reverse there. By that I mean, slave’s going to the oasis to experience being a free woman. Also, free women and men, who were not companioned, met in clandestine trysts. The free woman, who was companioned to another, would make herself a naked slave just to experience the lust she had wanted with her actual companion but could not attain. It was a city of love, that is for sure. So you see asking the Pasha if I could perform some service could have bought me a place on his streets, accommodating any and all as a coin slut.
Gratefully, that was not the case. He told me I could live there as long as I needed. In exchange he wanted me to look after three of his prize desert kaiila. I accepted the position warily. I prayed that I would be able to provide them food, water, and happiness every day so that they would maintain their health. I took to sleeping next to them almost every night. I believe they liked it when I told them stories of my home planet. To be sure I had to bathe every morning.
I did this for about a month or so, when one day, during a sandstorm, a Master burst into my tent wielding a scimitar in his sword hand. I had tied the tent flaps down to keep the sand out which prevented him from seeing anyone who might be inside the tent. He jumped blind into a situation that could cause his demise. When he saw me he relaxed and sheathed his weapon. He saw I was a slave sans a Master and so collared me on the spot.
I continued to live in the tent with my new Master, Master Ubik, at the foot of the high walls. After only 4 days, he left, telling me he had to take a caravan on a trade route. He never came back.

I decided to go ask the Pasha if he would sell me in the slave market. I really wanted a stable situation. He took me to his slave house and had the auctioneer take bids from the gathered citizens. I was sold for a pittance to a warrior from Port Olni who was at the Oasis to be with his female companion. It was later discovered that she was having all kinds of relations with free men up and down the Vosk. She went by many names but her identification scrolls all contained similar elements.
And so the free man from Port Olni, who name rhymes with Dum-Dum, took me back to the city I came from just a few months before. Master DD was quite a few years older than me. I mean quite. He was constantly in the commons dozing off in between sips of ale. He conversed with hardly a person. One day the Ubara of Olni ordered some guards to take my Master back to his couch since she was sure he had either lapsed into a coma or died.
It was quite an embarrassment to me which quickly turned into a massive case of boredom. I was forced to sit by the couch of my Master while he was deep in the throes of a pre-dementia stupor. I was glad when the Ubar of Port Kalana spied me at a sword tournament in Sais. He came over and asked my Master, Dunce-Dunce, if he could “borrow” me for a while but instead I was actually sold to him. I was taken to Port Kalana. Thirty-two hours later, the Ubar went absolutely berserk. He departed the city and left a scroll containing all the grievances he felt were nagging him. The angry citizens, converged on the Ubar’s palace and found me practicing in the armory with a Gladius . I was tied up immediately, taken to the jail and questioned for hours. I gave only my name rank and serial number, which they did not understand. They wanted to know what I had “done” to the Ubar and how I had driven him to the point of madness. I pointed out, not to my benefit, that the Ubar was insane to begin with.
I thought I was going to be able to finish my tale to my Master in this column but alas it is not to be. My memory is being flooded with details of my exploits and I feel impelled to note them down.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 178

SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior PART 3

Saturday, November 1st, 2014

chariot racing kasra fayeen

Picture: Chariot Racing – Kasra / Fayeen

SHE WHO MUST OBEY ~ Or My Life as a Warrior PART 3

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

I wanted to finish up this little autobiography of my entrance to Gor and the collection of Masters I have been exposed to. To recap, I was ordered to recount the story of my coming to Gor by my present Master. Ordered is such a harsh word. The fact is he was wanting an evening’s entertainment and my story telling was just the ticket for a relaxing and amusing time.

The writing of my little tome was interrupted by the trial of the century in Port Olni. Namely, the trial of Port Olni vs. Lady Kipsley. That debacle is now over and so I will continue where I left off.

My intro to the planet Gor was as startling as the intro’s of other females who had been taken slave from earth to Gor. I witnessed animals I had never seen before. Horrible animals that were freakish in nature. Besides the sights, sounds, and tastes of this world I was also subjected to many beatings by free men who thought I needed training. After awhile, I came to know that I was nothing but a type of animal to them and just as one disciplines a recalcitrant dog, I also was “disciplined” for indiscretions.

