All is not quiet on the northern Front

Tancred's Landing

Picture: The new headquarters of the NEW VOICE OF GOR, Tancred’s Landing

by Teal Razor, slave of Captain Siri Emerald Jr., Port Olni

This week I felt compelled to pen this observation. I will not reveal the name of my source. I will not reveal any information even close to sounding like a name. And, it is my fervent hope that the people who recognize themselves, in this story, take heed. They will be secure in the fact that I will never expose them. For in the end, we all eventually expose ourselves.

I must say that I always have a case of “the nerves” when I am needed for serving in the commons. It is not that I dislike serving, for I am commanded to serve all free by my Master, a most generous and kind Master. The fear of displeasing my Master though, by displeasing a free person is not a situation I care to experience. This guilt by proxy is unnerving to say the least. My Master’s sense of justice is swift and fueled only by his certain knowledge that a transgression has taken place. He is none to kind with the use of the lash at this point. So, on the whole, I would say, I will not, under any circumstances, cause a constipated look on my Master’s face. He will only have relief of his constipation when he beats the shit outta ME.

Well, that is neither here nor there. The fact is, there are many things I love about serving. One is the view you are afforded. It is a view that most never experience inside the city. Where else can you see the latest styles as worn by the free women and the new weapons purchased from the metal workshops around Gor.

If I may digress for a moment, it is inherent in me to ogle the swords and bows that men carry. I am spellbound by tales of weapons, combat and war. There are certain reasons for this but that is another story.

But, then again, I am just as fascinated by the rich materials that the beautiful free women use to adorn themselves. The fabrics and decoration are just as mesmerizing as the sharpened steel blades.

The commons is also a place where there is food cooking, fruits on display, casks of strong drink and bottles of sweet Turian wine. And, the prime mover for serving in the commons, the proximity to cake. It is here also, that a variety of Gorean life parades in an ever changing tableau of dialects, colors, customs, and personalities.

Everyone who is anyone comes through the gates of Port Olni. Only the riff raff, for example, Trevian raiders on tarns, fly down from the walls.

So the gates being in front of the commons offers you a changing view of Goreans in various modes of undress.

The commons is the hub of any city. Visitors bring news of other neighboring and faraway places they have traveled to. It is also an amusing place where the free and slave gossip and flirt. These stories make ripe telling when a Master is bored and commands you to entertain him.

I always strive to please the free. It is actually a win win situation. I please them, they feed me. Sometimes I get candy and cream cakes.

Now because the commons is the heart of the city and the cross roads of the town, it is fitting for this important place to have an air of quiet and professional dignity. Craftsmen, even now, are drawing up new plans for the transformation of this port city. I am told that broad plaza’s of stone and tile will be set down shortly.

I believe the architectural firm of Buildem and Pray has been engaged once more to edit and reedit the city’s monuments. They may be having problems choosing which edifices, built by past architects who have “bit the City of Dust”, to eradicate from the skyline.

It was within such a scene that I overheard the most flagrant disruption of the space time continuum as ever there was.

A merchant who does business trading in the northern forests was elaborating about his recent encounter with a panther tribe. He has done commerce with this tribe on his trade route and makes it into their lands about every six months. There is no wonder that he is not captured and made a thrall but his rotundity makes him ill equipped for waiting on a panther hand and foot.

The merchant was giving a warning to all present and even asked to have an audience with the Ubar and the Commander of Port Olni. He wanted one and all to hear of a warning he brought back from the north. It seems this panther tribe he deals with has gone rogue. Their members have become true man-haters. This misandry was spreading like a disease through the tribe. Former panthers who were mainly interested in honing their hunting skills and capturing hapless males who wandered past their borders, were now crying for blood. They were planning a full scale attack on a large city on the Olni River. Their plan was to kill as many men as they could and then capture the free women and slaves. Only the Priest-Kings would know what could ensue then.

As ludicrous as this sounds coming from the Falstaffian merchant, the man was unnerved enough to quaff his libation with a shaking hand. He told of a horrific scene he witnessed when two free persons were brought into the panther camp. The captured free man was assaulted by derision and stripped naked. His companion was tied and made to watch the disgusting display of misanthropic vengeance. After much abuse and punches to his genitalia, the man’s throat was cut. His companion looked on helpless. Her wails were heard all through the forest. The merchant, not having weapons or the authority to stop this, fled the scene.

It seems that there were just a few rotten apples in this panther camp that were causing the psyches of the others to whither and rot as theirs had. The merchant stopped in Olni to entreat the administration to send warriors and a magistrate to put down this dangerous uprising. He was begging anyone who would listen to help him arm himself and put together a battalion of free men and warriors to bring the murderous women to justice.

I was chilled to my core after hearing this and sat closer to a brazier to warm myself. When most of the commons cleared out except for a warrior and a slave who were feeling each other up in a corner, I ran home and waited for my Master’s return.

When the door opened I set about helping him remove his gear and when he was relaxed I related the story of the merchant in the commons. I could see the anger in his eyes. He told me if it was a true story, the warriors of Olni would wipe that tribe off the face of Gor. After saying this he put his heavy cloak on and took off for the Ubar’s office in the admin cylinder.

I smiled because I could feel safe in the knowledge that retribution would be swift. To sum it up for the poor panther’s who brought this on, “payback’s a bitch.”

From the NEW VOICE OF GOR v.3 Issue 140

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