Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty One

 

“Come back, beloved,” said Kulai, anxiously, as I stumbled through the dark wood, calling out Kelsee’s name. “She is gone. It isn’t safe to look for her in the dark.”

 

“I can’t let her get away,” I said. “She doesn’t understand what she’s doing.”

 

“You are making too much noise,” said Kulai as she fast paced to keep up with me. She had her short bow in her hands and an arrow notched to the string.

 

“She’s afraid. She’ll realise running away is a terrible mistake. She wears a collar. There is nowhere for her to run to.” I cupped my hands to my mouth and called out loudly, “KELSEE!”

 

“We need to return to our camp. We can’t be here,” said Kulai. She turned her head to the left and the right, trying to discern any movement that might be a wild animal or an outlaw.

 

“KELSEE!” I cried again. “Come back, Kelsee! Please come back!”

 

I blundered on in roughly the direction I thought she might have taken. It was far too dark to track her, even if I knew how to. She could be anywhere. She might be hiding close by, terrified, confused, or she might still be running, fleeing what she supposed might be her branding tomorrow. “KELSEE!”

 

There was no reply.

Introducing the Tatrix of Corcyrus

 

Also landing in my inbox over the last couple of days is the first concept art for the defiant Tatrix of Corcyrus: Aliyyah Mercator, who will be an important character, appearing soon in Outcast of Gor, and then in the third book in the Roland Martell trilogy: Barbarian of Gor.

 

This is the woman who has dared to start the war between Argentum and Corcyrus; the very same woman that Claudius, the Ubar of Argentum, has sworn will be stripped and collared on the marble steps of her own throne room, dragged naked through the streets of Corcyrus in chains, to be whipped before her cowed populace, before being brought back to Argentum for ceremonial impalement on the city walls.

Chloe’s book cover project continues!

 

Yes, lots more lovely Chloe art has been kneeling perfectly in nadu in my mail box over the past week or so. I wanted to showcase it in a post because most of you might not notice when it goes to replace stock clip art or old covers on past posts buried deep in the blogger inventory of Emma tales. 

 

First up is a series of new book covers that will comprise a new ‘header index’ of the all the accumulated works to date, along with details of narrative chronological order and publication order. 

 

Feast your eyes on the latest fruits of Chloe’s labours!

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty

 

Kulai seemed a very different woman when she was close to orgasm. I chose to pause for a moment as she grasped my hips and squirmed as I moved inside of her. 

 

Her legs were bare, and her knee length, long sleeved tunic was rucked up around her hips. 

 

“Why have you stopped?” she gasped.

 

“I want to look at you.” It was dark now, but her face was illuminated by the flickering flames of our camp fire. There was a sheen of perspiration on her brow. Her hair was untangled from its ribbon of companionship, and arrayed about her face and shoulders. She had grass stains and earth where the heels of her bare feet and her sleeved elbows had driven themselves into the ground as she writhed under me. 

 

“You can’t leave me trembling like this!” she moaned. “Finish me! Please!”

 

“Can’t I?” I was feeling powerful as I gazed down at my Free Companion, gripping her wrists again and holding them tightly to the ground, adding to her delicious experience. If you have never mastered a woman – I mean, fully mastered a woman – and controlled carefully her right to an orgasm - then you will never have experienced the intense feelings that come with being a truly dominant male. It is an aphrodisiac, and once experienced, your approach to sex can never be the same again. 

 

Gorean society frees a man to be wholly and truly a man, as nature intended. And women, those delicious feminine beauties, are free in the full sense to be true women. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Nineteen

I allowed Kelsee to sleep while Kulai and I set up camp.

 

“I will whip her when she wakes,” said Kulai. She crouched beside a text book perfect camp fire that was frankly a work of bushman art. It even had a wooden frame from which a kettle pot hung.  

 

“Show the girl some pity. She thinks I am taking her to Darian Athuk’s camp to have her branded.”

 

“Good.” Kulai picked up her knife and began skinning a pre-gutted rabbit-like creature. Her hands moved quickly, making cuts that allowed her to then pull the skin and fur from the animal. She then started to quickly cube the meat, ready for a stew.

 

“I’m not actually taking her to be branded,” I added. “You do know that?”

