Emma of Gor: May 2017

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

Yishana, from 'Shadows of Gor'

Another stunning picture created by ChloeK as a 'tryout' design for one of the new characters that will be introduced in book 4: 'Shadows of Gor'. This is Yishana, the self-styled 'Ubara of the Black Coast' whom I've loosely based on the character Bêlit from the Robert E Howard Conan story, 'Queen of the Black Coast'.

Have I ever mentioned how great it is working with a talented concept artist? :)

Emma's new look for book 4: 'Shadows of Gor'

As I've been writing the new book, 'Shadows of Gor', ChloeK, my erstwhile partner in crime, has been hard at work creating wonderful new images for each chapter. While some of them are very story specific and would count as spoilers if I posted any examples now, some others are try outs for characters and costumes. Bearing in mind 'Shadows of Gor' takes place 5 to 6 years after the first trilogy, Chloe has revamped Emma's look a bit to make the passage of time more obvious (though the stabilisation serums of course prevent any actual ageing). Here's her new hairdo that she'll be sporting from chapter five onwards.

Agents of the Silver Masks - an adventure module for the Tales of Gor RPG

Agents of the Silver Masks

An 'add on' adventure module by Emma R. for the 'Tales of Gor' role-playing game.

Overview

This isn't a stand alone adventure module as such, and so it isn't really written to be played on its own without a lot of work (and without losing a lot of the context). To use it you will really need a copy of the 'Tales of Gor' scenario, 'The Silver Cult' (you can read my review of it here: The Silver Cult review ). 'Agents of the Silver Masks' plugs a gap in the main module in Scene Three (Degradation and Diplomacy) where the player characters are captured by the Silver Mask conspiracy and they face being thrown into the silver mines in chains.

Kiera of Gor (1)

Kiera of Gor (1)

(a sporadic new mini-series)

1: Café Gold

I was drinking expensive coffee at a fashionable Notting Hill café in the heart of London when I first saw the Gorean coin. Of course at that time I had no concept that it was Gorean. I had never heard of the world, nor had I considered the possibility that a Counter Earth could exist on the far side of the sun. I knew nothing of Priest Kings or Ubars or worlds with multiple moons or steel ships. I simply stared at the coin as Sophia placed it on the café table in front of me and watched her sit back, pleased with herself for the first time in many months. The coin was quite large, larger than any of the Earth coins in my purse. It was roughly made, crudely stamped and yellow like raw gold. I picked up the coin and was surprised at how heavy it felt. The script on the edges was unfamiliar and the curious designs made no sense as far as I could tell. I looked at Sophia, hoping for an explanation.

Lady Marissa's Problem

(a stand alone Gorean short story featuring a new character from the upcoming 'Shadows of Gor' novel)

It was intolerable of course, the way Lady Marissa's favourite Guardsman, Darius, was doting over his new slave-girl, Sasira. Like many Free Women, Marissa did not particularly like slaves. Obviously she understood that they were a useful part of Gorean society, and certainly she couldn’t imagine a world without them, but nevertheless there was something about the scantily clad girls that annoyed her. Darius had saved for many months to purchase a blonde barbarian girl from the pens of Attius, one of the more respectable slavers in the city of Corcyrus. The word 'respectable' had limited meaning of course when conferred upon the caste of slavers, but in this case it meant that Attius didn’t obviously assess Free Women as if they might be potential merchandise every time he met one. In contrast to some other slavers who would be noting down a woman's likely block price within minutes of meeting her, Attius was always polite and respectful to women such as Marissa – according them the same dignity as male customers. This pleased Marissa, because on the whole she didn’t trust or like slavers – an understandable opinion, and a sensible one. Even the kindest, most deferential slaver was really akin to a sleen on a leash. Marissa was intelligent enough to recognise that a slaver who was polite and respectful within the confines of a city might act very differently if encountered on the road if his guards outnumbered one’s own.

The official 'Emma of Gor' map!

Map of Gor (Emma's version)

There have been numerous versions made to produce a map of Gor, and most of them can be found on the Internet with a few searches. For the purpose of the sprawling Emma of Gor trilogy ('trilogy' of course is soon to be a rather poor description of the number of volumes once book 4 begins to be serialised...) this is the map I use for my vision of Gor. It seems to me to be the most detailed and the most attractive looking, and so you can consider it an accurate and official map of Emma's world.

'Shadows of Gor' cover preview

My very talented co-creator, ChloeK, has recently been hard at work creating pictures for my upcoming book 4 of the Emma trilogy, and earlier on today she sent me this amazing cover for the new volume (which delibeately mirror references the previous 'Emma of Gor' cover at the top of this page).

I can't resist showing it off, and so here it is. Click on it to enlarge it.

I'm very lucky to have her working with me. :)

Friday, 12 May 2017

'The Silver Cult' adventure module (Tales of Gor RPG) review

'The Silver Cult' (Tales of Gor RPG)

Postmortem Studios (33pp)

It’s only been a few weeks since Tales of Gor appeared in pdf and then print form, and already we have the second adventure module, which pleases me no end as I do like to see a steady stream of supplements for a new game system.

Now, whereas the previous module, The Tower of Art, could probably be classed as ‘Gor light’ since it took a rather PG rated approach to the more notorious aspects of Mr Norman’s saga, this time around the authors deliver a far more ‘purist’ adventure that ticks pretty much every Gor box you’d expect. If Tower of Art strayed into Robert E Howard territory a bit (and that’s no bad thing – REH is one of my favourite writers) then The Silver Cult is instead an adventure with the feel of the first dozen or so Gor novels.

