Outcast of Gor Chapter Forty (Final Chapter)

 

Destiny is all. Those words would come to haunt and shape my life over the days, weeks and months that followed. I would be dragged into the Argentum/Corcyrus war as an unwitting participant, and I would see it through to the end, and all because a young girl looked at me in awe and respect, as if I was her saviour. 

 

Destiny is all. 

 

She spoke the words and meant them. 

 

“Lady, you have an overly inflated opinion of me. I was simply in the right place at the right time, and I was lucky.”

 

“Destiny is all,” she said again. “Please walk with me, Sir.”

 

And so I did. I should have turned round, said my farewells, and gone back to the market to reclaim my slaves. I should have enjoyed my life in Corcyrus, and had nothing more to do with war, politics, or the innocent young daughter of the Tatrix. 

 

You will probably think me a fool for what follows.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Nine

 

I suppose I must have looked surprised.

 

The Tatrix certainly seemed amused by my reaction to her walking into the dining hall this morning. 

 

“You’re staring,” she remarked as she walked idly towards a side table on which an array of breakfast foods were laid out in presentation style. The table was covered with a brightly woven cloth, and on top of it there were golden platters, gleaming bowls, and ornate plates, each one filled with a different delicacy. The centre of the table boasted a platter of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, its crust golden and crispy, while next to it I could take my pick from bowls of rich, creamy yoghurt, topped with a swirl of honey and garnished with fresh mint leaves. And besides that, begging to be tasted, a plate of ripe, juicy fruit - figs, dates, and oranges - adding a burst of colour as well as flavour to the table.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Eight

 

This could easily be the Tatrix of Corcyrus standing before me, stripped and ankle braceleted, her hair unbound, and her voluptuous curves garbed only in a gauze like wrap of fabric that hung loosely from her shoulders. 

 

But such a thought was clearly ridiculous. The Tatrix of Corcyrus would not present herself in my chambers late at night, alone, vulnerable, in the guise of a captive woman of Isurium.

 

I walked towards this woman, wishing the light was better. 

 

“You are the Lady Tulia Fava?”

 

“I am.” She folded her arms about her upper body and refused to look at me. She struck a haughty pose that was perhaps intentionally provocative and challenging to a man.

 

“Lower your arms. You are not to cross them again in my presence.”

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Seven

I was permitted, within certain limits, to explore the inner palace at my leisure. Occasionally I might roam too far and find myself confronted by guardsmen who, having been appraised of the circumstances of my residency, would politely direct me away from the doors that presumably led to the outer palace and the streets beyond the plazas and surrounding stone walls that were forbidden to me. 

 

The architecture both inside and outside the palace walls resembled certain features of the classical Renaissance. Crow-stepped gables, porticoes and architectural decorations were carved in stone. Oak and dark woods, coffered ceilings and wooden panelling with divisions, facets and panels were found in abundance. These sometimes had painted or inlaid motifs of elaborate painterly detail and exquisite brushwork rendering. What furniture there was (Gorean interiors can be very minimalist in that regard) appeared in freestanding form, with chests often featuring rich pictorial carvings, heavier tables with baluster legs, and easily movable furniture of a simpler nature such as trestle tables and benches. The furnishing, on the whole tended towards a rectangular profile.

 

My feet brought me to a grand library with recessed alcoves and wooden frames designed to hold tens of thousands of scrolls. Being largely illiterate, I could only gaze at this vast literary marvel and shake my head with regret. Scribes busied themselves between the heavy racks, filing, cataloguing and archiving various papers. They spared me little attention, except if I found myself standing in their way, which might prompt some sounds of indignation and a degree of ill-mannered tutting. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Six

“I’m surprised you’re telling me this, your Grace. And… just why are you telling me this?”  

 

People in power aren’t normally this frank, especially not to people they don’t know from Adam. The last thing I wanted was to be entrusted with confidences that might later get me killed, simply because I knew too much.  

 

“I’m confirming what you already know, Roland of Newark.” It was the first time she had used my name, and I suppose she used it precisely so that I understood she had enquired about me. 

