The Gazette of Gor – Issue 11


Disclaimer: All images contained herein are stock images of Lunacaleengpanthers.

(Gorean Press Edition)


 

 Contents:

  • From the Editor’s Desk
  • Article on Port of Saronida by Beth (kaiileigh kilian)
  • Article on Torvalds Glade by Minnie
  • Article by Frey
  • Article on Hrimgar OutLaws by Minnie
  • The Fall of Thentis (by Tristan)
  • Article – Tarna the Outlaw: The Least Known Cannon-Character by kimba{Vika}
  • Story by Ayana Bade
  • Events

 From the Editor’s Desk


Is success a failure ?

How many time did we see someone performing a task, and performing it perfectly ? My bet would be that most of us have always seen it, but is it realistic ? Is it even interesting ? Are people so insecure about their role-play that they can’t consider failure as an option ?

Think about it, failure can open a whole word of new option. How did you fail ? Why ? What will be the consequences, both for you and any persons involved ? Can you fix your failure or will you have to live with it ?

Do you see how interesting it can be, to fail once in a while ? It also makes you more human, not a superhero who will succeed even if the chances are of 0.01%

When I see someone who always succeed in anything they do, I indeed see someone who fail, and when I see someone who is able, once in a while, to role-play their failure, I see someone who have succeeded.

Claude Belgar


  Port of Saronida by Beth (kaiileigh kilian)


 I had the pleasure of visiting the Port of Saronida and interviewing Commander of the Red Caste, Gilbert Carrasco and Ambassador and Builder Solene Silverweb. The Ambassador Lady Solene was kind enough to give me a tour and provide some background on how the Sim was created. The Commander provided very good information about interactions in the Port. My sincere thanks to both of them for their time.

*I asked Lady Solene what inspired her group to build the Port of Saronida and how has it evolved.*

Well I had been in my own OOC home here for a long time before Saronida. The IC city we were living in closed around the same time as more land opened up here. A core group of friends, that we tended to move from place to place with came, and we acquired more land. Within 3 weeks we had built our first sim, Cariad, a Welsh name that means ‘beloved’ and more along medieval lines.

At that time Tery (Terynce) was new to making stuff in mesh and I was not as good as I am now at making textures, so it was a learning curve. We tried to take all the bits we liked from other sims we have lived in and make something our own. As our skills improved we kept making more changes.

At that time, we were joint Admins and what with the usual drama you get in SL and our building projects, we were finding it a strain. At one stage, we thought about closing down completely. We met with our co-owners and came up with a better solution. We appointed a Gorean veteran as Admin, freeing us up to just build and role play.

New rules were written up. Magistrate Lady Bekka and Admin Sir Hawk now deal with any IC issues. OOC drama will result in all parties being kicked off to sort it out! It helps to spread the load, our Caste Heads and Admin take care of any issues arising from their perspectives.

*I asked Gilbert Carrasco what types of participants would feel comfortable in the Port of Saronida, and also about classes, mentoring and events.*

I would say experienced role players as well as newer participants. There can be misconceptions sometimes by people new to Gor, especially when they are attracted for something specific they heard about it, such as the dominance of the Men above all others and the submission of the slaves. All that is fine, for it is part of it, but there is so much more to the whole experience. We strive to guide the new participants to successful and good role play.

In the case of the slaves, we have a very capable Slaver that ushers them through the process, getting the more experienced slaves to show the ropes to the newer girls as well as providing classes for them. We have successful stories of some of these girls. As far as the rest, in my case, I provide individual mentoring, as well as hold classes for Codes of Honor, Aphorisms, the duties of the warriors, the rules of engagement as well as emoting for good role playing.

We have a Kaissa tournament that has been going on for awhile, but almost finished. We are in the process of other events. We are planning a RP Festival and a Catch The Flag tournament. We hope to make it a success so it will become a regular event. I figure it will start early to mid July, but we will announce the definitive dates with plenty of advance notice.

