The Traveller
This Gorean Fan Fiction was generated using Chat GPT alongside the RP logs.
Please note that the Gorean Saga is a fictional series, and its world, customs, and values may not align with modern societal standards or moral principles.
Gor is Copyrighted by John Norman
The young northern man, unlike a normal northern - not quite so tall, not quite so rugged, had wandered the streets of the new city for some time, unfamiliar with its narrow alleys and towering walls of sun-baked stone. The air smelled faintly of spiced paga and roasting meat. At last he paused, catching sight of a man seated before an open scroll, with two kajirae kneeling beside him.
“Tal, Sir… Kajirae,” he greeted simply.
The man with the scroll grunted a reply, eyes flicking up only briefly. “Tal, Sir. Girl,” he muttered before returning to his scroll.
The Traveller smiled faintly. “You seem occupied, friend. Perhaps one of these slaves might guide me to a place where I can find food, a good drink… and perhaps a bed for the night?”
The man lifted his gaze, pointing to one of the girls. “That one is mine. The other may serve, if her chores are complete.”
The girl rose gracefully, her movements smooth and practiced, head bowed. “With your permission, Masters—may I be of service?”
He studied her for a moment, then inclined his head. “Aye. Lead on then, girl. Food, drink, and a bed. In that order.”
Her green eyes lifted just enough for him to see their gleam before she turned to lead him down the street. “This way, Master. I will show you all you desire.”
She walked lightly, her steps measured and elegant, her hips swaying with unconscious grace beneath the thin folds of her camisk. The Traveller followed, watching the crowd thin as they turned toward an inn. When they reached it, she turned with a soft smile.
“Here we are, Master. Within, you will find warmth, food, drinks and a soft bed.”
He nodded, his eyes glancing toward her hair—rich and red, cascading over her shoulders. He reached out, gently catching a strand between his fingers, twisting it around “Tell me, girl,” he said softly, “will you serve me tonight? It seems quiet here.”
“If the Master wishes,” she answered, her voice like music, eyes lowered. “Speak your desires aloud, and I will try to please you.”
“Harta,” he said, his tone shifting to command. “Spiced mead, warmed. Stew, with bread and butter. And tell me your name.”
“They call me Lawan, Master,” she said before gliding toward the kitchens.
When she returned, she knelt beside him, placing the tray upon her thighs as she lifted the steaming cup. “I hope I did not keep you waiting, Master.”
He looked down at her, amused. “In the north,” he said, “girls serve mead in a horn—held between their naked breasts.” He chuckled at her blush and tasted the stew, nodding his approval.
As she knelt, quiet and attentive, he studied her. “Do you like this city?”
“Yes, Master,” she replied. “It is my home—quiet and lively at once. A strange balance, perhaps, but a beautiful one.”
He smiled at her honesty. “Quiet and lively…” He tore a piece of bread and touched her chin with one finger. “Open, girl.”
Her lips parted. He placed the morsel gently into her mouth.
When the meal was done, the girl , suddenly brave, spoke "Master.... where do you come from?"
Traveller leaned back, his eyes far away. “Ah… I was born in Lara,” he said at last. “The city burned when I was but eighteen. I fled with nothing but the wind and the sea to guide me. I have sailed the Thassa and the Vosk Delta, chased storms and calm alike. For a time I lived in Hellvegen—far to the north, among cliffs of black stone and mists that never lift. The people there are carved from the same rock they inhabit—cold, enduring, fierce.”
Her eyes glimmered with wonder. “Then you are a traveller, Master… an adventurer?”
He smiled faintly. “Some might say pirate. I prefer ‘seafarer.’ The sea is a living beast—its waves coil like a dragon’s spine beneath the moonlight, its breath the salt wind that lashes the decks. It cannot be conquered, only revered.”
She listened, spellbound, until his tone deepened, his gaze commanding once more. “There is more to the tale,” he said softly. “But such stories are best told in a quiet room—with more mead. You will accompany me.”
“Yes, Master.”
In the room above the inn, the Traveller laid aside his sword and shield. He was a man forged by wind and water, his hands calloused, his scent touched with the salt of the Thassa. The girl stood by the door, her red hair shining in the firelight.
“Your room, Master,” she said.
“It will do,” he replied, kicking off his boots and sitting on the edge of the bed. He patted the cover beside him. “Come.”
She hesitated only a moment before crossing to him, her movements graceful as she sank down beside him. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, the soft rise of her breast beneath the thin fabric.
“Hellvegen,” he murmured, Hellvegen, “the road to Hel” in the old tongue—reflects both its treacherous terrain and its grim, stoic culture. A fitting name for a place so harsh. There I was shipwrecked, and there I learned endurance. But I am no true northerner. My heart belongs to the sea.”
She turned slightly, eyes soft. “Hel… like the goddess who rules the underworld?”
He laughed quietly. “Aye, girl. Like her. Dark and mysterious.”
His gaze softened. “And you? Tell me your story.”
She hesitated, then spoke. “My mother died when I was small. My father drowned his sorrow in paga and kanda. When nothing was left, he sold me—for a sack of kanda and two bottles of drink. I fought the collar once… until I learned that even in chains, one may find peace.”
The Traveller’s hand stilled against her skin. “Cruel or not,” he said softly, “freedom comes only when we accept what we are.”
She smiled faintly. “I am free, Master—freer than I ever was as a daughter. I serve because I choose to serve.”
He looked at her for a long time, then leaned closer, brushing her cheek with his lips. “Perhaps one day, girl, I will take you on your own adventure.”
Her eyes shimmered. “If that day comes,” she whispered, “let it be truth, not promise.”
The Traveller said nothing more. The night deepened, and soon both drifted to sleep—his arm around her, the sea still whispering in his dreams.
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