The Shadow in the Dark (Part Six)

 

I woke slowly to a warm shaft of sunlight streaming through the dormer window, teasing my face.

 

It was one of those lazy mornings when I sensed instinctively that I’d enjoyed a really good night’s sleep, with vivid dreams that faded the moment I left the lands of Morpheus. Above me, pinned to the sloping sides of the attic roof, a poster of Elsa from Frozen looked down at me. There was a quote on the poster that read:

 

‘Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show.’ 

 

For some reason the quote stirred a momentary pang of frustration as I lay on my back gazing up at it. 

 

Don’t let it show.

 

I mustn’t ever let it show.

 

The thought came unbidden into my head, and just as quickly vanished.

 

I became aware I was lying under a Frozen bedspread that I’d partly kicked away as I’d tossed and turned in my deep sleep. And continuing the Frozen theme, I wore a silky bedtime slip with Elsa printed on the front. I didn’t remember dressing myself in it, but then I didn’t remember much from last night, just vaguely stumbling in fatigue as I walked to Rosemary’s car parked on the forecourt of the diner. Was this Rosemary’s home? She had said something about staying with her overnight?

 

From where I lay in the single bed I could see other pictures from Frozen pinned to the walls, often with motivational quotes from the cartoon film.

 

My eyes focussed on one of them:

 

‘The best way to get what you want is to just be who you are.’

 

And there on the attic door was Elsa imploring me to ‘let it go, let it go, can’t hold it back anymore.’

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Five)

 

She lies beneath a child’s dreamy time bedspread, neither sleeping nor awake, neither lucid nor dreaming. She is in that half state between two worlds.

 

Her eyes are open but she does not see.  

 

For the night is dark and full of terror, and yet she is at peace with her world.

 

MAN: “So that’s 75 mg of Nepenthe administered as a 2.5% solution in coffee with typical slow burning results. In effect she is now disconnected from sensory signals in terms of natural reactions. She can perceive everything as normal, but it seems meaningless, and memory retention is at such a basic level that any fragments of memory at a conscious level she does retain from tonight will seem just a passing dream, if that.”

WOMAN: “She looks so sweet in her Elsa bed time slip.” (soft laughter) “Lift the slip up from her left thigh.”

MAN: “I did not bring a branding device, Lady? Was one necessary?”

 

WOMAN: “Of course not. I just wish to see her thigh while it is still smooth and unmarked. I wish to appreciate the quiet moment before the gathering storm sweeps her aside.”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Four)

 

I hadn’t expected the local Sheriff to be in his mid-thirties.

 

And I hadn’t expected him to be quite so, well… handsome… and fit.

 

“It was a girl, and she was naked. I only caught a quick glimpse of her when she bolted out from the bushes on the left side of the road, running directly in front of my car.” I sat on one of the raised vinyl stools lining the counter of the diner. Sheriff James Root sat beside me taking notes. He was tall, muscular, with a well-defined body shape, lightly bearded, with prominent, thick eyebrows, and clear but sun weathered skin. His eyes were grey/green, offering a piercing gaze that counterpointed the amused crinkling of laughter lines as he heard me speak. We sat opposite one another, sides facing the counter, and I was conscious that only a space of a few inches separated our knees from touching. 

 

What he saw of me was acutely embarrassing as far as I was concerned. I wore a short, pink, frayed denim skirt and a powder blue Frozen t-shirt with a cartoon Elsa on the front. Not the best look when you want local law enforcement to take you seriously. I had dressed in these garments only because the alternative would have been to walk in naked when I went back to the diner to tell Rosemary to find some clothing that didn’t make me look like I was still attending High School. But to my dismay Sheriff Root had already arrived and was waiting for me at the counter. He had apparently been passing in his patrol car and had decided to stop in for a cup of coffee.

 

“Naked? You’re sure about that, Miss Ellis?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. 