Straight away we’re delving into ‘Outlaw of Gor’ territory as the central plot involves a resurrected Silver Mask conspiracy 50 years on from the fall of the Matriarchal regime in the silver rich city of Tharna.

Chapter Fourteen: Skaffel Peak

And so here we are.

The cold, windy summit of Skaffel Peak.

The end game begins.

The hull of the ship now lay at an acute sixty degree angle with the base of Skaffel Peak. As we released ourselves from the safety harnesses in the control room, I saw Rachel move towards Brinn’s body with a worryingly determined expression to her face.

“Rachel, no! Don’t even think about it!” I warned as I hastily unclipped my own harness and bounded from my chair, intent on stopping her if she tried anything.

“Think about what?” said Rachel as she slipped Brinn’s knife from its sheath and kept it for herself.

Chapter Thirteen: Golden Klaw

The second day inside Golden Klaw:

“I love this one!” I was already halfway out of the shower with a white fluffy towel in one hand when I heard the first thwaka-thwaka-thwaka chords of Bowie’s ‘Modern Love’ starting up. I ran, still wet from the shower, across the corridor towards the living room and skidded through just as Bowie was singing the intro refrain:

I know when to go out
And when to stay in
Get things done

I catch a paper boy
But things don't really change
I'm standing in the wind
But I never wave bye-bye
But I try
I try…

Rachel was there on one of the sofas with her feet curled under her as she gazed at the tatty vinyl sleeve of the 'Let’s Dance' album in her hands, Other late seventies Bowie albums were scattered on the carpeted floor - 'Young Americans', 'Low', 'Station to Station', 'Scary Monsters', and 'Heroes'. She had been working her way through the albums Bowie had released after she had been taken to Gor. It was all new to her.

I had of course warned her not to bother with the 'Never Let Me Down' album.

Chapter Twelve: Lake Siljin

We're nearing the end now. Can you feel it? Can you feel the disparate threads drawing together in this woven tapestry of fate? Oh God, I tried to make that sentiment sound as poetic as I could, but looking back at it I realise only too well that I'm not a poet. I'm so near the end now that much of this is relatively fresh in my memory. I can still smell the burnt flesh from the flame strike that devoured Seremides's shield wall, and I can still hear in my head the raucous sound from the terrified birds and animals that had survived the divine intervention of the Priest Kings from the sky.

But I'm still no nearer to guessing who I'm writing this for. I thought perhaps that as my account grew in length I might remember some small thing that would answer that nagging question in my head. I do have one thought, and unlikely as it seems, I'm going to voice it aloud.

Are you Tarl Cabot? I mean, are you? Because wouldn't that be ironic if after all the many times I've espoused theories about Tarl Cabot being a series of different men taking on the name to further the ambitions of the Priest Kings, and even having speculated that there hasn't been a Tarl Cabot in decades, wouldn't it be ironic if that is exactly who I'm writing this account for?

Are you Tarl Cabot, sitting in some curule chair in your house in Port Kar, with enslaved beauties such as Vella chained to a slave ring at your feet as you read these pages? Did Vella ever really exist? Do you still take an interest in the affairs of the Kurii and of Priest Kings, and do you send for written accounts of momentous events that threaten to shatter the uneasy balance of power on this savage alien world?

It's a wild guess. But there it is, on paper now.

Chapter Eleven: The Wrath of the Gods

Rachel held my hand as we ran through the forest, and I was happy to hold hers. I could feel her trembling still from our near death encounter with Kurgus. It felt strange to be dressed now as a Panther Girl in the tight fitting and revealing skins of the forest cats. Were it not for my slave collar and my pierced ears and nose I think I might be mistaken for a Panther Girl, for many of them were beautiful enough to be slave-girls. I could sense however that I wasn’t particularly liked by the girls in the war band, for Panther Girls despise slaves, and they knew with a degree of certainty that I was not strong enough to live and hunt in the forests as they did. I was not given a weapon, and I noticed that now that Rachel had lost her knife to Brinn she too was unarmed. She could I suppose have told one of her girls to hand her a spear, but I suspect it would have been ceremonial at best. Rachel was not experienced in fighting with a pole arm, and I suppose it was better placed in the hands of a girl who did know how to use it.

I did wonder also if maybe Rachel felt uncomfortable carrying a weapon in Brinn’s vicinity. I knew Brinn would not approve of what he considered to be one of his slaves carrying a weapon. Would he have objected if she had reached for a spear? I couldn’t imagine that Brinn would actually confront the Panther Girls while we had more important matters such as escape and finding Fell's Bane in mind, but who knows. Gorean men can be extremely singularly minded at times. Maybe Brinn would have commanded Rachel to leave the spear alone, and if she refused maybe there would have been a confrontation, with the other Panther Girls hissing and pointing spears at him. And then what? Maybe Rachel decided it was better for everyone concerned not to risk such a thing happening, for she had a cooler head and was infinitely more pragmatic than our Master.

The Last Halloween

I used to love Halloween. It was always one of the big nights in my yearly calendar and wherever I was that day I'd make an effort to dress up, hang out with friends, go to parties and generally have a really good time. Now of course the day is a reminder of the very last time I saw my brother Eric in 2015 before he disappeared from our lives several months later. I blame myself for letting the months in-between slip away without checking up on him more. I was busy with work and I had that whole travelling around thing going on, working on the Doctor Strange film for Disney that was so exciting, especially since I'm a huge Benedict Bandersnatch fan, and I just didn't have time during the Winter to spend time and hang out with my family. You always think they're going to be there for you, no matter what, and then when one day they're gone you realise all the missed opportunities you've thrown away in the pursuit of your career.