 

“Why will you not do this one thing for me?” Kulai looked up in anguish, brandishing that sharp knife rather carelessly as she did so. “Her thigh is as smooth as my own. Without a collar she might be mistaken for a Free Woman. How do you think that makes me feel, beloved?”

Outcast of Gor Chapter Eighteen

“This is a veminia,” said Kulai as she crouched down to pick a colourful, fragrant bloom.

 

“Vem-in-yah,” I said, trying to pronounce the new word.

 

“Vem-in-eeh-ah,” she corrected me as she put the flower petals to my nose. “What does the scent remind you of, beloved?”

 

“Women,” I said. “The lovely scent of women.”

 

Kulai nodded as she rubbed the bloom against the undersides of her wrists. “it is commonly used in many of the loveliest perfumes, and so you will now think of beautiful women whenever you see a veminia flower growing wild.” She held the underside of her left wrist to my nose. I inhaled the subtle trace of the petal scent on her skin. 

 

“No, when I see a veminia flower, I will not simply think of women, I will specifically think of you, Kulai.”

 

She smiled and I couldn’t help but kiss her. She was my Free Companion after all.

 

“One day you will wake up and realise that you love me,” she said, laughing softly. “it will be inevitable.” She touched my nose with her finger. “But until then I shall simply live on your kisses and yearn for the day when you can honestly return the love I bear you.”

 

I really wasn’t worthy of her. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Seventeen

 

It’s fair to say this was a difficult situation for me.

 

I didn’t for one minute think Rolfe would actually force me to brand Kelsee. Not if I dug my heels in and flatly refused. He would do his best to coerce me, but I think he would draw the line at compelling me by force. But he seemed intent on travelling to the slaver camp to at least show me a metal worker and argue that it was in my best interests to brand Kelsee.

 

What he didn’t know was that Darian Athuk had met Kelsee and I before, in Argentum. While I was now a Free Man, and entitled to own a slave girl, it would be very awkward if Darian made reference to my past status. I remembered the contempt that free men showed silk slaves. Dominant Gorean men do not like the idea of a man submissively serving a woman. I would lose all respect with Rolfe and the others. Our friendship would likely be over. And as for Kulai – imagine the shame of knowing that your Free Companion was once a woman’s plaything. God knows how she would react to that news.

 

No, that had to remain my secret. The question was whether I would even meet Darian Athuk if I went to his camp. He was probably a very busy man, and we could walk through his camp without running into him. After all, I had practically never run into Stannis Assante in all the time I spent in his cavalry camp.

‘Without a Trace’ by Pipa

 

Emma’s Preface: I’m pleased to say that yet another of my lovely readers has been inspired to try her hand at her own Gor fanfic. We’ve had a couple of masters writing for us, and now we have the lovely kajira, Pipa, with her own tale set on Earth, which may be the first of several interlinked stories (fingers crossed). 

 

With a nod to the style of the cute Nancy Drew Mysteries, two nosy young twins set out to unravel and solve the mystery of the disappearance of their two pretty cousins, Lucie and Melissa, who of course ended up on Gor. What makes this tale very special is that Pipa hasn’t just written it, she’s also gone and made her own computer art (with some advice from Chloe, I believe, in how the software works). 

 

Prologue: Unwelcome Surprise

 

My name is - or was - Lucie French. I'm twenty years of age, and a third-year student at the University of Worcester.

 

I have a part-time job working the circulation desk at the 'U' Library, and tonight, when my shift is done, I bundle up - it's pretty cold out - and set out for home. Just off campus there's a coffee place and I pop in there for a mocha latte. I try not to drink coffee at night but I've got a paper due in the morning for Cultural Geo 332, and I haven't even started it. From Starbucks it's just another two blocks to our apartment.

 

'Our' apartment? My sister Melissa (younger than me by a year) and I share the place. The rent isn't too bad and we don't have to put up with the annoyances of life in the residence halls. 'Lissa is a bit more of a social butterfly than I am - cheerleader and everything - but most of the time it's not a problem. She's the only immediate family I've got left apart from Grandfather, so I figure it's worth putting up with her.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Sixteen

Free Women are at war with slave girls from the moment they reach puberty and begin to bleed for the first time. This war takes on an intensity of planning and foresight when a Free Woman becomes the Free Companion of a man who owns a slave girl.

