Born in the High city of Treve of a Tarnsman and Entertainer, Dalmarg took the Caste of his father and is now a feared rider of the tarn. Stabilized at the age of 28, he is a large man, but no so large as to be a burden to his brown war tarn Chalak. Chalak having steel shod talons has become his closest friend and trusted ally serving him faithfully for many envar.Together as one they have seen battle, both bloodied, each giving and receiving guardianship from the other.Dalmarg flew over the city of Kasra one evening looking for whatever he could find, what he found was the Free Woman Roxanne Cadeo out walking in her high walled private garden. Her guards being lax at their posts didn't see Dalmarg sweep from the clouds with the capture loop lowered and adjusted for her size. He dropped the loop over body as she turned to make her return to the house, the guard saw him but they were to late, as fast as he came he was faster gone. The woman bound securely across his saddle was soon stripped of her clothing and veils, traveling with him to the Trevian outpost camp. After long days of intensive time spent, being fed by his hand, watered by him, learning that his command was to be followed without question and promptly. She was shown his prefernce in her kneel and the way she answered his questions. She bent to his will and offered herself to him as his slave. He accepted her submission and took her into his ownership. As his way of mocking her he chose a variation of her Free name by calling her "roxy".Dalmarg dressed her for the cold mountain climate in a leather camisk from the soft hide of a southern tabuk, the soft leather molded it self to the lush curves of her body well. Her training will start now andshe will learn what it is to be property of a Free man of Gor.

Dals roxy

Chalak

“You have drawn a weapon against me,” I said. “You are of the warriors?” said the fellow. He wavered. He, too, knew the codes. “Yes,” I said. “And he?” asked the fellow. “He, too,” I said. “You are not in scarlet,” he said. “True,” I said. Did he think that the color of a fellow’s garments was what made him a warrior? Surely he must realize that one not of the warriors might affect the scarlet, and that one who wore the grimed gray of a peasant, one barefoot, and armed only with the great staff, might be of the scarlet caste. It is not the uniform which makes the warrior, the soldier. Magicians of Gor 25 Page 129

" ‘If you had been a true warrior,’ she said, ‘you would have taken me on the back of your tarn, above the clouds, even before we had passed the outermost ramparts of Ar, and you would have thrown my robes to the streets below to show my people what had been the fate of the daughter of their Ubar.’ " Tarnsman Page 99

"In the barbaric world of Gor, the Robes of Concealment are deemed necessary to protect the women from the binding fibers of roving tarnsmen. Few warriors will risk their lives to capture a woman who may be as ugly as a tharlarion. Better to steal slaves, where the guilt is less and the charms of the captive are more readily ascertainable in advance." Tarnsman Page 87

"…I threw her to my feet. She tried frantically to readjust the folds of her veil, but with both hands I tore it fully away, and she lay at my feet, as it is said on Gor, face-stripped." Tarnsman Page 98

"…the first thing a Gorean warrior is likely to do to the stranger in his tent is kill him, the second is to find out who he is." Tarnsman Page 167