The case is still open of course, though the fortnightly visits by the police support officer soon turned into monthly visits and then regular phone updates and now it's basically a case of we'll call you when we have something new to say. Mum has taken it really hard of course. She's gone into that same downward spiral that I saw her in when Dad walked out on us when I was a young girl. I keep thinking back to the Halloween night in 2015 and I keep thinking did I miss some obvious signs that Eric was unhappy? If I'd paid more attention would I have seen some indication that he was going to just disappear a few months later on?

Panther Girl of Gor Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: The Eve of the War

Oh... my... God… I had such an amazing orgasm that night, so deep and rich and fulfilling. It was possibly the greatest slave orgasm I’d had since I'd been collared and sent to the slave pens. I suppose I had been without sex for several days, which may not sound like a long time to you, but then you’re not a slave-girl and you have no idea how needy we can be. I hadn’t been fucked since the night before that night before we set off into the forest, and that was the longest time I’d gone without sex since Brinn had bought me. So by the time Rachel led me on a leash and threw me to the grass beside Brinn for his final use before he died, I was already hot and wet, thinking only of sex.

It seems strange that on a night when everyone else in the camp was concerned with the impending battle that would take place the next day, my thoughts were chiefly on the possibility of being fucked. Of course I was frightened about the prospects ahead of me – it seemed that I would quite likely end up in a coffle chain of captured girls (mostly ex-Panthers it would seem) and belong to Seremides, Kurgus or Miss Bentley. The prospect wasn’t a happy one, but even so I was discovering something about myself, namely that going without sex for several days left me on edge and took my mind off other more important concerns.

Panther Girl of Gor Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: Storm clouds gather, Kurgus debriefs me, and I learn an unwelcome truth about myself

“Hold still, Tallia! I can’t do this if you keep twitching like that!” I was rapidly reaching the end of my patience with her as Tallia suddenly jerked her head back without warning.

“What do you expect? You just tried to poke me in the eye with a pointed stick!” Tallia snarled and actually growled as she knelt there on the grass beside me.

“It’s not a pointed stick, it’s an eyeliner pencil,” I said in exasperation. “It will make your eyes look bigger.”

“Why would I want my eyes to look bigger? You’re insane, slave-girl! Try to poke me with that pointed stick again and I’ll kill you!” She bared her teeth and hissed in a manner that made me jump, for Tallia can be quite intimidating when she wants to be.

“That’s it. I give up.” I put the eyeliner pencil back down next to the other cosmetics laid out on my tray. “So we’re both going to be whipped now - you for refusing to allow yourself to be made up, and me for failing to apply the make-up. Have you ever been whipped before, Tallia?”

“No, of course not. No one would have dared.” She stared at me disdainfully.

Chapter Eight: Under the Blood Red Moons of Gor

At some point during the evening I think I must have left my body completely behind as I rose up high into the sky to view the known continent of Gor with its glacial peaks, its sweeping tundra, its steaming jungles and its warring cities as I hung suspended in the cradle of the universe, watching stars being born, burning brightly and then finally spluttering to extinction, snuffed out like a candle. I felt warm and safe and soft in my drug induced cocoon where nothing could hurt me and nothing could ever be a threat. I think I lived several imaginary lives of varying consequences, sometimes as a man, but mostly as a woman and recurring through these parallel lives were familiar faces and friends playing different roles. But then I began to feel a chill, the sense of growing nausea and paranoia as jagged shards of harsh uncompromising reality began to intrude into my nocturnal paradise. I found myself floating back, crying, knowing my interlude of peace and tranquility was coming to an abrupt end as I returned painfully to my stiff, sore body, chained to a stone monolith in a sacred forest glade.

And when I opened my eyes again the glade was illuminated by a ring of burning torches. The three moons of Gor were now full and bleeding in the night sky as feral creatures, half panther, half woman, stalked and crouched and danced and fought together in a burning ring of fire, their animal claws and teeth extended to the piercing rays of the moon that they now worshipped with guttural howls and cries of hysterical longing.

Chapter Seven: 'One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small'

“You’re a long way from the villa in Corcyrus, pretty little silk slave girl,” said Tallia as she motioned for two of the other Panther Girls to release me from my bindings. I knelt in the grass before her as my wrists were freed from the pair of slave bracelets behind my back. The last time I had seen Tallia she had been lifted on to a great Tarn, and she had then been carried up into the sky by a Tarnsman, bound for the Northern Forests. Kurgus had kept his word to free her on completion of her assigned task to teach me to speak Gorean.

“A lot has happened since then,” I said.

“I’m sure it has. I see you wear a collar now. And that is a brand on your left thigh.”

We were now maybe two or three pasangs away from the ambush point. Both Brinn and I had been manacled and leashed and dragged by jubilant Panther Girls through some well concealed forest trails towards a clearing close to a tributary stream that wound its way eventually to the Laurius River.

Chapter Six: We are followed into the Forest by a band of Panther Girls

We were followed the moment we left the Exchange Point. Twenty five yards behind us walked a group of seven Panther Girls keeping pace with us, but always mindful not to approach any closer than that for fear of Brinn's short sword. Leading the group were the two Panther Girls I had seen on my first day at the Exchange Point – Aphris and Nessa. The girls travelled light, carrying only their spears, shoulder sacks, knives and in two cases, short bows. I suppose in hind sight they had noticed us taking apart our camp and preparing to leave on foot. The Panther Girls were waiting for us at the edge of the Exchange Point, curling their lips into cruel smiles as we passed them by, pretending to be engrossed in a game of dice as they sat cross-legged in imitation of the way men sit. One or two of them waved as they sat there on the grass. It was only after we had cleared the neutral zone and were more than half way across the flat expanse of fields that they began to follow and slowly catch us up.

