The Investigation.

 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

The office was small, crowded more by tension than by furniture. Voices had already risen before the newcomer arrived, leaning casually against the doorway as though he had wandered into the middle of something far more complicated than he expected.

Inside, the discussion was already heated.

One woman questioned the very foundation of the inquiry itself. Why was blame circling around a man who had not even been attached to the woman in question? Why were whispers and assumptions being treated as fact? She argued firmly that a free woman was responsible for her own conduct, especially within the walls of a city where appearances and reputation carried weight. If inappropriate behaviour had occurred, then responsibility should rest upon the person who committed it—not upon some man who merely happened to be nearby.

Another woman remained calm despite the challenge. She insisted there was more beneath the surface, something not yet obvious to everyone involved. In time, she claimed, the truth would become clearer.

The newcomer finally stepped into the room properly, ducking slightly beneath the low frame. He introduced himself simply as a craftsman, a maker of trinkets and builder of boats, new to the city and unfamiliar with much of its politics. There was an easy manner about him, the sort belonging to men more comfortable with tools and timber than interrogations.

Yet interrogation was precisely what awaited him.

He was asked about the events of a particular evening outside the tavern. He had apparently been seated among several others, including two free women and another companion. The investigator wished to hear his version of the night and, more importantly, understand the nature of his relationship with one of the women involved.

The man looked genuinely puzzled.

Relationship? There was none, he explained. He had only met the woman that same evening, perhaps while drinking mead and distracting himself with carving work. His memory wandered as he spoke, following details that seemed clearer to him than the accusations being implied. He recalled the piece of wood in his pocket and smiled faintly before producing a small carving—a tarn perched carefully upon a branch, its feathers and talons etched with remarkable patience and detail.

For a brief moment, the atmosphere shifted.

The carving passed between hands while compliments were exchanged, and the craftsman explained he could polish and finish it properly later if desired. The gift seemed genuine, thoughtful even, standing in sharp contrast to the suspicion lingering within the room.

But the questioning resumed.

The investigator suggested that witnesses claimed he had spent most of the evening whispering privately to one woman while ignoring the other. Had he noticed the second woman drinking heavily? Had he paid attention to her behaviour?

Again the confusion returned to his face.

He insisted he remembered speaking openly with everyone present. Whispering secrets did not sound like him at all, he claimed, even adding with mild offense that he always conducted himself as a proper gentleman. Still, his uncertainty was obvious. The details of the evening seemed fragmented in his memory, elusive and difficult to hold onto.

The investigator pressed onward carefully, circling the topic without directly accusing him of wrongdoing. Questions shifted strangely from whispered conversations to craftsmanship. She requested another carving identical to the first and asked how long it would take him to create it from start to finish—even suggesting he repeat the process under the same tavern conditions with mead in hand.

The request only deepened his bewilderment.

By then it had become increasingly clear to him that he had somehow become entangled in a matter far larger than himself. Though repeatedly assured he was not being accused of anything, suspicion hung heavily in the air regardless of the polite words being spoken.

He defended himself openly then, explaining that he had travelled many cities, worked honest trades, and even served as a slaver in another region. He insisted he was a respectable citizen and not someone who engaged in secretive plotting or improper conduct.

The investigator thanked him nonetheless, insisting his statements had actually helped her case.

That did little to ease his discomfort.

The conversation ended awkwardly. Another voice in the room gently reminded everyone that the man often travelled and perhaps should have been asked first before being burdened with tasks or expectations connected to the investigation. She herself wished no further involvement beyond offering aid should anyone require a physician.

At last, the craftsman could tolerate no more uncertainty.

He paused near the doorway, turning back with visible frustration crossing his features.

“Am I being accused of something?” he finally asked.

The answer came swiftly: absolutely not. He had been helpful, nothing more.

Yet the reassurance rang hollow.

With a grunt of dissatisfaction, the man departed the office entirely, heading toward the tavern in search of strong spiced mead and the familiar comfort of carving wood in peace. Behind him, the investigation continued—still tangled in rumour, perception, and the uncertain weight of whispered truths.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Later on that day:

The investigation did not remain confined to the quiet walls of an office for long.

Questions followed the matter wherever those involved gathered, and before long the inquiry carried itself into the tavern itself — the very place where the alleged events had unfolded. The atmosphere there was warmer than the cold formality of the office, filled with the crackling of the hearth, the scent of spiced mead, and the low murmur of evening conversation. Yet beneath that comfort lingered the same unease that had begun to spread through the city.

The investigator approached the prosecutor carefully, asking for a private word to clarify several concerns before the coming trial. Unlike the earlier conversations clouded by accusation and uncertainty, this exchange carried a more measured tone. Both women seemed less interested in blame now and more concerned with procedure itself.

There was, after all, a complication neither could ignore.

The prosecutor had also been present during the incident in question.

That fact alone cast a dangerous shadow over the proceedings. If she had witnessed the events firsthand, then she was no longer merely an advocate arguing the case — she had become part of the case itself. The investigator raised the concern plainly, questioning whether it was proper for someone who might later be called as a witness to also serve as prosecutor.

The prosecutor admitted she had already voiced the same concern several times herself. She acknowledged openly that it did not sit right with her either. If called to testify, her role would become conflicted, perhaps enough to compromise the entire trial.

The possibility of a mistrial now hung heavily between them.