 

Make no mistake, Free Women are schooled by their mothers from an early age in the subtle arts of separating a man from his slave, to the best of their abilities. 

 

There are things they can and can’t insist upon. Obviously no Free Companion can object to a man owning and enjoying a slave. No man would put up with that, but right from the beginning rules are set.

 

“She will not sleep in our bed, beloved. She will never so much as touch our bed with her body.”

 

“Of course not.” I was willing to concede that. This was common practice throughout Gor. A Free Woman was entitled to that simple courtesy from her man.

 

“I will expect her to be clothed modestly in my presence. The tunic she wears at the moment is fit only for a paga slave.”

Outcast of Gor Chapter Fifteen

 

Kulai stood inside the bedding tent, gazing at me with a mixture of apprehension and excitement as I closed the flaps of the tent to the sound of cheering outside. I had taken her, tied her wrists together and led her, tethered to the tharlarion, through the throng of guests who applauded me for what was now going to occur. The other maids, Sevtlana included, were also tethered by their bound wrists to the saddle rings of the mighty tharlarion. I chose not to ride it, on account of my relative inexperience and intoxication, but that was okay. Everyone knew I was a novice in the saddle, and it wouldn’t do for me to fall en-route to the bedding tent. Even experienced riders don’t mount a tharlarion when they’re drunk.

 

“We are alone,” said Kulai as she gazed at the soft bedding, surrounded by scented candles. There was wine, there were plates of tasty delicacies and there was of course a whip resting on the bedding.

 

The placing of a whip on the bedding is part of the ceremony. The Free Companion is to angrily pick up the whip and cast it outside, to further cheers of the guests who are expecting that token of defiance, still. 

The Paga Diaries (8) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘The Tarn’

 

I spent the day exploring new parts of the city, further and further out from the neighbourhood of my apartment.  I found another small open air market area with stalls, tables and tents similar to the one I found a couple days ago.  I discovered a clothing store that had all manner of tunics with varying materials, some of them very fine quality.  I purchased another tunic, and arranged for the seamstress, a robed and veiled Free Woman to sew in some internal concealed pockets.  She was very confused as to what I wanted and became frustrated with my efforts to explain what I wanted.  I didn’t know the Gorean word for “pocket” and I had to use my hand and some cloth to help her visualize what I wanted.  I don’t think she ever understood why her perfectly made tunic needed additional work done. 

 

How should I carry my money?  A lot of Goreans keep their money in small bags and tie them to belts.  That just seemed too exposed for me, too easy for a thief to snatch and grab.  Other Goreans carry  their money in their mouth.  What an inconvenience, not to mention the metallic taste all day long!  And when they need the money, or want to eat or drink paga, they just spit out the coins!  Not me.  I was happy with the two pockets she made for me.  Wearing clothes with pockets all my life, I just couldn’t get used to not having them.  

Outcast of Gor Chapter Fourteen

 

It was inevitable, I suppose. 

 

I stood beside Kulai, surrounded by men holding burning torches raised in their right hands. I wore, for the first time on Gor, a long, feasting robe. Kulai wore a long embroidered gown with flowers bound in her hair. She looked radiant. She looked beautiful. She looked beguiling. Despite everything, I felt compelled to gaze at the beautiful sight of my companion to be in her feasting gown. Someone once told me that love is what you see reflected in their eyes, and I saw nothing but love and admiration in Kulai’s eyes, now. How could she have fallen in love with me so quickly? Was it even possible?

 

“You are so handsome,” she whispered as we stood there with our arms bound together with folds of white linen. My left wrist and Kulai’s right wrist had a length of white cloth wound loosely about them. Rolfe had been the one to do this. He winked at me as he stepped back. 

 

Svetlana, Danata and the lovey Mishka, were Kulai’s maids of honour. They too wore long gowns of samite white, with flowers arranged artfully in their hair. I smiled as I saw Svetlana gaze once or twice in Rolfe’s direction. Rolfe couldn’t stop looking at her, and he grinned each time their eyes met. It had seemed necessary for Rolfe and Svetlana to meet often in order to plan the details of my companionship with Kulai. There were so many details to consider. Often these planning meetings were held in private. Often they took place in the evenings.  