“What are we going to do?” I said to Brinn.

“If they come any close then I’ll kill them,” he said without looking round.

Chapter Five: We wait for Limidius to arrive at the Exchange point with his men. Rachel begins her training, and more

Sometimes I wonder how it was that I developed sexual feelings for men on the planet Gor. I keep coming back to the perhaps paranoid possibility that the Kurii machines didn't just change my body, but they also subtly changed the way my brain was wired. These days I find it difficult to focus clearly on the feelings I had as a man on Earth, albeit a 'sissy' man who wore dresses and high heels whenever the opportunity arose. I don't think I was bisexual in those days. I do clearly recall being turned on by women, and I think exclusively so. But then I do also recall feeling a thrill when men would come on to me in clubs and bars, but that was to do with what I used to refer to as feeling like a 'rock star' – the ability to walk into a bar in heels and a dress and know that the bar contains men who are turned on by T-girls, and so within the space of a minute you find men trying to attract your attention and chat you up, and it makes you feel special, it makes you feel valued and it makes you feel, I don't know, a bit excited because suddenly you're in the spotlight and in demand, and that sort of thing doesn't happen when you're wearing boy clothes. It was addictive to a certain extent, and I used to crave it. I think I used to play up to it too, acting all coy and pretending I didn't notice when a man was giving me a 'come on' look, and I'd sit there on a high bar stool, with my legs crossed at the ankle and I'd deliberately strike a very feminine pose and play with my hair or check my makeup in a mirror, and maybe I'd accidentally glance his way and just smile and turn back to what I was focussed on, and then I'd know out of the corner of my eye that he was crossing the bar to speak to me and it made me feel 100% feminine.

But I don't think I actually wanted to sleep with any of them. It was a game. I got hooked on the attention, and the act of being pursued, which is something that reinforces your feminine feelings.

Chapter Four: The River Passage out of Lydius. I am told I will be First Girl when Jacinta is enslaved

“What are you thinking about, Emma?” asked Brinn as I leaned against the ship’s rail and gazed out at the fast flowing Laurius river that swept in the opposite direction to which we were sailing. I could see the beginnings of a tree line about a pasang away from the Northern river bank – the start of the vast territories known as the Northern Forests of Gor, home to outlaws and hostile bands of Panther Girls alike.

“I’m thinking how happy I feel that I wasn’t sold in Lydius. I’m thinking how much I love wearing your collar, Master.” I turned round with my back to the varnished rail and gazed up at Brinn as he put his hands about my waist. I was wearing a new slave tunic of light blue rep cloth that Brinn had told Carsus to buy for me in Lydius while we waited for passage to be booked on this ship. It was short and sleeveless as is usually the case with slave garments.

“Do not mistake my not selling you in Lydius for any indication that I intend to keep you, slave-girl.” Brinn stroked my ass with his right hand as he grinned.

“Of course not, Master,” I laughed for I did not truly think I was at risk of being sold now. The worst danger of that was over.

“I didn’t really have time to arrange your sale, you see.”

“Is that all?” I raised myself on tiptoes and kissed him.

Chapter Three: The Port of Lydius: the interrogation of Jacinta begins

What must you be thinking about me now? I mean, I know how this must look. I must seem like the passive observer now, kneeling in Nadu, gazing up with doe like eyes, desperately longing for the touch of my Master, while wild and exciting things happen all around me.

That's what Emma has become now, you must think. She'll kneel there and watch the subsequent story unfold all around her. She's become irrelevant to her own story.

She's pathetic.

What do you see when you read my words? Do you see a girl who simply says, “oh fuck me, Master! Fuck me hard! I have such slave needs! Take me now, and show me what it is to be a woman!”

I'm guessing you do not see a woman with the potential to save Gor?

Or how to ensure your 'Tales of Gor' character is truly Gorean...

Like any sane, rational person with a modicum of impeccable good taste, I was extremely pleased to see Postmortem Studios' 'Tales of Gor' RPG appear earlier this year. As it stands it's already a fully realised project with enough material contained in the primary two books for Games Masters and Players alike to roam the surface of Gor in a clash of steel and a swish of pleasure silks. In time I hope this franchise will spawn many excellent supplements, but until then, just to keep interest in the game ticking over, I thought I'd pen a couple of extremely unofficial articles in support of it. None of what follows is endorsed by the game author, nor is it meant to be the opinions of John Norman, but what I hope it succeeds in doing is inspiring a few people to create characters for this game that would do the books proud.

More so than most games, 'Tales of Gor' cries out for players to create characters that seem a natural fit to the thriving and detailed world they live in. This is not really the campaign setting for you to foist a generic D&D adventurer on. To get the most out of the Gor setting you'd do well to consider the kind of people that live on the Counter Earth. While you don't have to play 'typical Goreans' – the game after all makes the point many times that Gor is yours to interpret as you will - what follows is a guide to character creation if you want to truly capture the flavour of the kind of people who live, fight and lust throughout the Gorean cycle.

