The Boy/Beast

 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.

This story is based off Chat logs and CHAT GPT was used to make it into this.

Gor is Copyrighted by John Norman

 He was dragged through the streets like an animal caught in a snare.

Iron bit into his skin with every step, chains rattling as his blood slicked the ground beneath him. Each time he was pulled forward, his body struck stone or earth, the strength in his limbs draining away until even his snarls sounded hollow. He fought anyway. He always fought. It was all he knew.

When the ground finally turned soft beneath him, he was thrown down hard. Snow pressed against his cheek. He felt the axe cut deep. The pain searing through his body like a fire. Then he was dragged further. This time he was pushed into a place he didn't know. The scent of herbs and clean water filled the air—strange, sharp, unfamiliar. He twisted violently smashing his shoulder against the barrier that confined him, but his strength faltered. Pain flared along his back where metal had torn him open, and the collar around his throat burned like fire.

Voices surrounded him. Too many. Too close. His pale eyes tracked movement through tangled curls, every muscle coiled tight, ready to lash out. Men meant pain. Men meant cages. One had already proven that with steel.

Then a different presence came closer.

The voice was quieter. Lower. Slower.

He didn’t understand the sounds - language was impossible for him as his tongue was slit - but the tone was different. Not sharp. Not cruel. When the word boy reached him, something inside stirred. A memory, perhaps. Or simply recognition.

He snarled and pressed himself into the wall, breathing ragged, watching. The chains dug deeper as he shifted, metal grinding against swollen skin. He wanted to flee. He wanted to strike. But his body trembled, betraying him.

The room emptied. The door closed. Silence followed.

She lowered herself to his level.

He did not trust it.

She made simple motions with her hands, pointing first to him, then to herself. He stared, head tilted, breath slowing despite himself. When she mimed pain and then help, something shifted. He didn’t advance, but he didn’t attack either.

When he stamped his foot, it wasn’t a threat - it was desperation.

The metal around his ankle had fused with flesh, skin raw and angry beneath it. He shoved the limb forward, teeth bared, demanding without words.

The lock opened.

Relief surged through him so fast it made him sag. A sound slipped from his chest - half groan, half sigh - as the pressure vanished. Encouraged, he lifted his chin, exposing the collar biting into his throat. Dried blood cracked as it moved.

One by one, the chains came away.

He forced himself to stay still as iron peeled from his skin. Each removal felt like shedding a lifetime. When the last weight fell, he slumped into the wall, forehead pressed to stone, breath shuddering. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt lighter.

She gestured to water.

He tried to turn, to follow - but his hands were still bound. Panic flared. He twisted, showing her his wrists, snarling at the ropes, yanking until the fibres burned his skin. He lost his footing and collapsed with a frustrated growl.

The bindings were cut.

Freedom came too fast.

He surged up, scrambling onto the bed, eyes snapping to the window. Wood. Weak. Escape. He leapt, fingers scraping the frame—

Pain exploded.

Something struck him, sharp and sudden. He ripped it free, snarling, but his limbs betrayed him. Strength drained away like water through sand. He staggered, collapsed, cheek hitting the cold floor.

His vision blurred.

Hands checked his breathing. Lifted him. Bound him again - but gently this time. Silk instead of rope. Strong, but not cruel.

He drifted in and out as water washed over his skin, as dirt and blood were scrubbed away. A stinging scent. Cool salve. Fingers moving carefully over wounds. The deep gash in his back was closed while he slept, pain muted by exhaustion and potion.

When his mouth was examined, his body flinched even in sleep.

The scars there were old.

The loss of his tongue had not been quick or clean. It had been done to silence him forever, to reduce him to growls and broken sounds. To make him less than a man.

He slept long and badly, trapped in half-dreams of cages and chains.

When he woke, he pulled violently at the silk, snarling in confusion and fear. The room was unfamiliar. His back burned. His body ached in places he hadn’t known could ache.

Then the singing started.

Soft. Steady. Unthreatening.

His resistance slowed. Breath evened. He watched her warily as she sat nearby, not advancing, not flinching. When she drew pictures, curiosity overcame rage. He leaned forward, straining to see.

A forest.

A cage.

He erased the forest with chalk-dusted fingers and drew the cage instead. Bars. A figure trapped inside. He pressed his finger into it hard, eyes blazing as he stared at her.

She crossed it out.

Drew a city.

Told him, in broken words and gestures, that he was safe now.

He didn’t believe it. But he tried to repeat the name she gave the place, the sound mangled by the ruined muscle in his mouth.

The effort hurt.

Still, he tried.

When the bindings remained, frustration returned. He yanked until silk held fast, anger rising again. Salve touched his wounds and he recoiled, snarling, misunderstanding pain for betrayal.

Later, alone again, he tore at the room itself.

Bedding shredded. Plants ripped from soil. Water overturned and mixed with dirt beneath his hands. He threw himself at the door again and again, driven by a feral need to escape, until the lock finally gave way.

The door burst open.

His ankle snapped him back.

He crashed hard to the floor, growling, clawing at mud and stone, chest heaving. Voices gathered again beyond the doorway. Men. Weapons. Danger.

He crouched low, hackles raised, ready to fight or flee—bound, battered, and cornered.

Still trapped.

Still alive.

And for the first time, no longer entirely alone.