On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Eighteen – by Tracker

 

Paradise in Camp; Hell on the Ranch

 

Paradise in Camp

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative

 

The morning had almost gone, and I was very hungry.   Patrick had been kind enough to remove the rope collar from around my throat.  After two and a half days, and being dunked in the Bighorn river, it had begun to chafe and irritate me. While I slept, Patrick had removed it from my neck for which I was grateful.  He had secured me instead by my left ankle, for which I was not grateful. The way he had secured me, with the other end of my rope attached to a stake driven into the ground, meant  I could not reach our food store, high in a tree to not attract dangerous animals.  I could see the food, but I could not reach it. There was a squirrel chattering on top of the food storage box, trying to get in, but he couldn't reach our food any more than I could.  

 

Birdsong filled the air, the breezes here among the trees were softer and much gentler than the stiff brisk winds of the prairie. The sun was filtered through the leaves and boughs of the trees. It was much more pleasant than being exposed to sun and wind on the bald prairie as I was yesterday.  There was no audience to see my nude state. Nature was much kinder today. 

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirty Seven

 

“I’m Felicity Emery! Please, Mr Hawkins! It’s me! I’m Felicity!” A couple of the wyld wymen found it funny that Felicity was crying out to the men as she was brought down from the back of the flatbed and thrown to her belly on the bare grass. “You know me! You must know me!”

 

“So you are, Miss,” said Hawkins. “How come you’re naked? Shameful way for you to be.”

 

“They took away my clothes!” she sobbed. “Please Mr Hawkins, you have to help me! These women whipped me!”

 

Beside Hawkins, Hadley laughed, as she allowed the man to put his free arm around her waist. 

 

“I’ve been whipped!” cried Felicity. Rowan had put a leash about her throat and was leading her forward. 

 

“That’s a mighty rude thing to do to an Emery Lady, Miss. I can see you’re pretty vexed about it all.”

 

“They want to enslave me!”

 

“The little slut enslaved herself,” said Hadley. “She spoke the words.”

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Seventeen – by Tracker

 

Processed!

 

Inge Andersen’s Narrative

 

The last thirty hours have been pure hell.  We were warned not to travel alone in America because of the violence, but until our raft was swept away everyone treated us so well.  It was almost like America was truly a civilized place.  I am not against America like some people are, it is just that the place does not have a long history of civilization like Europe does.  Everything is so raw and vital here.

 

The first really nasty person we ran into was that loud hectoring man who kept ordering his girlfriend to get out of the Bighorn River, like he owned her!  If only he had asked nicely or warned her gently that the flood was coming.  But he had to be the big bully! Sarah and I certainly showed him, we gave him a piece of our minds, and got between the girl and the awful man. 

 

Then we were all swept away by the flood.  Unfortunately, the girl was swept away too.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirty Six

 

“What are you doing?” Chelsea took a measured step back as I approached her, holding a supple leather leash in my right hand.

 

“Leashing you, Mistress.”

 

“Don’t even think of it!” she snapped. She stood in her loft apartment, looking the very picture of slave loveliness, as she held up the palm of her right hand, ordering me to stop right where I was. She wore a slave tunic with its deeply plunging neckline that also drew attention to the smooth steel collar about her throat: the collar she was incapable of removing. She was barefoot, and would have no nether under garments under the brief, thin, clinging tunic. I could clearly see the outlines of her nipples. She probably wasn’t aware, but they were slightly enlarged. Standing before a man like this seemed to excite her on some subliminal level.

 

“It is part of your disguise, Mistress.”

 

“And I’m saying it’s not. You are not taking me through the streets of Argentum at the end of a leash.”

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Sixteen – by Tracker

 

Aftermath and New Beginnings

 

Containing Narratives of Slave Fliss, Slave Viki, Slave (?) Juliette, The Mysterious Smith, and Patrick Masters.

