EDITOR’S NOTE – The following series deals with the Kassar Wagon People, as written in the book “Nomads of Gor”, by John Norman. Adult themes and storylines apply. This is the story of one man’s journey to find himself. Come find yourself in Second Life Gor roleplay.
I was a man of letters. A man of standing. A man of rank. A High Caste. A Scribe.
And now I am nothing.
Feeling betrayed by those whom I believed were my friends, I left my blue Scribe’s uniform on the steps of the city, and walked naked into the wilderness. A broken man with no past, no present and no future.
I wandered for many days, accepting the generosity of strangers, exchanging my services as scribe for food, clothing and shelter. I was even befriended by a Black Caste camp, who took pity on me and provided combat training. Seems I was too pathetic to kill, and not worth anything as ransom. They liked me reading my scrolls of my travels throughout Gor around the campfire in the late evenings. It was a marriage of convenience.
But there came I time I felt I had to leave, to strike out on my own. So I said my farewells and began my journey.
And so it was I wandered in the camp of the Kassar Wagon People. The Wagon People live on the Turian Plains, surviving on raising bosk for food, and raiding and trading for everything else they needed. Skilled hunters and fighters, they were feared as opponents. Equally versed in sword, lance and bola, combat with an Outrider will leave you with scars to show your grandchildren around the campfire. Assuming you lived to tell the stories.
Early one morning I rose and started off in the direction of a distant campfire smoke. Feeling the pit in my stomach I hoped to exchange my literary skills for some food. Groups of wagons were circled around the campfire, shielding the inhabitants from outside attack and providing a 360 degree view of the plains.
I walked in between the wagons toward the campfire. A single Free woman was tending the campfire and rose to meet me. I was just beginning to speak to her when from out of the mist a tall figure appeared in an instant. Dark skinned, tattoos and facial scars I recognized as scars of honor. He stood with his arm, folded, surveying the scene.
He looked over to the woman as she spoke and gave her a sharp glare as he spoke from under the dust mask, "customer of yours?....."
“Just a traveller, sir” I replied. “No past, no future, no destination.”
The woman, whom I later learned was called Freya, smiled the man. "Look, he is a northern one like me.. " She pulls at her hair and points to it and him.
The man nodded as if in silent agreement, then reached back and drew his kaiila lance and let it rest on his shoulder as he eyed the man. "Seems the woman there has deemed you worthy of our hospitality.....tell me...STRANGER...why should I find you as worthy as she?....do you know where you are, of whom you are standing before?"
I smiled softly. "I know I am a long way from that which I knew. I have walked away from a system that favored the few while claiming to be law for all. I seek clearness of mind and directness of purpose. I can kiss your lance or strike it, as you see fit sir. My fate lies in the uncertain future."
The man known Brock Jumanya looks closer and stabs his lance in the soil, then almost roars with laughter. "TURIA!..." he proclaimed as his memory was keen despite his elevated age. He continues to laugh, "you were that foolish man in fancy blue when I devastated the city red caste!.....you were the only one I didn’t strike down that day" he laughs then takes up his lance again as his face dropped more somber. "So you are here as a silly man of scribbled symbols on parchment to seek some sort of stupid vengeance then?"
He nodded without waiting for a reply, "you know, I assumed it would be a so called warrior that would come seeking my warrant...but you?. I never expected the cowards to hide behind a scribe....or perhaps you just feel like laying down your life for some strange reason."
I remembered well the barbarian that took down the whole of Turia's 'warriors' in the blink of an eye. "Turia is a den of liars and malcontents that use the law to their own advantage. I found that...unfair." I stopped for several moments in thought. “Being a person of principle and purpose, I seek a better way. If that be on the plains herding bosk, so be it. I must be right with myself.”
Brock narrowed his gaze as he seemed confused. “Then by your words I can assume you are not here in the lands of the nomads on the "honor" of the walls of Turia?"
