Wednesday, December 3, 2025

GREAT CHARACTERS OF GOR 

             LADY DARA

Story of Lady Dara in Italian for my Uncle Darian 

Ink stained Lady Dara's fingertips, a perpetual sign of her calling. In the silent sanctuary of the scerva, surrounded by scrolls stacked like ancient bones and the scent of aged parchment, Lady Dara was a sentinel of memory.

Her black hair, visible only in the smooth wave from her forehead to beneath her blue veil, framed startlingly blue eyes that peered intently at the delicate script. Her face, a mystery to most, remained hidden behind the intricate folds of her veil, a customary shield for women of her caste, but for Dara it was also a shield for her thoughts and expressive features, which, if exposed, could attract unwanted attention. She was no mere copyist. As a skilled scribe, she held the pulse of the city in her careful hand, transcribing the births of new citizens, the sad tally of the dead, the complex decrees of the Sardar, the fluctuations in the prices of grain and slaves at the market, and the grand declarations of war and peace.

Lady Dara Castle

Her southern accent, a soft lilt that sometimes escaped her lips when she dictated to a young scribe, marked her as a woman of high lineage, originally from the Southern Cities of Gor. Her lineage resonated in the quiet authority of her posture, in the graceful gesture of her hand over the parchment. Being a high-caste Freewoman earned her a certain respect, despite her highly unconventional lifestyle.

Lady Dara was single again, hers a path shaped by choice and circumstance. Her son, Poseidon, a lively boy with his mother's dark hair and a spirit as indomitable as the sea, was the fruit of a previous free companionship. His father, himself a scholar, had departed, the contract dissolved, leaving Dara with the precious gift of a son to raise alone.

Sometimes, as the afternoon sun slanted through the tall, narrow windows, illuminating sparks of dust that danced in the air, Dara would pause, pen poised, contemplating her future. She recorded the lives of others, meticulously archiving their destinies, but her own life was a tapestry woven from threads of independence and tradition. She was a woman of intellect in a city that valued female obedience, a mother without a partner, in a society that defined women by their men. Her veils, while masking her spirit, also granted her a unique form of anonymity, granting her a certain freedom in her work that few women enjoyed. She was the custodian of Gor's history, its secrets, its very identity, and in that knowledge, hidden behind the veils, lay her silent and formidable power...

darianelnairad-editor

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