Gods of Gor: Prologue

 

I pressed myself against the cold stone wall at the top of the basement steps, the unlit torch trembling in my hands. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to move, but I couldn’t risk it. Not yet. The catacombs below were treacherous enough, but the danger above was far more immediate.

 

The faint scrape of bare feet against stone echoed through the corridors. My heart slammed in my chest as I heard the Talunas searching for me. I had run swiftly from them — these lithe, beautiful, and utterly lethal women, dressed only in the skins of animals, carrying long, sharp spears that glinted in the torchlight. They moved like predators, graceful and silent, their bodies coiled with deadly strength honed by years of hunting. I knew, without question, that I was no match for any of them.

 

I crouched lower, trying to make myself as small as possible, pressing my back against the damp wall. Torchlight from distant wall sconces flickered across the water pooling at my feet, leaving most of the chamber in shadow. I dared not move, dared not breathe too loudly. My knuckles whitened as I clutched the cold torch in my right hand, not daring to light it just yet. I wanted Brinn to be by my side. Brinn would keep me safe! Every instinct screamed that a single mistake would bring the Talunas down on me like a storm of claws and blades.

 

From several chambers away, I heard the soft murmur of voices, low and deliberate, punctuated by the scrape of spears sliding against stone. They were searching, methodical, moving with the confidence of those who had stalked and killed before. I pressed my forehead to the wall, letting the meagre light from wall sconces illuminate carvings along the chamber — beasts like jaguars poised to strike, serpents coiling around human forms, figures frozen mid-hunt. My stomach knotted. I felt as though the walls themselves were watching me, judging me.

 

Xuchotl. The eternal, ancient city of Xuchotl, lost for hundreds of years in the sweltering jungles east of Schendi. 

 

A city of nightmares.

 

And we had discovered it. 

 

I inched sideways along the wall, careful not to splash through the shallow water that dripped incessantly from the vaulted ceiling that covered the entire city. My feet slipped once, sending a small splash echoing through the chamber. My pulse leapt, and I froze, waiting for the inevitable cry, the alarm that would unleash the Talunas upon me. The water stilled as I held my breath. Bare footsteps moved on in a nearby chamber - passing through the ancient rooms, barely furnished anymore with the scant remains of rotting wood and decaying velvets. I caught a glimpse of one of the fierce Talunas in the faint torchlight — her skin bronze and taut, muscles rippling beneath the animal skins she wore, long spear in hand. Her eyes glinted with a predatory intelligence, the grace of someone who knew the equatorial rain forest, the ruins, and the art of hunting a slave girl better than I could ever know. Another Taluna passed, equally striking, every movement fluid and precise. They were everywhere, encircling the chamber like a tide, beautiful and deadly, seeking me as their prey.

 

I hugged the wall, letting my back brush the jagged stone, torch held close, illuminating more carvings of serpents and dark skinned jaguar-headed warriors. My fingers traced the grooves, trying to calm my shaking, trying to remind myself I was still alive. But the fear clawed at my chest. The Talunas would not hesitate. They would not show mercy.

 

Then came the sound again — deliberate, measured, and impossibly close from somewhere deep below in the sunken catacombs. What the Hell was that? That wasn’t a Taluna. I recalled the legends of the Crawler in the Darkness, and how it was supposed to prowl the subterranean chambers beneath Xuchotl. My head snapped down, torch shaking, and in the shadows, I thought I glimpsed a ripple through the shadows. 

 

“Pretty kajira,” cried one of the Talunas, “we know you are hiding from us. Come out little silk thing… come out and play.”

 

I held my breath. I couldn’t go down there. There was something down there! I had heard something! But here in the chambers of the enclosed city that never saw sunlight, the Talunas were searching for me. 

 

“If you make us hunt you, you will be whipped,” cried another Taluna. “Your sweet, precious skin will know the bite of my lash. Come out. Show us obeisance like the soft slave you are.”

 

“So soft,” laughed another Taluna. 

 

“So helpless and alone in the dark,” said a third.