Panther Girl of Gor Chapter Two

Chapter Two: We flee from Elysium and have our doubts about Jacinta. I speak at length to Brinn about the ring of red metal

Brinn had flown the Tarn for as long as he could, desperate to put as much distance between himself and Elysium before the sun rose. It was dark and so Brinn was flying blind, able only to steer the bird in a rough northerly direction, guided by the stars. I had ceased screaming after five minutes or so, mostly because my voice had grown hoarse. Now I clung to the saddle pommel where my wrists were bound to a steel ring behind it. Brinn's left arm was around my waist, but even so I felt sure I might fall from the bird at any moment.

“Do you still have your eyes closed, Emma?” asked Brinn after what might have been half an hour in the air.

“Yes, Master! I'll fall if I open them! I know I will!”

Brinn laughed and kissed me softly on my right shoulder. “You will not fall, Emma. I have you, and your wrists are bound to a saddle ring. You should open your eyes and gaze at the stars. They are very beautiful tonight, especially at this height.”

“I can't!” I wailed. “How can you be so calm!”

Chapter One: The Exchange Point

An armed band of five Panther Girls had arrived during the night and by the morning they had set up their space at the exchange point close to the banks of the Laurius River. They looked magnificent, standing proud in their wild animal skins, necklaces made from animal teeth, their wrists and ankles adorned with savage and barbaric looking bracelets and armlets made of gold and shells, with spears in their hands, knives in their belt sheaths and short bows slung over their shoulders. I was fascinated by these women, for although I had met Tallia on my first day in Corcyrus, she had been a captive then, stripped of her weapons and skins and I had never seen her looking the way these women did – fierce, powerful, dominant. These Panther Girls were living proof that there was a third role for women on Gor, aside from the diametrically opposing roles of Free Women or slaves. These Panther Girls did not conform to the strict rules laid down by men; rather they made their own rules and carved out territories of their own where the laws of men were irrelevant.

The Laurius river, like the mightier Vosk river, flows in a generally western direction towards the coastal port of Lydius, though the Laurius inclines more to the southwest then the great Vosk. It is wide and deep enough at its central depths for ships from Lydius to sail virtually its full length, though once beyond the city of Laura the river becomes rougher and less navigable, especially near the end of the summer season.

The Tower of Art (Tales of Gor RPG adventure) review

34 pp (£6.99)

Snapping hot on the heels of the newly released Tales of Gor RPG like a scent-frenzied tracking Sleen, is the first supplementary adventure entitled, 'The Tower of Art' that comes in both pdf and hard copy form in a reassuringly early 1970s style font.

As adventures go, it's reasonably short and aimed at introducing new players to the complex world of Gor where men are men, and women seem to like them that way. Following the timeline of the books it appears to be set in the current period of the Gorean cycle where the forces of Cos have withdrawn from their sneaky occupation of Ar and the Priest Kings have more or less fallen silent as far as humans are concerned.

Chapter Fourteen: Elysium Falls

The great Kur reared up onto its hind legs, brandished its enormous metal shield and battle axe in either paw and roared its battle cry. Macellus's single rank shield wall, in the great hall of Elysium, shrank back in obvious terror as the volume of the enormous beast’s challenge caused even the bravest man in the hall to reconsider his position. Behind the Kur came Kurgus, now dressed for war in a Greek style crested helm, cured leather vambraces and greaves, spear, shield and short sword. Two and a half ranks of formidable warriors formed a corresponding shield wall behind Kurgus and I knew that if battle commenced Kurgus would take his place in the centre of their line to lead it. All his men wore helms, greaves and carried full size hoplite shields and thrusting spears.

It was the first Kur that I had ever seen, but unfortunately it would not be the last. It was almost eleven feet tall, which I now know is much larger than usual, and must have weighed close to twelve hundred pounds. Its arms were much longer and larger than its legs, suggesting it was capable of moving very quickly indeed on all fours, and each one ended in a powerful set of non-retractable claws with six digits.

Chapter Thirteen: Red Metal

“I’m really not comfortable with this, Emma,” said Jacinta as she stood, naked and barefoot in the seraglio harem within Marcellus’s villa. A couple of Marcellus’s slave-girls lay around the bathing pools, resting before they might be required in the early evening after the sun had set. They stretched their lithe bodies like sleepy cats and picked at golden bowls of sun blushed dates as they regarded Jacinta with amusement. They could see she wore no collar and her thighs were clean of a brand. She was a Free Woman and therefore they normally feared her, but here she was in a scented seraglio behind billowing drapes, behind a locked door and barred windows, naked and obviously scared. They scented weakness, they scented fear and they scented a reversal of fortunes that excited them.

The harem chambers were comfortable and opulently furnished with candelabras, and divans covered with red satin damask, ornate mirrors set in fabulously engraved wooden surrounds depicting erotic vistas, marble topped tables set with silver chandeliers containing eight wax candles apiece, and windows shaded with red coloured glass. The tiled floor was covered with matting over which lay a number of rich looking embroidered carpets. Close by was a divan covered with red and white silk and gold thread.

Chapter Twelve: The long road to Elysium

Jacinta held out with her hunger strike for another three days before starvation forced her to her knees before Brinn.

“There is something you wish to say to me, Jacinta?” said Brinn as he spooned a delicious bowl of kofta into his mouth. Her head was lowered now as she knelt before him in the desert sand in her pretty blue slave tunic.

“Your captive is hungry.”

“I imagine so. It has been almost a week, has it not?” Brinn had deliberately chained Jacinta each evening close to where she would always smell the food that I was cooking

“Yes, Captor.”

“What of it?”

There was such a forlorn sadness in Jacinta's eyes as she spoke her next words. “Your captive girl begs to be fed.” Jacinta held out the soft palms of her hands as Melinda had done that very first night when she had immediately begged to be fed.

