The Emma of Gor Trilogy: An Introduction

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

Adventures in AI on Christmas Day

 

So, I’ve been playing around a bit, trying to figure out how I could get Google Gemini to maintain the same look of a character throughout a series of pictures, because up until now Gemini keeps changing the way a character looks, and that's really frustrating. It does seem there is a way and this is my first attempt. I’ll preface this by saying I’m not very good with computers. I don’t have Chloe’s programming skills, so this is me probably doing everything the hard way.

 

As an experiment I took the first picture I had randomly generated as “Emma’ (the one at the top of this post) and, because I was quite happy with it as a ‘look’ (her hair is cut short at the beginning of chapter one), I used it as a ‘model’ for any picture with “Emma” in it.

 

Basically, in each subsequent picture prompt, I uploaded the original picture and defined that Gemini should stick with the same appearance, which it seems to have done. Note, I haven’t tried to stabilise any other characters in the picture – it’s really just an experiment to see if I could do it first with just “Emma”. But if I could, then in theory I can do the same with multiple characters. These then are the pictures I generated that way, and I think this time around the appearance of “Emma” has been stabilised, which suggests I can do that going forwards for any character I’m happy with. See what you think.

Merry Christmas from Emma and Chloe!

 

As I recover from the (ahem) excessive amounts of ka-la-na I had on Christmas Eve, I just wanted to say thank you so much for sticking with this blog so faithfully over the past few years, particularly through my rather extended periods of absence. I actually feel really humble each time I come back and I find you’re all still here. Your ongoing devotion to the Emmaverse, your generous feedback, ideas, and support means the world to me. It really does.

 

Oh, look at me, I’m getting all emotional here. But you really are wonderful, and I don’t think I would ever have got this far without your ever engaging feedback. 

 

I hope you’re all having a wonderful festive season, be it Christmas, or whichever holiday festival you prefer. For those of you who haven’t seen my comments buried in the feedback section of some of the previous chapters, I will be serialising the long delayed Gods of Gor at long last to run concurrently with The Shadow in the Dark (albeit at a slower pace than Shadow on the Dark, to give Chloe plenty of time to hopefully produce some of her digital art). 

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Twenty Two)

Several years ago – Mount Holyoke, Christmas Eve:

 

Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring tingle tingling too (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling "yoo hoo!" (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

 

Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy and cozy are we (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

We're snuggled up together like two birds of a feather would be (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Let's take the road before us and sing a chorus or two (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

 

It was Christmas Eve – the last Christmas Eve we would share together before we graduated from Mount Holyoke – and Bryony and I were determined to make this one special. Obviously, we would remain in touch once we graduated and went our separate ways – me pursuing a professional legal career and Bryony doing… well, whatever rich trust fund girls like Bryony did when their dalliance with higher education was over. But it would never be quite the same again. 

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Twenty One)

 

Let it go, let it go

Can't hold it back anymore

Let it go, let it go

Turn away and slam the door

I don't care what they're going to say

Let the storm rage on

The cold never bothered me anyway

 

I was singing. I was singing along to the fucking song, ‘Let it Go’, from Frozen, as Rosemary gripped my left hand with her stronger right and encouraged me with smiles and little tugs of my hand. 

 

We were watching Frozen for the second time. The first had just been a straight forward viewing of the film, and I had been told to not get too excited and just watch the film. The second viewing was so that I would have the opportunity to sing along when each song began. Rosemary selected an option on the DVD that displayed the lyrics, bouncing along the bottom of the screen with cute frosty animations as the songs were sung.

 

“You’re having so much fun, Ashlee. Isn’t this the best birthday ever?”

 

“It’s really good, Rosemary,” I said. All the doors were locked and I could tell from her grip that Rosemary was a powerful and strong woman. And she was clearly insane.

 

“Have another gooey slice of cake, Ashlee,” she said, beaming as she picked up the cake knife again from where she had returned it to the table. It taunted me with its close proximity to my hand. This would be my fourth big slice of birthday cake.

 

“I’m really quite full, Rosemary, but thank you anyway.”

 

“Nonsense. Birthdays are for stuffing yourself full with cake until you burst.” She pressed another slice into my hands and dabbed with a napkin where a bit of cream had fallen on my skirt when I fumbled with the plate. “Do be careful, Ashlee. It may be your birthday, but I expect good table manners from little birthday girls.” Her happy face suddenly changed to one of a scowling expression. I saw a sudden darkness in her features as she mopped at the small cream stain. “You shouldn’t make me upset with you...”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Twenty)

 

“It’s ever so gooey, but that’s hardly a bad thing on a birthday, is it, honey?”