*I asked what should travelers be aware of before coming to the Port of Saronida?*

Commander Gilbert Carrasco replied that the Port of Saronida is a free trade port, although we are prepared to defend our way of life and our Homestone. We are friendly to all that come with the mind of good trade and good role play. Also if visitors are interested in trying our city to see if it fits their idea of a Homestone, come by and lets us know. We will make sure they get the answers and the information they need as well as a tour of our port. I wish all well.

* I inquired what might potential participants like to know*

Lady Solene advised, we strive for role play that is fun, but also within the realms of BTB. We make good use of group chat for getting to know each other OOC and keeping in touch. Group chat rules are basically this – if you cant say something nice – shut up! We understand that we all come here to relax, to escape and  to enjoy and as long as that enjoyment does not involve demeaning or hurting others we don’t interfere or dictate role play. I want my sim to be a place where others can come and live and/or role play where they are safe, can be looked out for and looked after if needs be.


The Tour


My tour of Port Saronida began in the telehub area, which also doubles as an arena for racing. The rules, meter and observer tags are easily acquired.  A quick teleport down, and one arrives on a ship and steps into the main commerce area. This contains all the merchants as well as IC housing. There is a tea house, tavern, kennels, and offices as well. Further along is the brewery and warrior hall. A short distance are the baths, fields, and salt marshes. The next port area hosts, Caste offices, an Inn, Kiassa and Zar pavilion, courthouse, library and infirmary.

The outlying area is heavily wooded with a hidden cove and walled garden. A Tachuk wagon camp is clearly marked and not a place one enters unannounced. Teleporters can take one to a dance area, sword and bow arena, target practice area, or OOC housing.

Overall, this reporter found the design and build to be well thought out and very nicely done. Arenas and housing as sky boxes free up the ground level for only role play interactions. The Port contains all the traditional Gorean amenities in a condensed area which facilitates interaction. The people are very friendly and it is certainly a place where both new and experienced Goreans would feel comfortable. For those interested, combat is currently in development.


Torvalds Glade (Minnie)


  • A dock, a path, a village and a Jarl, Knaster !! Knaster did a classic village, a quiet place of peace. But with this village, he built something else. He built one philosophy, the same philosophy, i have. A place to RP and help all Goreans. Yes, for me, Knaster is a true Gorean, clever, kind. And his village breaths natural. His SIM breaths the life, a place where it ll be good to live. In Torvalds Glade, no city, no fortress, only people and nature as we have to discover in Gor.  The landscape is beautiful, there is no lag. All is perfect for our best world of Gor. For what you did, Sir Knaster, thank You !

  • Knaster Resident: We came to the land, and we built the village from how we made the land , not the opposite that many do, making it a fortress. I like the nature and as the story goes,


Welcome to Torvald’sGlade.


  • “There were the northern islands, of course, and they were numerous, but small, extending in an archipelago like a scimitar northeastward from Cos, Explorers of Gor pg.16. Exploring this area we claimed a mountainous, fertile island. We named our new home Torvald’s Glade in honor of our fore father.

Knaster

High Jarl of Torvald’s Glade


 A Kajira Dances by Frey


 My name is Frey and I am a kajira.  This article is addressed to only the Free, other kajira may read it, but they will already know and understand this information.  I ask that you hear me out and allow me to take a moment of your time to give you a peek into the mind and soul of a kajira.  Doing so may help you to understand us and interact with us in a more beneficial way for both sides.

I please others, this is what I am here to do, it is my nature and, by submitting my freedom to another, I embrace my urge to serve and please with no expectation of benefit to myself.  There are a number of ways for me to please, so I am a very privileged that I have so many opportunities.  One way is dancing, which I beg to tell you about in this week’s issue.