 

“We shall hunt and kill your masters,” cried the first Taluna. 

 

“Men are forbidden in Xuchotl, except as slaves!”

 

“We will hammer two more red nails into the obsidian pillar. Two more deaths to satisfy our Gods!”

 

A plan formed in my mind, born of desperation. I would lead the hunters away from me… and down.

 

I moved slowly at first, silent as a shadow. The Talunas’ voices floated down the corridors, low and musical but laced with deadly precision. They paused now and then, sniffing the air, sensing something. I hugged the wall, water squishing beneath my bare feet, and let my eyes adjust to the gloom.

 

The upper chambers above the catacombs were a labyrinth of stone passageways, old ceremonial rooms, and collapsed platforms. Every step I took was calculated: a shift in weight here, a toe turned there, a careful glide across slick stone. The Talunas swept past, just out of reach, moving with lethal grace. Their bare feet made barely a sound, but I could sense their proximity in the way the shadows bent and quivered, the faintest draught brushing against my skin.

 

I slipped behind a fallen column, holding my breath as one of the warrior women passed, eyes scanning the walls for movement, always alert, always poised to strike. The spear she carried glinted under the torchlight, long and deadly, and my stomach twisted. She paused, sniffing, head tilting slightly. I could almost feel the intelligence behind those eyes — they weren’t just hunters; they were predators born to kill. The sound of my heart pounding seemed too loud, threatening to betray me, but somehow, I remained still, pressed into shadow.

 

I edged forward when they moved on, careful to step over broken stone tiles and avoid puddles that would splash. My gaze flickered over more intricate carvings, panels depicting jaguars tearing into serpents, warriors in masks frozen mid-leap. I used the shadows to my advantage, letting the darkness swallow me as I crept toward a narrow staircase leading down.

 

A hiss of movement above made me freeze. One of the Talunas was closer now, pacing the edge of the chamber. I crouched low, as my fingers clenched at the stone, searching for handholds. She sniffed again, a low murmur leaving her lips, and then, with a graceful pivot, she moved on. My knees shook as I exhaled silently, relief and terror mingling in equal measure.

 

I reached the stone steps leading down into the catacombs, the surfaces slick beneath my feet. From below came the rasping sound again, closer now, a promise of something ancient and inhuman. I swallowed hard. The Talunas had never ventured down here — they whispered that no warrior dared enter the depths where the Crawler lived.

 

This would be my only chance.

 

I took a careful step down, letting the darkness embrace me. The sound of water dripping and stone echoing filled my ears, masking the scraping of my descent. Above, I could hear the Talunas still moving, searching, their voices carrying faintly through the stone. One of them gave a sharp exhale, a warning, and I felt my pulse spike. My escape was precarious; one misstep and I would be caught before I reached the depths.

 

The staircase widened into a sloping tunnel, descending into an abyss of shadow. Away from the huntresses, I scraped with my stolen firelighter and saw the thin wooden brand I carried splutter into flame. My torchlight flickered against the walls, revealing carvings even older, more sinister — figures of twisted creatures, half-serpent, half-human, clawed hands reaching toward the darkness. I let out a silent breath, knowing this was the only path left. The Talunas would not follow me here. Their fear of the Crawler kept them above, leaving me alone… for now.

 

I descended, every step careful, letting the torch illuminate just enough to see the path ahead. My heart pounded, my body tensed, and I knew I was moving into a place far older, far darker, than I had imagined — a place where even the hunters feared to tread, and where whatever awaited below would not be so easily avoided.

 

If it existed at all. 

 

I told myself it was just a legend, a bogeyman that struck fear into the hearts of these wild women. 

 

The tunnel narrowed further as I descended, water pooling deeper with every step. My feet squelched, sending tiny ripples that glimmered under the torchlight. Every droplet seemed to echo through the stone, magnifying my fear. The Talunas’ voices above were now faint murmurs, indistinct through the thick stone. I forced myself to keep moving, leaning against the walls when the slope became steep, letting the torch cast light only as far as necessary.