 

“I am no longer of Newark,” I said. “I am an outlaw.” I held my left hand up with the brand clear as day. 

 

“Argentum made you an outlaw, yes?”

 

I nodded as I lowered my hand. 

 

“You have reason to hate Argentum, then.”

 

“I have reason to hate a good many people, your Grace. It would be a long list.” 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Five

“I’m just processing that,” I said. “Where I come from, a mother would be grateful that a man had saved her daughter’s life.”

 

The Tatrix was about a foot shorter than me. Her robes were bright, rich, and very expensive. She looked regal as she regarded me, with her rat like First Minister, Laskar Tagaris, standing close by her side. He seemed to frown each time I spoke, as if no matter what I said, he didn’t think it was appropriate speech to be directed at his regal Tatrix.

 

“There is still time to have him killed, your Grace. With all due respect, I have a couple of men on standby. They are professional stranglers from Schendi. It will be quick and relatively painless.”

 

The Tatrix brushed aside the suggestion with a languid sweep of her left hand.

 

“My rule is built on the principles of honour,” she said. “Without honour, my rule means nothing to my people. Already they talk in the markets and the paga taverns of what occurred in the gardens of Caphius. Word has spread. Men ask who this man was, and where he is now. They know he was taken by guardsmen. They enquire after his well-being. They ask whether he is to be honoured.”

 

“Idle chatter,” suggested Laskar Tagaris. “The babbling of inconsequential fools. They will soon grow distracted by other news. With your permission, your Grace, I have already arranged a number of topical issues that my agents are poised to spread like wildfire through the paga taverns. Paid tongues will quickly wag with alacrity! Within a couple of days the simple rabble will be obsessed by these new matters, forgetting what transpired in the market and gardens of Caphius a week ago.”

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Four

 

I have never understood the concept of men digging their own grave, or, to put it another way, submitting meekly to their own death. I remember as a kid watching a film in which one man pointed a gun at another man and ordered him to dig a grave for himself, and even at that young age I thought, why doesn’t the man try to fight? Yes, the odds are against him, but he’s going to die anyway. He has a shovel in his hands. That’s a weapon. Have a go. What do you have to lose? Worst case scenario – your murderer has to do the digging himself. 

 

“You’re not putting a noose on me,” I said as I readied myself for a fight. 

 

“Shackle his hands,” said the lead guard. 

 

“Like fuck you will.” I needed a weapon, but there wasn’t anything in the cell I could pick up and use. Okay, fine, I’d use my hands, and I’d at least die fighting. I know how to use my hands. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Three

 

Trust me when I say, a sky diving tarn is a terrifying prospect. 

 

The typical war tarn has a wing span of thirty or more feet and is a monstrous, savage, killing machine that can power dive from cloud level without warning, emitting a terror screech that can curdle the blood of even the bravest warrior. In military combat, the only protection against a sudden tarn strike is a phalanx formation of long spears that can bristle out like the spines of a hedgehog. Arrayed in tight formation, such a spear wall can unnerve a tarn and perhaps entice it to find other prey. But here in the open park grounds of the city market of Caphius, the lone guardsmen were armed only with short swords, lacking even a shield. 

 

Screams sounded from every direction as men and women fled in panic, trampling one another in an uncoordinated rout to escape the talons and razor beak of this war tarn. 

 

But this was no random assault. I could see the tarnsman was guiding his mount with the four strap which compels the great bird to descend at a speed relative to the pressure on the strap, aiming to swoop low across the ground in the direction of the richly dressed female. She too was fleeing, but like all Free Women, she was encumbered by her heavy gowns and robes, making it impossible to run at normal speeds. The long gowns of a woman reach to her ankles and effectively restrict the movement of her legs. Her garments effectively hobble her and make it comparatively easy for a tarnsman to seize such a prize. Slaves of course are not hindered by their brief slave tunics, and they are quite capable of fleeing at top speed.  

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty Two

 

And so, this was the day when my life changed dramatically once more. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or perhaps the right place at the right time, depending on how you look at it. Whatever, today was the day when my life was destined to finally have some meaning on this planet. 