My first Master, the warrior, left me to my own devices pretty much. His Home Stone was the town of Ars Station. It was a pretty place to be sure. The problem was, the town was on the verge of going to dust. Even the tavern keep, who ran a very classy establishment, seldom appeared in his bar located steps from the docks. I believe he was tired of waiting for ships that never arrived. The vessels I did see, floating down the mighty Vosk river, passed by the pretty town perched on the river’s edge without stopping. I would wave merrily to them just to hear the shouts coming from the galley’s. It was one of the few times I could enjoy the sounds of actual people while not understanding a word they said.

I was not branded by my first Master nor any of the subsequent 10 or so that owned me after him. Not one of them sought to mar my flesh with the hot iron. It is strange and flies in the face of Gorean custom. When I told my current Master this, he snorted and proclaimed the preceding Masters a bunch of giani’s. Of this I do know, my current Master branded my ass.

I must digress here, and thank the Priest-Kings that I fully realize that I am digressing. It is an annoying habit and if one does not take pains to nip it in the shorts, the rest of the populace will want to nip you in your shorts when they become exasperated with your many digressions. So I ask that you just entertain another digression to humor me. Branding is the most harrowing and down right uncomfortable procedure that one can be subjected to. I sometimes wonder if free men were made to endure the torture of childbirth, would branding be done under total anesthesia? Free men would be appalled at the amount of pain involved in child birth and would feel great empathy for a slave about to have his or her flesh burned away. But it is improbable that this would take place. First off, there are not enough physician’s present to administer the soporific to the thousands of slaves that are processed each year. Secondly, even on Earth, a rancher doesn’t put his cattle “under” while he applies the ranch brand to the animal’s shanks.

The memory of the pain from branding is seared into my brain, so to speak. I find it odd that slaves do not talk much of the pain of branding among themselves. But, I see them wiggling with glee when they witness the branding of another. I think it must be the pleasure/pain brain connection that governs this activity.

Back to Ars Station. My first Master eventually left on some kind of military campaign, leaving me to come and go inside the city, soaking in the baths, putting cream cakes on my Master’s account, sleazing around the tavern, and generally living the good life. Slavery was really easy at that point. I mean even my Master’s companion was a joy to be with. I did not know it at the time but I later caught on to the fact that free women despised female slaves. My Master’s companion though, Saige (Saige2153 Resident), was a magnanimous and compassionate woman. She introduced me to the fine points of serving free men and women. I practiced for hours at a time. The Lady Saige ordered drink after drink from me, the slave, in the tea room. She observed my movements and coached me on things I was mucking up. I tired quickly of this game, since I had to keep running back and forth to the tavern to obtain the alcohol she ordered, since the tea room where we practiced was not stocked with strong spirits. The Lady, however, did not soon grow tired of this. She was a real trooper who drank every libation I brought to her whether it was served well or not. After a time, I helped her home to her couch. A merry time was had by us as we laughed ourselves to the point of stomachache while telling ribald stories on the way home. Our vulgar talk always stopped when a homeowner opened his shutters and screamed for a guard to collar the women in the street. I wonder what would happen on earth if boisterous women were subjected to collaring and branding just for their madcap indiscretions. Personally, I believe that there would be more “stay at home” types eager to avoid the dreadful brand. One wonders if this is an idea whose time has come.

My Master’s companion, through her legal right, took pity on me and sold me on the block in a large slave market called “The Hub”. It was there I became acquainted with my new Master, who wound up chasing me with a sword through two cities. That was an agonizing run which I did not want to recount to my current Master. On earth I would have been the hunter of the enemy, on Gor I was now the “huntee” , stripped of any bodily covering and issued no weapons.

I was rescued from my imminent demise by one Master “E” who intervened on my behalf just as my psychopathic Master raised his sword to slay me at the entrance to the market in Port Olni. The mentally ill Master was later convicted of a violation of the “master/slave” contract. I was unaware of the contents of the contract but surmised that the treatment, which I was subjected to, while under ownership of this lunatic, was not covered within the document.

And so I came to be in the House of Spiritweaver, a well known and respected slave house on the planet. It was a slave girl’s dream, a plush and nicely decorated building that would never make you think it was a pen for imprisoned females. I enjoyed my time in the “kennels”. Yes, I was a dog in a kennel but oh what a kennel! On the lower floor of the building was an immense pool of hot baths in which one could luxuriate. I enjoyed the oils and soaps, applying them liberally to my body. The uniform I was handed though, was not a flattering color. I have never looked good in beige and so I refused to wear the camisk, removing it when the slaver was not looking. I continued to wear the wardrobe the my last Master, Master Maniac, had supplied me. I did not own these clothes but I managed to hide them under the sleeping fur they provided in the kennel in which I slept. This caused great consternation in the city kennels, especially to the head slaver of the House of Spiritweaver. The slaver was a female and, as a free woman, looked down upon female slaves.