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative

 

I hated the drive from the ranch back to our hidden valley.  The Montana Department of Transportation man at the bridge could see me naked in my seat.  He didn’t seem shocked or curious, he just gave Patrick a friendly wave.  As if cars driving by with a naked woman was no big deal.  Maybe around here that was the case, which was scary in its own right.  On the road back to the ranch, I was thankful we met little traffic, but the people driving big transport trucks or even the large pickups they drive out here could look through the windshield or down through the moonroof and see all of me.  After the day I had, I was almost past caring who looked at my naked body, and at least they couldn’t touch me. Small mercies. When he wasn’t shifting gears, Patrick would place his hand on my thigh.  He would touch my inner thigh, slowly, gently, softly stroking closer and closer to my sex.  I grew frustrated, as he never quite touched me, just kept me simmering, almost reaching the boil, but not quite. He was so very different to the cowboys with their grabby ways. But like Mick Jagger, I just couldn’t get any satisfaction. Patrick can sometimes be quite cruel.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirty Five

 

In much the same way that one does not simply walk into Mordor, one does not simply just become a wyld wyman.

 

“Put to the test?” said Kelly, with a trace of apprehension to her voice.

 

“You will need to prove to us that you have what is required to keep us strong. You have to prove you are not weak.” Anthea gazed at the pretty lace panties that Kelly wore. She gazed at the perfectly manicured French nails, and at her similarly manicured toenails. She observed Kelly’s perfect salon tan, and her expensive haircut. 

 

“I have what it takes,” she said. She had to say that, of course, for the alternative seemed to be slavery, toiling in the farm fields like the four collared girls who were watched by a wyld wyman, carrying a whip.

 

Anthea had a couple of the girls help Felicity to her feet. She was sobbing still, partly from the vicious whipping, but also from the realisation that she had enslaved herself in front of women who understood what that meant. “Please don’t do this,” she begged. “I have money.”

The Paga Diaries (6) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Coin Girl’

 

Trem and I talked, or attempted to, during the long walk back to my apartment.  He seemed hung over or in pain from his head injury from last night.  We stopped to get some paga, which he drank freely while we walked.  I had some too, but mostly to be polite, because he offered it.  I felt great this morning.  Nothing quite like waking up with a beautiful slave girl in my bed followed by a hearty breakfast!

 

I tried to ask Trem about what had happened last night.  Did he know the two men who he had run from and then been attacked by?   He said he owed money to them or someone they worked for and they were attempting to collect money.  He said he shouldn’t have ran, but that he never thought they would beat him so severely.  He seemed very confident that they would not have killed him.  

 

He thanked me for intervening but inferred that things were complicated now.  He said he owed me, for what I had done, but wasn’t sure how to repay that sort of debt to me.  And what sort of debt was it?  Did he owe me his life?  He thinks he does, but that Mirus said it wasn’t as simple as that.  Since the men were trying to get owed money from Trem, it was likely they were not going to murder him.  So, Trem’s life probably wasn’t in danger, but I had potentially risked my life to save his.  Mirus had said that as I am a barbarian, I probably had no idea about honour, life debts and such manners.  So how could I be owed and paid?  I admit I was confused, partly from the struggle of trying to understand what he was telling me without interpretation.  I also did not know how to express that I didn’t feel like Trem owed me anything and that I didn’t need to be repaid.  I wanted to express it, but how to do in manner without translations and avoiding any type of insult?  

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirty Four

 

I hadn’t expected to feel any sympathy for Chelsea, so I surprised myself when I entered the apartment room that afternoon, and saw her hiding in her bed with the coverings tucked up under her chin. It was almost as if my mistress was hiding something from me. 

 

“Good afternoon, Mistress. I hope you had a good day?”

 

She whimpered and turned her face from me. She would of course now be wearing a steel collar about her throat. I suspected she might be naked, or dressed only in a slip under the coverlets. She had possibly spent an ahn or so before I returned, desperately trying to turn both keys in the locking mechanism of her collar – the very same collar she had casually locked around her throat this morning.

 

At first she probably fumbled with the lock, frustrated, and only after a few futile attempts with both keys would panic have set in. It was locked on her. Neither key now worked. There had to be something wrong with the locking mechanism. Had she run in panic to her wall mirror and stared at herself, clad still in a slave tunic, with an inflexible band of steel around her throat? Had she pulled with all her strength at the band of steel, thinking perhaps she might pull the lock open? There was no chance of that. Had she tried – a ridiculous notion, but panic conveys little in the way of common sense – tried to slip the collar up above her head? Had she beat her fists against the wall in desperation, crying as she realised she had no way of removing that collar now?