 

Rosemary placed a large cake smothered in cream on the table and began to cut two enormous slices from it. Only half an hour ago she had assembled party streamers and hung the words ‘Happy Birthday Ashlee!’ across the living room, though in her haste she had managed to spell all the words wrong. I didn’t think it wise to correct her. The woman was clearly insane, and I was now locked inside her remote house deep in the rural countryside, just outside of Innsmouth.  

 

“I don’t know about you, honey, but I think a birthday without really sticky cake is like Tom without Jerry.”

 

I smiled nervously and fingered the fabric of the ridiculous party dress she had insisted I wear. I watched as she finished cutting the cake, served two thick slices, and placed the cake knife on the side of the table fairly close to where my plate was. It wouldn’t be particularly sharp, but it was better than nothing. My party dress was stiff, bell-shaped, with a starched petticoat that insisted on standing away from the body of the garment. The fabric was pastel powder blue and decorated with tiny, earnest details: embroidered flowers, and a ribbon sash tied into an aggressively neat bow at the front. On my feet I wore a pair of simple Mary Jane shoes with side straps over short frilly white socks neatly folded over. I felt completely ridiculous. My hair was gathered back with the obligatory neat white ribbon that Rosemary had insisted on tying into a floppy bow.

 

“Don’t you look like an angel?” she had said as she stood back to check me over. “Even my little Ada never looked this good in her party dress. You’re going to have the best birthday ever.”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Nineteen)

 

Several years ago – Mount Holyoke College:

 

“I do think this has all gone a bit too far,” I said as I watched as Amelia Fenton was paraded around the grounds of Mount Holyoke college before being made to burn all the clothes she owned, one pretty garment at a time, dropping them, under the supervision of the Sorority Sisters, into a burning coal brazier that coughed up oily black smoke. Her once beautiful blonde hair, once so perfectly styled, had been rudely cropped by scissors and a cheap eclectic hair trimmer so that it was now just an uneven clump about her head, no more than a few centimetres long in places. Instead of the shimmering silk blouse and short leather miniskirt she had been ill-advised to wear last night when she had left the campus grounds to visit a night club in the town centre, she now wore an ugly one-piece boiler suit, a few sizes too big for her. The fabric was a dull, institutional colour of tired grey and it had gone soft in the wrong places while staying stiff where it ought to bend. The shoulders drooped, the torso sagged, and the legs bunched and wrinkled, swallowing her shape without even the decency of symmetry. The fit was especially unforgiving: too tight across the hips, too loose through the waist, it managed the rare trick of both straining and bagging at the same time. Seams pulled awkwardly when she moved, while excess cloth ballooned at her back and knees, creasing in thick, stubborn folds. The zipper never seemed to sit flat, and the cuffs dragged just enough to look careless without being practical. Even the pockets gaped uselessly, adding bulk where none was wanted. It made her look lumpy and unattractive, which was the point. Two of the large Sorority Sisters watched her as they stood holding switches. We all knew the girls – Trinny Marston and Victoria Hearst – both tall, strong looking, and broad through the shoulders, thick in the arms, weight carried low and solid, as if each step was part of a military march. Their faces were composed of plain and sturdy lines - jaws set, noses blunt, brows heavy enough to shade the eyes.

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Eighteen)

 

My scream brought a concerned Rosemary running up the short flight of stairs to my dormer bedroom.

 

No, not my bedroom, her daughter’s bedroom. 

 

This wasn’t my bedroom.

 

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong? Is it a horrible nightmare? Why, don’t be scared – my little Ada had nightmares too, sometimes. Here, I’ve brought you a nice glass of milk.”

 

I sat up on the edge of the bed in my stupid Frozen night slip, with the cartoon characters emblazoned on the front. One thin spaghetti strap had slipped past my shoulder and so I lifted it back in place as Rosemary sat down beside me and ran her hand through my hair. 

 

“You had such a nasty shock last night when you crashed your car. How was the bed?”

 

“STOP THIS! PLEASE! Just stop this!” I sobbed.

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Seventeen)

“You’re looking good, Elijah. You haven’t changed a bit in all the years since I last saw you.” 

 

Elijah smiled again. “You flatter me, Ashlee. But I could say the same for you. Have you been dipping yourself in the Fountain of Youth? What’s your secret? Do tell?”

 

I smiled back. It was true that I had yet to see any signs of encroaching age. My skin was as clear and wrinkle free as when I had been at college. I’m just lucky, I guess. “You live here?” I asked, as I gazed around the book lined study. 