Neither woman seemed eager for such an outcome. The investigator suggested they seek guidance from higher authority before proceeding further, perhaps even appointing a different prosecutor entirely if necessary. The prosecutor agreed. Better to correct the flaw now than allow the trial to collapse later under procedural failure.

The investigator had built a reputation long before arriving in the city. Some knew her as methodical, others as relentless. One man, Abraham Jacobson, had once described her publicly as being “fierce and sharp in a courtroom,” a reputation earned through years of dismantling weak arguments and exposing flaws others overlooked. It was a reputation that now followed her closely as she examined every detail surrounding the coming trial.

And she intended to examine everything.

As they spoke, the life of the tavern continued around them.

Near the hearth, the northern craftsman sat quietly with carving knife in hand, seemingly detached from the politics unfolding nearby. Thin curls of wood gathered at his boots while the shape of a tarn slowly emerged from the timber beneath his careful hands. He hummed softly to himself as he worked, the low melody carrying the distant feel of northern lands and old winter songs.

His craftsmanship remained remarkable to watch. Every cut was measured, every movement practiced. The rough shape of the bird’s head had already formed clearly, followed by the elegant curve of the neck beginning to emerge beneath the blade. Though he worked quickly, there was no waste in his movements. It was the kind of precision only years of labor could create.

The investigator glanced occasionally toward him while continuing her discussion. In many ways, the craftsman himself had become an unwilling thread woven into the larger matter. His presence that night, his uncertain memories, and the questions surrounding whispered conversations had all become pieces within the growing puzzle.

Yet for his part, he seemed more concerned with wood, mead, and northern memories than with legal proceedings.

The prosecutor eventually reiterated her concern once more: if a new prosecutor were to be appointed, that individual would need time to prepare properly before the trial could continue. The investigator promised to speak with authority directly and explain the risks involved. Perhaps, she suggested, the seriousness of the conflict had not yet been fully understood.

It was then another woman approached the gathering, drawn by the mention of the upcoming trial. Greetings were exchanged politely before she inquired whether the investigator had been granted an office for such meetings.

The investigator explained she had chosen to conduct part of her inquiry within the tavern itself for a reason.

She wanted to see the setting with her own eyes.

To understand where everyone had stood. Where conversations had taken place. How visible certain actions may or may not have been from different parts of the room. The physical space mattered almost as much as testimony itself.

“Context,” the investigator remarked quietly, “is almost as important as intent.”

But the arrival of the newcomer shifted the tone of the discussion almost immediately.

Though courteous, her words carried unmistakable firmness as she questioned why legal discussions were being held publicly rather than within the offices specifically granted for the investigation. More importantly, she objected to hearing her companion’s name mentioned in a manner she clearly viewed as disrespectful or doubtful.

The investigator attempted to reassure her that the conversation had been held away from the larger crowd and that no insult had been intended. However, the concern was no longer merely about location.

It was about implication.

The newcomer defended her companion’s reputation firmly, reminding those gathered that both she and her companion were fully familiar with legal procedure and courtroom consequence. As leaders within the city, they had already discussed the matter extensively among themselves.

The prosecutor quickly attempted to ease the growing tension, explaining that no insult had been intended toward anyone’s competence. The issue, she clarified, was simply concern over appearances and legality. If she remained involved as prosecutor while simultaneously acting as a witness, then the legitimacy of the proceedings itself could later be challenged.

Still, the atmosphere had grown noticeably strained.

The investigator continued carefully but directly, explaining that her understanding — based upon earlier conversations — was that the city leader himself would oversee multiple aspects of the trial. If that understanding was incorrect, she stated plainly that she would withdraw from the matter immediately until proper instruction was given.

The response came swiftly.

Her role, she was reminded, had already been defined. She served as defense advocate and nothing more. Decisions regarding prosecution and judgment belonged to the city leadership. Questions soon followed regarding why she continued challenging a process she already appeared to understand.

But to the investigator, understanding the process and examining its weaknesses were not contradictory.

They were essential.

The prosecutor then offered another clarification, explaining that while the city leader would indeed oversee prosecution, her own involvement had been more educational in nature — part mentorship, part preparation. Somewhere within those overlapping roles, confusion had formed regarding exactly where her authority began and ended.

Yet the investigator’s concerns remained.

To her, the matter extended beyond intentions. In legal proceedings, appearances carried nearly as much weight as truth itself. A trial could fail not only because of corruption, but because of perceived imbalance. Witnesses serving prosecutors. Leaders holding overlapping authority. Conversations overheard publicly. Every detail mattered.

At last, the tension slowly began to settle.

The investigator announced she would return to her offices and await direct conversation with the city leadership. She thanked the prosecutor sincerely for her cooperation throughout the discussion and also expressed gratitude for the office space that had been granted for her work.

The other woman softened slightly in turn, explaining that her intervention had not come from hostility, but from protection. The situation had become deeply upsetting for those connected to the accused, and she wished to ensure legal discussions remained confined to proper places rather than spilling freely into tavern rumor and public speculation.

And perhaps that revealed the true state of the city more than anything else.

The investigation had ceased being a simple legal inquiry.

It had become personal.

Every conversation now carried hidden tension. Every witness risked becoming entangled. Every procedural choice threatened political consequence. Rumor moved faster than truth, and emotion faster than reason.

Yet despite all of it, the investigator remained unwavering.

Fierce. Sharp. Watching every weakness carefully.

Because somewhere beneath the contradictions, uncertainty, and growing unease, the truth still waited to be uncovered.