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirteen

 

It seems I was now courting a Turian Free Woman. How did that happen?

 

“You do look lovely together,” said Rolfe with a smile. “I understand she is teaching you to fish?”

 

“She is,” I said. Actually, the fishing was fun. There was a river close to the camp (military camps obviously set up close to sources of fast flowing fresh water) and we had gone there this morning with rods and nets. Kulai wore boots and leggings, a long sleeved, knee length tunic with a hood, and fingerless long sleeved woollen gloves, as she would be wading around on the muddy bank beside the water. She showed me how to set up snares in the stream and baffles to steer fish towards the net snares. “Sometimes they swim too fast to change direction in time. There is an art to steering them to the right place where they might flounder. You still have to be quick to seize the fish, beloved.”

 

Beloved. That is what she called me now. She would smile happily whenever she gazed at me. 

 

She laughed as I tried to pluck a slippery fish from a trap and failed to hold onto it. It splashed down to the side of the trap and swam quickly away.

 

“Rollo will not be happy,” she said as she lay on the bank, having shrugged off her leather boots. She wiggled her toes at me. “That is his fish.”

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twelve

 

A delegation of bold, fierce, lovely huntresses came to see me the next day.

 

“Svetlana,” said Rolfe, trying a bit too hard in my opinion, “it is good to see you this bright morning. Would you care for a refreshing cup of…”

 

“Be quiet, sleen,” said Svetlana, without looking at him. “We are here on important matters.”

 

“Perhaps afterwards?” he suggested.

 

“I will be practising with my bow.”

 

Mishka, Svetlana and Danata sat down opposite me. Mishka was the one who spoke. “I have brought you a ribbon of courtship, Roland of Newark. You are apparently a stranger to these lands, so I thought I should explain how matters now proceed.”

 

“Mishka, look, I think I should…”

 

“There is some ceremony to the binding of Kulai’s hair with the ribbon of courtship. First you must seek her out. She will be hiding from you, but she will have left a trail of white talender petals from the entranceway of our tent. You simply need to follow these discarded petals, and they will lead you to her.”

 

“Mishka, can I just say…”

On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter Twenty Three – by Tracker

 

In the Big Tent on the Ranch

 

Fred the Spy’s Narrative

 

I came to take the sluts to the Victory Supper.  The damned Fricks are having these each night after coming back from a day fighting our guys out on the plains.  The people I was supposed to use to destroy the Fricks weren’t up thot the task. The Big Man in Silicon Valley can’t blame me though: the tools I was given just weren’t good enough.  Those Survivalists failed me, and the extra hard men, the contractors weren’t tough enough.  The Fricks beat them!  A bunch of ranchers, a bunch of hicks, beat them! And every night they have a big dinner after hunting out the rest of our crew.

 

Granny Mowbray is in charge of the slave pens under the house.  She scares me.  I rousted out four girls, one from each cell, and got three boys to help me take them over to the dinner tent. These cowboys know how to herd women, I will give them that.  Each had her hands behind her, with the handcuffs they call bracelets.  Then the girls were bent over at the waist and me and the boys grabbed a handful of hair and we marched them off. The heads were down, and they couldn’t see where they were going.  So humiliating for them; their heads at crotch height, held by the hair, bent over and trying to walk at our pace.  They can’t steady theirselves ya see; no balance with their hands secured behind their backs and them bent over.  A girl in a humiliated position can’t rebel; makes ‘em feel helpless.  And bein’ helpless makes them hot, or at least, easy. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Eleven

 

It was just a single kiss, though it went on longer than expected. 

 

What? You thought I’d be all Gorean and tie Kulai’s wrists together with the ribbon and then put her to use on the soft bed of moss by the side of the stream?

 

Okay, so the illicit thought crossed my mind as something of an erotic fantasy, but she is a Free Woman. Free Women are protected by their men, and rightly so, for they are precious. 