 

“I do.” Elijah’s smile never wavered. 

 

“I suppose I should ask whether you’ve actually read all these books?”

 

“Hardly. This library belonged to Joseph Curwen. He bought the house in the 1970s. You’ve heard of him?

“Curwen. Yes. I read his case file in Quantico as one of my many assignments. I’m FBI these days. I bet that surprises you, Elijah? Me – FBI?”

 

“Nothing surprises me,” said Elijah as he leaned back in his leather armchair. “Tell me about Joseph Curwen.”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Sixteen)

There was no mistaking the look of surprise on the woman’s face. For a moment she looked confused as her eyes confirmed I was wearing a white silk ribbon in my hair, and then those same eyes glanced down at my brief kilt skirt and white socks.

 

“I don’t understand,” she said. “You wear a white ribbon.”

 

“Uh, yes, but…” I hesitated. What was I going to say, that I hadn’t actually dressed myself this morning? That would sound crazy. “I’m Ashlee Ellis,” I said again. “I can’t believe those men aren’t helping you with your cases.”

 

“I know. It’s a deplorable state of affairs. They know who I am.”

 

I nodded. I didn’t know who she was, of course. I smiled, expecting an introduction of some sort. 

 

“Oh, yes,” she said, “of course. We haven’t been introduced. Cecily Jacqueline Ashton Croft. Of the Croft family.”

 

“Let me guess, you’re related to Lara?” I smiled at my own joke. She probably heard that all the time. 

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Uh, Lara Croft?” There was no recognition on her face. None whatsoever. 

 

“I really don’t know who she is. She must be a different branch of the family.”

 

Okay. Obviously, she didn’t hear that all the time. I tried to suppress a follow up smile that might come across as laughing at her. “So, you know Elijah?”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Fifteen)

 

“Why are you surprised that I know Elijah Bannon?” I asked as Sheriff Root took the car down a side road which began to narrow the further we drove.

 

“Well, he’s an interesting person,” said the Sheriff.

 

“Interesting, how?” I turned to watch his facial expression, for I had been highly trained by the FBI to detect certain tics and reactions in the way a person reacts to questioning. 

 

“He’s a controversial figure around these parts. Quite the enigma. What was he like at school?”

 

“College,” I corrected him. “Mount Holyoke College. He was… driven, I suppose. Both of them were.”

 

“Both?” Sheriff Root seemed interested.

 

“He had a friend – Michael Emery. They were both ambitious young men from good families. They knew what they wanted in life.”

 

“I see.” The car began to bump along the road now as the asphalt gave way to a stretch of gravel. “Well, everyone’s heard of the Emerys and the Bannons. They’re practically two of the founding families of the United States of America.”

 

“So they say.” I gazed out of the window but there was nothing much to see beyond tall hedges on either side. I could tell we were driving up a gentle gradient. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Forty Two

 

Note from your lovely, scatter-brained, blonde storyteller: And now, finally, the last chapter of not only Barbarian of Gor but the whole Roland Martell trilogy. Buckle up, dear readers. The pain isn’t over quite yet. 😊

 

--------------------------------

 

The flagstones of the market square were slick beneath my sandals, slick with crushed figs and spilled wine and, now, my own blood. I felt it warm and sticky along my ribs where one of the warriors had kissed me with his blade; just a shallow cut, but every shallow cut added weight to my limbs. The market had emptied into a ring of faces, voices blurring into a single roar that surged and fell like waves against a harbour wall. I tried to breathe, but the air tasted of dust, iron and fear.

 

Three of them; I kept reminding myself, as if counting might make it less true. Three blades circling, points wavering like the tongues of snakes. No shields among us, just steel and arms holding the steel, and the enticing lie that skill alone will be enough. I was wrong about that. Skill bends when numbers press on it from all sides.

 

And standing to one side, watching with a cruel expression on her face, was Svetlana – several sword thrusts perpetually beyond my reach. 

 

I stepped left, forcing my back towards a fruit stall so at least one of them couldn’t get behind me. My heel kicked a fallen basket, and oranges burst and rolled away, bright as little suns. I nearly slipped as I side-stepped a further thrust from a sword. Screams rippled through the crowd as we fought, as the market square was unexpectedly plunged into violence. One of the men feinted high, and my sword rose to meet him on instinct. I was quick – another benefit of the difference in gravity on Gor, but it wouldn’t be enough to counter their greater numbers. The second man was already there, cutting low. I twisted my body, feeling the bite of cold steel scrape my thigh, fire flaring white-hot. I hissed and stumbled, and the third man darted in, his blade whispering past my ear close enough that I felt the wind of it.

