From Ambassadress to slave: Najah of Gor

We have a secret in our culture; it's not that birth is painful, it's that women are strong - Laura Stavoe Harm

"Najah, you are doing great! Keep going!"

The slaver's encouragement resonated in her eardrums, but it was a back dropping compared to her grunting and muffled cries that the leather bit afforded her. Her teeth clenched painfully into the fiber which ground together, almost biting through and into her chapped lips. Another wave of pave ravaged her body and she reached out, grasping the sides of the bed until her knuckles burned white.

"I see the head now! We are almost there, girl... push."

The Physician's voice, though hastened and urgent, was calm as if she was in fact attempting to make certain that she didn't exert herself. The guiding palm pressed firmly on her swollen belly as Najah thrust with her pelvic strength to agonizingly usher the infant's head from her body.

She tossed her head back upon the pillow which was already saturated with heavy sweat; the hood only exacerbated her anguish it seemed and her teeth grazed her lips while the leather slipped further into her mouth and her tongue slid along the saliva-coated leather. This was just a simple moment she was afforded respite between pushing and briefly recalled the previous nine months that proceeded to this moment. The steel embracing her throat began to press to press on her vocal chords just slightly when she descended into that landscape of the painful delivery process and the recollection of when she actually laid claim to her own name.

The past is not a package one can lay away - Emily Dickinson

Her name wasn’t Najah and neither was she called “girl” by anyone. She was a lady; a respectable lady amongst the high caste whose true name was uttered in reverence, profound respect, and some would say, perhaps even adulation. It was a major honor and not something taken quite so lightly to be awarding a position to a woman and perhaps one so young. The woman, Lady Suyuan as she was referred to was recommended to the Pasha of Sand Sleen upon high recommendation of the citizens. The young woman had proved her intelligence through swift delegation and persuasion; not to mention her inclination and love towards languages: learning the varying Gorean dialects, devouring literature and a knack for writing. Not to mention her exhaustive efforts to alleviate that year’s drought through the representation and trading trips to attain water and she hadn’t even been called “Lady Ambassador” yet.

Discussions were held upon her latest return to the homestone and she was made ambassadress. Unfortunately, it was only a means that would backfire. For the influence and followers the subsequent naïve and young Lady Ambassador, her position was an affirmation of the plans the Pasha had: she would be an iconic figure for their own means and when they were finished with her, the coup de grace would be public. She would someday be the one to rest their faults, scheming, and plans.

The position kept her busy; trade was a constant and travel was frequent to almost exhausting proportion. In exchange of salt and sareem diamonds, the ambassadress oversaw the shipment of barrels of water… but where her ignorance was prevalent, the stealth of her employers reigned. Amongst the sought after water, which was a precious commodity in the Tahari, the leaves of the kanda plant were hiding to be distributed and sold to the citizens of Oasis of Sand Sleen and accompanying cities. The illegal substance would prove to be lucrative for the ambitious Pasha who utilized the young woman’s skills for his own means. Subterfuge and deception were sovereign within the first few years that Suyuan was a representative of her homestone. The reverence undulated as popularity would with any political figure, but the decline for Suyuan’s position and she was growing disfavored in combination with the Pasha who was secretly exploiting the woman.

The worst drought of that year consumed the Tahari and it was brutally grueling on the Oasis of Sand Sleen and the demand for water escalated to an unreasonable pinnacle. Suyuan was working herself into exhaustion and near burn out. No matter the efforts of the young ambassadress, there were never enough jewels or salt, but she soldiered on; she had to think of her people. But, the drought seemed to consume the whole planet as each individual shipment seemed to lack more of liquid that was the crutch of the desert tribes of the Tahari. Orders for the handling of such shipments grew stricter as they were direct from the Ubar himself. The usually obsequious and unquestioning ambassadress’ with a threshold for steadfast loyalty began to falter – she had discovered some of the barrels contained the infamous narcotic as opposed to the water rations she had broken her back for. The next few shipments contained more kanda and Suyuan’s resolve for her leader began to crumble as she came to her own conclusions.

The Pasha was cheating the citizens out of water rations for the gold that drug trafficking produced.

We are all prompted by the same motives, all deceived by the same fallacies, all animated by hope, obstructed by danger, entangled by desire, and seduced by pleasure - Samuel Johnson

The evidence complied and solidified and the young ambassadress concluded the inevitable – she would have to expose her leader to the people. Even if the endeavor cost her freedom and life, she had a duty to the homestone. Honor was on the line here.