 

And had she finally remembered that I would be home soon, and so had rushed to her couch bed, drawing the coverings about her, thrusting them high under her chin to conceal the glimpse of steel?

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Fifteen – by Tracker

 

Tracker Writes: While the story of Patrick and Juliette is important to them, they are just a sideshow to the people living on the ranch. The trouble of two little people from San Francisco don’t amount to a hill of beans in the Lazy F World.

 

Kajire Canjellne

 

From Smith’s Secret Diary

 

At the gate of the round-up corrals, I encountered the assistant foreman of my crew, Randy Schlesinger.  He was watching a green Subaru drive away.  He directed me to return to the Loose Woman Lost and Found and remain on guard there until I was relieved, and report if anything need attention.  Alex, one of the stage attendants, walked by with me.  He seems a nice kid.

 

When I reached the stage, a coffle of the survivalist women was being led away by two other members of my crew: Aaron, a young man who in his youth was expelled as a boy from a tribe of wyld wymen and with him Tom Harris.  Tom kept glancing at Lorna, a member of the reservation just north of us.  She shrank from his glance.

 

I sat on the hay bales in front of the stage.  A man, about thirty years old, with a bandaged arm was sitting on an adjacent bale. He asked me who I was.  He was gruff, not unfriendly, but certainly not friendly.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirty Three

 

Felicity ran as fast as she could. The wyld wymen had begun to encircle her, but it seemed they were careless. There was a gap still – an opportunity – and she seized upon it. You go, girl. Felicity found herself blocked from running towards the woodland in the distance, and she was blocked from running into the timber settlement, or towards the Bighorn, but the wyld wymen had not yet closed off Felicity’s opportunity to flee across the flat prairie land that stretched out to the far horizon.

 

The wyld wymen had been careless, it seems, in trapping her. Felicity turned on her heels and ran as fast as she could, sprinting across the temperate grassland. This natural topography in Montana is often referred to as a sea of grass, and it can range from 15 inches in height to an impressive 36 inches in the case of green needlegrass. Felicity ran, barefoot, desperate to get away from these women who were about to turn on her.

 

I didn’t understand the meaning of la kajira. I didn’t understand that those words could be spoken in a specific context which was in effect a legal form of self-enslavement. La kajira. I am a slave girl.  

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirty Two

“I answer now to the name Fliss. That is the name my masters have given me.”

 

I nodded as I gazed down at the lovely Fliss, kneeling, naked, on an alcove platform in front of the Jewelled Anklet tavern, with a length of chain attached to her collar ring. “Felicity is the name of a Free Woman. I suppose it would not be appropriate for you, in your current state.”

 

She lowered her gaze as I said that. “I suppose not.”

 

“I am still called Roland. That is the name my mistress gave me.”

 

“You have a mistress, now? You are owned by a woman?” She looked up, meeting my gaze. I saw Fliss move slightly where she knelt on the narrow display alcove, the steel chain hanging down from her collar, between the valley of her breasts, to then pool slightly on the rough surface of the platform in front of the tavern, before terminating in the iron ring set firmly in the building’s stone work. She was very beautiful; breathtakingly beautiful in fact. Were I a free man, I would be sorely tempted now to enter the Jewelled Anklet and ask for her with my cup of paga.

 

But I was not a free man. And I had never seen the inside of a paga tavern.

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Fourteen – by Tracker

 

Patrick Explains the Law

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative. 

 

I had agreed to be  slave girl in a little fantasy game Patrick and I had been playing.  Somehow it had come to this; me giving a strange man a blowjob in front of a least a hundred people.  I had been naked on my knees, in the bright sunlight, striving to be as pleasing as I could be.  I had given the best blowjob of my life, because I cared for the first time that I be truly pleasing at that degrading skill.

