The Emma of Gor Trilogy: An Introduction

The 'Emma of Gor' trilogy is a series of fan-fiction books set on John Norman's Counter Earth world of Gor. Chronologically speaking, they occur in the following order:

Gods of Gor Chapter Five

 

Chapter Five: Lady Taleisha

 

“I’m not talking to you,” I snarled under my breath as I crossed my arms and looked away from Mina. “Slut,” I added.

 

Because she was.

 

Skanky little slut. 

 

Slutty, skanky, little slut.

 

It was mid-morning, and Mina had something she wanted to say to me, but she could fuck right off.

 

“Emma, don’t be like that. I can hardly say no to Brinn, can I? I’m a slave.”

 

Brinn had told me – HE HAD FUCKING TOLD ME – that I’d be in his furs last night, and then he got drunk and Mina was all over him while I was peeling suls!

“Oh, you’re a slave, are you?” I snarled, without looking around. “Well that makes a fucking change to hear you say that!”

Gods of Gor Chapter Four

 

Chapter Four: Reflections from a Distant Past

 

We paddled eastward down the wide, sluggish river, Mina, Saffron, Chloe and I, our wooden canoe slicing through the steaming brown waters that carried us ever deeper into the equatorial jungle east of Schendi. I sat in front of Mina, our light steel ankle links clinking softly with each synchronized stroke of our paddles. Once the self-proclaimed Ubara of the Black Kingdoms – the captain of the feared pirate ship, the Larl of the Thassa - the former pirate queen now belonged to Tijani, the lean, muscled, dark-skinned warrior whose gold rings caught the fractured sunlight whenever he moved. I belonged to Brinn, whose ice-blue gaze rested on me with the calm certainty of ownership, seeing every bead of sweat, every tremble in my arms, every effort to please. The men lounged in the stern, voices low and rough with talk of coin, silk, and the kajirae prices they had seen in the markets we had left behind in Schendi, while we slaves drove the canoe forward—slow, deliberate, obedient.

 

The jungle pressed in on both sides, a green wall so thick it seemed to lean toward us, hungry and ever watchful. Towering trees strangled by vines as thick as a man’s arm arched overhead, their canopy filtering the sun into shifting bars of gold and deep shadow that played across my bare skin like fingers. Broad leaves dripped moisture onto my shoulders; heavy-scented orchids and crimson blossoms exhaled perfume that coated my throat, sweet enough to make me dizzy. The air was wet heat, clinging, making the thin cotton of my brief skirt slide and cling with every stroke, every breath. I felt Brinn’s eyes on the small of my back, tracking the way the fabric moulded to my hips, and my belly tightened in that familiar, helpless flutter.

Gods of Gor Chapter Three

 

Chapter Three: Mimi ni mtumwa

 

We sheltered under some canvas tarpaulin as the rain continued to fall sporadically where we camped. It was like someone was turning a hose pipe on and off repeatedly. I snuggled close to Brinn as he fed me pieces of cooked fish. It was warm, despite the rain, and I felt good that evening. We had taken the first nervous steps into the Gorean terra incognita and found it not quite as daunting as I had feared. As long as we followed the river itself it was nigh on impossible to get lost, though I would not fancy entering the dark veldt of the rain forest without a native guide to hand. Mina and Saffron’s collars were chained together with a long length of chain, designed of course to keep Mina secure. From time to time I saw her gaze wistfully into the depths of the darkening jungle, wondering perhaps how difficult it might be to escape in the days to come. The men, sensibly, weren’t taking chances with her. She had grown up in the jungle after all, and although this was an unknown area to her, she knew instinctively how to survive in this kind of terrain. 

 

I gasped suddenly as I felt Brinn’s hand stray between my legs. He was touching me there, feeling my sexual warmth and I nuzzled him in response. I could do little else but moan and sigh as he aroused me slowly, feeding the slave fires within my body. 

 

“Slave,” said Brinn.

 

I simply squirmed and kissed him with renewed passion. 

 

“Do you remember when you were my enemy, Emma?”