Chapter Eleven: I am furious with Brinn, for he is going to sell me in Lydius. I decide therefore to make him feel jealous, with unexpected consequences

We were three days out from Patashqar, and the men sat cross legged now around the burning camp fire in the courtyard of the caravanserai, drinking paga, eating meat, and talking about the reception that might await them on the Northern border of the Tahari, as I danced in provocative pleasure silks and slave bells for their entertainment.

“My plans are constantly evolving,” said Brinn as he sketched out a route in the sand with a stick. “But as they stand now we will reach the villa of Marcellus in just under a week's time. Marcellus is an old friend of mine who loves me like a blood brother and will almost certainly do anything he can to aid me in my mission.”

“Didn't you once steal his favourite Tarn, Captain?” asked Limidius out of curiosity. “I seem to recall he wasn't very happy about it.”

“The events you describe were blown completely out of proportion. That was many years ago and Marcellus has had plenty of time since then to reflect on my good intentions. By now he is probably very embarrassed by the way he threatened to torture and kill me and is desperate to make amends for his unreasonable temper tantrum. I will take advantage of his inevitably strong feelings of guilt towards me.”

“I see,” said Limidius doubtfully.

Chapter Ten: Brinn faces a choice between certain death in battle, or slavery

I can hear it raining outside as I write this, the 24th set of pages relating to my time on the planet Gor. I’m more than half way through my story now and it occurred to me that my life prior to Gor may be something of an enigma to you – whoever YOU are. Until now I’ve thought of that time as an irrelevance, maybe because my old life as a man seems so much like a fading dream these days. When it does occur to me that I used to have body hair on my chest and a penis, it seems as incredible a thought as if I suddenly remembered I used to have wings and a tail.

Chapter Nine: The House on Haddiyah Street

Brinn led me up a flight of stairs which climbed up the side of the building, two stories above the level of Haddiyah Street in Patashqar, and then on to a small balcony of sorts with just a single wooden door ahead of us. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor by his side as a reminder of where I was expected to kneel. The street below was quiet for this was far from the busy thoroughfares of the city.

I was dressed in a slave tunic, sleeveless of course, with a relatively modest hem line that reached half way down my thighs. Brinn had bought it for me in the market place the previous day, much to my surprise and he had commanded me to put it on.

“Thank you, Master,” I had said, happy at last to conceal my nudity from passers by on the street.

“Don't thank me – the garment is not for your benefit, Emma, but rather to observe certain standards of respectability, for we are going to meet with a Free Woman tomorrow.” That Free Woman of course was a Kurii agent within Patashqar – the Lady Melinda – the woman whom Seremides had turned to to translate Erin's co-ordinates into a precise geographical location on Gor.

Chapter Eight: We make camp in the desert, on the way to Patashqar. On reflection, I may not have been quite as dignified as I had hoped to be

That first night by the light of a burning camp fire, Brinn fed me by hand, cutting slivers of roasted meat that he placed between my lips one at a time. I took the food eagerly for it was the best food I had been given in many months and I felt very hungry. I knelt on some blankets and rugs in the sand with delicate jingling bracelets on my wrists and ankles. The metal chimed softly whenever I moved. Aside from the decorative ornaments, and the earrings I wore, I was quite naked which was the way I soon learned my Master liked me to be in the evenings. Brinn had shot the animal that we ate with a hunting bow earlier in the day as we rode away from the Oasis of the Twenty Three Palms. He had secured me bent over the front of his kaiila saddle, with my wrists secured to a ring on one side and my ankles lashed to a ring on the other side. To protect me from the sun he had covered my body with a sheet of white cloth and tied it in place. It was a humiliating way to travel, but one I would soon get used to now that I was a slave.

Chapter Seven: My downfall is complete

The dried blood on my upper thighs was evidence of what I already knew - that I was no longer white silk. I lay now on my belly on the tiles of the alcove floor, the slave ring and chain still locked in place around my ankle. The length of white silk lay near the curtain where Seremides had cast it aside. It was no longer appropriate for me. In future if I was to be given pleasure silks to wear, they would almost certainly be red in colour.

You may be wondering whether I enjoyed being raped on that slave couch, and the short answer is no. The books seem to suggest that all women discover their 'slave belly' when a man (any man) rapes them. I wish that were the case, truly I do, for it would have made the ordeal bearable, but the truth is I was an unwilling participant, I was scared, I was threatened with extreme torture and ultimately death if I did not co-operate, and none of those things are conducive to me feeling aroused. My body was tight when Seremides forced himself into me and it hurt. To my shame and humiliation I had to pretend I was enjoying it, otherwise he would have sent me to my slow death in one of the narrow pits afterwards.

“You are very quiet, Emma,” said Seremides as he pulled his tunic back on over his body. “Do you not wish to thank your Master for teaching you what it is to be a woman on Gor?”

Chapter Six: ' Tarn-Five-Elipse-Fathom-Eighteen-Cable-Nine'

I was dancing in the mosaic tiled room before the two men who conversed together as they watched me move. Aside from them there were two musicians in the corner providing the rhythm and melody for my dance. One sat with a czehar – a Gorean eight stringed instrument shaped like a large flat box which is held across the lap when sitting cross-legged and played with a horn pick. The other set out a beat on a small drum that was held between his legs.

I turned my shimmering left thigh as I pointed my toe and moved gracefully, hands up around my breasts to then raise high in a flourish above my head as I turned fluidly before them. I felt the music through my body as I rolled my hips, swayed in time to the rhythm and danced, gliding across the floor in a rapture of abandonment for the pleasure of the men. I moved seamlessly from one enticing pose to another as my legs followed the seductive rhythm of the drum, causing me to flaunt myself, my breasts, my hips, my thighs, as I turned and span on raised toes, arching my back and turning with a look of wild abandonment to briefly meet the gaze of the men who wished to view me.