 

How had this happened in just forty-eight hours? In addition to my public shame, I had shamed myself in a way that only I was aware of.  I had wanted that man to approve of me, and the pleasure I was giving him.  Somewhere inside me something had broken in my self-esteem. I was a naked woman on my knees trying to please a man who had mastered me.  I had no shame in serving in front of a huge crowd, my entire attention on his dick, pleasing solely with my mouth. To be sure, I had been soothed in my internal revolt by the calming presence that stroked my hair and encouraged me, but that made things worse.  The person who soothed me and made me feel better about performing as a slave girl was my jailer.  He secured and unsecured me to ropes, he switched me to better present myself, he encouraged me to display myself to better advantage.  And I felt grateful to him!  It is true he watered me, petted me, made much of me when I obeyed; but would not any farmer do as much for his stock? What was wrong with me that I felt gratitude that he was kind when I cooperated with my own subjugation?

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirty One

I had no idea where we were being taken. We marched through dark woodland, occasionally prodded by a spear butt if we slowed our pace. I was naked, trampling through the detritus that litters a woodland floor. I was in a foul mood, and I still didn’t fully comprehend the danger I was in. 

 

You have to understand that at this point I didn’t believe a single word that was spoken about alien worlds and slave ships carrying captives to Gor. Yes, I thought these women were deranged, but I assumed that was the extent of this. 

 

How wrong I was. 

 

“My feet hurt,” said Felicity as she gingerly stepped over broken twigs and loose stones. 

 

“Keep walking,” said Rowan. “it will be dawn soon, and we need to find the truck before the sun rises.”

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Thirty

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re interested in this area of the city,” remarked Chelsea as she led me down the street in the direction of the Dautium square. “You may be in a collar, but you are still a man, with a fascination, I suppose, for scantily clad slave girls.”

 

“Mistress is kind to take me there,” I said. 

 

A few days ago I had innocently enough broached the subject of paga taverns, and the Dautium in particular, speculating on what that area of the city might look like. As I suspected, Chelsea wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea of spending an afternoon walking the streets and squares of the Dautium, if she had some innocent enough excuse to do so – for example, treating her silk slave to the sights there. I think she now had a fascination for the Dautium quarter, from having spent time there masquerading as a kajira. The thought of walking those same streets in the formal robes and gowns and veils of a Free Woman probably appealed to her sense of mischief. Would she see her friends, when she returned as a Free Woman? They wouldn’t recognise her, of course, but she would know them. No doubt she was intrigued to observe them from a detached viewpoint, when they weren’t relating to her as a sister in bondage. 

 

And so I planted the idea in her mind, and a few days later Chelsea announced casually that she would grant my wish.

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Thirteen – by Tracker

 

Pronouncements of Slavery

 

From Viki’s Narrative

 

The place on my hip where the kef brand was removed by a special field dressing was itching today. Of course my masters remind me often that just because a brand is removed from a girl’s skin, it does not mean she is free.  I know that. The scar made on my body is gone, but not the one on my mind.  The collar has been removed from my throat, but it has been replaced by the anklet.  Fastened by an app; ironic for a comms specialist.

 

My master’s agent on the Lazy F has been sending reports all day on the low power sub-space communicator.  This is bad security and not as safe as he assures me it is. Things were so much more secure when he handed me his reports for transmission on the occasions he visited Town.  He claims the Fricks have no way to monitor the low power broadcasts. I know the high power narrow beam I use to communicate can’t be monitored, while the low power broadcast can be traced, albeit with difficulty.  But what do I know? I’m just the comms expert, ordered to obey his every command, so I do, even the commands to send coded messages to addresses other than those of my masters. He thinks I can’t read his codes. He is the agent; I am just the comms expert. Who do you think is right? Damn, the place where my kef isn’t any more really itches.

Secrets of Gor Chapter Twenty Four

 

Sadric found a stable that would take in and guard his tharlarion for what was quite an exorbitant price.  

 

“Twenty copper tarsks? Really?”

 

“You’ll find most things are expensive out here,” remarked the bored stable hand, who seemed to have little interest in the art of negotiating. Many of his stable pens were full, and in fact some of them were rented for occupancy by men who were passing through the area and couldn’t afford the even more expensive rates for human lodging. “Men come here to earn good money, but soon find they are spending it all quickly enough. Paga, food, lodging – none of it is cheap. You are paying for security for your magnificent tharlarion, and all your belongings. Note the two large violent looking men with thick wooden staves who will guard your property day and night. You may, of course, choose to save money by simply tethering your tharlarion on the street, tied to a hitching post. Who knows, perhaps he will still be there when you return from the paga tavern?”

