*The Fever House" by Lady Neeve Barbosa, Physicians Caste
This Gorean Fan Fiction was generated using Chat GPT alongside the RP logs.
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
*The Fever House*
The morning snow lay deep across the city when Neeve Barbosa arrived at the infirmary, brushing frost from her cloak. She had barely stepped through the entrance when Drusus pushed inside behind her, shaking snow from his shoulders with impatient energy.
He didn’t waste time.
“Tal, Neeve. I need your help. Could you come with me, please?”
She blinked at him. “Where exactly? We’ve got rooms here—private ones.”
“It’s Zu,” Drusus said. Even his steady voice thinned with worry. “He’s very poorly. Semi-conscious. I can’t move him. If you won’t come, I’ll ride to the next city to fetch another physician.”
Before she could argue, Gil slipped past with a grin and a warm kiss to the back of her hand. “Duty first, Lady Neeve; mead later. Find me when the city stops ringing bells at you.” Then he disappeared into the snow, leaving only swirling white flakes in his wake.
Neeve sighed. “Fine.”
She snatched up her cloak and bag. “Come on, then. No dilly-dallying.”
The House of Beasts
Zu’s home crouched at the edge of the lane like a dark animal itself, icicles hanging like fangs from the eaves. Inside, the air struck her like a wall - rot, musk, and uncleaned cages. The sleen hissed and slammed metal bars at their passing.
“Stay far from the cages,” Drusus warned. “And… sorry for the smell.”
She had smelled far worse in her years as a physician. Still, she covered her nose as they pushed through the corridor. Edus sat slumped at a desk, asleep from exhaustion. Beyond him, Zu lay sprawled on the bed, drenched in sweat, breath shallow, stitched head wound swollen and oozing.
The physician in Neeve surged forward. The woman beneath her grumbled under her breath.
Zu’s eye cracked open. Fury, sharp even through fever, flared at the sight of her.
“Dru… I said no… Don’t trust—”
He tried to rise but collapsed under his own weakness.
“I trust her,” Drusus said tightly. “Let her help you. Please.”
But Neeve remembered too well the last time: the thrall nearly killed, Zu’s violent side, her own fall. “Will he even accept treatment?” she muttered.
Zu’s response made the answer clear.
When she mentioned Juno - her former student, now Zu’s trusted healer - Zu’s remaining strength surged into a snarl. “Get. Out.”
Drusus growled back at her, anger rising with his fear. “Yes, he fell down the stairs because YOU distracted him. And don’t dare slander Juno— - is a better physician than most. You haven’t earned his trust.”
The sleen hissed. Zu’s eye burned. The air trembled with tension.
Neeve raised her hands. “I didn’t mean to offend either of you. I only meant that Juno learned under my caste. If you trust her, you can trust me. Let’s start again.”
Zu did not accept the apology. He lunged for a weapon that wasn’t there, voice cracked with panic and fever: “GET OUT!”
The Break
Drusus placed a steadying hand on Zu’s shoulder.
The reaction was instant.
Zu’s fist slammed into Drusus’s face with the force of a cornered animal. A tooth flew. Drusus spat blood.
Everything broke open at once.
Gil’s knock sounded faintly through the storm outside, but Drusus barked at him to leave. The sleen screamed. Zu writhed, half-feral with fever and memory. And Neeve - knowing reason had no place left here - went for her bag.
She lunged with the rep-cloth laced with capture scent.
Zu saw it and fought with a desperation born of old nightmares. He struck at her - caught her cheek - but Drusus threw his weight onto him, pinning him to the bed even as blood dripped from his mouth onto Zu’s chest.
“Now, Neeve!” he shouted.
Three bodies wrestled on the bed—fear, pain, adrenaline, cloth—then gradually, inevitably, Zu’s strength crumbled. His movements slowed… faltered… faded. The great body sagged into the mattress, breath ragged but unconscious.
Silence, except for the sleen hissing in the next room.
Neeve sat back, panting. Dru spit blood into the corner. Sweat and fear soaked all three.
Work to Be Done
She washed her hands again, shaking. “This is why I don’t have patience for this man,” she muttered. “But I treat who needs treating.”
Drusus only shrugged, still angry. “He nearly killed a slave,” Neeve reminded him.
“He did what a slave deserved,” Drusus shot back coldly. “You coddle them too much.”
“Because I was one,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “And what she suffered was beyond discipline.”
The words hung between them. Heavy. Revealing.
But she turned back to her work.
She cut away the ruined stitches. Cleaned the infected flesh. Using a herbal poultice on the wound, applying it with steady, experienced hands. The swelling began to ease almost immediately. She stitched his head again - clean, precise sutures, neat as embroidery.
When she finished, she prepared willow bark tea and salve for the bruises.
“When he wakes,” she said softly, “give him this. Twice a day for two days. And use the salve here.”
She hesitated before speaking again.
“Tell him… I’m sorry. For assuming.”
Drusus grunted, still pressing a cloth to his bleeding mouth. “Fine. And what about this hole in my face?”
She handed him a small pouch of salt. “Gargle this. It was a rotten tooth anyway.”
Zu stirred faintly on the bed, breath still shallow but stronger. Life returning.
Outside, Tarsk the thrall’s voice drifted by - “WOOD! Well seasoned! Three for a copper!”—before being abruptly dragged into the house by Drusus to refill the empty woodbox.
Neeve stepped back, watching Zu with wary eyes.
Her job was done.
The healing - and whatever came after - would be up to them.
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