Panther Training Part 2

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 slaver—now called Varek—nudged the scraps of food farther from the cage with the toe of his boot.

“No,” he said casually to the desperate figure inside.

A man named Rhys passed by with another slave in tow. Tossing aside his half-eaten fruit, he nodded to Varek. “I wish you well, Slaver. I’ll let you return to your work.” His eyes settled briefly on Tempest. “Stop picking at that—it’s already infected.” Then he walked away, taking whatever knowledge he carried with him.

A collared woman—now Lyrin—guided her master and knelt softly in the grass. When he stopped on the stones, she adjusted and knelt beside him again. “Greetings, Masters,” she offered.

Another figure approached: Master Theron, a physician. Hearing the exchange, he cleared his throat politely. “Good to see you again, sir. Lady Neeve asked me to check on a… guest of yours?”

Inside the cage, Tempest exhaled weakly, hiding how faint she felt. Recognizing the green colors of his caste, she snapped, “Physician! Tell this madman I need water!” She scratched at her healing brand—it was red, irritated, and she had been given no salve. “It itches!” she growled.

Varek only grinned. “No water. No food. Unless you’re willing to work for it.”

Theron snorted. “Wild animal… better to put it out of its misery.”

Lyrin was dismissed and rose smoothly. “Yes, my Jarl.” She winked to those gathered and slipped away.

Tempest tried to stand, dizziness overtaking her. She slumped against the cage door with a pained grunt. “Please… at least get me some salve, greenie,” she begged, showing the inflamed brand. “Look at it!”

Varek ignored her plea. “Kneel,” he said sharply. Then to Theron: “What medicines do you have, good physician?”

Theron shrugged. “Other than a good whip and a good fuck? I have salve that will kill the infection.”

Tempest kicked the bars. “Just let me out!” Hunger and pain made her voice crack.

Varek’s patience thinned. “Turn around. Put your back to the bars. Arms through. Cross your wrists so I can bind you. Resist, and I’ll bleed you until you can’t lift a finger.”

When she refused, he struck her arms aside, his voice rising. “Obey!”

Theron returned with a dark glass bottle—medicine. “This should work.”

Tempest recoiled at the bottle. With a snarl, she pulled feathers from her hair—sharp, poisoned tips clutched like weapons. “I’m not doing anything for you,” she spat. Her eyes turned briefly to Theron. “See? He’s not going to help!”

“You’re dangerously close to getting your throat slit,” Theron replied calmly.

Varek, amused, said, “She still has too much fight in her. She doesn’t need water yet. Or salve. Let her cling to those feathers while she can.” His grin widened. “When she’s too weak to stand or speak, then we’ll give her medicine. Not before.”

Tempest’s jaw tightened. “Do whatever you want. I’d rather die.”

“Do you want to die?” Varek asked.

She only turned away and began to hum—softly at first, then louder. A song from the forests. A song to steady her mind. She clutched her braid, her stomach growling violently, her body trembling from hunger.

Theron shook his head. “She’s touched in the head.”

Varek chuckled, tearing meat from a freshly cooked vulo leg. The scent drifted into the cage. “Pity she doesn’t want it.” He placed beautiful baked cakes beside the meat. “You prefer pee, apparently,” he added with amusement as he ate.

Tempest curled herself away from the food, though the smell made her mouth water painfully. She sang louder, but her voice wavered with hunger and thirst.

A tavern keeper—now Jarek—arrived with his kajira Faye at his side. “Tal, Slaver,” he greeted. “A word?”

Tempest’s eyes snapped to him. “The man who gave me food! Please—just water!”

Faye lowered her lashes politely. “Greetings,” she murmured.

Jarek and Varek spoke of a festival, negotiating entertainment and slave involvement. Varek agreed to provide several.

Meanwhile, Tempest desperately reached her arm through the bars, claws brushing the edge of a forgotten plate. Her vision blurred. She tried again, growling softly as her stomach twisted painfully.

Jarek continued the conversation. Varek nodded. Faye blushed at their praise.

Tempest tried again—one more stretch, one more reach—and the world tilted violently. She slammed her head against the bars in frustration or dizziness… and darkness swept her under.
The cage fell silent as she collapsed unconscious on the wooden floor.