My eyes lowered submissively as I danced past them, turning once again to curl my wrists and fingers in a series of circles as I moved in a figure of eight, tapping out a counterpoint to the drum and the czehar with my toes.

Chapter Five: Erin

I was dressed in clinging white pleasure silks as I danced before two men on mosaic tiles on the ground floor of the slave pen building that surrounded the open courtyard of metal grilles which in turn provided light and air for the dismal slave caverns below. It was the first time in six weeks that I had been taken up out of the cavern and onto the surface of Patashqar and the first time since then that I was breathing clean air.

One of the men I knew – he was the physician working in the slave pens of Banu Hashim, but the other man was new to me. He had short cropped hair, Roman style, greying throughout, with a similarly coloured short beard and he stood with the aid of a walking cane on account of the fact that his left leg was lame from what looked like an old battle wound. This sort of injury is quite common from war, as crippled and injured soldiers far outnumber the dead. My own father had taken a shrapnel wound in his leg when I was about three years old, which never healed properly, and had probably ended his military career. I remember my mother telling me with tears in her eyes one morning that, 'something bad had happened to Daddy, and he would be in hospital for a while.' When he did come home eventually it was with a set of crutches that made him look frail.

“She dances well, but what of it,” he said to the physician.

Chapter Four: A Thousand Years of Suffering

I tried not to smile as Kima, the bully who had made my life horrible these last couple of weeks, wept floods of tears as she knelt in the training room to the left of Bahira. You’re not so tough now, are you, bitch, I thought to myself with a considerable degree of smugness. Oh, but this was wonderful. She looked like the most pitiful of slaves now, as if her life had practically ended.

As I watched, Bahira told Kima to open her mouth and then she pressed a sugared candy on to the girl's tongue as a reward for not struggling, resisting or screaming too much. The other girls around me looked worried and well they might be for any one of them could be next. I could sense that Kara was trembling beside me too. Would her name be on the list? Probably. Seremides had after all branded her. Now that I considered the matter it seemed likely that Seremides would not have requested an exemption on her behalf as he had so obviously done with me. For Kara would be a slave-girl for the rest of her life. Unlike me she would not be freed in a few short days or weeks once my mission here was complete. The collar, so inflexible in its cold steel, would never leave her pretty throat or, if it in fact did, it would only be a momentary respite while another collar belonging to another Master would be locked in its place.

So no, it was unlikely that Kara's name would have been removed from the list.

Chapter Three: Our slave training begins in earnest

“Not good enough, Emma!”

The switch struck my thigh with a sharp crack, causing me to scream for the third time this morning. Tears welled in my eyes as I knelt on the floor in what I thought was a very good Nadu position. I wondered what I had done wrong this time.

“Head up!” The switch tapped under my chin and I raised it another inch. “Shoulders back!” Bahira now tapped my shoulders with the switch and I adjusted my posture accordingly. “Belly in!” The switch struck my slim belly. I hated her! There was nothing wrong with my belly posture! I sucked it in further, holding my chest firm in the process. “Why are you finding the most basic positions so difficult, girl?”

I blinked to hold back the tears as Bahira, our slave-girl trainer, stalked around me like a prowling Larl cat.

Chapter Two: Kara and I enter the public pens of Banu Hashim where I am forced to fight the slave-girl Kima and where I gain a chain sister

I have been writing this account of my time on Gor for sixteen long nights now, by the light of the three moons, inscribing words on paper from early dusk in the place I now call home, and during that time I often speculate on who you are – that is, you, the person reading this account of my adventures here. I suspect you are a man, and for reasons I will not elaborate on just yet, I suspect you are also of Earth.

Am I wrong?

I think not.

More than that it is impossible for me to know. Are you young, old, powerful, poor? Are you a kind man? A gentle man? A man accustomed to treating women with respect?

Chapter One: The Floating Market of the Oasis of the 23 Palms

As I stood there in the dust, naked, in a collar and sirik chain arrangement, perspiring under the heat of the late morning sun, I remember thinking to myself how strange it was that there were only 21 palm trees growing in the so called ‘Oasis of the 23 Palms’.

The 'floating' market met once a week and like many markets formed around a desert oasis it broadly consisted of three tiers of merchants, arranged in three concentric circles radiating out from the water hole itself. In the centre, enjoying the luxury of the water facilities and the shade offered by the 21 palm trees, were the major slave trading families who dominated the trade in this part of the desert. They bought slaves in bulk and could usually undercut the prices of smaller traders. They employed professional soldiers to safeguard their stock and they wore ample signs of their wealth around their bodies. Despite the transient nature of the floating market, the inner circle of traders managed to erect their own stages and billowing silk pavilions.

Tales of Gor RPG (Postmortem Studios)

It’s fair to say that Gor has something of a polarising opinion on people.

And that's putting it mildly.

While ostensibly derived from the same pulp ‘swords and planet’ genre that spawned adventure romps by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert E Howard, Leigh Brackett and Michael Moorcock amongst many others, Gor from an early age ensured its commercial popularity and courted controversy at the same time by making slavery an integral part of the setting, to the point where nowadays that is pretty much all it is (in)famous for.

