A Muse
Places to Journey
As lightning splits across the night sky
on the Isle of Tyros,
a child's cry is heard in a piercing wail.
His lungs filling with his first breath.
A mother sacrificing her own life to give him his.
His Early Days
It had been decided long before his arrival
to name the child Niklos Alexandir Kalesius,
as an honor to both grandfathers on his mother
and father's sides of the family.
Cassandrea, his mother, who was so exhausted
by the birth of her firstborn son,
began to fade just after Niklos took his first breath.
Dying, she drifted into the Cities of Dust
without ever seeing her baby's face.
Although very distraught by the loss of his free companion,
Niklos' father Andros, of the caste of Scribes,
saw to it that his son was raised well.
From the moment he was born, stories were often told
about his lost mother to keep her memory alive.
As Niklos grew, much time was spent in his father's
study learning the alphabet, and science, and law.
The young boy developed a great aptitude for learning,
just as his father and grandfather before him.
Niklos also had a sense of adventure as well,
possessing a pioneering spirit like his mother,
that shone through no matter what the occasion.
Being the explorer that he was, and thirsty for knowledge,
Niklos would often come home, sandals and tunics spoilt
after a day of tromping through the tide pools of his
native Tyros because he wished to explore aquatic life
in the rocks and crags. Once on his explorations of
the mountainous terrain, he came across a cave in which
he thought was "safe".
Lo and behold, it was teeming with native vart
and it so frightened the youth, he squirmed though a
hole no bigger than he was and tore his tunic
from neckline to his thigh, in order to escape
without being eaten alive!
After that close call, Niklos soon learned
the importance of responsibility and common sense.
Soon he was able to be apprenticed by his own father,
to begin his learning of what would be expected
of him in the caste of scribes.
And I learned these things, or as much as I could
in the time I was given.
Occasionally Torm would cry out in horror as I made
a mistake, incomprehension and disbelief written
on his features, and he would then sadly take up a
large scroll, containing the work of an author
of whom he disapproved , and strike me smartly on the
head with it. One way or another, he was determined
that I should profit by his instruction.
Tarnsman of Gor~ P.40
His Growing Years
Niklos was only eleven when war came to Tyros.
Although he benefitted from his father's teaching,
his mind often drifted to far off places he had only
read about in the dusty scrolls of his father's library.
Niklos dreamed that one day when he was old enough,
he would take a boat to the mainland and explore
there, since he had practically completed the circuit
of Tyros already! Oh to live on an island,
because once you've seen a sight first,
you are bound to see it on the return trip!
As Niklos grew, it seemed that his intellect and his
tastes for finer things became much more refined,
although it did not dampen his wayward soul.
His father had prepared the way for him well, both
financially and in his studies.
Andros knew that his son would someday make a fine
scribe, and it was only a matter of time
before he took a job in the city.
Time had passed, and Niklos began his work
in the cylinder of records helping to organize
the history of Tyros' citizens.
The work was demanding, as well as fulfilling
but still Niklos longed to travel.
One day a proclamation came from the Ubar of Tyros.
It was time to make his pilgrimage to the Sardar Mountains
as required by all citizens healthy and fit
to make the journey before the age of twenty-five.
Niklos was very eager to go away
from his beloved Tyros to make his pilgrimage.
His father gave his blessing for the young man to go,
paying for his safe passage.
Andros knew his son well, after so many turnings of
raising him, he somehow sensed that Niklos
would want to see more than just the Sardar,
for within him was the same heart
of the companion he once loved.
Andros made sure his son had enough coin
to buy his meals and lodging during his travels
abroad, and then sent him on his way.
Niklos gave his father his word he would
send correspondence as soon as messengers
could deliver the many scrolls between them.
The Sardar Range is not the superb natural wilderness
that is the Voltai. It is inferior to the Voltai
in both dimension and grandeur.
The mountains are black, except for the high peaks
and passes, covered with white patches and threads
of cold, gleaming snow.
There is no green to be found in the Sardar.
No vegetation. In the Sardar Range nothing grows.
The only way to enter the Sardar is by foot.
It is said that many men enter the Sardar Mountains,
but no man ever returns.
"Tarnsman of Gor", Page 29
The Sardar Mountains
Oh Carnival! The raucous laughter filled nights
spent walking the fairgrounds, nestled between
the jagged bosom of the Sardar, its pinnacle shrouded
by ominous clouds, cold..and mystery.
Niklos had heard many a tale of the goings on
and stories of many brave yet foolish souls
that decided to take a walk to the mountains peak,
to never return again. Claimed by the Priest Kings.
Not to worry, my friends!
Niklos had given his word to his father not to do
anything so outlandish as try to reach the summit of
the Sardar so he could "speak to a Priest King."
Instead, Niklos settled for curious gazes to the white
robed initiates, in charge of the many pilgrims
in the temple who had come to leave tokens for the
Priest Kings. He himself, had left a scroll and a
golden brooch that was once his mother's,
for his father's wishes.
He hoped the Priest Kings would grant him safety
during his trip, and good fortune besides.
As for the fair, there were plenty of things to occupy
the thirsts of a young man who hadn't seen much
but the blue of the Thassa all his life.
Pretty veiled women, some in different robes
from all walks of life and all corners of Gor,
kajira for sale, and for use.
Games of chance, and wonderful items in the
marketplace to buy. Drink and merriment to be had.
The best fun Niklos had was watching the events
from each city, and their nightly bonfires offering
welcome, bannered tent poles declaring city names,
bold and proud warriors, and those of his own caste.
It was all so much to see, and at one time!
A hand's worth of fun slowly came to a close,
the pilgrims each heading back to their own Home Stones
until yet another fair brought them back to the Sardar.
He watched the caravans leave one by one, and was
asked to accompany a group from Bazi, as they had
noticed he traveled alone, and there was always safety
in numbers. Niklos was intrigued by the warm brown
skins of the citizens, and he hoped to travel the
southern climes of Gor, specifically Bazi and Schendi.
There was so much to discover, and soon he would
discover it, so he joined their caravan making a wise decision.
A traveler by the gift given to him by his mother,
Niklos is making his trek through the
different locales of Gor, learning about its peoples.
