Hitchhikers of Gor

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Haroldx
Haroldx
35 Followers

After a while, I spotted what appeared to be a road off to the north. As I got closer, I could see that it was indeed a road. It was cobbled and ran generally east and west. If Octavius had dropped me a little farther north, I could have walked to town on the road, instead of tramping through the wilderness, although I suppose an isolated area was a more appropriate place to land a spaceship.

As I stepped onto the road, a man was passing in a two wheeled cart, pulled by a beast I could not identify, but assumed to be some sort of tharlarion.

"Tal," I greeted him.

"Tal," he replied. "Anatawa phallus minimus desu."

"How could you tell?"

"The boots, dummy. Lose the boots."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks. Hey, does Ar smell like that all the time?"

"Smell like what?"

"Never mind." I had my answer.

I sat down on the edge of the road and changed shoes. The cart rumbled away over the cobbles. As I ambled along watching the cart disappear into the distance ahead of me, I wished I still had my hiking boots on. The Gorean sandals were not only uncomfortable, but too thin for walking on cobbles.

I could see Ar! It gleamed white in the distance. I'd been looking forward to my first sight of glorious Ar, but it wasn't much at this distance. As I got closer, it got worse. The place was a bit of a dump. I suppose at least some of it was a result of the depredations of the Cosians (walls half torn down, laundry hung on the high bridges and walkways, etc.), but whatever the reason, I was unimpressed.

I entered Ar through what I assumed was the main gate. People and beast drawn wagons came and went. There were a couple of armed guards at the gate, but they ignored everyone, including me.

I had decided to call myself Vitalis of Urp. My real name, Alf Cramden, would have raised eyebrows on Gor, so a pseudonym was in order. Vitalis was, of course, a typical Gorean name. Urp was a fictitious village which I had invented to spare myself the embarrassment of meeting any actual inhabitants of the place I claimed to be from. It's location varied, tending to be as far as possible from wherever I was at the time.

The next couple of days were spent in exploration. I wandered the city, spending the night at various inns, spending the days at paga taverns and public games. There were a number of parallels between Ar and imperial Rome. The Roman mob seemed to be one of them. Many of the men I saw at the games seemed to have little else to do. I reflected that Cos had best keep the grain ships coming.

I rented a room on the upper level of a somewhat rundown insula after a few days. I needed a place to stay, and I needed to find some sort of a job. There was enough gold in my pouch to last a while yet, but I didn't know how long it would take me to figure how to make a living here. But before I got serious about job hunting, I needed to go shopping. I wanted a slave girl. After all, this was the main reason I'd come to Gor.

There were a number of slave markets scattered around. After checking them all out and watching some auctions to see how they worked, I returned to the one that had seemed to be least expensive the next morning. One of the things I'd learned about auctions on earth that seemed to be the same here was that the first few lots went cheap because it took a while for the crowd to get warmed up and start bidding. I saw a couple of guys there that I had pegged as dealers the night before because they bid on every lot but always dropped out early. They had their price in mind and wouldn't go over it. Even so, they bought a fair number of lots. If I got a girl for one bid over what these guys were willing to pay, I could be sure I was getting her pretty close to her wholesale value.

On the third lot, I won the bid. She was a small agile girl with long dark hair, dark eyes, and creamy skin. She was young, about 19 or 20, and had been sold into slavery to pay family debts. I was her first master. I paid the auction house, signed the papers, tied her hands behind her, and led her home on a leash.

"This is your new home, Alice." (I had named her Alice after an old girl friend.)

Alice looked around, wrinkled her nose, and said, "Yes, master." She was unimpressed with her new home.

It didn't matter how Alice felt about her new surroundings. She was a slave. Nonetheless, it was embarrassing to have your slave look with disdain upon your home. I decided the way to begin this relationship was with a good beating. That would set a proper tone and let Alice know who was boss.

I had beaten up my share of women on Earth, but I'd never actually tied one down and whipped her. However, I undertook the task with enthusiasm. Alice screamed and cried and begged to be allowed to be pleasing, so I assumed I'd made my point.

Over the next few days, Alice fell into the routine of being a slave. She was a good hearted girl and tried her best, but she was a bit of a klutz. I had to beat her nearly every day. Alice brought me breakfast in bed each morning once I made her understand what was expected of her.

On this particular morning, Alice woke me with a special treat. She had squeezed some larma fruit and brought me a small cup of juice. It was very tasty.