I snorted in disgust. “Aye, I would welcome the chance to show the favored of Turia my 'thanks' for how they treated one of their high caste. It seems only fitting that they see what they have created.”
Freya tilted her head and looked at me. Oh yes she did recognize me... I was the one that came up outside the gates.. and was so very serious.. Brock was sure it was his city.
Brock waved his hand dismissively at the man he still knew to be of the city of fools and cowards. "High caste...what is a caste other than a set of false ideals that hide behind the arrogance of children in thick robes of decadence....vermin all of them, high and low ...caste!"
I looked down at myself. "Do you see those robes of adornment now? They were left in a heap at the gates of the city. I walked out of Turia naked and alone, starting over literally from nothing.”
Brock shook his head. "Makes no difference to me city man, you do not deserve these lands, you will beg my pardon and scamper off now to your walls. I am sure you miss them dearly soft skin...run along now boy...this is a place of men and of courage, not of children pouting because daddy made a mean face during supper."
I drew my lance and faced him. I would welcome the time to give you a few new scars, and prove my resolve, barbarian.”
He laughed out loud. “Carefull...you draw that blade unlike your pens...it can end badly for you....boy.”
“Blood runs red no matter whom it flows from, barbarian” I hissed to him.
He grined then struck without further hesitation looking forward to seeing if it was courage or stupidity that drove this man.
Taking the first blow across my arm, I jumped back and swung my lance at him, landing a blow on his shoulder. “I shall show you what I have learned from those that value the courage of a single man of honor.” The blow caught him off guard, stopping him in his tracks for a split second as he studied me.
He dodged a few strikes that were much faster than he would expect from a ‘city dweller’, and dueled in a fight that lasted much longer and harder than expected. He grew tired of the battle after several minutes however, and delivered a practiced strike to my shoulder, causing me to lose the grip on my weapon. Swinging wildly, I went down in a heap of dust and bosk dung.
Staring down at me, he then did something I did not expect. He lowered a hand to help me up. "You taste nomad soil sir.....for the first time..."
I accepted the man's hand, standing and rubbing my shoulder, and my pride.
Brock Jumanya looked the man over, seeing no fear in his eyes as he stood now unarmed and hurt. "You would die here...for what?...just to make a point?"
I rose to full height and lowered my arms to my side, staring straight into his eyes. “I must be true to myself. If that path leads to my death, so be it.” I scanned his face for expression. None. “If it leads to a new life, I seek that equally as much.”
Brock spoke after several quiet seconds. “Turia would have you on your knees...like all others, a scribe, your place is in weakness and as a coward....you do not accept this? You stand and battle a Kassar senior outrider...alone?....”
I shook my head slowly, never breaking his gaze. “I do not. Turia will remember my name in the lost blood of their people if I have my way. As I said, losing fear is the first step in finding yourself.”
Brock seemed incredulous. “Have you no sense, or have you no fear...I still cannot tell.”
“I fear nothing but dying alone and without honor” I said stoically.
Brock smiled, finally hearing words that made sense to him, words he could relate to. "Then.....we shall see how true those words are ...."
He reached down and grabbed my weapon and slammed it longways into my chest. "Don’t ever...lose your weapon...."
I nodded, doing my best not to show any satisfaction in my ass whooping. "I thank you for the lesson, and for the chance to grow."
As we sat by the fire to talk, I felt a sincerity in the man’s words. People were beginning to stir in the camp, and as they one by one approached us, Brock stood me up and introduced me as his latest lost cause, laughing heartily each time. I watched the slaves and Free Women tending to their men, and the men displaying a closeness I never witnessed in Turia. I felt myself drawn to this life, and decided then and there that, if I survived the lessons, I would become a Kassar Outrider.
If this type of immersive, intricate roleplay is what you are looking for, (and if you can handle a weapon better than I), then I encourage you to contact Brock Jumanya for entry into the group ‘Kassar Blood People.’ It may be the best experience you have ever had in SL.
If you live.
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