The Survivor

                                  This Gorean Fan Fiction was generated using MetaAI. 

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.

Gor is Copyrighted by John Norman

25th Article for the Gazette

Date: 6th month, 10,175 Contasta Ar

Journal of Arealius, Scribe of Port Olni

I, Arealius Barbosa, a young and inexperienced merchant recently expelled from the caste of scribes from Port Kar, set sail on the Paragon, a sturdy Brundisium round ship, as part of a convoy bound for the Isle of Cos. Our fleet consisted of 15 round ships and 4 Telenus green painted sleek tarnships, escorting us through treacherous waters.

As we sailed, a surprise westerly gale struck without warning, conjuring waves that towered above us like giants - 40 to 60 feet of churning, foamy chaos. The sea state was apocalyptic. Our seasoned captain, Gorm, shouted orders above the howling wind, his face etched with concern.

"Cut away the sails! We'll lose the mast if we don't!" he yelled. I was chosen to ascend the swaying mast, tasked with saving our ship. Being the most expendable man on the ship I climbed, the rigging creaking and groaning, threatening to snap. The wind buffeted me, making every handhold a battle. I reached the sail, its canvas shredded and flapping wildly. My knife sliced through the ropes, releasing the sail to the mercy of the gale.

Back on deck, Captain Gorm nodded curtly, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Well done, lad. Now, let's pray to the Priest Kings we ride this out."

But the Priest Kings had other plans.

The Paragon, now without headway, lay helpless, a toy at the mercy of the raging Thassa. Monster waves tossed us about like a falling tarn. Several crew members were washed overboard, including Captain Gorm. Bosun Tharius took command, ordering us to throw cargo overboard to lighten the ship.

In the chaos, two more crew members were lost. The storm showed no signs of abating. Tharius' voice carried above the din, "Hold on, lads! We must endure!" But for how long?

As night fell, the darkness closed in like a shroud. I clung to the rail, my heart racing with every wave. The Paragon rolled heavily to the leeward side, almost capsizing, before a wall of water crashed down upon us from the windward side.

The hull shuddered, buckling under the impact. The weather deck lay mere feet from the waterline. We'd lost buoyancy.

In the chaos, I spotted a faint light on the horizon - a flash of lightning illuminating the darkness. For an instant, I saw the terrifying reality: the waves towered above us, mountains of water waiting to crush our fragile vessel.

The lightning faded, plunging us back into darkness. The storm raged on, unforgiving.

I realized my fate and resigned myself to the fact that I was lost. Total blackness settled upon the round ship as it dove to its final destination.

As the Paragon sank into the abyss, I knew this was my time. Suddenly, something hard shot past me in the darkness. I reached out, snagging the flailing ropes from the broken mast. I hastily searched and found lines to tie myself to the buoyant trunk.

Exhausted, I passed out.

I regained consciousness while being tossed on the deck of a Cosian tarn ship, the Sea Sleen. I had survived. I wept like a slave girl, but the Cosian sailors surrounding me remained stoic, their faces etched with indifference.

One of them, a grizzled veteran with a scar above his left eyebrow, handed me a wooden cup filled with warm broth. His eyes, though hardened, held a flicker of understanding.

"Where...?" I stammered.

"You're aboard the Cosian vessel, Sea Sleen," he replied. "We found you clinging to a mast, adrift near our shores."

I nodded, still reeling from my ordeal.

The silence that followed was a balm to my battered soul. No questions, no demands. Just the gentle rocking of the ship and the soothing sound of the waves.

For the first time since the Paragon's demise, I felt a glimmer of peace. The rest of the voyage to Cos was uneventful. Word of my survival spread fast and for a time I was considered a good omen in many of the taverns and paga houses of of the port city of Telenus. Many of the sailors and merchants paid for my drinks as I told of my kiss with death. Eventually it was found out that I could read and write despite having a Rencer accent and the swagger of a man from Port Kar.

I became known as Ar the Sailor although I had only been to sea one fateful time. I was contacted by the scribe caste of Telenus, who had heard of my ability to read and write, I was questioned or more like interrogated until they were satisfied I could not possibly be a black caste or pirate scout because I was not clever enough as one of the Telenus scarlets put it. But the lead cartographer in the caste saw that I had talent for painting pictures. Before I knew it I was on a ship from Telenus bound for Torvaldsland…but that is another story all together. 

((Editorial Note: The author was actually a Navy sailor who served in the North Atlantic making four trips above the Arctic Circle, thus becoming a member of the Nautical Society of the Blue Nose. He experienced an event similar to this fictional story and also lived to tell about it.))