 

“Yes. It startled me. Even while I tried to brake I was thinking, why is she naked?”

 

“But you only saw her for a moment, and it was getting dark and there was a lot of rain?”

 

“She was naked. I know what I saw.”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Three)

 

I was struggling to stay awake as a combination of fatigue and aching pains urged me to take a nap in the cab of the truck as we drove on through the night. The radio station was playing a mix of easy-listening folk and country music of the kind beloved by long haul truck drivers. Henry had more or less stopped talking now as he concentrated on the narrow road, which came as something of a relief. He was hard to figure out. Had he been trying to scare me with all those questions, or was he in some way actually concerned that I was wandering around on my own?

 

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that it was now half past nine in the evening. I had no real hope of reaching Springfield this evening. I would just have to call Martin from a pay phone in the service station and explain the situation. Hopefully he’d be worried sick for me. I smiled to myself, imagining him jumping into his car and making his way over here, all heroic and frantic with concern. A white knight coming to save me. Why do we modern women still cling to such absurd romantic ideals? Why do we sometimes get turned on by the thought of a man coming to our rescue? 

 

Did I want to be rescued? Really? Me, the big bad Federal agent? Well, maybe, just a little bit. I imagined Martin wrapping his arms about my shoulders and telling me everything was going to be okay, as I rested my head against his chest. His arms felt so strong around me. How is it that men are so very strong?

 

“How long have we been driving?” I asked. I was aware only that the journey seemed to be going on for ever, with little to see beyond the repeat scenery of dark wooded spaces punctuated by bramble covered hedges. 

 

“Be there soon, Miss Ellis,” he said.

 

“You said that…” I yawned as fatigue nipped at my heels, “half an hour ago?”

The Shadow in the Dark (Part Two)

 

I searched the glove compartment again, turning it inside out, and then searched around the front seats in the foolish notion that my gun and badge could possibly have fallen out of a locked compartment during the crash. 

 

As if.

 

This was clearly impossible. The glove compartment is locked at all times. How could my gun and badge be missing? I had put them both there at the beginning of my drive.

 

I slipped back out onto the mud slope and felt the rain ease up a little in its intensity. How was I going to explain this? A Fed does not lose these things. This was about as bad as it could get. I was going to be in a serious mountain of trouble when I reported the theft. 

 

Once I accepted the reality of the situation, I made my way round the side of my Toyota Camry, sinking into the mud with each heel step and tried to pop the boot. Try as I might, it wouldn’t open. The crash must have jammed the locking mechanism, which meant my luggage was now completely out of reach. All I had were the clothes I was wearing and my handbag that I had managed to find from inside the car where it had been thrown onto one of the back seats during the crash. That was something, at least. 

 

Bit by bit, seizing tree roots as handholds, I pulled myself up the wet slope until I reached the road. A section of briar bush had clearly been obliterated where my Toyota had ploughed through it when I’d tried desperately to avoid hitting the naked girl. Talking of which, I searched the length and breadth of the country road but found no sign of her, or, rather, no sign of her injured/dead body. For a brief moment I wondered whether I might have imagined her. A naked woman running onto a road in the middle of a rain storm? Really?

 

Well I’d seen something. It might only have been a brief second or two, but I had certainly reacted to a flash of movement that looked like a naked girl.

A New Novella - The Shadow in the Dark (Part one)

 

I had just taken a fork turning at the junction of the Aylesbury Pike, just beyond Dean’s Corners when the rain began to come down hard around me. It was six in the evening in early Autumn in north-central Massachusetts as I drove my white Toyota Camry through a sprawling forest belt, past brier-bordered stone walls overgrown with wild weeds and brambles, and out along the side of a sloping rock-strewn meadow. 

 

I had Joni Mitchell’s seminal art-rock/jazz album, The Hissing of Summer Lawns, playing on the car stereo as the narrow road curved and dipped, and I drove on past a small cluster of disused farm buildings falling to ruin with rotting gambrel roofs open in places to the raw elements. I passed a broken steepled church, missing its cast iron bell, that loomed over an untended cemetery where gravestones lay fallen, overgrown and forgotten. 