Of course, what she didn’t expect was that the cronies of the Pasha had alerted him of what the young ambassadress discovered. Suyuan was carefully watched and there would come a time where she was expendable. The drought and the grumblings of the citizens and their complaints lodged against the High Caste of Sand Sleen proved an opportune time to get rid of the “source” of their problems: first starting with getting rid of the soft-spoken, pretty ambassadress and the evidence she had gathered against the Pasha. If she revealed him, the masses would ensue with their sense of disenfranchisement and righteous anger. Suyuan had enough backing to become Tatrix; she always gave more credit and listened to the citizens. She had to be taken care of.

Lady Ambassador Suyuan was sent on her final excursion as Lady Ambassador of Sand Sleen to the Isle of Cos to see how relations could be strengthened between the Oasis of Sand Sleen and the capital city of Telnus.

The scene was set; her simple “escort” was nowhere to be found when she usually had an entourage due to her official position. Sometimes was amiss, something didn’t seem right, but she had to perform her duty, escort or not.

Betrayal is the only truth that sticks - Arthur Miller

There was a flicker of movement and she briefly noticed the warrior who was observing her in a hawk-like fashion. She paid no mind to it but it did visibly make her uneasy and simply continued the idle chatter with the kajira.

The ambassadress’ attention was seized by the approach of the rarius; the determination was heavy in the air while he shrieked “runaway” at her and reached out to savagely peel away the layers of rep-cloth from her face. She was not attired in her haik as usually was; she had been instructed not to.

He tore at her robes and she put up the appropriate fight, clawing at him with her neatly manicured nails. She battled him but he proved stronger and overpowered her and thrust her to the cobbles. She screamed for her escort, for aide from any of the spectators in the vicinity.

Her pleas surprisingly fell on deaf ears. Most looked away while the kajira she had been conversing with watched the struggle with horror.

The ambassadress was tossed roughly to the cobbles and there was nothing of her robes except for shredded strands which was haphazardly shoved into her mouth in a feeble effort to silence her and also to deter any biting.

He was on top of her now nude form and unbuckled his tunic. She flailed beneath him, kicking at him with her dainty legs. He positioned himself between her limbs and pinioned her now bound wrists into the pavement and entered her with one brutal, swift thrust of his hips.

...It was me and a gun
And a man on my back
And I sang "holy holy" as he buttoned down his pants...

The pain was encumbering and it wrapped around her brain like a dismal cloud that refused to depart. She writhed beneath him violently, exacerbating the torture. He was hurting her and she knew he was aware of it. Despite her beleaguered protests, he wouldn’t stop as much as she begged him too.

...Tell me what's right
Is it my right
To be on my stomach
Of Fred's Seville...?

He gradually dislodged himself and reached forward to grasp a handful of her tangled hair; black with some undertones and wiped his seed and her virginal blood in her locks. He buckled up his tunic and glowered down at the battered young man; turning on his heels, he barked his greeting before walking away.

The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman as the most dangerous plaything. - Friedrich Nietzsche

“Welcome to Telnus.”

Suyuan lay on the cobbles amidst her torn robes while shock consumed her. She was hurt and the final evidence of her purity was drying on her thighs.

Time seemed to pass slowly; an eternity occurred as she remained in her crumbled heap on the cobbles.

Jaxon Luik’s lips curled into a triumphant smile as he encroached. He had in fact heard her screams and witnessing her violent deflowering. He was simply anticipating the right moment before he would mark the fatal chapter in her life. In his callused right hand, he already had the collar ready.

It was an arrangement, the final humiliation. The Pasha had secretly arranged for the ambassadress’ fall from grace meticulously. Having her assassinated would be too easy and too suspicious. He had to discover another method of which would mean her downfall.

The rumors spread that the ambassadress had been in a bad part of Telnus, seeking out dealers to fuel the kanda trafficking in Oasis of Sand Sleen. The ambassadress was behind it all, the shipments, the sales, the trade. She was not as honorable and righteous as she seemed to be; she was an outright sham. The Pasha assured his people that the matter was dealt with delicately and that the ambassadress was taken care of: she had a brief trial and was sentenced to slavery.

It explained by the escort didn’t accompany her, why Suyuan’s cronies were rebuffing her.

She was betrayed… by everyone and left to her fate in Telnus.

Where her people and friends abandoned her, she was subjected to a different path when the House of Bomze’s head slaver stepped forward and claimed her.

Jaxon Luik proceeded towards the broken and ruined woman and hissed sharply at her, his voice lowering an octave. His words were minatory and threatening. He was a man that was not to be reckoned with.

“I suggest that you simply cross your arms and submit. Otherwise things won’t go well for you.”

He was correct of course and the curious onlookers were approaching. Amongst the crowd were some officials, children, kajirae, and free women whose cold gaze penetrated her to the bone.

She did as he commanded and the collar encompassed her slender throat. The locking mechanisms were so loud that they threatened to burst her eardrums.

The ambassadress had died upon the pavement only to be revived as a common kajira within a matter of moments.

