REVOLT ON GOR

By Rummah

Chapter 1    TARNADA SPEAKS

     My story begins on the other side of the sun. It is on the opposite side of the sun, which Goreans call light-on-the-homestone, that humanity originated. The other planet. Earth, is separated from Gor by more than just the distance in space. Whereas the humans of Earth find themselves living smug little lives, largley distant from the forces of nature, those of Gor are forced to deal with them up close. What results are different attitudes among different peoples. Not necessarily good or bad, just different.

     The name by which Ï was known on Earth no longer matters. Few Goreans

     Would understand its meaning or the culture from where it came. It was on

Gor I was given the name Tarnanda and that is how I wish to be known. Providing, of course any one survives in this camp.

      Which is why I am dictating as much as I can to this scribe. So that at least some word of truth will get out. On this planet most of the writing is still done by copied manuscripts. I suspect the priest-kings had a reason for that ban. The silent rulers of Gor have a reason for everything they do; though few know what they are.

      So let me begin with my last day on Earth....

      I’d been out of college for about three years, doing my best to make a living as a physical education teacher at a small women’s college in central New Jersey. Job opportunities for women athletes have never been that grand. I lived alone, having broken off an engagement to an egotistical salesman after graduation. Sex had never been a big driving force in my life so I was happy to meet the occasional man through friends.

      One day after leaving a local sporting goods store, I spotted what appeared to be Roman gladiators. Thinking myself mad, I walked over to where they were set-up. I ended up spending the afternoon watching five men in armor smash it out.

As they removed their armor, I went over and talked to them. I was surprised to see such an age range in the group: from barely legal to a man in his seventies. Being curious, I asked the man who was acting with authority what they were all about.

So that day I became a neo-gladiator.

      I trained under Master Vespacian. I never did find out what his real name was. Vespacian was the name he had been given when the other Master Gladiators had bestowed the title of "Master" on him.

      Many months passed and I became more proficient in my art. But he never let me forget who was the master and who was the student. One night after feeling in a cocky mood, l allowed myself to be fooled by him. He deliberately dropped his sword, opening up his right flank. I swiftly moved to take advantage of what I thought was a golden opportunity, only to be thrown back against the wall.

      As l picked myself up off the floor he walked over to me and pointed at the gold sash he wore over his body armor and said: "That’s why I was given one of these things. Keep it up and you might get one too."

      As time went by, I became better. We learned many forms that had historical precedent: sword-and-weapon, great sword, and more. The practice weapons were made of padded wood. They tended to deliver a lot of power, but everything ended with a resounding "thump". I longed to fight with a sword made of steel...

      My day job still occupied most of my time. Giggling high school girls just encountering their first rush of hormones. They started to look up to me after I became known as the woman teacher "you didn’t mess around with".

My male colleges were already planning out their careers and families. A few were thinking about long-term commitments and asked me out on dates. For personal and professional reasons I turned them all down. One thing would lead to another and sleeping with another teacher was a recipe for disaster.

      Which would lead to conversations of another sort. "She doesn’t seem to like men", was the one which I over-heard the most on the way to my car. I would chuckle to myself on hearing such talk. Such fragile male egos, so easily wounded; ready to toss any woman who wouldn’t respond to them into the well of loneliness. I imagined this would further fuel their imaginations and ultimately lead to quick trips to the back room of a video store across town where they would not be recognized.

     I longed for strong men. I had always been attracted to the strong outlaw types. Fortunately, I had kept my longings at a distance, dating the bookish "good boy" types my parents had arranged for me in high school. I well knew that as exciting as rough trade might be it would also lead to some unexpected surprises. And a baby or a trip to the abortion clinic wasn’t exactly in my plans. I’d considered birth control pills but didn’t feel like dealing with my parents’ conservative views. Besides, there would be time for that later.

     So I kept my distance from the tough boys, macho men, and biker types I would spot on the road. We didn’t get much of that type in our quiet suburbanite neighborhood anyway and my parents kept their only daughter away from the bad elements. It was a castle door well guarded, but inside the fires of lust burned bright.

     I grew to enjoy the company of the men in Master Vespacian’s class. Nothing like watching sweating young men slamming each other to give a girl fantasies. And I never had much trouble with any of them after I became skilled enough to hold my own in a fight.

     Little did I realize that there were strong men who desired nothing more than subjecting desirable young women to their wills. And somewhere I had attracted their notice. On Earth the slave trade still continues, but most of the desirable young women captured do not end up working in plantations, but in the slave pens of Gor. Agents roam our planet looking for desirable, educated, intelligent, and cultured young women who have little family connections that would invoke private detectives asking questions.

     I think I was noticed a year after I started fighting. My parents had died years earlier in a car crash, so I was without any encumbrances. Somewhere a note was made, an agent contacted, and my life became of interest to Gorean slavers. I have no idea who informed them, I doubt I ever will. As I speak another nameless young woman is being stalked for her beauties.

     At times I fear for the safety of any woman on my home world. But to continue....

     I entered my first tournament a year after I began fighting. This format was not sex-specific and allowed all qualified combatants to compete. I surprised both the judges and other fighters by how far I went.

     Two hard years later, after honing my skills to near perfection, I felt I was ready for the title fight. The one where the winner would walk away with the prize of North American champion. I had approached Master Vespacian several times about representing his school. He had put me off saying I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t understand why; I was consistently beating him at practices. To walk away with even third place would get you recommended for the honorific of "Master". Still he shot-down my desire to compete.

     So I went and signed myself up, representing no one but myself.

     I stood at the fighting ring that day, one of three women in a list of a hundred fighters. The crowd began mumbling when I approached the ring the first time. After I beat the first two opponents in under five seconds they quieted down when I approached.

     At the end of the day, tired, sweaty, and out of gas, I defeated my former master and instructor for the title of North American Champion. The crowd was ecstatic, never before had a woman even made it past the elimination matches. And there I stood, the sole survivor. With tears in his eyes, Master Vespacian placed the winner’s medallion around my neck and whispered into my ear:" Now I have nothing to teach you. Perhaps you can teach me a few things."

     As I was escorted to the locker rooms, I was certain the title "Master" would be added to my name. Or perhaps Mistress. I wasn’t certain which I preferred.

     But as I showered down in the women’s locker room, my fate had already been determined. And it did not lie on Earth.

(To be continued)

rummah@yahoo.com.
Rummah