 

Death.

 

If this was to be my death day I would greet it with honour like a man should.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Forty One

 

Note from your fabulous, but still scatter-brained, blonde storyteller: okay, so I really did misjudge how long the ‘final chapter’ would be. Chapter forty-one isn’t quite the end. There’s going to be a final ‘chapter forty-two’ after this one. What am I like? 😉

 

-----------------------------------------

 

I raced down the spiralling stone steps of the tarn cot towers and out onto streets that were now bedecked with garlands and fluttering fabrics in anticipation of the joyful union between the cities of Corcyrus and Torcadino. Announcements were being made throughout the city of the impending companionship, and citizens of Torcadino were being promised a blessed holiday to feast and celebrate the coming alliance between two of Gor’s city states.

 

I pushed through a growing crowd as the overhead sun warmed the flagstones beneath my feet. The streets seemed to breathe with colour. Where yesterday there was only dust and the sober grey of tufa, today the city was being dressed like a triumphant bride. Garlands of laurel and ivy were strung from column to column, looping across the narrow streets so low that the leaves brushed my hair as I passed by. Fresh flowers - roses from the public gardens, bright marigolds, and sprays of myrtle - spilled from baskets hung on doorposts, their scent thick and sweet in the air.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Forty

Note from your beloved, scatterbrained, blonde storyteller: So, this was supposed to be the final chapter to not only Barbarian of Gor, but the whole Roland Martell trilogy that began with Kajirus of Gor, went on to Outcast of Gor before concluding here in Barbarian of Gor. All told, this trilogy definitely counts as one of my ‘major works’ and is my pastiche of the Jason Marshall trilogy that Mr Norman wrote way back when. I layout my stories in broad brushstrokes before I begin writing, working out how many chapters I might need, or how many scenes I might need to fill the chapter count I have in mind. Thing is, this time around I misjudged just how much I still had left to cover in the final chapter. So, the long and short of it is, this isn’t the final chapter after all – there will be a chapter forty one to conclude everything. Think of it like one of those two part endings to a long running TV series. Forty chapters to Kajirus of Gor, forty chapters to Outcast of Gor, and, um, forty-one chapters to Barbarian of Gor. I apologise to anyone with OCD who likes to see things neat and tidy. 😉

 

Now on with the start of the two part finale:

 

----------------------------------

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Kayra. The now empty goblet hung loosely from her fingers.  

 

“Corcyrus has just lost the war,” I said. “It’s over. It’s finally over.”

 

I paced the room, trying to think of something – anything – that might help now and save the day. Adam would know what to do. Adam always knew what to do, and Adam always had a backup plan for every eventuality, but Adam was out of the game now, readying his tarn to leave Torcadino for the sweeping dunes of the Tahari. I was all that was left.

 

“What are you talking about?” Kayra swept towards me, gathering up the long train of her skirts as she followed me to the windows where I gazed out onto the palace grounds. “Do you have some news? What has happened?”

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Nine

“Roland.” 

I turned quickly on the balls of my feet as I heard a woman speak my name. I was on the Avenue of Comus, heading back from the Slaver caste administration building when a richly robed Free Woman stepped forward from the mouth of a side street.

 

Her outer gown was fashioned from the finest, softest satin or shimmering silk, dyed in hues of a vibrant cinnabar red, long and flowing, cut to hang with deceptive simplicity, yet every seam spoke of a master artisan's touch. 

 

Beneath the gown, evident only from the cuffs and the lower hemline, I caught glimpses of a soft, fine linen inner garment that fell almost to her ankles, just slightly longer in length than the outer garment. Her waist was cinched with a girdle - a wide band of finely embroidered cloth, studded with oblique ornamentation. It served a practical purpose in subtly conveying the shape of her body in a way that unbelted robes would not. This is something of a daring proposition on Gor. While not explicitly condemned, as such, the belting of a Free Woman’s robes suggests she is open to being approached by a man, perhaps she is seeking a companionship, or wishing to acknowledge that she might be found pretty in some vain fashion. 

 

Her hair, carefully braided and oiled, was held by silver and gold pins that winked in the sunlight. Soft veils obscured the lower features of her face. Only her eyes made it possible to identify her, for it is said that Goreans are masters of identifying women by their eyes alone. The flash of eye direction, the widening of pupils, the flutter of lashes, the intensity of an interested gaze, or the coquettish nature of a glance to the side; all these things and more are like fingerprints on a woman if you already know her.