 

Joni was telling me that in France they kiss on Main Street, which came as no surprise to me, for the French are just so very French. Whether I’d be doing any kissing this weekend remained to be seen, for I was on a rescue mission of sorts, hoping to salvage my ailing relationship with Martin Bastable, who was presumably still my boyfriend if I played my cards right. 

 

We’d argued last weekend, and in retrospect it was my fault, I guess, because Martin was clearly trying to avoid a confrontation at all costs. Me and my stupid pride. I had to keep pushing and in the end provoking him. We had a table booked at a small restaurant in down town Springfield where Martin lives. I’d been working some long hours lately and Martin had been feeling neglected, so last weekend was supposed to have been time for us both to unwind and get to know each other a little better. Though God knows we’d been dating now for more than six weeks, having met at a singles bar which, God’s truth, I hadn’t known was a Singles bar when I’d walked into it. I was in Springfield that night for a work seminar, and the hotel bar was being renovated, so…

 

Well, we laughed a lot when I realised my mistake and Martin had said, ‘hey, unless you’re married, or one of those radical feminists (I think he meant New Feminists, because there’s obviously nothing wrong with ordinary feminism) why not stay for a drink? It’s a quiet night.’

The Naming of the Young Master by Tracker

 

Note from Emma: I’m always delighted when any of you are inspired to write Gor fiction of your own, and, as I’ve mentioned before, you’re all welcome to reference any of my characters or plots as background if you like. Master Tracker has been contributing short pieces in the comments section recently, and a few days ago he contacted me to say he had fleshed out some recent pieces into a short story which he sent through for my consideration, along with some pictures to accompany it. Here then is a tale set in Vonda, that illustrates the importance of close family bonds in Gorean society, and reminds us all of the importance of Free Women in producing children for their city. 

 

The Naming of the Young Master by Tracker

 

While Aefic and Mary celebrated the arrival of a new slave, a greater celebration was taking place in a quarter in a different part of Vonda.

 

A household was celebrating the arrival of a Young Master and heir; a boy baby to follow his father in their caste and to take his place among the citizens of the City.  A boy baby!  A Young Master!  He had survived the ten days of waiting after his birth and today was his naming day.  His father was proud and happy.  His mother was happy, and after two girls, relieved.  She had worried that if she had provided another girl, her man might take instead a new Free Companion.  But no worries now, her son had survived the ten days of waiting to make sure he was hale and healthy, and today was his naming day.  Her mother was also happy and relieved; a Young Master to boast about to her friends.  She preened herself as if it were all her doing – after all – had she not advised on the proper herbs to ensure a healthy and male child!

The Last Christmas

The Last Christmas

The Port of Schendi, Gor, 2024, five days after Emma left on board the Larl of the Thassa

I grip the wrist of my right hand to stop it from trembling but Tamlyn notices as he always does.

“You don’t have to hide that from me, Marcellus. I won’t think any less of you.”

The spasms are getting worse as time progresses and it’s all I can do to grimace, control the pain that shoots through my nerves and wait for it to abate. I mouth some obscenities and grit my teeth as the trembling begins to subside. It’s ironic, or unfortunate, or something like that anyway. Never did understand the actual meaning of the word 'irony'. Is it ironic if you survive fighting a battle Kur only to die of a wasting condition when you take the stabilisation serum that normally prolongs a man’s life threefold? Alanis Morissette would probably know.

Vika's Lessons - a Gorean short story by Wyvern

Vika's Lessons

by Wyvern

Introduction by Emma: So, here's another in the occasional series of Gorean short stories written by people other than myself that I come across and (if I like them) offer to give a home of sorts on this Blog. Vika's Lessons is written by Wyvern who I came across on the Tavern Keeper RPG site where he roleplays in the same Tales of Gor game as me.