 

But I’m getting slightly ahead of myself.  

 

One of the things recommended by the caste of slavers is that a master should control and regulate the orgasms permitted to his slave. 

 

“Oh! Please! Please, Master, I beg you!” Clara writhed helplessly in my arms as I looked deep into her eyes. Her wrists were tied tightly to two separate slave rings, but other than that she was free to wriggle and moan to her heart’s content.

 

This of course assumes that a master is capable of reading the tell-tale signs in his slave’s body, and is able to determine when she is getting close to a possible climax. This knowledge takes time and patience and some effort on the part of her master, requiring him to know his girl, to understand the exquisite responses her body is capable of. But then, part of the pleasure of owning a girl is to know her completely. If you own a girl, you soon find you develop a keen interest in assessing and understanding all her quirks and mannerisms. She is yours, after all. You would wish to explore what she is capable of, in much the same way you would want to push the limits of an expensive sports car you had bought. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty One

 

“Ten days ago the Governor of Isurium threatened me with news that the legions of Cato Marius had entrenched themselves to the south of the river Agosta, and that they would advance in good order to join with the legions of Castus Prinium, and push deep into Corcyrian territory.” Aliyyah gazed at her people in the light of the burning torches that surrounded the plaza, as she spoke clearly and powerfully. “I was ordered to surrender. Surrender, he said. The message was delivered to me in the form of a scytale ribbon tied in the hair of a whipped slave who had once been the former Lady Farzenah of Corcyrus – a woman who had been claimed by the last levy of our Free Women that our former Tatrix had permitted in this glorious city – and also a woman who had been my friend before I had been blessed with your faith in me. It was intended as both an insult and a threat. It was the last ever levy of our Free Women, for I have refused to submit to the yoke of Argentum, and I have refused to place any more of our brave Free Women in Argentum collars. The Governor told me that I was but a woman – that my right hand was weak - and that the legions of Argentum are invincible. Invincible, he said. He told me he would be merciful; that General Cato himself would spare my life and that of my daughter, and that we need only submit to the collars of Argentum, on our knees, with our heads down, kissing the boots of Cato of Argentum.” She paused, letting those words sink in to the assembled thousands who lined the plaza. “He ordered me to kneel and bend my head in submission to the throne of Argentum. I told him that he was right to state I am but a woman. I know my limitations. I know my place. I know how physically frail I am.” She raised her right hand high in the air. “This hand is obviously not the right hand of a man. This is not the right hand of a warrior. I know who I am. I know that men are far stronger than me. I do not doubt that. But you and I know another truth. This is NOT my right hand.” She paced back and forth along the length of the twentieth step. “My right hand is General Linus Trillium of Corcyrus! My chosen commander! The man I have entrusted with the security of our glorious city! HE is my true right hand, and I told the governor, that where my right hand brandishes a blade in the name of Corcyrus, there the legions of Argentum will be scattered like wheat before the scythe!”

Outcast of Gor Chapter Thirty

 

“Uh-lee-yuh! Uh-lee-yuh!” 

 

The crowd was shouting her name, now – the name of their Tatrix: Aliyyah Mercator. We had arrived early, and as the plaza quickly filled up, I could understand why. She was attracting a huge crowd. As the sun set overhead, a thousand long pole torches were lit around the square, bathing the palace plaza in flickering light. It seemed to me like some ancient Roman take on the Nuremburg Rally.

 

A line of warriors with shields and spears stood at the foot of the one hundred and one steps that led up to the front of the palace. At intervals of twenty five steps, there was a flat platform where a man or woman might stand and address the milling throng, choosing just how high above the crowd he wished to be. I could see the large double doors to the palace courtyard were swung wide open. There was a sense of anticipation as the crowd watch closely for any sign of movement that might be the Tatrix emerging to address her people.