 

And I knew this woman.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Eight

 

We dined well at breakfast time on what could possibly be my last day alive before I fell to a vicious sword thrust from Stannis Assante. Felix was my guest, for I wanted to make some vague gesture of contrition in respect of his wounded right arm. I recalled the first time I had seen him since the fight by the main gates of Torcadino; his right arm was in a sling and he was recovering from a vicious sword cut. I should have been there at his side, guarding his flank, but instead I had run after Miss Sally Reeve and been stabbed with her poisoned hair pin.

 

“I regret being unable, at present, to beat your head against that nearby wall,” Felix had remarked, indicating his wounded arm. “And repeatedly. You’ll forgive me, I hope, Roland, for postponing such a thing until my sword arm feels better?”

 

“That’s quite understandable,” I said. “Take your time. Your health comes first, Felix.”

 

Felix smiled and I could see in his eyes that I was sort of forgiven. Felix is a good man. One of the very beat. I swore then and there that I’d never desert him again. 

 

And so we dined lavishly on a late breakfast of sorts, served in the paga tavern of Rubin Clegane. I didn’t stint on the food – I simply ordered platters of everything.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Seven

“Well, you can’t fight him, that’s for sure. You’ll be dead within the first ten ihn,” said Adam.

 

“I don’t intend fighting him. And thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt that I’d last even that long.” We were walking through the streets of Torcadino, having picked up some hot pastries from a nearby food stall. 

 

The ground under my sandals was uneven and dusty with large, worn flagstones that had been polished smooth by centuries of footsteps. It was midday and the streets were a cacophony of sounds: the clatter of cart wheels turning on stones, the shouts of merchants hawking their wares, and the murmur of a hundred passing conversations blending into one vast hum. Adam and I wove through the crowd, navigating a living river of togas and tunics, dodging slaves, soldiers, and citizens alike. The air was rich with a pungent mix of woodsmoke, sweat, and the thick aroma of roasting meat from the nearby thermopolium. I glanced up at the buildings lining the street—tall, imposing structures of brick and concrete, their upper floors occasionally adorned with vibrant frescoes. Torcadino was a thriving series of arteries that pulsed life throughout its maze-like rat run of cylinders and buildings. 

 

“Just give him the slave. That’s all he wants,” said Adam. 

 

“It’s got a little more complicated than that. It seems our beloved Sellius Gavia has heard of the challenge and he sees it as the opportunity for Corcyrus to prove it can stand up to Argentum, and is therefore worthy of having Torcadino as an ally. The long and short of it is, Sellius Gavia insists on having the Kajira Canjellne challenge fought out as a sideshow during Kayra’s Free Companionship ceremony. It’s not me against Stannis. It’s Corcyrus standing up to Argentum. If I back out, Sellius will decide that Corcyrian men are cowards.”

“There’s nothing cowardly about refusing to take part in a one on one challenge against Stannis Assante. That’s just common sense.”

 

“I know that, you know that, but Sellius wants gladiatorial combat before the vows are spoken. It’s not a question of whether I can win – it’s just demonstrating that I’m not afraid.”

 

“But you are afraid,” remarked Adam.

 

“Yeah, I’m practically shitting myself already, and the duel is still a couple of days away.” 

 

“And you’ll be dead,” said Adam.

 

“Yeah, probably.”

 

“There’s no probably about it.” 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Six

Three days after our troubling encounter with Sellius Gavia, Stannis Assante rode into the city of Torcadino.

 

He was accompanied by the huntresses, Svetlana and Mishka, and a small band of his most loyal men. The news was delivered to me in my sumptuous apartments in the eastern wing of the palace by Gaius Antony.

 

“The matter is more than a little awkward,” Gaius admitted as he drank a small ka-la-na with me that afternoon. “Obviously, and I must stress this to set your mind at ease, you enjoy a degree of diplomatic protection as you are an ambassador from a city that is soon to be our ally.” 

 

“I should hope so,” I said by way of reply.

 

A dark haired slave knelt close enough to respond promptly to commands, but not so close that she might intrude in a conversation between men. At the mention of Stannis Assante her body seemed to react. She glanced up in surprise.

 

“Eyes down, girl,” I reminded her. The girl swiftly lowered her eyes again. She looked beautiful in her brief tunic and steel collar. She knelt in nadu with her thighs open before us for there were no Free Women present who might object. Her hands rested, palms down, on the softness of her thighs. Women are just so incredibly beautiful when they are collared. Steel seems so natural when locked about their delicate throats. And I think they know this when they are finally enslaved. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Five

This was the life for a Hero of Gor!