 

But, yes, we kissed, as Kulai paid her ransom to me. For a Gorean Free Woman, she kissed remarkably well. Rolfe had always assured me that the kisses of a Gorean Free Women were nothing special, but I sensed Kulai had done this before. One of the disconcerting things about Gorean society is that you never really know how old a man or woman is. They all look so damn young, because of the stabilization serums – a society full of people who appear to be in their mid-twenties, but in actual fact they are probably much older.

 

I had pieced together enough backstory to know that Stannis and Livinnia’s children were fully grown adults now, which meant possibly thirty years since they were first Free Companioned. And if Kulai and the other huntresses had been maids of honour at the companionship, that meant Kulai could be well into her fifties by now, yet looking like she only left college four years ago. Like I said, disconcerting. I’m 33 years old, and appeared older than Kulai, but it was quite possible she was old enough to be my mother.

Chloe introduces the new slave girl, Kelsee (formerly Miss Chelsea Savannah Frick)

 

Well, kind masters and gentle mistresses, it’s been a while, but we do have some new girls to show off to you. Cassie is being dressed in one of the side rooms as we speak, and will be stepping out shortly, but in the meantime I thought I’d introduce you to the lovely Kelsee. Now Kelsee is rather new to her slavery, and…

 

“This is a mistake! I’m not a slave! What are you doing! This is a slave display! I told you I’m not a slave!”

 

Ah, here she comes now. Accompanied by one of the master’s guardsmen. I do apologise for her outburst, kind masters and gentle mistresses. We don’t ordinarily suffer from tantrums like this.

 

“I said I’m not a slave! I’m not! Ohhhh!”

 

Well, hello Kelsee, so glad you can join us on the slave platform. Be careful, you almost fell when you were pushed up the steps by that guradsman. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Ten

 

I rode slowly across the meadow, pressing with my knees and spurred heels as Kulai had told me to do.

 

“Good, Roland of Newark, good.” She smiled at me each time I looked at her, and that smile could only mean one thing. This morning she had evidently tied the same ribbon bow in her hair as before, signalling to men in the know that she was interested in someone. 

 

“You’re a good teacher,” I said. I was able to manage a slow canter on my tharlarion, but even so, there was a long secondary rein that looped from the beast to Kulai who held it loosely in her hand. Mishka trotted her tharlarion to my other side, ready to ride ahead of me if my mount bolted.

 

Behind us, keeping a discrete distance of perhaps thirty yards, rode two of Stannis’s cavalrymen, on guard duty. This area was supposed to be safe, as it lay well behind the current battle lines, but Stannis was not taking any chances when the huntresses set out to patrol the countryside. Free Women are precious and not to be put at risk. 

 

I was riding a tharlarion across the meadow lands of Gor. Who would have thought that possible?

Chloe’s book cover project continues!

 

Yes! There are more book covers! 

 

I’ve always said, you know when you’re a proper author, because your books get new edition covers every few years. 😊

 

The latest crop of covers from Chloe provide art for Panther Girl of Gor, Dunes of Gor, Slaver of Gor, and Outcast of Gor. And there’s a new ‘header’ book cover for the bibliography listing (‘Emma, Slave of Gor’) as well. And of course we're still using the classic font from the British Gor books of the mid seventies to mid eighties. I don't think the American or European editions ever used that font? Correct me if I'm wrong.   

 

Here they are, in all their splendour. Click on the pictures to enlarge them. 

 

I’m a very lucky writer. 😊

On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter Twenty Two – by Tracker

 

Patrick Master’s Narrative

 

When I untied Juliette after the Ranchers, Frick, and Smith, had left, she did not seem much worse for wear, or usage, as I learned to call it from John Norman’s book.  Far-fetched as his fantasy story was, and convoluted as his prose was, he did seem to have some insight into the human condition.

Juliette seems to be a little disoriented, but she assured me that it was due to being tied for so long with her head hanging down, and her unsteadiness on her feet to being motionless for a while.

 

“You weren’t making sounds consistent with being motionless a few minutes ago.”

 

“Neither were you, Master.” Master was coming to her lips more easily all the time.  

 

We went down to the river to swim and clean off.  I carried the collapsible buckets down to the river to bring water back to our camp.  I would have her carry them back. It just seemed more fitting that way.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Nine

 

I was holding on for dear life – a task not made any easier by the constant laughter coming from Mishka and Kulai.