 

I stood beside the Lady Herminia. I was her escort tonight, and it was my duty, for I supposedly shared caste with her, to ensure her safety. I doubt she could see much. Like most Gorean women, she was far shorter than a man. If you’ve ever been to a festival or a stadium Rock gig with a girlfriend, you will understand the frustration of your girlfriend as she complains bitterly that all she can see are the backs of the men standing in front of her. 

 

“Uh-lee-yuh! Uh-lee-yuh!” 

 

The Tatrix seemed popular. There was no doubting that. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Nine

 

This would be my life now. No more relationships, just a series of slave girls for my use. I had tried relationships with Felicity, with Kelsee, and with Kulai, and they had all ended in disaster, with me losing them. Even Kelly Milford, with whom I had not actually had a relationship - but in an alternative world maybe I would have - my friendship with her had also ended disastrously. Who knows where she was now; whether she remained free or had become a slave. 

 

No, from now on I would eschew any form of meaningful relationship with women, and simply satisfy my needs with slave girls.

 

It was apparently the Gorean way. 

 

I lay on my couch, feeling sated. Beside me lay the extremely curvaceous body of my slave, Clara. I owned five slaves! How incredible was that. I had put her to use last night after returning to my insula. First I had set her to cleaning the apartment as it was dirty from months of neglect while it had lain empty. She had scrubbed and cleaned on her hands and knees, while I took a walk around my local district, checking out the municipal parks and markets; familiarising myself with the area. I came back with some fresh food that I then gave to Clara and told her to prepare it in one of the two communal kitchens in this insula. One kitchen is reserved exclusively for free men and women, so that a Free Woman does not have to work alongside a slave girl, while the other, smaller, kitchen is permitted for the use of slaves.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Eight

 

While there are many occupations on Gor that are physically tiring, I can confirm that selling slave girls in a city market is not one of them.

 

“Buy me, Masters! Buy Iona and place me in your collar!” cried Iona as she moved seductively on her knees on a stone plinth that protruded from the centre of a cement shelf in the market of Kadriya, in the Kadriyan district of Corcyrus. She wore a steel collar and a steel ankle ring with a smaller ring welded to one side of it. Through this smaller ring was threaded a steel chain, padlocked in place, the other end terminating, similarly padlocked, at the slave ring set into the cement shelf. “Teach a wanton slut of Argentum what it is to be a slave to the strong, proud, men of Corcyrus! Make me kneel before you! Make me beg to kiss your feet! Whip me, strong masters, for I was the woman of your enemy! Put me to your service and take your revenge on the men of Argentum!”

 

Iona was of course the lovely black girl with the distinctive areola around her nipples. She was naked except for – and this was a clever idea of mine, for it attracted much attention – a long length of silk ribbon that encircled her slim waist and was then tied in front of her in a long floppy bow with long trailing ends that hung between her thighs. The white ribbon bow would both conceal and draw attention to the delights of her sex, which the strands might obscure, unless brushed aside, but would do so in the shape of enticing gift wrapping . The whiteness of the silk, furthermore, indicated subtly that Iona was white silk – a virgin, not yet opened by men. I had ascertained her virginity with my hand. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Seven

 

“Name and Home Stone?” asked the bored scribe, seated behind the desk, close to the main gates. He had a stack of temporary residency permits to hand, beside an ink pot and quill.

 

“Roland of Newark,” I said. He scribbled this down on a sheet of paper.

 

“Caste?” he asked.

 

“I am a slaver,” I replied. “Obviously,” I added with a smile, indicating the ankle chain coffle of five pretty girls who stood, in various states of distress, to one side of me.

 

“Another slaver,” remarked the scribe with a smile. “You’re like bees round a honey pot these days.”

 

“What can I say,” I remarked, pleasantly. “Business is always good during times of war. Hai Corcyrus!” I raised my right fist into the air. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Six

 

Sometime around the eleventh ahn I was back braceleted with my wrists in slave steel, and conducted by two men to a tent that had been set aside for my mistress, the Lady Savanna of Argentum, or Kelsee, as I still liked to think of her. 