When I dance, I do not hunger for the attention, quite the opposite… it is very hard for me to step out in front of even a single person and move my body while they watch me closely.  Any true kajira is shy and timid, and she worries heavily when she is asked to perform in a pleasing manner, this comes from our nature as a slave, a submissive.  We do not seek out dance competitions to show off our skills… we do not chase after recognition or glory, those that do this and/or boast about the outcome of competitions are not true kajira, they are free women wearing silks.  The true kajira only seek that those who watch us and read our RP find it pleasing.

I type out the detail of my movements and the feeling I have while my avi dance in as sensual a fashion as I am able, and I do so because I have been trained that men will find this pleasing. I try to give special attention to each that watch, and for this reason, I normally hope that only one or two watches me each time, as this makes it possible for me to be the most pleasing.  To me, I am never good enough, never pleasing enough, and I constantly strive to improve my skills.  I take care to get to know a master and try to change my style to dance in a way that he will enjoy the most.  Yes, I do have pre-written dances, but I alter them as I use them, I improve them and change them to best fit the situation.

Dancing is the ONLY role play that I prepare, that I pre-write.  And the ONLY reason I do it is to avoid having the audience wait while I create dance moves off the top of my head.  During this time, I am wrought with nervousness, and as a result, I type slowly and make many typos, so some preparing is necessary in the interest of being pleasing.  I will let you peek in even further and admit to you that when I see a mistake in my RP, it horrifies me, to me it is the ultimate failure and I feel sick to my stomach in RL when it happens.  This is what a dancing kajira feels, what goes through her mind when she is standing before you, exposed and vulnerable.  It is beautiful, our weakness, and it all yours for the taking… I plead to you not to dismiss such a valuable thing, but instead embrace her and gently encourage her to keep improving.


 Hrimgar OutLaws (Minnie)


  • They are strong ! They are high ! They are fierce and proud warriors from North, from northeastern region of Torvaldsland. Mountains, snow, a village, a fortified city. Yes, you would say : As usual in all BTB SIMs ! But no. This SIM gave us something more fresh (and not only by snow). People are kind, RP is well done, many transitions exist, many levels. And at end, many smiles are given. Please, read the story made by Modi and you ll understand that they are more RP players, they are story builders !!! And of course, as they are strong with a high musculation, they are body builders too !

A word from  Hrimgar OutLaws

  • We are Kinsmen and Kith of Tovaldsland based on (Book 9: Marauders of Gor.) The lands of Hrimgar Marauders are a small Island of granite rock situated in Einar located within the far northeastern region of Torvaldsland.   Despite the fact that the land is a pretty much barren rock, the people of Hrimgar Marauder have made a life in these harsh mostly barren lands. We are a fishing, mining and raiding village, and are very sea worthy. We need to travel locally for trade and further for raiding to bring supplies in constantly, so our men and women are well adapted to the sea and interacting in the nearby communities. If you are a free or a bond/thrall contact one of our admins:

– Móði  Tóre (moditore)

– Kᴜʀᴜk Ironbeard (jokekiller)

– Dmitri Jormungand (dmitrichild)


A story from Móði  乃ℓoođɐxє


  • A gust of wind took the very breath from the man as he exited the small dwelling, ancient hinges whining at the injustice of being slammed shut with the sole of a boot.Enveloping himself in the cloak, eyes narrowed to slits, Ulrik made himself a barrier against the blizzard and battled resolutely through it’s ferocity. ”Fine day fer a stretch of the legs” he said, with no small hint of irony. The new dawn began it’s rise and illuminated the formidable mountain range before him.