 

“Don’t let Rashakk dominate you,” cried Mishka between peals of laughter. “He is only a small tharlarion – a suitable size for young boys to ride for the first time.”

 

“And you are a man,” cried out Kaulai, “not some youth who cannot even shave yet.”

 

“The fucking thing has a mind of its own!” I swore as I failed completely to stop the beast from stomping around the paddock, apparently head butting all the posts for no obvious reason. It suddenly reared up on its hindlegs and emitted a terrifyingly loud screech. I clung to the reins, trying not to be thrown to the ground.

 

“What does that mean?” I cried as the tharlarion now began to jump across the paddock in leaps and bounds like a demented kangaroo.

 

“It means he likes and respects you,” laughed Kulai as she trotted her own, obedient, I might add, tharlarion beside mine. She was poised to seize the reins if Rashakk grew too boisterous.

 

“You make it look easy,” I said.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Eight

 

It was late in the evening when I chose to leave Rolfe and the other men. We had been drinking together for a couple of ahn, but it occurred to me that I had not yet checked on my lovely slave girl.

 

I was in an excellent mood, refreshed by good camp food, with a belly full of wine, the friendship of good men, and memories of drinking with those lovely huntresses, Mishka and Kulai. Life on Gor suddenly seemed good in ways I had never considered when I was a collared silk slave. Gor was a man’s world, and as a free man I could, it seems, claim my natural birth right in the Gorean culture. 

 

I thought of the lovely Mishka as I walked through the cavalry camp. Kulai was lovely too, but it was Mishka, I think, who had really caught my eye. Kulai, however, had been visibly flirting with me, as she had chosen to adjust the drape of the white ribbon in her bound hair on at least two occasions, surreptitiously lifting the line of her breasts each time. 

 

Yes, there were many good things to say about Gor, if you were a man.

Secrets of Gor Chapter Twenty Six

 

Day 14 on the journey to the Northern Forests

 

I had never seen so many slaves before, at least not in one place. Everywhere I looked there were kajirae going about the marketplace, shopping for their masters, or simply scurrying past, barefoot, on errands. They all wore collars, short skirted tunics - sleeveless, of course, like my own – and seemed comfortable in their surroundings. What I rarely saw was Free Women. There was one – a lone woman who hurried past with short, quick steps, bundled up in her layers of robes and veils, but she did not walk with the usual confidence of the Free Women I would see in my own city of Vonda. No, she seemed only too aware of how heavily outnumbered she was by kajirae in this city. A lone Free Woman in the midst of eighty or so kajirae is a strange sight to behold. Some of the kajirae watched her hurry past, and they laughed amongst themselves, sensing her vulnerability perhaps. Surprisingly, the Free Woman made no attempt to admonish these laughing kajirae. Perhaps she had tried in the past, but had quickly learned how futile any such interaction might be. For the men in the market square gazed at her in much the same way that the kajirae did – as an oddity, one rarely seen, and one only barely tolerated.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Seven

 

Their names were Svetlana, Mishka, Kulai and Danata, and, like Livinnia Assante, they were all from Turia.  

 

I want to start by emphasising again that women from the cities of central Gor do not fight. Leaving aside the Panther girls in the Northern Forests, you will not find female warriors forming up against shield walls of men, not even as skirmishers. There are many reasons for this. First and foremost is the fact that women are severely disadvantaged on account of their fractional strength and size compared with Gorean men. It is said that a typical Free Woman of the cities has the strength of a twelve year old boy. Warfare on Gor is antiquated due to the weapon laws of the Priest Kings, and is based around shield walls, and for a shield wall to stand it needs to be bulked out by enormous, powerful men. Imagine a rugby scrum where one side is a typical Welsh team, built like oxen, while the other was a side comprised of young teenage girls. Which do you think would collapse first? And once a shield wall collapses, the result of the battle is generally a foregone conclusion.

 

I might add that I have some Welsh ancestry, and so I will make the obvious comment that Rugby is the greatest sport in the world, and Welsh men are its greatest sportsmen. This is not some frivolous opinion, it is frankly fact, and any slave in my collar will agree with me, if she ever wants to see a candy treat again in her lifetime. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Six

 

“Corcyrus is well and truly fucked, then,” said Rolfe as he surveyed the sight of the cavalry encampment. “We’d all better start practising our hai Argentums.” 