 

“I was never your enemy.”

 

“You were an agent of the Kurii. Had you been a man, I would have killed you. Instead, I promised to put you in a collar.”

Gods of Gor Chapter Two

 

Chapter Two: The Emerald Forest

 

Fuck. Our collar chain got caught on a branch again. “Mina! Hang on just a moment.” She felt the tug on the chain at the same time I spoke. Mina stood still in the rain forest canopy as I carefully freed the links of the chain from where it had hooked against some vegetation. The chain was only ten feet in length and connected the ring on Mina's collar to the ring on mine. This was because Chloe still considered Mina to be a flight risk and wasn't going to let her loose in the jungle perimeter without securing her to another girl she could trust not to run away. It did make things awkward for us though as we strolled between the canopy of trees.  

 

I could hardly move without a plant touching my skin, so dense was the foliage this close to the river bank. There's probably more life here per square metre than anywhere else on the planet and the noise alone is incredible: so many insects, birds and mammals chirping and chittering away like some natural history symphony. The rain falls thickly in drops as large as ramberries, yet it's so warm the wet isn't as big of a problem as it is in the Sardar when it falls in sheets from the mountain air. But as we tread through the bracken I'm so alert for the deadly bugs and snakes I can't relax at all.

   

“You walk too slowly, Emma,” said Mina.

 

“No, you're walking too quickly. We need to watch out for snakes.” I was petrified that I might step barefoot on a venomous snake as we pushed through the low vegetation. Snakes were everywhere! I knew they were! They were sniggering in hiding as they saw me coming. I knew that just like I knew we should never venture near a riverbank for fear of a river tharlarion lying in wait under the water to rise up and snap us in two between its powerful jaws.

What Remains of Rebecca Palmer Chapter Four

 

Chapter Four: Kindness

 

As the next couple of days passed I began to fear the sound of the opening of my door – the grinding of its hinges, following the sliding of a steel bolt on the other side.

 

My fear wasn’t centred around the door itself, but rather the split seconds of uncertainty as to who would walk through the door into my cell.

 

Would it be Him… or Her.

 

The man was kind. He had given me a blanket. He had seemed shocked that I had been doused in ice water. That had been overstepping the bounds of decency, he had said. I had been Inner Party, after all. That had to mean something, he said. The next time he visited – perhaps twelve hours later - he had brought a thermos flask of hot tea and two scratched plastic cups.

 

“This must be such an ordeal,” he said as he sat down opposite me and placed the thermos flask on the table. “Now, I don’t know whether you take sugar or milk?”

What Remains of Rebecca Palmer Chapter Three

 

Chapter Three: Acquiescence

 

They had taken my shoes.

 

Spoken aloud, it sounded trivial. But when they ordered me to unbuckle them and hand them over, I began to cry with all the shock I had not yet been allowed to feel.

 

I stood in a windowless room somewhere underground that was bleak and cold, where the air had the weight of dead, buried things. It smelled of cold cement, disinfectant, and something faintly metallic, like old water sitting too long in pipes.

 

Harsh strip lights ran the length of the ceiling, humming faintly, casting a flat white glare that left nowhere for shadows to hide. The light was merciless. It drained colour from everything it touched, including me. The walls were bare concrete, painted a tired institutional grey that had been scuffed and repainted so many times it had lost any claim to smoothness. In places the paint had bubbled and cracked, revealing darker patches beneath, as if the building itself were bruised.

 

The floor was unfinished cement, cold through the stocking-clad soles of my feet. Every sound echoed slightly - footsteps, breathing, the soft scrape of a chair being dragged back into place - giving the impression that the room was larger than it really was, or emptier, or both. There were no windows. No clocks. No indication of time passing at all.

 

A single metal table stood in the centre, bolted to the floor, with two chairs on either side. One was lighter, clearly meant to be moved. The other – mine - was fixed, its edges worn smooth by countless previous occupants. I became acutely aware of how many people must have sat there before me, waiting, just as I was.

 

She was already in the room when I entered.