Also, the kennel had a wonderful kitchen where you could prepare bread and porridge. It was a damn sight better than the food we got back on earth while on maneuvers; MRE’s (Meals Ready to Eat) were revolting at the least. And besides, the porridge was not so bad if you put a little honey on it. I afforded myself the use of the baths and kitchen until the slaver started to hector me. It was then that I stayed out all day, hobnobbing in the market place gathering intelligence from the shopkeepers. I figured it would not hurt to let them “cop a feel” while I sampled their wares. While in the kennel, when the slaver was around, I feigned madness…I babbled on about my imaginary friends and spewed the contents of what I was thinking to everyone within earshot. Some of the inhabitants of the city laughed at my antics but the slaver grew tired of me and sold me to the first Master who showed any interest in owning me.

It was then that I fell into the hands of a roaming dude, which is how he was known, whom I felt needed to be met with my full arsenal of thought weapons. I remained stiff lipped and stubborn through out my three days of being owned by him.

Drats…I have to stop writing down this story to accompany my Master to the baths, where he likes to soak in the hot water. It is not an unpleasant duty since he allows me to wash and hobnob with other free men who have come to the bath house minus their slaves.

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 177


Saturday, November 1st, 2014

Disturbed Seagulls

Picture: Docks of Tancred’s Landing – Disturbed Seagulls


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

Tuesday morning, the day after the conclusion of the trial of Olni vs. Lady Kipsley, I was trotting by the notice boards and saw this headline on a scroll posted for all to see….
I tried to search for the person’s name who wrote this, but I could not find a byline. I always put my slave name to a scroll that I hand Master Yuroki. There were times when I had been pelted with stones in the street for writing what some have perceived to be inflammatory words, but the show must go on. It appeared that the author of the scroll headline wanted to remain anonymous since, if the person who wrote this became known, they, too, would be pelted with stones in the street.
Well, it was a long trial. The second part of the testimony and questioning on Monday, started almost an ahn late. The magistrate was in the foulest of moods. He called for order but the attendees were all worked up about this trial and the buzz of voices kept threatening to drown out the testimony.
Lady Kipsley was the first on the stand. The magistrate Master Acciotheon called for the defense to resume the case to produce documents which proved that Lady Kipsley was no longer a slave, but a free woman with proper manumission papers. The defense did produce the scrolls but the courtroom went crazy and the trial goers screamed out that these scrolls had been faked. Now looking back on this, I can say that it might be very possible that this was done. If the trial had been held within one Gorean day, the defense would not have had time to find a corrupt scribe, pay them off, and have the manumission papers changed to suit the court. Obviously, the defense wanted to spare Lady Kipsley from the embarrassment of being collared over a technicality.
The grumpy magistrate, Master Acciotheon, read the scrolls despite the pleading of the prosecutor, Lady Celeste, that the question of the Lady’s date of manumission be taken up at the end of the trial.
The prosecution said that they had the manumitting Jarl available, if he was needed, to appear in the court to give credence to the papers. The Magistrate thought that everything looked in order and the prosecutor was given the chance to scan them. That is where the first commotion started. Master E was ascending the stairs of the library cylinder and when he reached the level where the witnesses were being sequestered and guarded by Master Isnala, Master “E” made a social gaff.
At first he asked the slave, Missy, to get him some water. He was out of breath and sweating because of the long climb up the stairs. It was his own fault, really. I mean everyone has been commenting on his growing middle section. He sits in the commons requesting pastries and black wine.
I digress. Master Isnala, a warrior, told Master “E” that the slave would not be getting anyone water as she was a witness at this trial. Master “E” then turned to the warrior and said to him, “Then YOU fetch me some water!” Those were fighting words to Master Isnala and he replied, “Excuse me, you piece of sleen filth. I am a witness also and I take no orders from any bloody scribe. I would just as soon cut your head off!”
The warrior drew his sword and had to be talked down by free men that were near so that there would be no bloodshed. An Initiate, Thelemenos, took great offense that swords were drawn in the presence of the Blessed Ones. Master “E” sheepishly lifted his cloak to reveal that he was sword-less, hoping that his life would be spared by a show of non violence. Master Isnala sheathed his weapon but not before letting some choice words hit the ears of Master “E”. In all actuality this was one of those paga fueled moments. Master Isnala had been quaffing the potent drink from his personal flask, so that when Master “E” arrived, his face was flushed and he reeked of alcohol. These two were ripe for a confrontation and a confrontation it was. The Magistrate was fuming and his shouts could be heard on the floor below. The crisis was averted but not before a citizen from another city loudly blamed Master “E” of, causing his own public repugnance. The voice in the crowd yelled, “See, even his own people want him dead.” This statement was parroted throughout the courtroom and it quickly turned the tide against Master “E”.