The picture is a training picture that ChloeK supplied recently which goes perfectly with what is essentially a story of one hundred and seven days in the capture, training and sale of a coffle of Earth barbarian girls. Thank you, Wyvern for allowing me to publish this. :)

- Emma

Emma's mum...

So, I'm currently working on this year's Christmas story from the point of view of Emma's father, the Gorean hero Marcellus, that will jump from Christmas Eve/Day 1995 (when he left his family to live on Gor permanently) to the present day/Ubara of Gor era which acts as a foreshadow of the next book, Gods of Gor, as he prepares his expedition into the jungles east of Schendi.

First Among Girls - a Chloe Short Story!

First Among Girls

The first of a trilogy of Chloe PoV short stories

Many months ago...

“An excellent vintage,” said the slaver, Linus, as he tasted the goblet of wine offered to him by Shannon. The girl knelt in nadu before the man in one of Master Brinn's great halls in the Sardar foothills as she served from a small engraved tray balanced on three copper legs to the side of the table where Master Brinn sat entertaining the man. “One of the things I look forward to when I visit your estate is to sample your wine cellar. You never disappoint, Captain.”

Coming soon: First Among Girls

In the 'coming up soon' category, here's the cover art for a short story that Chloe is currently illustrating which will be released once the art is ready.

The point of view star of it is none other than Chloe herself who at long last gets her own tale without Emma taking over and bossing everyone about. :)

ADIRA by Sarah Holloway

An Introduction by Emma of London:

Considering the vast wealth of detailed and factual Gorean websites to be found on the Internet, it's surprising that there's actually so little creative story writing set in John Norman's universe. When you do find something, it is often a short stand alone scene, usually of a simple sexual nature. Before Olga came along with 'Daughter of Gor' there really wasn't much out there with a well crafted narrative, which is one of the reasons I used to create my own stories through the medium of roleplay games in Gorean themed chat rooms.

What might have been: Warlords of Gor

One of you lovely precious readers – Mistress Donna of Dover - posted a comment yesterday asking me whether it was Olga Turlovna's book, Daughter of Gor, that inspired me to come up with Emma as a TG character transformed by Kurii science, or whether I had intended writing her that way anyway.

NEW! Glad Tidings of Comfort and Joy part three (of three)

Boston USA - December 24th 2023, early evening

An hour or two later I stood in the shower for several minutes feeling the hot water spray against my skin. I closed my eyes, leaned back my head and enjoyed the moment for what it was – an escape from the pressure and stress of my life these days. I closed my eyes and I ran my hands over my wet body, feeling myself, the way Emma’s experienced hands had felt me in the Northern forest all those years ago after Brinn had whipped us both and we had lain together and made love that one time. I remembered how good she felt, and how intense my orgasm had been when she had put her mouth to my vagina, licking and kissing and driving me to heights of guilty bliss. She was a trained pleasure slave after all. An amazing pleasure slave. You have no idea what she can do to you in bed. I had never felt anything like it before. I felt the brand on my left hip – a permanent reminder of my last days on Gor – a mark that I would wear on my body for the rest of my life.

NEW! Glad Tidings of Comfort and Joy part two (of three)

Alan told me that I should never fear him. He said he liked me, but he understood that something bad had happened. We began to see more of one another and I found his kindness comforting. After forty years on Gor I wasn’t used to a man being kind. And then six weeks after meeting Alan I actually laughed. We were sitting in a park on a warm summer’s day and I suddenly felt good about myself for the first time in ages. I suddenly felt happy to be alive, sitting in the sunshine with Alan, just talking about stupid shit. He sensed a sea change in me then and very carefully he put his arm around my shoulders. I twitched nervously and almost pulled away, but when I saw the genuine concern in his face I took a bold chance and snuggled instead into his arms and lay there. We said nothing, but after a time I softly kissed him.