 

I lay slumped against the edge of a wide Roman style heated bath that measured approximately sixteen feet by eight while two naked slave girls soaped and washed me with the sort of loving care and dutiful attention that a Hero of Gor deserved. Close to hand, served on bronze plates at the side of the bathing pool, was an excellent goblet of wine and a selection of cheeses, cured meats and fruit. A third slave girl was delicately peeling each of the black grapes in turn and feeding them to me between her teeth. I took each grape in turn and then kissed those luscious lips as they leaned towards me.

 

The air was scented with jasmine, and soft flute and harp music was being plucked and teased from instruments some chambers away. I felt at peace at last as I lay in the warm water, feeling those soft kajira hands please me. One of the girls – Koya – was oiling my penis, which was by now completely rigid and protruding like a ferocious sea monster from the depths. Ahh, bliss. 

 

“Does Master like that?” asked Koya as she did things to my shaft that I really can’t describe. 

 

I sighed. “You’re the best, Koya – the very best.”

 

“Thank you, Master.” 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Four

 

Kayra tried to prolong my visit for I think she sensed that the next time I might see her it would be with a brand on her left thigh and hoop rings through her earlobes. So long as I remained beside the kennel bars that moment might be postponed indefinitely. 

 

“Just a few ehn longer, please, Master,” she begged. She reached with her fingers through the bars, but the jailer would not permit me to touch a slave that could not be verified as my property. He struck the bars with a wooden rod, and Kayra swiftly withdrew her hand. “I love you,” she said, as she stared out at me. “There, I’ve said it. I love a man I may never have. A man who…” she hesitated, afraid of what she must say, “I belong to in my dreams, body and soul.”

 

“If she isn’t your property, she certainly wants to be,” said the jailer as he escorted me back along the row of other kennel cages. I knew there was no point arguing with the man that I didn’t want Kayra branded. Until I could prove she was my property I had no say in the matter, and time was running out. With less than six ahn until the metal worker came for her, I couldn’t waste even a single ehn. 

 

I emerged back onto the street and considered my options. 

 

That didn’t take long. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Three

 

It took some effort, and my muscles screamed and protested every inch of the way, but I forced myself first into a seated and upright position on the marble slab, and then as circulation returned to my legs I pushed up onto my feet again.

 

Like Lazarus, I had risen. 

 

One thing was for sure, I’d better not get into any fights for a while. Sometimes you just get a sense of where you stand relative to sea level, and I felt sure I was in some underground chamber beneath the city. I gazed up at the barred windows – each one too narrow for a man to squeeze through – and I got the sense that the windows were at street level, approximately fourteen feet above me. 

 

I took a deep breath, and then another deep breath. Each breath hurt, but not nearly as badly as in the narrow side passage when Sally and Kayra had been fighting like two rival alley cats. 

 

This had to be some sort of mausoleum; somewhere that bodies could be taken to and stored prior to any official funeral rites being served. I had no idea how I had survived the toxin, but then I had no idea either why a passing sleen had chewed through my leather bindings when Sally had left me to die in the woods. I was beginning to wonder if supernatural forces really were keeping me alive for some unfathomable reason. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Two

 

My breath had the rasping sound of a punctured aqualung, and I felt a tightness in my chest as if an anvil had been placed there pressing down on me. It was so hard to breathe. 

 

“You’re dying, Roland,” said Sally Reeve as she watched my face turn purple. “Well, I mean, we’re all dying of course, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day – it’s the nature of the human condition, isn’t it? Ever since I was born I started to decay. Do you know that song?  But you’re sort of a hundred metres sprinter now, so close to the finishing line compared to all the marathon runners out there. The toxin is working its way through your body. Does it hurt?”

 

I sucked in some partial breath and felt my lungs burn as I did so. I couldn’t speak more than a word or two.

 

“I think it does hurt. Why didn’t you listen to me before? Women are superior to men in all respects, save for a few inconsequential physical traits. And I think I’ve just demonstrated that, haven’t I?” She leaned forward, not afraid of me anymore. “Will it be a little easier if I kiss you, hmm?” My lips were numb from the toxin, but I was vaguely aware of Sally kissing me. “I honestly will miss you, Roland. If it’s any consolation…” she laughed to herself in a self-conscious manner. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but I’ve thought about you a few times since the Inn. Can I tell you a secret? Just between you and me? Just before you die? Will you promise to never tell anyone?”

