Here is a poem I wrote in thanks for one who helped me greatly in my first days in on-line irc Gor. It is my gift to her Master. Some will know of whom I speak and will understand. To the others...I wish you the pleasure of meeting them someday. ~~~~~ Malkinius....of Port Kar

The Wind Smiles

The wind comes softly from the north,
Down the peaks, where thunder reigns,
Gently stroking hills and valleys,
Moving southward, the wind smiles.

From ice and pine and snowy crags,
The wind speaks, with gentle names,
The tongues of man and nature both,
Reaching outward, the wind smiles.

Flowing, covering, like a skin of silk,
Like water flows, from melting snows,
Onward seeking, with amber vision,
Drifting eastward, the wind smiles.

From windswept plains to oceans mighty,
Fragrant prose, like a flower grows,
Strong, yet gentle, wind leads the way.
Roaming westward, the wind smiles.

The wind's soft words from out the dark,
Leaves no doubt, where growth starts,
Wrapping the words in velvet embrace,
Reaching inward, the wind smiles.

Now from the north, the thunder calls,
Words reach out, touching hearts,
From fields and palms of golden south,
Returning northward, the wind smiles.

Malkinius

Warriors are red
Bakers are brown
a curious kajira
will make a Master frown

Builders are yellow
Initiates are white
a dancing slave
can be a pleasing sight

Assassins are black
Physicians are green
a slave with a weapon
will be fed to the sleens

Tarns keepers are gray
Metalworkers are too
put red silks on a girl
and her beauty shines through

Scribes are blue
Merchants are gold
a jealous slave
will soon find herself sold

More castes there are
words of wisdom to be told
remember that on Gor
there are only Steel, Honor and Gold

A Vaunt

You Southron men that capture fragile girls
Who can do naught but plead with you and cry,
To tame them with the ko-lar and the lash
Have never faced a Woman such as I.
From Torvaldsland, the Daughter of a Jarl
Who led His Men through bloody seas to gold
Am I - as savage as the mountain larl;
A child of the North Wind and endless cold.
As soon as My small feet could stand their ground,
My elder Brothers taught to Me the blade.
Look at Me! See the sinew of My arm!
Before you stands no trembling little maid,
But fiercer Foe than any you have fought.
Free will I die, if Free I cannot live,
And take an honor-guard with Me to Hel.
No worse pain than I've known is yours to give:
Four babies have I labored long to bear,
Yet only one did live to learn to walk
And call Me Mother - then, with searing grief,
My heart as split as glacier-splintered rock,
I saw My strong Defender fall in war
Though thick the foes He slew lay on the field,
But shed no tear before His Comrades grim
Who brought Him lifeless home upon His shield.
...........And think you, that to such as you I'd yield?
Before you stands a Woman of the North,
Like Vatnajokkul, cold, alone, and proud.
The knife of Torvaldsland is in My hand,
And at your little whips I laugh aloud!

(c.1999 Jessadriel Darkmountain)