Chapter 14: I am led naked and on a leash to the Slaver House of Banu Hashim

I was just another girl - just another girl being marched naked through the dusty sand covered streets of Patashqar, naked that is save for my steel collar, now with the added inscription of my slave name, Emma, and naked except for the slave bracelets locking my wrists behind my back; naked save for the iron belt locked around my sex, and naked save for the string of slave bells tied about my left ankle. I sobbed as the leash, the free end residing in the left hand of Seremides, jerked occasionally to remind me to keep in perfect step with my Master.

"Please give me my ta-teera back,” I sobbed. “There is no need to march me naked to the public pens!”

Chapter 13: I enter the House of Abdul-Hamid and learn the truth of what is required of me

The House of the celebrated Taharian slaver, Abdul-Hamid, lies on Muqtadir street, not far from the Inn of Rashid off the square of Muntasir, on the street of Sariyah. It is one of the better and more respectable of the slave houses in Patashqar, and is one of the Seven ruling Slaver Houses within the city, run operationally by Safwan Samir – a man who enriched himself on the side by earning Kurgus's gold. I of course was a stranger to Patashqar, unfamiliar with the intricate layout of the maze of streets and side alleys, and so I relied on a young man, vouched for by the Inn-Keeper, to guide myself and Seremides to the building in question. The young Taharian man was a good guide, seeming to know every single street and alley within the Merchant quarter – no mean feat, bearing in mind that many of the streets do not display signs and that the quarters have grown over the centuries in a shambolic pattern that defies comprehension. And yet he unerringly guided us through the best route at this time of day, avoiding congestion points by taking short cuts through minor side streets. Many of these side streets I would not usually travel down, even with an armed man at my side - they are narrow and quiet with anonymous doors set into alcove recesses – but the young Taharian man was known in this quarter and so the inhabitants simply nodded as he went about his business conveying the foreign man and woman to their destination.

Chapter 12: We arrive at the gates of Patashqar and deliver the Lady Sakkara to her Free Companion to be

The great gates of Patashqar stand as tall as twelve men and broad enough for eight kaiila riders to pass through in line abreast. It is said that 1,001 spear points guard the gates and that there are only two ways in which a woman may pass through into the city: firstly if she is a collared slave and secondly if she is with a man who is licensed and recorded on the city records as her keeper. In other words, a free woman may not enter Patashqar unaccompanied. This is in part to do with the nature of Patashqar’s main area of business – the slave trade in the Tahari. Seremides tells me that the custom protects Free Women from falling foul of the many slavers who operate within the burgeoning market quarter. The word quarter incidentally should not be taken to infer that it occupies geographically 25% of the city area. It is simply a descriptive term to denote a section of the city and in actual fact occupies over half of the streets within the walls. The slave pens themselves are enormous labyrinths with internal walls guarded in the same manner as the outer walls. Essentially each Pasha of the seven great slaver houses owns his own fortification within the city. All such fortifications pale in insignificance though in comparison to the Sultan’s palace that is built on a central mount overlooking the rest of the city. Access to this palace is via a paved road that winds up a steep incline. Along the way are watch towers holding archers capable of firing down on any force attempting to assault the palace mount. The seven Pashas of the great slaver houses may dream of usurping the rule of the Sultan of Patashqar, but while they remain divided it is nothing more than an impossible pipe dream.

Chapter 11: We rest for the night with consequences

"Stop pressing against me, slut!” snapped Sakkara as once again the rocking motion of the sand kaiila caused the two of us to nudge one another. The space inside the kurdah was as cramped as I had feared it might be. There was no getting away from the fact that Sakkara and myself would be in close proximity to one another for several long days. If I could accept that, it soon became plain that she would not. “If I had my way you would be walking in a neck chain behind the animal!”

My mood towards her was less than cordial too on account of the fact she was now dressed in the full flowing gowns of a desert woman. The fabric was cheap and simply made, but the garments covered her body completely and gave her the appearance of a dignified Free Woman of the Tahari, whereas I hardly dared move in my snugly fitting pale blue ta-teera slave garment.

Chapter 10: We find sanctuary in the Oasis of Jallabad

To say the sand kaiila was on its last legs was an optimistic assessment of the poor beast's rude health, as it now lay on the ground by a water hole, gasping, exhausted, with blood matted around its hind leg.

“It will go no further,” was the assessment of Seremides. “The lance thrust that it received during the attack on our camp was severe. We are fortunate it lasted as long as it did.”

“Then we're on foot?” This was desperate news indeed for no one could realistically travel across the Tahari on foot. It wasn't simply a matter of having to walk the distance between water wells, but rather the fact that it would be impossible to carry sufficient supplies, especially water, for the duration of the journey.

Chapter 9: We are attacked before dawn. Now everything changes

I reclined on a pile of soft velvet cushions and stretched my hand towards the silver bowl of sweet dates that a slave-girl belonging to Lady Sareena was holding before me. A silken pagoda had been erected for the richer members of the caravan, a place in which we could eat, drink and converse in luxury. Captain Arturius sat to my right; a tall, young, broad shouldered mercenary captain, whom the caravan had employed to guard us all during the long journey to Patashqar. He was, I suppose, rather dashing and handsome. He was certainly strong.

“Lady Felicia, truly my caravan is blessed with your presence. It is rare that I get to conduct the passage of a Lady of such refinement, such grace, such intelligence and, I am sure, beauty…” remarked Paulo, the caravan Master.

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

Saturday, 20 May 2017

Thursday, 18 May 2017

Sunday, 14 May 2017

Friday, 12 May 2017

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

Tuesday, 9 May 2017

Or how to ensure your 'Tales of Gor' character is truly Gorean...

Sunday, 7 May 2017