  • The crunch of boots through the snow halted abruptly, craning his neck backwards so as to conceive of it’s vast entirity. ”I will stand where me forefathers stood” he grunted, a renewed sense of vigour stiffening his resolve for the dangerous matter ahead. He began to climb, each step harder than the last, each breath growing shallower the higher he went. Halfway through the steep ascent he halted and retrieved the bota from an inner pocket, swigging it’s contents he surveyed the rugged landscape. ”Such a climb would kill lesser men” he said, gasping for the words and returning the bota from where it came.
  • The climb had indeed been an arduous one, but as Ulrik pulled himself up onto the plateau, a sense of elation consumed his very being. Feeling at one with the clouds he slowly managed to haul himself back to his boots and reach out an arm to steady himself by a large rock. It was in that ihn gravity took the man, arms shot upward as the ground beneath gave way and sent him spiralling downward through a long dark tunnel, landing in an undignified heap at it’s end. The darkness was all consuming and he fumbled for the dagger at his belt. Ripping a piece of dry coth from the tunic, he then felt for the flint contained wthin a pouch.
  • The steel of the blade made for a fine spark and soon the rag was aflame. Wrapping it about a stick, found close by, the torch soon restored his sight and made sense of the gloom. A few steps further revealed a large stone archway of solid construction, beyond that a cave of daunting proportions. Atop the arch sat a symbol, barely visible. Thrusting forth the torch so as to scrutanise it further, his hand began trembling uncontrolably, the spit stolen from his mouth and a heart pounding out the rythm of a drum.The symbol jumped out from myth and darkness to reveal it’s legend to mankind. ”It cannot be” he said, the tremble of his voice echoing in this cavernous place.
  • Ulriks pallour now took on the hue of a dead man as he made his way tentatively forward, stopping only when he thought himself at the centre of the cave. Slowly turning in a circle, arm extended, the torch revealed something glinting close by. He neared, there before him lay a hoarde of bejewelled weapons and armour hewn from the finest steel and moulded by the greatest of smiths. Ulriks jaw dropped. It was with an eager mit he rummaged through such treasures…But wait, something curious caught his gaze. It was a yard long, no more, no less, the shaft wrapped in inch thick iron. Set upon three sides were the large feathers of the black tipped coasting gull. Slowly he turned it in hand and found the same symbol as adorned the arch. His very bones rattled in their moorings as he stumbles back, landing on his arse. ”All must come” he said, a great reverence befalling him as he held the arrow tightly. ”It is the war arrow of Torvald himself……”I WILL COME” he roared, disregarding the jewels scattered around him and making for the way out. Fresh air found him and Ulrik descended the Hrimgar mountains like a man posessed.
  • It was some time before he made the village and darkness had fallen. Stumbling ragged and exhausted through the long hall door, he made for the chieftain, collapsing at his table above the salt and placing the arrow beneath his gaze. ”The war arrow…All must come…Torvald” The words were all he could manage before the blackness took the man.


The Fall of Thentis   (by Tristan)


 

BREAKING NEWS: A mysterious glow was seen late in the evening coming from the Thentis Mountains. This glow was noticed as far away as Olni. Wondering if it may be some sign of the Priest Kings, the High Initiate of a Olni, the Blessed Rasputin, sent temple guards to investigate. What they found was no intervention of the Priest Kings but, instead, a festival gone horribly wrong.

While the happy community was celebrating one of the many festivals they often held,  a small fire broke out.  Unfortunately, in their state of jubilation, no citizen noticed the danger until is was far too late.  The fire raged at an enormous rate of speed, engulfing they lovely city and leaving the brave warriors only enough time to rescue the citizens and see them to safety.

The city lies in charred ruin, but worse, the precious Blackwine groves are lost.  Let this article serve as an alert to all cities… with the destruction of not only the Blackwine storage in Thentis, but the very groves themselves, merchants with supplies of Blackwine are encourage to ration it out as it will be many years before the groves can be restored to production of the beans.􀀁

A small glimmer of hope is left for the great city of Thentis as one visiting Gorean ran into danger to fearlessly remove a single blackwine sappling.  Swearing to rebuild the city to it’s original condition, this brave person will begin the rebuild immediately.  May the Priest Kings guide and aid this new Thentis to success.