NEW! Glad Tidings of Comfort and Joy part one (of three)

A 36,000 word novella set on Christmas Eve in 2023. Six years ago Rachel Evans woke up in a field on Earth, naked and alone after the events depicted in 'Panther Girl of Gor'. This is her story.

Boston USA - December 24th 2023, lunch time

“Eyes right because I think we have a pair of militant dykes causing trouble tonight,” said Adam Coulter as he clipped the end of his cigar before lighting it. That was another thing that had changed recently – no more smoking bans in public spaces. Who would have thought it? Mind you, the smoking ban had been just one of a number of surprising developments I hadn’t expected when I found myself waking up on the grass in a meadow in the New Forest six years ago. So much had changed in western society since I’d been at university in the mid seventies.

“They’re in for a shock if they think anyone’s going to put up with their arrogant behaviour tonight,” said Robert Winston. Both men wore well tailored dark suits with colourful silk ties and they looked like men who scented change in the wind and approved of it 100%.

A Slave Girl's Revenge (A Gor short story)

“Mistress is late,” I said as the cloaked and hooded figure of Lady Serafina entered the upstairs room of the seedy and run down inn that stood close to the Maze sector of the city. The woman’s hand shook as she closed the door and lowered the hood of her cloak to reveal a soft, beautiful Taharian face framed with long olive dark hair.

Lady Marissa's Problem

Lady Marissa's Problem

(a stand alone Gorean short story featuring a new character from the upcoming 'Shadows of Gor' novel)

It was intolerable of course, the way Lady Marissa's favourite Guardsman, Darius, was doting over his new slave-girl, Sasira. Like many Free Women, Marissa did not particularly like slaves. Obviously she understood that they were a useful part of Gorean society, and certainly she couldn’t imagine a world without them, but nevertheless there was something about the scantily clad girls that annoyed her. Darius had saved for many months to purchase a blonde barbarian girl from the pens of Attius, one of the more respectable slavers in the city of Corcyrus. The word 'respectable' had limited meaning of course when conferred upon the caste of slavers, but in this case it meant that Attius didn’t obviously assess Free Women as if they might be potential merchandise every time he met one. In contrast to some other slavers who would be noting down a woman's likely block price within minutes of meeting her, Attius was always polite and respectful to women such as Marissa – according them the same dignity as male customers. This pleased Marissa, because on the whole she didn’t trust or like slavers – an understandable opinion, and a sensible one. Even the kindest, most deferential slaver was really akin to a sleen on a leash. Marissa was intelligent enough to recognise that a slaver who was polite and respectful within the confines of a city might act very differently if encountered on the road if his guards outnumbered one’s own.

The Last Halloween

The Last Halloween


I used to love Halloween. It was always one of the big nights in my yearly calendar and wherever I was that day I'd make an effort to dress up, hang out with friends, go to parties and generally have a really good time. Now of course the day is a reminder of the very last time I saw my brother Eric in 2015 before he disappeared from our lives several months later. I blame myself for letting the months in-between slip away without checking up on him more. I was busy with work and I had that whole travelling around thing going on, working on the Doctor Strange film for Disney that was so exciting, especially since I'm a huge Benedict Bandersnatch fan, and I just didn't have time during the Winter to spend time and hang out with my family. You always think they're going to be there for you, no matter what, and then when one day they're gone you realise all the missed opportunities you've thrown away in the pursuit of your career.

The case is still open of course, though the fortnightly visits by the police support officer soon turned into monthly visits and then regular phone updates and now it's basically a case of we'll call you when we have something new to say. Mum has taken it really hard of course. She's gone into that same downward spiral that I saw her in when Dad walked out on us when I was a young girl. I keep thinking back to the Halloween night in 2015 and I keep thinking did I miss some obvious signs that Eric was unhappy? If I'd paid more attention would I have seen some indication that he was going to just disappear a few months later on?