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

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