Tarna the Outlaw: The Least Known Cannon-Character

by

kimba{Vika}

Northern Lights Outlaws (SL)

Her Sunflower


There are lots of people on Gor who say definitively, “Women don’t use swords nor lead men in battle.  Women don’t fight, they just run and hide.”  Women who fight, but are not Panthers/Talunas, must be GE on SLGor.  Which is why Tarna the Outlaw, in Tribesmen, is the least known major character in the Gorean cannon.  She blows it all up, which is why Googling her turns up almost nothing.  Nobody wants to acknowledge her existence, because Tarna crosses THEIR ideas of what Gor should be.

You can find the quote from Captive where Elinor says how the Panthers are superior to her on 50 webpages – for every one time you find a page with the quote after the moon-dance, when Elinor realizes Verna is a bigger slut than Elinor ever dreamed of being.  You will never see the quote about how a “conquered panther girl is one of the most abject and delicious and joyful of slaves” and you will never see quotes about Tarna.  Most Gorean roleplayers never heard of Tarna, only the small percentage of people who have read most of the books – or they make the argument that there was only one Tarna, and she got collared, so I can’t play her.  Or that she was backed by the Kurri.  So was Cernus, but nobody says don’t play him.  Moreover, her men did not know about the Kurr, they just followed her, because she succeeded.

In the following quotes, we see that Tarna the Outlaw leads and commands men:

“Tarna!” we heard. “Tarna!”

They reined in, almost below the edge of the roof. Several other riders, raiders, were with them, behind.

“Tarna!” we heard.

The leader of the riders, in blue and purple burnoose, stood in the stirrups, surveying the carnage.

Reports were made by lieutenants to this leader. Orders were issued to these men and they, on their kaiila, sped away. The leader, graceful, slight, vital, stood in the stirrups, scimitar in hand.

“The wells?” asked a man.

“Destroy them,” she said.

He sped away, followed by a cloud of riders. The leader sat back in the saddle, burnoose swelling in the wind, light, wickedly curved scimitar across the pommel.

“Destroy the palms, burn the buildings,” she said.

“Yes, Tarna,” said the lieutenants, and they wheeled their mounts, going to their men.

*Not only does Tarna lead and command, she also participates in battle:

Hassan and I leaped from the roof, which was now partly aflame, to the stable yard there, tethered, shifting, their nostrils stung with smoke, their heads covered with saddle blankets, were our two kaiila.  By the reins we led them from the yard, once outside removing the saddle blankets.  I saw the body of one of the inn boys to one side, against the wall of the opposite building.  It must have been past the twentieth Gorean hour.  The sand clock had not been turned.  We heard the roof of the inn fall.  Far off there was screaming. We led the beasts through the streets of the oasis.  Twice we skirted pockets of fighting men.  Once, four Tashid soldiers sped by.

Once, looking through an alley, to the street at its end, we saw mounted men fighting. There were some ten Tashid soldiers, on kaiila, attacking the command group of the raiders.  Then they were forced back, with lances, by dozens of raiders.  They wheeled away, pursued by the raiders, the command group, in its purple and yellow burnooses following.  I saw Tarna, the leader of the raiders, standing in her stirrups, scimitar high, urging her men forward, then joining in the pursuit.

*How many men does Tarna command?

Four days ago, at dawn, Tarna, at the head of her men, left the Oasis of the Battle of Red Rock in flames.  Only its citadel, its kasbah, had been impregnable. Its palm groves had been cut down, its gardens destroyed, four of its five public wells caved in and filled.  The other well, by two many men, had been defended with too much vigor.  There had been some four or five hundred raiders.  When they left Red Rock their kaiila had been heavy with loot.

Soon Tarna, with her men, and loot and slaves, entered the great gate of her fortress.  She lifted her arms and scimitar, acknowledging the cheering.

