Blog Schedule and Contributions

 (edited July 22nd, 2026)

.Stories tie back to Stories on EmmaOfGor.Blogspot.com in particular Steel Worlds Inc by Emma of Gor and Banks of the Bighorn by Tracker, and The Paga Diaries by Arizona Wanderer. The titles in this post link to the stories

Recent Posts:

The Paga Diaries (48) by Arizona Wanderer

Nocturnal Journeys by Peony D Beckside

Anthropologist of Gor, Book 1, Preparations (2) by Tracker.

The Paga Diaries (47) by Arizona Wanderer

Attar of Talendar by Peony D Beckside

The Slave Viki Chronicles by Tracker

The Ticking Time Bomb by Peony D Beckside

Anthropologist of Gor Book 1, Preparations (1)

The Paga Diaries (46) by Arizona Wanderer

Just Because You Are Paranoid by Peony D Beckside

Tales of Drysdale House (18) Pulled Back In (5)

The Paga Diaries (45) bu Arizona Wanderer

The 'Hide in Plain Sight' Trap by Peony D Beckside

Vignette (3) Saffron by Tracker

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The Paga Diaries (48) by Arizona Wanderer.

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Nocturnal Journeys (A Hide in Plain Sight Story)

 Nocturnal Journeys
Peony D. Beckside

Anthropologist of Gor, Book 1, The Preparations (2)

 

Diary of Dr Claudia Skimmerhorn, Head of Anthropology at Queens College City University of New York

Wednesday, Jan 4, 2017.

I am waiting in my office for a call from the Remote Anthropology Foundation regarding my proposal for a year long Expedition to Gor. The Foundation is small but has money to give away. Or rather they can have access to money for special projects for dangerous expeditions to remote places that other, more standard groups won’t touch. Even more importantly, they can arrange permissions and insurance in a way that no one else can. They arranged Michael Rockefeller’s New Guinea trip in 1961 for example[i].

The Paga Diaries (47) by Arizona Wandereer

 47. Cellmate

The gruel was difficult to eat.  It was a cold paste, flavorless, with no texture.  There was nothing to chew, yet it was not easy to swallow.  It reminded me of plain oatmeal  that needed more water.  The slave gruel that I bought for Mena on the street had tasted better than this.  Last night alone in the cell seemed to never end.  I was anxious and could not sleep.  Getting gruel this morning brought back the myriad of thoughts that went through my mind the night before.  Had I been given slave gruel and was I now a slave?  Was it better to be a slave than a prisoner?  Would I be condemned to the horrible fate of public impalement?  Should I attempt to take my life and avoid such horror and humiliation?  How long would I be in this cell?  I was hungry and should acquire any energy I could get.  I forced myself to eat the gruel, but I did not lick the bowl clean.  I am not a slave.

Attar of Talendar

 Attar[1] Of Talendar

Peony D. Beckside

 

I watch the man.  I sip at the container of ‘Black wine’ in my hand, though here it is called coffee, or alternatively Café, this place having two main languages.  This is poor stuff compared to the fine brews of Thentis grown beans.