 

The carvings along the walls grew more grotesque the deeper I went. Twisted hybrid figures, serpents intertwined with jaguar heads, humanoid creatures with claws and insectile limbs — the artistry was ancient, but the depictions were almost alive in the flickering torchlight. I pressed my hand to one relief, feeling the grooves worn smooth by centuries, and shivered. I wasn’t alone here. Something had been watching for a very long time.

 

A faint scraping sound echoed from deeper in the tunnel. My pulse jumped. Not the Talunas. Too heavy. Too deliberate. I froze, torch in hand, every sense straining. The sound came again, closer, faint but unmistakable — claws dragging lightly across stone, deliberate and careful, measured. My stomach twisted into knots. I had heard the whispers: the Crawler in the Darkness. The predator the Talunas feared. And now, by some terrible luck, it knew I was here.

 

I moved faster, but as silently as I could, feet sliding through shallow water, keeping the torch low. The tunnel twisted, sloped, and opened into a wide chamber, the ceiling high and supported by jagged pillars. Water pooled across the floor in shallow lakes. Reliefs of serpents and jaguars spiralled again around the walls, ancient glyphs warning intruders to stay away. I kept my back to the wall, scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement.

 

A low scrape sounded behind me. I froze. My breath caught. Slowly, carefully, I turned just enough to see it: a massive shape in the gloom, limbs folded but twitching, antennae flicking. The Crawler. Even at a distance, its size was impossible, its carapace glinting in the torchlight like burnished bronze. My throat went dry. I swallowed, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst through my ribs.

 

The creature stood taller than any man, its body elongated and angular, built from a nightmare geometry that felt wrong in the way it occupied space. Its carapace was segmented and armoured, each plate overlapping the next like ancient bronze forged by something that had never known softness. The surface caught the torchlight in dull, oily gleams, dark green and black shot through with veins of amber, as though age itself had stained it.

 

Its head was triangular and alien, mounted on a narrow, flexible neck that allowed it to tilt and turn with unnerving precision. The eyes dominated its face - large, faceted orbs that reflected light in fractured shards. They were not mindless eyes. They watched, tracked, calculated. When they fixed on me, I felt measured, weighed, and found wanting.

 

Long antennae swept the air constantly, trembling with minute movements, tasting the space around it. I realized with a surge of terror that it was sensing me in ways beyond sight - feeling the vibration of my breath, the heat of my body, the tremor in my fear.

 

Its forelimbs were the most horrifying part.

 

They were massive, jointed scythes, folded inward with a false stillness that screamed restrained violence. The inner edges were serrated, ridged with hooked spines meant to grip and hold. I could imagine those limbs snapping closed with sudden speed, pinning prey in a single, final motion. Even at rest, they twitched slightly, eager, alive with lethal purpose.

 

Four additional limbs supported its weight, jointed like pillars yet moving with terrifying grace. When it walked, it did not lumber or scrape - it flowed, each step precise and controlled, claws finding stone with a quiet confidence that told me it had hunted here for centuries. The sound it made was subtle: a dry clicking from its mandibles, a faint rasp of chitin against rock, like stone remembering how to bleed.

 

Its mandibles themselves were layered and complex, opening and closing slowly, thoughtfully. They were not simply tools for feeding but instruments of dominance, clicking and grinding as if in contemplation. When it did this, I felt an instinctive dread far deeper than fear—a recognition that I was standing before a perfect predator, one that did not rush, did not panic, and did not need to.

 

There were remnants of the catacombs etched into its body—scratches along its armour, chips in the edges of its limbs, even faint traces of ancient carvings worn smooth where it had brushed against walls for generations. It belonged to this place so completely that it felt less like an intruder and more like a living extension of the ruins themselves.

 

It moved, and the shadows danced across the chamber, elongating its limbs, its mandibles clicking in a rhythm that made my teeth ache. 

 

Its large faceted eyes turned on me and, as it did so, I opened my mouth and screamed. 

Happy New Year. :)