 

It was my first sight of the man, the legend, the mountain, that is Stannis Assante. And, from first glance, I could understand why he is held in such high regard in military circles.

 

Stannis was stripped to the waist, barefoot, wearing just a pair of baggy cavalry breeches. He had an Asian style beard that was cropped short but with two strands drooping from either side of his chin. His hair was cut short at the sides but long on top and tied back. He held a sword in both hands and was surrounded by three of his warriors. What followed was a ballet of martial prowess.

 

Stannis’s three opponents would swing at him with their blades, but in an orchestrated, slow, rehearsed form. The first man would cut high, followed by the second man cutting low, followed by the third man cutting high. Stannis would wheel and turn, parrying the blades with his own. It was not a real fight, and in fact it was effectively in slow motion. 

 

Sounds easy? Well, no. Not in the slightest. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Five

 

“Do I know you, slave?” asked the Inn girl. She gazed down at a kneeling Kelsee who, under her instruction, was wrestling with the subtle complexities of performing a satisfactory nadu position. The basic position seems simple enough, and you might be forgiven for thinking so, but a girl in nadu must not be stiff, unyielding, tense; rather she must flow like water, ripple like silk. I had asked the Inn girl to teach Kelsee a few positions, as I was aware that Rolfe and the others felt I was derelict in the training of my slave, particularly when it came to serving positions.

 

“I don’t think so, Mistress,” she said, anxiously. I felt sure that Kelsee had recognised the Inn girl. I felt sure that Kelsee didn’t want the Inn girl to recognise her. That was interesting.

 

I had told Kelsee to address the Inn girl as mistress while she taught her the positions. It was the way such things were done on Gor. There is a pecking order between slaves, and girls who don’t know one another are often keen to assert their authority over their sisters in bondage. 

New Feminism poster propaganda by the Frick Foundation for Responsible Feminism

By 2026 the New Feminism movement isn’t just sweeping across the United States of America; in many states it is now entrenched and establishing a moral framework  for women to embrace their natural gender roles and achieve the happiness that a more liberal and degenerate society once denied them. Here then are a number of recent promotional campaigns run by the Frick Foundation for Responsible Feminism (in memory of, and founded by, the late, great, Willard Frick).    

The Paga Diaries (7) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Penny’s Tutoring’

 

“Your name?” I asked the tan, blond, dirty slave, kneeling between my legs as I sat, slouching on stairway steps.  She had just expertly pleasured me with her mouth after I had put a copper tarsk bit into the slot of the coin box chained to her neck.

 

“Master may call me whatever he likes,” she said.

 

“Your Master calls you?”  I struggled to ask in Gorean. 

 

“Five,” she said.

 

“Five?” I asked, making sure I heard and understood her correctly.

 

“Yes Master, he calls me Five, I am girl five,” she said as she looked down. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Four

 

I was surprised by the change that was occurring in Kelsee as the days progressed. Gone were any thoughts of relating to me as a mistress. Gone were any pretences at dominance. Was this really the same woman who had once owned me? I began to think these changes had something to do with the steel collar locked about her neck. It seemed to me that the transformational properties of the collar acted as some form of release that bypassed the natural defences a female learned to build during her life. Her orgasms seemed to grow deeper, more fulfilling, as the days progressed. She moaned softly to my touch at night as we shared a banket under the stars. She cried out piteously as I took her, and there was no mistaking how her appetite for sex grew as she came to discover the glorious feelings that can consume a woman once she learns to submit. 

 

She kept telling me how much better the sex was now, than when she used to control such things back in Argentum.

 

It was the collar, I think. It was changing her. She could blame the collar for the way she was acting and enjoy the acts of submission with a reasonably clear conscience. More than once she would say to me, “I can’t help these feelings I have now! I wear a collar after all.” As if it was beyond the control of any woman.

 

But it was inevitable I suppose that we would eventually have our first lover’s quarrel. 