Now it was time for the rest of the witnesses to take the stand one at a time. We had a very nice beating of the slave called Missy for her testimony. It was smartly administered by Master Dark. It was hard to tell who was enjoying it more, the beater, the beatee, or the crowd. I must say, for the sake of accuracy, the crowd was rather vocal in its reaction to the beating, which seemed brutal. I must also say the punishment was administered before her answer was given as is accorded by Merchant Law, or so I am told.
Well the slave accounted well for herself although I think she would have given the same answers under normal questioning. She told the truth and if there was a beating she had to go through, it was not unusual. Every Gorean thinks of slaves as animals; they are subject to all kinds of treatment, whether good or ill.
The questioning skills of the prosecutor were to be applauded. But the defense, Master Çassian Thalassa, was full of objections. I think it would be hard to be his slave as he appears to be a most difficult man. There was a lot said between the time in which the slave was beaten and the end of the testimony of Master “E”. I would feel remiss if I did not report to you that Master “E” was swilling liquid from a flask the whole time he was on the docket. I do not think the liquid had anything to do with the hydration of the one Master “E”.
After hours and hours of questioning we were given a 10 ehn recess to use the rest facilities. I just ran out into the street to relieve my bladder since all the “powder rooms” were full. We all went back to a rather momentous decision by the magistrate, Master Acciotheon. For the crime that Lady Kipsley had committed, the attack and attempted murder on the person of Master “E”, she was sentenced to DEATH!
This verdict caused fights to break out in the amphitheatre. One free man was knocked from the top tier by another. He came rolling by me as I politely moved out of the way.
I was really disgusted with the magistrate for using this pregnant pause to incite the crowd with this provocative verdict. After his shouts to come to order, which made his voice go hoarse, order was resumed. With a minimal amount of buzz from the crowd the magistrate then finished his reading of the verdict. He pronounced that the sentencing of Lady Kipsley would be commuted. Everyone in the amphitheatre went to fisticuffs. I even saw some free women slapping other free women.
This was not mildly amusing to anyone who was on the side of Master “E”. These supporters calmed down when the last part of the verdict was read. It is insufferable that the magistrate was toying with the court. I believe, though, that he was just getting back at everyone for keeping him so long in the first trial. He “bitched” loudly about his lack of sleep and how the trial was impinging on his social life and blah blah blah. Well I am glad he could have his little vengeance. It was lovely to witness.
The last part of the verdict was a proclamation by the magistrate that, the defendant, Lady Kipsley, was never to show herself in Port Olni again. He said, “Should she be found in Olni ever again, this sentence shall be carried out immediately and without further recourse.” I think that was pretty clear. I also think that it would be foolhardy of Mistress Kipsley to darken the gates of Port Olni ever again.
Now back to my crowd watching. I believe I mentioned that I was thinking of writing a little fashion column in this corner within the notes of the first trial.
Well, the trial venue was the perfect place to observe Gorean fashion. You have so many from different cities that you get a sense of trends in other places. Most of the modes of dress were pretty standard. There were a few finely sewn robes of concealment using colors most becoming to the wearer. Most of the free men were dressed in the colors and robes of their castes. I found little fault with the free men. But it seemed to me that the Masters or Mistresses of the majority of the slaves should have their fashion “goggles” readjusted.
It was distressing to see some of the cheap and shoddy work put into slave silks and dress camisks. A good tailor was needed by these beasts. Another sad note was the overuse of bina exhibited by a lot of the slaves.
For the most part the hairstyles were becoming but, I would need more room to explain how one person’s hairstyle appeared as though they were using the same salon as Master David Bowie. I will save that for a Gor version of the earth fashion magazine called Vogue. I think I will call it “Gorogue”.
Well to end this story of the trial, I will tell you that the prosecutor, Lady Celeste, wailed over the crowd, “We have let her go (to) slit some other unsuspecting man’s throat.” She then loudly proclaimed to anyone in earshot, “I will be appealing it.”

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.4 Issue 176