Tarna may have been backed by Kurri gold in the first place, but her men don’t know that.  They follow her because she succeeds.  They take her orders the same as they would if she was a man.  She must be a competent enough fighter to have survived so long.  She doesn’t have Kur bodyguards to keep her lieutenants from collaring her, and she doesn’t take down enemy strongholds with Kurri death beams.  She must be good enough to hold her position as chieftain, and she must be a good enough leader to dominate her territory.  Until she meets Tarl Cabot, who will eventually beat Tarna in a sword fight.

Tarna is not the equal of any male fighter.  But she thinks she is, and acts accordingly.  This clearly establishes that, for example, Sky and Jess who Lead Northern Lighrs Outlaws and the women that follow them, are entitled to Tarna’s level of arrogance.

“Do you know that, with a scimitar,” she asked, “I am quite skilled, more skilled than any man?”

“No,” I said, “I did not know that.”

“But I have wondered sometimes,” she said. “What it would be like to be a woman.”

I smiled.

“A true woman,” she said, “at the mercy of a man.”

*Of course me, and Sky and others at NLO don’t merely wonder what it is like to be at the mercy of a man.  It ain’t all bad, but it ain’t our PlanA, either.

Then later:

Tarna, in her quarters, spun to face me.  She was startled.  She had not known I was there. I had touched the ring.  A moment later, she turning, saw me, standing in the room.

“You!” she cried.

Her eyes were wild.  She was distraught. She wore the mannish garb of the Tahari, save that she did not wear the wind veil nor the kafflyeh and agal.  Her face and head, proud and beautiful, were bare.  Her hair was wild, long, loose behind her, behind the thrown back hood of the burnoose.  The garments she wore were torn and stained.  The left trouser leg had been slashed. There were long scimitar slashes at the left sleeve, which hung in tatters.  I did not think she had been wounded.  There was dirt at the left side of her face.

“You have come to take me!” she cried.  She carried a scimitar.

“Your war is lost,” I told her. “It is done.”

She looked upon me in fury. For an instant there were tears in her eyes, bright and hot. I saw that she was a woman. Then again she was Tarna.

JN never lets us forget the dual nature of a woman, in each a slave girl and a FW.  Tarna doesn’t realize that she has no chance against Tarl, or she doesn’t care.  Whatever we, the readers, may know about the true relationships of men and women, Tarna doesn’t care.

“Never!” she cried.

“It is true,” I told her.

“No!” she cried.

We could bear men fighting in the distance, somewhere in the corridors beyond.

“The kasbah has fallen,” I told her. “Ibn Saran is dead. Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars and Suleiman, high Pasha of the Aretai, are already within the walls.”

“I know,” she said, miserably. “I know.”

“You were relieved of your command,” I told her. “You were no longer of use. Even those men who once served you fight now, decimated, for their lives.” I regarded her. “The kasbah has fallen,” I said.

*Whatever we may think of the men who served Tarna, whatever their motivation for being commanded by her – there is no doubt that these Gorean men followed the commands of a Gorean woman.  Whatever we may conclude about where these people stand in JN’s philosophy – we cannot deny that they exist.  They may be dishonorable, they may be contrary to the main stream, they may be idiots ins JN’s eyes – but they are Goreans.

She looked at me.

“You are alone,” I said. “It is over.”

“I know,” she said. Then she lifted her head, angrily, proudly, “How did you know where to find me?” she asked.

“I am not unfamiliar with the quarters of Tarna,” I said.

“Of course,” she said. She smiled. “And now you have come to take me,” she laughed.

“Yes,” I told her.

“Doubtless for he who brings me in, his rope on my neck, before the noble Pashas Haroun and Suleiman, there will be a high reward,” she said.

“I would suppose that would be the case,” I said.

“Fool!” she said. “Sleen! I am Tarna!” She lifted the scimitar. “I am more than a match for any man!” she cried.