 

“The possibility is remote,” replied Sadric.

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Twelve – by Tracker

 

The law, Beauty, and Consequences

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative

 

It was hot on the marble stage.  All twelve of us girls secured there felt the heat, but Lorna, Kathy, formerly Kathy Harris, and me had been there the longest. There was not a cloud in the clear big sky to give us any relief.  I remembered how I had shivered in the cold last night, and longed for some of that cool air now.  The constant dust kicked up by the riders, and by the livestock they had brought, in was stuck in my throat.  I was thankful that every hour Alex and the other stage attendants brought us water and would take us off the stage if we needed to pee.  I was getting quite fond of Alex.  He seemed like a nice kid, except for his habit of chaining up naked women.  With the arrival of the war captives, the wyld wymen, and then the survivalists, he and the others had taken to carrying switches such as the ones Granny Mowbray had used.  Unlike Lorna and Kathy, and the Danish girls enslaved in the morning, they did not receive water or breaks to stretch and pee. They just stood there.  The wyld wymen were gagged again. They were getting tedious with their rants against men, and threats of vengeance. 

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Nine

 

It’s possible that I didn’t truly comprehend the danger I faced, to begin with. They were women, after all. Yes, they had dragged me out of my ruined tent, pushed me onto my belly and swiftly bound my wrists with light rope, but they were still only women. It’s natural for a man to underestimate the level of danger when he’s faced with women. 

 

“Kiss my foot,” said Anthea as she stood up.

 

“Fuck off!”

 

She kicked me sharply in the face. 

 

“Kiss my foot. Submit.”

 

I still didn’t.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Eight

 

“I don’t understand. That is your mistress? Really?” Amara and I had risen from where we had been hiding behind the crates, piled high in the entranceway to a narrow alley. We watched now as Lady Savanna of Argentum, or Miss Chelsea Savannah Frick of Earth, depending on your viewpoint, hurried down the street in the opposite direction that I typically took to run my daily errands. She was clad not in her modest robes and gowns, fully veiled, as would be appropriate for the public street, but rather clad only in the skimpy, revealing tunic of a slave girl. She was barefoot, her hair was loose and she wore a slave collar.

 

“Are you absolutely sure?” said Amara.

 

“You don’t think I know what my mistress looks like?” It was an amazing sight. A surprising sight. An unbelievable sight. 

 

You wouldn’t know she was a Free Woman. Truly, you wouldn’t know. 

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Seven

 

“I mean, you can’t get away from the fact that a male supremacist ideology requires female subordination and negation,” remarked Kelly as she poked the camp fire with a stick. “There’s no way of getting round that. And women are complicit in their own subjugation, because for a sexual revolution to be viable, women with privilege and comfort have to be willing to give up those benefits in order to, like, show solidarity with women not so entitled. And we don’t. In fact we vigorously police ourselves, our behaviour, and we have done throughout the ages.”

 

“That’s a load of woke feminist crap,” said Dexter as he drank some whisky. “No one’s oppressing you.”

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Eleven – by Tracker

 

Afternoon in the Sun

 

The other cowboy turned and, as he turned, he caught sight of Lorna, Kathy, and me.

 

“Kathy?  What are you doing here, what have they done to you?”

 

The cowboy rushed over to Kathy, hanging naked from the great overhead beam, and pulled off his shirt.  He used his shirt to try to cover the woman’s shame from the crowd.  I couldn’t hear what he was saying then as a private jet, a passenger jet, passed low over our heads.  It looked to be coming in for a landing.  The cowboy had taken out his belt knife and was endeavouring to cut the rope holding up her braceleted hands.  The noise of the jet receded as it came in for a landing a few miles away.