On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter Twenty One – by Tracker

 

Testimony

 

From Slave Fliss’s Narrative

 

A second night on the prairie.  The only reason I survived was my Navy training.  Even with my training though, I would not have survived if I had not grown resilient and strong in my three years as a slave to the Fricks. I learned to bend like the willow and accept what could not be changed.  I learned other things too, which were not relevant to survival at night on the plains, but I was able to make a fire last night out of dried animal dung which I started with making a friction bow to light some dried grass.  Such a fire makes considerable warmth without making a lot of smoke or a high flame.  Burning wood in this dry clean makes a smoke that can be smelled for miles.

 

Down by the river this morning I saw a couple swimming in the river.  He was wearing trunks, while she was naked and had a chain leading to a collar.  Is she a slave like me?  Was she kidnapped from the ranch?  More intelligence for my Masters if I can ever reach them.  I snuck further upriver towards the bridge before I drank.  I didn’t want them to see me.  

 

Well hydrated, but hungry, I knew if I could reach the bridge, I could reach the ranch. I need a master to be complete. I want to be protected in a strong man’s arms.  

Outcast of Gor Chapter Three

 

I was driven back by a series of furious sword cuts that came at me relentlessly. Had Rolfe wanted to actually kill me, I guess I would have been dead within an ehn or two, but even though this was a practice bout, we were using real swords and if I didn’t take this seriously I was likely to be injured. 

 

“Sword arm tired, yet?” asked Rolfe as he circled around me, doing that flashy impractical thing people do when they want to show off in a Hollywood movie – turning the hilt of your blade around in your open hand, tossing it lightly and catching it the other way around.

 

“It’s seen better days,” I admitted. I kept my guard up, because his questions were just a form of distraction, and at any moment he might lunge in again with a perfectly choreographed pattern of chops and cuts. My only saving grace was that he was restricting the nature of his attacks to the ones I was being specifically taught to parry. Otherwise, yeah, that bit about being dead within the first ehn or two…

Outcast of Gor Chapter Two

 

The men’s names were Rolfe, Rollo, and Hergessvar. As I soon ascertained, Rolfe and Rollo were brothers through the same mother, and Hergessvar was a close cousin. They lived and fought together as a freelance mercenary unit, selling their spears and swords wherever there might be a major military conflict.

 

Rolfe returned from putting Kelsee to use and motioned that Rollo might be next.

 

I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the soft sobbing I could hear from the grass on the other side of the campsite. The sun had set and thankfully I didn’t have to watch what the men were doing to her.

 

“She was adequate,” said Rolfe as he sat down and carved off a strip of meat. “Barely adequate.” He threw the meat towards me. I felt sick. I couldn’t eat while Kelsee was… while Kelsee was…

 

I hated this. I hated being so impotent, so useless, that I had to sit and let these men take Kelsee in that way, simply so we might both be fed. What sort of man was I, that I couldn’t even provide for my slave?

Outcast of Gor Chapter One

 

Book Two of the Roland Martell trilogy

 

“For fuck’s sake!”

 

We were being pelted by stones, thrown by a pack of feral children who were chasing us away from the edge of their village. Three adults with staves and pitchforks trailed close to the children in case either Kelsee or I tried anything.

 

“We’re hungry! We were only trying to beg food!” I shouted as I dodged a thrown rock. “My slave is hungry! At least let her have some food. She’s done nothing wrong.”

 

“You can eat these stones, outlaw,” snarled a peasant wielding a wooden stave. 

 

“My slave hasn’t eaten in two days! Have some pity on her!”

 

“You can give her to us and then she’ll be fed each night,” shouted a second peasant. 

Chloe’s book cover project

 

As well as labouring on the Secrets of Gor chapters, Chloe has begun reworking covers for all the Gor novels published on this website. Since she began illustrating my stories many years ago, her software has become more sophisticated in leaps and bounds, to the point where she decided it was high time to revisit and replace her old covers and create ones for books that didn’t previously have covers (often because they were books she didn’t illustrate). It also offers a chance to use the famous title lettering that appeared on the classic 1970s/1980s UK editions. If you have any of the UK Gor books from the mid to late seventies, you’ll recognise the font immediately. When she’s finished, the covers will form a new bibliography of all our work on the top header section. Every book will have a cover illustration and supporting text details, listed in chronological order, but with side references for the order they were written in, also.