 

Another tortured breath. Another wracking spasm of pain. I tried to lift my right hand but it barely cleared the cobblestone paving slabs. It felt so heavy, so I let it fall. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty One

 

And there she stood – the great walled city of Torcadino - the jewel of central Gor - if you believed the citizens of Torcadino. To the east were the Flats of Sarpeto, and if you ventured even further east you would then reach the mighty Voltai mountain range. Beyond those mountains lay the lands known as the Barrens, of which the less said the better, and we would not be going anywhere near there. 

 

“We made it,” said Felix as he slowed his pace. ‘Hai Corcyrus!” He raised his sword arm in a triumphant fist. Kayra, who was standing beside me, cheered. 

 

“Let’s walk through the great gates before we celebrate,” suggested Adam as he watched the thin line of travellers ahead of us passing in and out of the city. 

 

“You’re expecting trouble in the last three hundred yards?” I said.

 

“It’s my job to expect trouble all the time,” he replied. “This is the moment that will be the most dangerous for us. Our enemies might not know how and where we travelled, but they certainly know what our destination is. If you wanted to be absolutely certain of finding us, where would you position the best of your men?”

 

“At the entrance of Torcadino,” I said. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty

 

“You seem to have a habit of crossing my path,” said Darian Athuk as he gazed at me. “First you were a kajirus, then you were an Outlaw. What are you today?”

 

“A slaver,” I said with some satisfaction. “We now share the same caste.” 

 

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

 

“My papers.” There was probably a trace of smugness as I showed him official papers stamped by the caste of Slavers in Corcyrus. The Tatrix had arranged these papers along with my papers of citizenship. It was an advance thank you for services rendered to her. 

 

“Congratulations,” said Darian, drily, without any trace of real warmth or affection in his voice as he handed the papers back. “Should I expect you to be an Ubar the next time I see you?”

 

“One can only hope.” 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty Nine

The play had concluded by the time I emerged back into the theatrical field. Now the stage was being cleared of its various props and makeshift scenery, and the actresses were no doubt readying themselves to receive the first of their amorous visitors. Not everyone had moved on yet. I could see maybe fifty to sixty men still loitering in the field, drinking and laughing. Behind me, the paga tent belonging to Rubin Clegane would continue to do good business. Another of the tent’s paga slaves hurried past me, skipping lightly on the balls of her feet to deliver paga to a group of men on my left. She was lovely, but she wasn’t Kelly Milford. My mind was focussed now on two direct questions – would Clegane sell Kelly to me, and, assuming he would, what would her price be?

 

I checked my funds. They were sufficient for day to day living, and living well, but Kelly would not be cheap. She was obviously an asset to the paga tavern, and by now many men would be familiar with her service and would visit simply to enjoy her in particular. One should never underestimate the value of an established paga slave. Men can be sentimental, returning time and time again for the same girl. Replacing Kelly ran the risk of turning away some of her regular customers. 

 

Torches and lanterns now illuminated the theatrical field and other fields beyond this one. The more extravagant areas also enjoyed the benefit of energy bulbs that provided artificial illumination many times more powerful than Earth light bulbs. But energy bulbs were expensive and most market stalls in the Fair wouldn’t stretch that far. 

 

I felt a yearning for Kelly despite my having already had her tonight. Putting her to use the once only made me want to be with her again. The more I thought back to our previous encounters the harder it became for me to accept I wouldn’t be sleeping with her curled against my body tonight. Her absence actually felt painful. Would she feel the same? I didn’t want to delude myself that I was in any way her Love Master, but there was no mistaking the emotions she stirred in me. My imagination ran riot and I conjured up in my mind all manner of nightmare scenarios where some other man was speaking to Rubin Clegane at this very moment, offering a pouch of silver to buy her. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty Eight

 

Kelly fucking Milford… standing before me in diaphanous pleasure silk.

 

She had of course spilled the paga the moment she recognised me. In fairness, I might have done the same if I were in her place. 

 

“Kelly,” I said, as I gazed down at her. Her mouth opened and then closed in shock surprise. Those lips were perfectly rouged, as would be expected of a paga slave. Spilled paga slopped around on the tray, much to Felix’s anguish. 

 

I instantly remembered the train, the tent, our frantic love making back on Earth. I have enjoyed a lot of women since all this began, but I think Kelly had been the hottest girl I’d had so far. There was an unfettered passion that seemed to take control of her when she was aroused, and from memory she became aroused very quickly. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that she had ended up as a paga slave. Of course she was a paga slave. 