 

“Thomas Autry Harris, just what do you think you are doing?”  The voice came clear and piercing, not raised, but cutting through all the noise and hubbub.  It was Granny Mowbray. All action ceased.  That voice commanded all.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Six

“Builder takes Rider of the High Tharlarion in my next move,” said Chelsea as she moved her coloured Kaissa piece five squares in a straight line to now threaten my Tharlarion piece. “You can only save your High Tharlarion by sacrificing another Spearman,” she remarked, looking pleased with herself. Little by little I was losing Spearmen pieces at an alarming rate. Chelsea seemed less interested in winning the game outright, and more interested in toying with me, delivering a victory of a thousand cuts, stripping me, piece by piece, until my Home Stone became vulnerable to her concentrated attacks. “You really are quite useless at this, as with so many other things,” she added as she sat back against the plum cushions on her couch. She wore a silk slip that was rucked up around her thighs, while I was naked. 

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Ten – by Tracker

More Girls are Displayed

 

The sun was high in the sky now, as we women, displayed and helpless, were sweating in the heat.  There was dust in the air from the movement of trucks, of horses, and of livestock, human and otherwise. I saw some women brought in, collars on their necks, the collars chained together. They were trudging on foot, one end of the chain in the hand of a cowboy on a horse.  Behind them rode another mounted cowboy.  His quirt was in his hand, and he occasionally cracked it just to encourage them.  I don’t think they were actually struck though it was hard to tell.  The sad procession came down the avenue between the corrals straight towards the stage on which we were displayed.  We were five now with the addition of the Danish holidaymakers, as other girls had been strung up, and then claimed.  Girls came and went, but we five were a constant, the background to the noise and dust and confusion of the round-up. The line of girls was turned out into the second corral on the left.  The cowboys dismounted and unchained them one by one.  They would examine the left hip of each girl, for what I could not see from that distance.  The collars on the girls were read and one by one they would be escorted from the sorting corral to one or another of the corrals on the other side.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Five

I didn’t see either Felicity or Dexter in the morning, and there was no sign of Cindy at breakfast either. In fact, I got the impression that due to my behaviour the night before I was now being kept apart from all the other guests to avoid any further scenes. I had calmed down a little after a restful sleep and begun to reflect that perhaps I had over reacted with Dexter. It didn’t seem to take much provocation for me to want to punch the man, but that’s not an excuse for actually doing so. 

 

Breakfast was served on silver plates on a ridiculously long table, at which I sat alone, by two of the maid servants who again were dressed in those uncomfortable, shapeless, starched Edwardian smocks that servants back then wore. They responded when I said good morning, but seemed reluctant to enter into any further conversation.

 

“No one else joining me?” I enquired.

 

But they didn’t know the answer to that question. 

 

Chelsea appeared as I was finishing my coffee, after I’d cleaned my plate of the eggs, bacon and hash browns. 

The Paga Diaries (5) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Lina’

I followed Lina as she walked with a lamp and led me down a hallway, made a right turn into another hallway, and, after passing two doors, we entered a door into what was a small room.  The room had a couch with furs on it and metal rings attached in several places.  Lina was naked as her tunic was still on the floor in the other room.  She knelt in the centre of the room in nadu, with her eyes forward, not looking at me.  I sat on the couch and looked at her from the side.

 

She really was something to look at!  Even in the low light of a single lamp she was beautiful.  Looking at her and having her kneeling in front of me, waiting on me, erased all the anxiety built up on this strange night.  

 

“How long have you been on Gor?” I asked her.  

 

“I have been instructed not to answer any questions from you about my Master or myself or anyone else.  And I am only to speak to you in Gorean,”  she said perfectly in her accented English.

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Nine – by Tracker

 

Juliette Displayed in the Sun

 

The two men who were to take me to the Loose Woman Lost and Found took each of my arms.  Two more men to see me naked in addition to all the men who had looked at me today.  Before this morning only four men had seen me naked: the four men I had done it with. Only four men, and all possible marriage material.  I was not a cheap slut, despite what Granny Mowbray said.  Casual passers-by at the stone hut where I had been so brutally examined could look at me.  

 

One of the men stopped our procession, and still holding me firmly by my left arm, stepped back to look at me.  He looked me carefully up and down. Before, with my boyfriends, their interest had always been intense and personal, but this was impersonal, like the assessment Granny had just completed.  It was demeaning.  

 

“Not bad, nice and tall, with long legs, she’ll make someone happy to have.”