"You juice well, slav<,/I>." (Oh, god, and already I was starting to talk like them.)

The next morning, she brought me coffee.

"Black wine, master", she announced.

"It's coffee, Alice. Call it coffee."

"Kaw-phee", she said.

"No, Alice. It's coffee, with an 'f', not a 'ph'."

"Kaw-fee."

"Better. Now change the 'k' to a 'c' and you've got it."

"Caw-fee."

"Close enough, Alice."

Unfortunately, as Alice set the tray down, she tilted it, spilling hot coffee all over me.

"Aiiee!" I leapt to my feet, shaking my fist in her face.

"To the moon, Alice. To the moon," I roared.

"Which one?" she quavered.

Actually, that was a pretty good question. I had wondered about this myself with regard to the red savages who used a lunar calendar. How does a lunar calendar work when there are three moons? For instance, a certain time might be called Fubarpegiwi, the moon during which the urts eat their young. Which moon? One had to keep careful track to know which moon was up at any given time. On a night when there was only one moon, it was not clear to a casual observer which moon it was. The red savages did not seem to be particularly avid astronomers. Perhaps the pte had not been early. Perhaps someone had been watching the wrong moon.

Needless to say, this incident precipitated a particularly severe beating for poor Alice, after which I untied her from the slave ring and slung her over my shoulder. I sold her to a sleen keeper who lived nearby as sleen feed.

It was instructive that I had sold Alice for nearly as much as I'd paid for her. Her death had lowered her value very little. I resolved that my next slave would be one whose value was more significantly influenced by whether or not she was alive. What I really wanted was the blond bitch from New York. I had asked Octavius about her. He told me to forget it, I couldn't afford her.

"Forget it, you can't afford her," he had said. "A girl with her attitude will sell for more gold than you've got."

I wandered the streets trying to decide what to do with myself. I had been a bus driver on Earth and didn't have any marketable skills on Gor. Even though I had been a Teamster, I couldn't handle a team. I would have to get some kind of income before I could buy another slave.

Actually, I could afford to buy one, I just couldn't afford to keep her. Alice had been quite a drain on my finances. Besides having to feed her, there was all this stuff she needed. Collar, chains, whip, lingerie, cosmetics, it all added up. It is pleasant to own women, as the Goreans say, but it isn't cheap.

My musings were interrupted by the sight of a man coming the other way. He looked ordinary enough except for the suspicious bulge in his tunic under the left armpit. After he passed me, I reversed direction and followed him. A couple of streets later, he stopped to urinate and I caught up with him.

"Do the priest kings know about that shootin' iron?" I inquired in English.

"You're new here, aren't you," he replied, also in English.

"Yeah, I've been here about 2 weeks. How long have you been here?"

"About a year and a half. My name is Ed Horton, but around here I'm known as Lysol."

"I'm Alf Cramden, known locally as Vitalis of Urp. This is so amazing."

"What's so amazing," he asked.

"Meeting another Earth man on Gor. The coincidence is incredible."

"Not really. There's a bunch of us here. We usually don't have any trouble spotting each other. I picked you out right away. I didn't know you, so I figured you were a newbie. I was curious to see if you'd spot me."

"You mean you all know each other?"

"Yes. We've formed a support group."

I began laughing uncontrollably. I laughed so hard I nearly fell into the puddle Lysol was making.

"That was exactly my reaction when I first heard about the support group," Lysol said. "A month later I joined. I live over by the Viminal Gate. Drop by sometime."

"Viminal?"

"Yeah, you know. Poor Queen Victoria Eats Crow At Christmas. I somehow suspect it's more than coincidence."

"Amazing."

We parted company. Two weeks later, I still hadn't found a job and was almost out of money. I went searching for Lysol.

This story is continued in the sequel, Support Groups of Gor.

Haroldx
Haroldx
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AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago

Good story!

Being an Earthman, I would agree that enslaving women, and selling unsatisfactory or disobedient ones as dog food ("sleen feed") goes way over-the-top! Having said this, modern women STINK! Far too many are disagreeable, quarrelsome, stupid, humorless, and disrespectful. You can spend a fortune on them, and they think they are doing YOU a favor.I won't even talk about the cockteasers!

Gorean women have too little freedom, but by God, Human women have TOO MUCH! They are spoiled rotten, and probably deserve a good thrashing. Do Gorean men know something that we Earth men have forgotten?

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