*She thinks she is a match for any man.  We may know better, but she thinks she is.  It is completely Gorean roleplay for Sky, who leads NLO,  to think she is more than a match for any man.  It is completely supported by the books for a female outlaw to THINK that she is.

I met her charge. She was not unskillful. I fended her blows. I did not lay the weight of my own steel on hers, that I not tire her arm. I let her strike, and slash, and feint and thrust. Twice she drew back suddenly in fear, almost a wince, or reflex, realizing she had exposed herself to my blade, but I had not struck her.

“You are not a match for a warrior,” I told her. It was true. I had crossed steel with hundreds of men, in practice and in the fierce games of war, who could have finished her, swiftly and with ease, had they chosen to do so.

*This is the key passage.  Not only does Tarna think she can beat Tarl, and she is not even disabused of that notion when she sees he could have been injured, but Tarl refrains from doing so.

The major point of contention is in Tarl’s statement, which admittedly is open to other interpretations than mine.  But to me Tarl says she is no match for a Warrior.  He says the same thing to an Assassin in another book, that an Assassin is no match for a Warrior.  Warriors clearly have skills beyond average men, such as Bakers and their like.

Notice what Tarl does not say.  He absolutely does not say “You are no match for a man.”  He identifies “hundreds of men” who could beat her easily.  This has to mean that there are other men who could NOT beat her easily.  Tarl is very stringent in his accuracy.  If he meant to say “any man on Gor could have beaten her easily” he would have said so.

Tarna is in deep denial if she thinks she can beat Tarl, but she continues trying, even when it is long past hopeless.

In fury, again, she attacked.

Again I met her attack, toying with the beauty.

She wept, striking wildly. I was within her guard, the blade at her belly.

She stepped back. Again she fought. This time I moved toward her, letting her feel the weight of the steel, the weight of a man’s arm. Suddenly she found herself backed against a pillar. Her guard was down. She could scarcely lift her arm. My blade was at her breast. I stepped back. She stumbled from the pillar, wild. Again she lifted the scimitar; again she tried to attack. I met her blade, high, forcing it down; she slipped to one knee, looking up, trying to keep the blade away; she wept; she had no leverage, her strength was gone; I thrust her back, and she fell on her back before me on the tiles; my left boot, heavy, was on her right wrist; the small band opened and the scimitar slipped to the tiles; the point of the blade was at her throat.

“Stand up,” I told her.

I broke her scimitar at the hilt and flung it to a corner of the room.

She stood in the center of the room. “Put your rope on my neck,” she said. “You have taken me, Warrior.”

I walked about her, examining her. She stood, angrily, inspected.

With the blade of my scimitar I brushed back the slashed, left leg of her trousers. She had an excellent leg within.

“Please,” she said.

“Remove your boots,” I told her. In fury, she removed them. She then stood, barefoot, on the tiles in the center of the room.

“You will lead me barefoot before the Pashas?” she asked. “Is your vengeance not sweet enough, that you will so degrade me?”

“Are you not my prisoner?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then I will do with you as I please,” I told her.

“Oh, no!” she wept.

In a moment I told her to kneel. She knelt on the tiles, her head down, her head in her hands. She was stripped completely by my scimitar.

*Even now, Tarna does not submit or acknowledge Tarl’s superiority.  He recognizes (and we recognize), that she will make an excellent kajira.  But she doesn’t.  Tarl still has a long period of teaching her what her place is before she becomes a kajira.

This is what NLO roleplays on Gor.  And it is by the books.  Most of us consider our roleplay to MORE by-the-books than most BTB Homes.  Sky roleplays that SHE THINKS that she (and the women who fight behind her) can outwit, outfight or escape from any man.  And we are fortunate, in this flavor of Gorean roleplay, that the caliber of wit, combat-training, and roleplay skill is low enough among the general populace of online Gor is such that, from a pragmatic standpoint, this turns out to be largely true.