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Four

 

“I’m concerned that my mistress may have financial problems.” I said as I walked along the edge of the canal with the kajira, Amara, pacing barefoot beside me. We were sharing our lunch as we often did. I had a meat pastry and she had a draw string bag with scraps from her master’s breakfast table. Invariably my offerings were superior to anything she could share, but I didn’t really mind. It was the sharing something, that mattered. 

 

“Why is that, Roland?” Her Gorean was heavily accented, as was mine. We were both barbarians, both choice collar meat for the Gorean slavers who had abducted us. Our friendship was blossoming, and perhaps on Earth it might have developed into a meaningful relationship, but on Gor slaves were forbidden from coupling with one another. Amara was property. As was I. The laws of property ownership applied to both of us. 

 

“She has no obvious source of income so far as I can tell, and the money she has hidden in the apartment, what remains of it, was loaned to her by a friend.”

 

Amara took a small piece of the pastry that I offered to her. She smiled and placed it between her teeth as we walked together along the grassy canal bank. 

 

“She is lucky to have a friend like that,” said Amara. 

 

“Her friend is a slaver.”

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Eight - by Tracker

 

After the Deluge.

 

Patrick Chen’s Narrative

 

The noon day sun was shining brightly in the sky, as I gazed across the roaring waters of the Bighorn.  I had lost Juliette.  She was on the other side of the river and due to the raging current, I could not reach her.

 

The water is wide, I cannot get over

Neither have I wings to fly

Give me a boat that can carry two

And both shall row, my love and I

 

I had no boat that could bring Juliette back to me.  I sat down and analysed the situation.  The river could not be crossed by me here, and the bridge upstream was closed because the water was too high.  Until the Bighorn dam stopped releasing its excess water, I could not get over the river to Juliette.  The release would go on for the next twenty-four hours.  To retrieve Juliette from the Lazy F, I would need the co-operation of its owners.  I would have to approach them carefully not to put their backs up.  So that likely meant chartering a plane or helicopter on this side of the river, and flying over, was out. I would need to approach them humbly without arrogance.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Three

 

I sat in the reception room on one of the sofas, feeling tired and pissed off as Dexter paced about the room shouting his mouth off again. If he was angry before, after I’d punched him and walked out into the gardens, he was the picture of rage now that I had been apprehended in what appeared to be a romantic assignment with Felicity, his fiancé, in the quiet solitude of the garden grounds. His rage wasn’t just directed at me, of course, but also at Felicity, who sat in tears on the other sofa as Dexter walked back and forth jabbing with his hand in her direction as he vented his anger.

 

Felicity clutched a blanket around her shoulders, covering the fact that she wore little more than her corset and underwear. The ranch hands had simply frog marched us to the house, not caring to give Felicity time to get dressed.

 

Over in the corner, Granny watched proceedings with a stern gaze. Hawkins guarded the door to the hallway. He still held his rifle, but in the rest position.

 

And then Chelsea returned and entered the room.

Secrets of Gor Chapter Twenty Three

 

It is 2,200 pasangs from Vonda to the border of the Northern Forest, close to the city of Laura. 

 

2,200 pasangs.

 

Believe me, I felt every single one of those pasangs.

 

We averaged thirty pasangs a day, with Marissa and myself alternating between walking and riding. It took seventy five days from the afternoon when we left the walls of Vonda to reach the logging camp of Port Kar.

 

Seventy five days in a steel collar, with a kef brand on my thigh.

 

The passing of time changes a girl. 

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Seven - by Tracker

 

A walk in the woods leads to Disaster.

 

From Smith’s Secret Diary

 

Just back in, writing this quickly before turning in for the rest of the night.  Well it is just after 3:30 AM and already I have seen the sights for the day, or the week.  Space Ships, aliens, bigfoots, or is that Bigfeet and more.  Randy Schlesinger had told me to get to bed early last night, giving out I had a middle of the night patrol shift.  Around midnight, he awakened me quietly and we went out to the corrals.  Randy connected one of the cattle hauling trailers to a Ford F250 and had me do the same.  Then we backed them up to the holding building by the steel girl corrals. Woodrow Frick was there and behind him was the big boss, Mr Wilson Frick himself.  He told Randy to fetch out Rachel Wall from among the captives.