 

I had gambled that I could march boldly into this slaver camp and save Kelsee from the brand, but I had lost everything in the process. Kulai, my so-called Free Companion, in my eyes at least, if not the law’s, was now a slave to the same woman as me. She would hate me now. I had lied to her and it was my fault she now wore a steel collar and had a brand seared indelibly into her thigh. How could she not hate me?

 

I was naked, and a steel collar was now locked about my neck. It was made of iron and far heavier than the decorative, enamelled, pretty collar I had worn in Argentum – the collar that had so clearly marked me as the personal silk slave to a Lady. 

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Five

 

Kulai was a brave girl, but she screamed helplessly as men stripped her of her knee length, long sleeved, high collared tunic. They used knives to cut it away from her body. There might have been poison pins lurking near the fastenings for a man to find the hard way, after all. 

 

She screamed again, held by her wrists, as she was thrown to her belly on the grass. Her soft brown leather ankle boots were removed, and then, again with the knife, her woollen leggings were cut from her and pulled away from her legs.

 

Entangled in the net, as I was, with men forcing me to the ground, there was nothing I could do to help Kulai. Nothing at all. I could only watch, helpless myself, as the Turian girl I loved – yes, loved – I recognise that now - was dragged before Kelsee.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Four

 

Kelsee’s enforced silence would make this difficult. I had no way of knowing what she had said to Darian. I could speculate that she had been captured in the woods by outlaws when she had blundered through the trees in panic. They would perhaps have put her to use throughout the night and then come morning, taken her to Darian’s camp to sell her for whatever they might get. 

 

I don’t think Kelsee had known beforehand that it was Darian’s camp. She had only known there was a slaver camp somewhere distant from the paved road. Did she try to appeal to Darian when she had been brought in terror to the branding tent? Had she seen him and cried out his name? And if so, what had she told him?

 

I weighed up my options. So she had claimed to be a Free Woman of Argentum? Fine. I was an outlaw. I wasn’t expected to hold that Home Stone to any sacrosanct status. All women were assumed to be my prey. Darian would know that.

 

I shrugged. “Most slaves were Free Women once upon a time. The number of bred slaves is surely still in the minority?” I phrased that as a question for him. There you go, I thought – here’s an opportunity for you to show off with your caste knowledge, Mr Athuk.

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Three

 

Darian laughed. 

 

“What’s so funny?” I asked. 

 

“An outlaw complaining that other outlaws stole the girl that I suppose he stole from someone previously. That is what you are trying to tell me, yes?” said Darian. 

 

“She ran away last night. There was a lapse in my security.”

 

“Evidently so. My advice to you: learn from your mistakes and do better next time.” He turned to go.

 

“Her name is Kelsee. I know you have her. I want her back.”

 

Darian turned slowly back. “I am sure you want a lot of things. If I have your girl, it is because I paid good money for her. Your loss is not my concern, outlaw. Slaves are commonplace. Buy yourself another. And buy some chains while you’re at it.”

 

“I didn’t come here expecting charity,” I said.

 

“Good. Then you will not be disappointed.”

Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Two

 

“I am Darian Athuk of Talmont. I currently operate under licence from Claudius, the Ubar of Argentum. How may I help you?”

 

There was no sign of recognition in his eyes, for which I breathed an inner sigh of relief. I had been a kneeling silk slave with my head down when he had been entertained in the apartment of the Lady Savanna of Argentum. He had gone there with the Lady Kelapina, and he had explained to Kelsee the arrangements that took place around her transportation to Gor, and then the city of Argentum itself. There was no reason he would have paid me anything more than a cursory glance or two, at the time. Darian Athuk had made it quite clear in Kelsee’s loft apartment that he despised silk slaves. Any man who knelt and submitted before a woman was less than a man in his eyes, and the eyes of most men on Gor. If you are a man you are expected to act like a man, and submission to a woman runs counter to everything that Gorean men believe in.

 

There is a reason why the caste of Slavers delegates the training and sale of such male silk slaves to the women of their caste. It would be a distasteful job for a male slaver to concern himself with. Male slavers much prefer the acquisition and training of beautiful women. And who can blame them.

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.