 

“Our paga!” Felix cried. “Clumsy slave!”

 

“Please forgive me, Master,” cried Kelly, as she suddenly realised what had happened. This was bad for any paga slave. Such a girl did not risk spilling anything from the cups. If she did she would have to return to the paga tent to obtain replacements. She would be punished, if not immediately, because the tent was probably very busy by now, then later, after the tent had closed. In all likelihood the girl would be whipped and then caged. Paga slaves did not spill paga, not ever. It was the worst thing they could possibly do. 

 

“It’s okay, Felix, I’ve got this.”

 

“She spilled our paga!”

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty Seven

 

The two ‘free women’ who took to the stage were of course luscious kajirae dressed in the type of theatrical garb that was common place to represent robed and veiled women. While they wore robes of concealment to a point, said robes were of cheap but brightly coloured rep cloth fabric and were cut high on the calves of the women, showing off rather more of the lower legs than an actual free woman would ever be comfortable with.

 

“I’ve bought some nuts roasted in honey,” said Felix as he returned from the nearby market stalls to flaunt a sweet smelling paper bag under our noses. Nearby men were walking around the theatre field beginning to light torches and lanterns that hung from poles hammered into the soft ground.

 

“What about our paga?” asked Adam.

 

“That’s coming. I paid an extra copper tarsk bit it so I wouldn’t have to carry the paga from the tent. I didn’t want to spill any of it. It’s a boisterous crowd and it’ll only get more rowdy once the actresses start to strip.”

 

Which of course they would. This was a Boots Tarsk Bit play, and that generally followed a predictable format. 

 

“Honey nuts?” said Felix as he offered the bag to me.

 

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty Six

 

It rained solidly for the next two days, which seemed to reflect my dour, gloomy mood as we marched even closer to Torcadino. We were now well in the sphere of control claimed by that city state and with each passing pasang under our feet there was less chance that foreign enemy forces might penetrate deeply enough to intercept us. The closer we got to the city walls the better the outlying security imposed by that state’s military forces became. 

 

The heavy rain added to our optimism for it meant that our scent would be washed away, making it difficult for tracking sleen to find us. Not that I believed there were any tracking sleen following us.

 

Refugees from Corcyrus became few and far between now that we had put some considerable distance between us and the city walls. In truth, most citizens had chosen to remain in their city, for Corcyrus was said to still be fighting with grim determination, and most citizens will not abandon their Home Stone until all hope is lost. That said, we heard stories that Ar had sent some legions to bolster the armed might of Argentum, and now the struggle was weighted heavily on the side of our enemy. The fog of war meant we couldn’t be sure what was happening at the frontline, nor where the frontline now stood, but Adam confirmed one night that our city’s situation would be very grim indeed if we failed to secure aid from Torcadino.

 

“We need their armies,” he said. “The warriors of Corcyrus are dying in their hundreds every day to buy us enough time to secure an alliance. We can’t let their deaths be in vain.” His words were meant especially for me. “We don’t have the luxury of self-pity, Roland. I understand you have suffered more than one tragedy, but this is bigger than you or me. Our men, our women, and our children hope with each passing day that Torcadino will come to their aid. That is all that should concern you.”

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty Five

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. These men were my brothers. 

 

I ran towards Rolfe as he lay on his back in the damp grass, his body convulsing from two well aimed gun shot wounds. His sword lay fallen, several yards away from his right hand.

 

“Rolfe!” I dropped to my knees beside him and pressed down with my hands on the most serious looking of the two gunshot wounds, trying hard to staunch the blood flow. He seemed to be in shock. “Stay with me!” I cried. “Keep your eyes open, damn you! You’re not going to die! You’re not going to die!”

 

“Sword…” he croaked as blood coated his lips. “My sword… the Gods…” the fingers of his right hand opened and closed futilely, trying to reach a hilt that was beyond his grasp. “Roland… my sword…”

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twenty Four

 

Rolfe reached the top of the summit and took a moment to gaze directly at me with an ambiguous expression.

 

“Roland,” he said, after a slight pause.

 

“Rolfe,” I said back. “It is good to see you, brother.”

 

“No it isn’t,” said Rolfe. His heavy shield was already unslung from his shoulders and he had it gripped with his left arm. “I see you have fallen in with new sword brothers.” His eyes regarded Adam and Felix, seemingly sizing them up.

 

“They are good men, Rolfe,” I began. “This is Adam, and this is…”

 

“Their names are irrelevant,” said Rolfe, cutting me off. “I do not need to be introduced to men who will soon be dead.”