 Story by Ayana Bade


 

how a mere girl wins with brains

There once was a wee slave small and short and thin .Her name was ayana. She was frail and could hardly do all the chores bonds  do during the day . She was smart though she had learned to read and write on her own she could tally numbers and could..usually talk her way out of anything.. those were her gifts and she accepted that although many of the girls taunted her still .

As the girls were hanging out the laundry one day three large burly men came and attacked them.. they tried to run but were hunted down and tied up and tossed upon there burly back.

the three girls were terrified..but knew this was the fate of slaves sometimes..and teary eyed were dragged off and hooded and suddenly tossed into a cage..they pulled off there hoods it was dark and cold and they all squinted trying to figure out where they were..

they huddled together and she put her finger to her lips to the other girls and listened to the mens plan.. They talked freely in front of the slaves. for they were just beasts..and who cares what a beast thinks.

The men ecstatic about there catch of three fine bonds took the gilrs. Into the cages and dressed them in regal silks had there hair braided like prizes ..and chained them with silver links..and walked them down into the caves..

As the darkness enveloped them and they squinted to see in the darkness they heard a roar..so profound they all huddled together ..ayana whispered to her sisters to stay silent and she would try her best to bring them home.

Kuri appeared large ones  tall angry beasts surrounding the men and the girls ..her sisters cried in fear . Shockingly she heard one speak..his tone was sever but understandable.

“why you call upon Krow..” it said and growled under its breath angry the beasts circled them all like prey.

The leader of the men approaches closer and talks to the kurr..”we are here with gifts for you points to the girls.. we wish to pledge our alegience to the kur and become spies for you ..” a quiet fills the room as the kur listens and sniffs the leader..almost curious .

‘Bring the gifts over” he says..and they toss the girls at his large hairy paws.. ayana lifts up and sldies forward with grace and kneels at his feet and lowers herself to the lowest point closest to his paws.. the kur looked down curious at this..and spoke to her.. ” are you not scared of me girl”

ayana lifts her head and nods.” yes girl very scared ” she says trembling at his feet.. just then the men who seemed eager to finish there transaction interupted.”is it a deal then are the gifts not sufficient ” he said impatiently and rubed his hands together almost greedily ”

ayanas small voice interupted..”but jarl that not what you said outside you said you were gonna make him into a rug and fur sluts upon it”

The room vibrated with noises growls and the beasts surounded the men who were now dismissing the slaves claims..with much pleading and fear…

the krow asked the girl one thing..”why krow believe you”

the girl looks upward to the beast..”jarl am just a slave whether i serve at my old camp or here my life the same ..am meant to serve the free. Many times girl has been caped and forced to change owners. it is our way of life..although a slave not allowed to lie”

A large grunt was heard and the kur attacked the men and fed off them the girls runing in corner…shaking not knowing if they were next. The krow walked toward them and took off there chains ..and pointed to the cave door..

“today he have earned to choose your home..” the girls grabed each others hands and ran into the woods and back to the town they had loved so muc.From then on .

.noone ever made fun of little ayana again..


for Those Seeking RP moving and trading thro Gorean lands this might be just the ticket for you

A Merchant Caravan

Aren Merchant caravan was established outside of the City of Ar the thought came to me as i was re reading the tarnsman of Gor i decided to make a Caravan as i was just a lone Traveling Merchant with no homestone since then i have set up outside of Ar and have made it the Base of operations for our Traveling Caravan we will be Rolplaying it through out Gor moving from city to city village to village but always returning home to restock and exchange our goods

Please contact , for any further details or information

Caspian Aren (CaspianAren)


 

Vigo Dance Academy aims to take students away from the “dance class” environment to perform in live shows, events, and competitions in and around Gor to express their talents.  A key goal for Vigo Dance Academy is to instill in its dancers an enthusiasm for and desire to have a positive influence within the dance community.

The academy is located at Gorean Falls amidst waterfalls and exotic garden.


 © Gazette of Gor

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