She was handed to Jaxon’s cousin, Dane Galtier who examined and bathed her. As a new acquisition, he paid special attention to her. At first, she was wary of him, the trauma of her public rape and humiliation was still a fresh wound. Dane was rough, but reasonably patient with her; he was a true Gorean man who would refuse to allow Suyuan even to wallow in her own trauma.

You have to crawl into your wounds to discover what your fears are. Once the bleeding starts, the cleansing can begin. - Tori Amos

Days transformed into weeks and everything was still immensely surreal for the new acquisition. The House of Bomze made things comfortable for her as she was still reeling in the aftermath of her devastating conundrum.

The nausea commenced around the sixth hand when the nightmares were just beginning to abate somewhat and for a few days she was able to gain a good night’s rest. But, in the early hours of the morning she would flee from her kennel to expel the contents of her stomach over the side of the cliff. Her hunger increased and she found herself sneaking leftovers as often as possible from the kitchen when the other House girls were serving. It was when the fainting spells began that Dane became diligent and monitored his girl more closely. The final straw was an excursion out on the beach and he growled, approaching Jaxon and his girl; a former Panther named Cortez who assessed Suyuan’s condition.

She was with child.

There is no other feeling
Like the movement of an unborn child.
It's closer
Than someone touching you
From the outside.
It's purely and cleanly
And clearly
Your own movement - Merrit Malloy

The news did nothing to alleviate her condition. She couldn’t, wouldn’t have this child! It would be everything that symbolized her loss of status, innocence, identity! But, she had no choice in the matter; she would bring the pregnancy to full-term and if anything happened to the fetus, her life would be forfeit.

It was a bitter pill to swallow and she would have to learn her place even if it ended up killing her. She would be coerced to carry the product of her humiliation and there were even talks of making her House Breeder. Suyuan was a remarkable-looking girl to begin with; it was her eyes, their hue and shape that made her most valuable.

The hands transformed into months and her duties included caring for the Free’s children as opposed to being chained in a pen for the duration of the gestation. Jaxon and Dane concluded that that would be good for her mental health.

They were right.

The pregnant kajira spent most of her time with the children, playing with and caring for them. Her skills even extended to looking after moping slave girls and even deterred one from suicide.

She had a new role which defined her and she was a fish in the Thassa; thriving in her environment as opposed to drowning previously. She had a new purpose despite the emotional scars that were hidden.

She had been disgraced, humiliated, and cast aside and learned to live with it. Her caretaking ways distracted herself from her own adversity. In caring for others, she was on the gradual path to recovery.

The “bane” as she referred to the child growing within her womb made her elated. Perhaps it was hormones, insanity, or just accepting of her position, but she couldn’t wait to meet the little life that was kicking beneath her heart.

Suyuan was thus renamed “Najah” by the slaver Dane. It was an appellation that meant security, success, “to be taken care of”. She embraced it enthusiastically. She spent more time with the slaver, her joy eliciting trust. He knew the right words to say, when to apply comfort. She didn’t shy from or refuse his affections anymore. He even promised Najah that she could stay with her baby after it was born, that it would remain in the House.

One does not bargain with kajirae in any way and one could do whatever one wanted with them. But it was cruel to give them a false sense of security and hope; especially those in a delicate condition.

Najah provided the final thrusts as she panted heavily into the sweat-soaked hood. She couldn’t quite comprehend why it was on her head. She would be seeing her baby very soon anyway.

Najah’s son entered the world in a fit of screaming and crying and his mother resigned herself on the medical bed. She was exhausted, sore, but above all she was bursting with anticipatory joy.

“It is strong, but too small to travel now.” The physician’s assistant related to Dane after she cleaned him. She handed the child over to the slaver wrapped in tight rep-cloths while Najah lay upon the blood-stained cot just a few feet away.

“Thank you, Lady. I will come by tomorrow to pay for your services.” Dane’s heavy footfalls resonated as he quickly passed the resting, though anxious mother. Her hand reached out to brush the soft hair of her infant son but Dane exited the room with the crying child.

“Where’s my baby? Let me see my baby. Let me see him!” Najah exclaimed with some agitation. Something was wrong and luckily her senses, which met no anastethic for the birth made her made her sit up.

The Head Physician pushed her back down the bed and had her restrained as her assistants went to work at patching and cleaning her up.

“Where’s my baby? I want to see my baby. He said I could see my baby!” The heartbreaking desperation in her tone was gradually ushering in her panic as she shook her head violently, “Take this damned thing off of me and let me hold my baby!”

The Physician could feel her eyes glaze and out of pity for the shrieking girl, injected her with a sedative that made her pass out almost instantly. She removed the hood and leather bit that had snapped in half and appraised the unconscious girl.

