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. 

The Paga Diaries (12) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Solo Tarn Ride’

 

After my morning with Penny, I wandered a bit, further out, in a part of the city that was new to me.  I had lunch in a new tavern.  I saw another passage of army units pass through the streets, apparently heading for a city wall gate and one of the camps outside.  The banners, shields, spears, helmets and uniforms all looked brand new to me.  My impression was that these units were freshly mobilized and being sent to the front.  The front was further and further out, approaching Corcyrus closer every day.  The war was a popular topic in the taverns and even though I could still only understand bits and pieces of an eavesdropped conversation, it was expected that the conflict would be over very soon.  Many men in the tavern seemed to get excited about maybe being able to afford purchasing a Free Woman of Corcyrus, sent to Argentum as a cheap captive slave.  

 

I had no idea how much slaves cost and I certainly hadn’t been looking at slave markets to see if prices were actually getting cheaper.  I knew that if I lingered too long at a market, I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of buying my own kajira.  Someone like Lina or Penny.  I was still enjoying the use of paga sluts.  Someday I would be ready to take on the responsibility of caring for, and keeping a woman secure in my bonds.  I was still too new on Gor to think that I could manage that type of relationship.  The master/slave relationship requires a lot of time, if done right.  There are many considerations.  Feeding, clothing (maybe not clothing), bathing, sheltering, training and discipline all require time and I looked forward to those things, but they would be a distraction for me now. 

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. 

The Paga Diaries (11) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Use of Penny’

 

Trem and I went down the wide stepped central staircase of the Feasting Tarn.  I had a few questions in my mind about what had happened with the altercation we had just left on the rooftop lounge.  As we walked he muttered something about going somewhere to talk.  When we got to the first floor of the tavern, he led us off the staircase and into the busy tavern area.  There was a lot of hustle and bustle of tavern activities that we walked through before he found us a small unoccupied table, that we sat at. 

 

“Rykart, it looks like your treatment has gone well,” Trem finally said.  I felt like he was trying to talk about something other than what had just happened. 

 

“Thank you Trem, one treatment then stabilize,” I said.  “Neris is who? Man I hit is who?”

 

 “Yes, yes” He said. “Neris and Otho, I owe money and they are sent to collect it.”

 

“I have money, l pay for you. You pay me later?”  I said.

 

“No, Rykart, I owe them more than you have and some of I what I owe them is not money. You would not understand.”