 

Randy came back hauling a woman, about thirty, handcuffed, or braceleted as they say here, and of course naked.

 

“Mr Frick, I don’t see why you are holding us captive too, we delivered the brainy beauties just as agreed.”

 

“Until they are shipped, we needed to keep up the pretence you and your crew were fellow victims, not part of the plot.  You know that. Besides, CNN blew up this story, instead of a little regional thing that might blow over it is worldwide.  We couldn’t have one of your crew getting careless and being spotted by the wrong people. But now we have another problem. We are three items short for delivery.”

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty Two

 

Chelsea seemed anxious and agitated now, barely holding still, as I fixed and pinned her hair in place. 

 

“I spent too long on the couch with you,” she said. “Kelapina will be here in less than half an ahn, and I’m not ready.”

 

“You will be beautiful, Mistress,” I said as I allowed a few locks to hang down beside her ears. I wished she would hold still. Her flustered state was making this dressing more difficult than it might otherwise be. I moved to her side and regarded my handiwork. Damn, but she did look good. I seemed to have a knack for this. 

 

“The food will be ready when it is time to dine, yes?” asked Chelsea. She regarded herself in the mirror and smiled at how good her hair now looked. “Oh, but this is splendid, Roland! You are so clever.”

The Paga Diaries (4) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘The Physician’

 

Trem and I walked along dark streets for a while, perhaps two and a half miles or so, or three and half pasangs.  I have always been good with figuring distances and my time as a soldier in the army gave me experience with conversions of metric distances.  One kilometre is .6 miles and one pasang is .7 miles, so they are almost the same.

 

Trem stopped at a tavern to get more paga to go and I tried to leave him, but he noticed and made a point of me going with him, helping him to the place he knew of where he could get medical attention.  He really wanted to talk to me and had a lot of questions.  But I didn’t understand much of it.  He made an effort to simplify things and slow down with his speech.  After a while I just listened to him talk.  I got the impression that he knew where we were going and that he wanted me to meet someone.  My gut feeling wasn’t helping either way, probably due to paga.  He also wanted me to drink with him, but I wanted to sober up a bit to focus on our surroundings and what might occur at our destination.

Kajirus of Gor Chapter Twenty One

 

The captive woman began to scream hysterically as she was lain down on her belly over some heavy packing crates. One man gripped her long hair and held her head down while a second man seized her ankles and held those firmly in place. The third man, Hawkins, then produced a hunting knife and set about cutting away the girl’s shirt, cut off shorts and then discarded the ruined fabric. He then removed her hiking boots and thick socks, leaving her with only a matching set of blue panties and bra. 

 

I felt I should do something, but I also knew I stood no chance against these three men, two of whom were armed with rifles and the third carried a hunting knife. 

 

The girl was then lifted up and dragged kicking and screaming to a length of chain that hung from a pulley attached to the steel beams supporting the roof. There was a winch that could raise and lower the chain. Her wrists were untied from behind her back, only then to be secured in a set of tight shackles attached to the free end of the chain.

 

“Please don’t do this! Please! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I swear!”

 

The girl was then slowly hoisted to her feet, her arms suspended above her head now as one of the men turned the wheel, shortening the length of chain until the girl was now forced to hang there with her toes barely touching the cement floor.

On the Banks of the Big Horn Part Six – by Tracker

 

The Contract between the Barbarian and the Slave girl

 

From Smith’s Secret Diary

 

I was called to my boss, Randy Schlesinger’s, office this morning.  He was chatting over coffee with a sheriff’s deputy with his leg in a cast and crutches beside his chair.

 

“Hi Smith, this is my brother Abner Schlesinger.  He covers this side of the river for the Cheyenne County Sheriff's Office.  He understands our traditional ways.”

 

As I shook hands with the deputy, he gave me that cop stare.  In my forty-five years I have seen that stare a lot in a lot of different countries. It’s the same stare from LA to the Russian Border.  I have got that stare from a Mountie in Canada and a lady Bobby in inner London.  Or is a Lady Bobby a Bobbi?

 

“Just Smith, is that all?”

 

“All I can remember.”