“I’m sorry, girl. But this is the way it has to be.” She brushed her dampened hair from her forehead and clenched her teeth. This had to be the worst part of her occupation; delivering slave girl’s children and having them taken away immediately post-birth. Some girls were prepped for the separation, some were not. It was rare when a slaver allowed stock, especially one born to remain with their respective mothers.

She studied the sleeping Najah’s features. She had heard about her story and it made her feel for her. She whispered to her, almost lovingly.

“You have lost so much… your freedom, your innocence, your pride, your identity, and now your baby…”

She curled her fingers slightly and caressed her cheek. It was surprisingly cool to the touch. She resumed her reassuring speech. Whether or not Najah could hear, the Head Physician would offer a blessing if plausible.

“If you survive this which I hope you do. You will find that what you lost will return – in one way or another. Sleep well, girl.”

I cannot say why I could not save him.
Could there be a reason why?
Did my body reject him in its humiliation?
Did I, in my mind, push him away
Because he wouldn't let me give up
When I wanted to?
I carried him
And he carried me
Through when we could not go alone - Merrit Malloy

...a Contract Woman's Efforts.

You cannot say to the sun, "More sun." Or to the rain, "Less rain." To a man, geisha can only be half a wife. We are the wives of nightfall. And yet, to learn kindness after so much unkindness, to understand that a little girl with more courage than she knew, would find her prayers were answered, can that not be called happiness? After all these are not the memoirs of an empress, nor of a queen. These are memoirs of another kind. - Sayuri from Memoirs of a Geisha (film)

On the planet Gor, there thrives a passionate, vital race known as the Pani who are very similar to the Asian cultures of Earth. Their ways and beliefs were transferred on the Voyages of Acquisition thousands of years ago, but they are often unheard of in "known Gor". Yet, their stories are just as rich and abundant as any other woman's secret history.

Honjuku is a Port Kar reserve and some pasangs away was the notorious port city which harbored its very own Caste of Thieves, she-urts, and pirates. Yet, the village was entirely the opposite; a scenic respite that invoked tranquility but never lacking in diligence and discipline, as it was dedicated to the lifestyle of the Pani swordsmen.

We do not become Geisha to pursue our own destinies. We become Geisha because we have no other choice.- Mameha, Memoirs of a Geisha (film)

Mori Okimoto, often referred to by his men as "Lord Okimoto" was a dignified man who favored resplendent korti or kimono. When he was not attending to matters of state for the emperor or dealing with politics, he preferred spending his evenings within the attendance of the refined and beautiful contract women which the makeshift pleasure house of the tarncamp provided. Often, men would seek out collar-girls or women who assumed themselves as contract-worthy but often, by examination, age, and eligibility, would not be admitted to the okiya of where future contract women lived.

Yet Hisoka, later renamed "Mizumi" during her training, a one-name person seemed to perplex them...

Hisoka was a simple peasant girl who had been born and raised in the tarncamp who was the daughter of a fisherman employed under Lord Okimoto. He provided the best fish that he could catch for the military camp and admired by many. During wartime, his skills could be depended upon to provide nutrition for the soldiers; and he was awarded a fine contract woman to become his companion.

But she provided no sons for him to carry on his legacy, only a plain older daughter named Setsuko and a lovely one who was named Hisoka. Both daughters were sold into an okiya after the death of his companion, for among the Pani and not simply just Gorean men, females could be done with as men saw fit, young or old.

Hisoka, the reserved child was seperated from Setsuko as the both of them endured very different lifestyles. Setsuko would become a collar-girl and the aged contract women who were now in charge of Hisoka's life were determined to see her through to her training.

Despite the appearance to the outside world, Hisoka endured with attempts to run away and the like. Though she endured, suffered, becoming a refined gem for the pleasure of Pani men. Shouldn't she consider herself luck that she was not a collar girl?

There was a moment, during Hisoka's youth and training where Lord Okimoto bought her dumplings and offered kind words to her. Unlike most Pani men who preferred the women, he resigned himself with the simple whims of a girl who was struggling and suffering from subsuquent adversity. He was kind, gentle, and offered a few words of encouragement.

The trainee contract girl dashed to the nearest temple and paid her respects to the gods; offering her life, her services, everything... if she could meet such a man as Lord Okimoto again; even in training for just a moment.

Hisoka, who would later become Mizumi was unaware just how much perseverence would be prevalent in her bloodline.

In that moment, I changed from a girl facing nothing but emptiness, to someone with purpose. I saw that to be a geisha could be a stepping stone to something else... a place in his world. - Sayuri, Memoirs of a Geisha (film).

Camellia transforms into...

History is herstory too - Author Unknown

"The Pani are an extremely emotional, passionate race, as I would learn, and the calmness of their exterior demeanor, their frequently seeming impassibility, even seeming apathy, was less of a disposition than an achievement." - pg 258. Swordsmen of Gor.