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Wessacat of Gor	By : Katt_le_Rose Category: G through L Series > Gor Views: 1624 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Gor series, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Wessacat of Gor
- 1
PROLOGUE

Wessacat sat on her haunches upon a lonely hill. Tall grass poked up through the layer of snow that covered the frozen ground beneath her. The icy wind brushed against her tawny, golden coat and she squinted her eyes against it. Ice crystals, tossed about by the breeze, clung to the whiskers above her eyes and around her mouth. Her long, thick tail, a shade or two darker than the rest of her coat, was wrapped around her legs, the tip flicking gently on top of her front paw.
Beside her, Wasi lay on his belly, chewing a bramble from the tuft of fur on the bottom of his wide paw. They had traveled far but not nearly far enough. In the distance, some ten pasangs to the south, thin tendrils of smoke from the chimneys of Master Claidhim’s Hold could be seen rising against the stark blue of the sky. Would they come for her? She doubted it; but, the open fields were not safe. They must reach the forest before nightfall.
Wessacat turned to her companion and nuzzled him, her eyes saying it was time to move on. There was no need for words, so great was the bond between them. They rose and bounded onward, leaving the warmth of furs and fires behind them. They were outlaws once again; beasts to be hunted for their sleek, thick pelts. Though should she die, the hunter would find himself quite shocked when he came to retrieve his prize.
The beast that ran beside her was an ocelot, no more, no less. Though he was a brilliant and cunning animal, he was just that, an animal. She, on the other hand, was something more. Freak, some called her; half-breed said others. Wanted and loved by few; hated, despised and misunderstood by many more.
In the Hold, she had been “kitty”, half-human with perky catlike ears, claws that would retract into her thick fingers and a long, golden-brown tail that never went away despite her form. She was the house pet, a slave girl, cherished by the Mistress of the Hold and honored to the point where she had been moved from a humble kennel to a luxurious bed in an elegant chamber.
Now, in the wilds, she was free, free but for the collar of steel around her neck still bearing the marks of the Hold. She had pulled off the silver bell that had hung there and left it behind as it would give away her position, for, here she was “fullcat”, her true self, a sleek and powerful larl some six cubits in length and weighing nearly fifty stone. She was ydahwesa, the goddess feline, the last of her kind, as far as she knew.
They had taken Wessacat in, those people of the Hold, the Lady Callista and her Companion, Master Claidhim, though she had never actually met the Man. The Lady had accepted her, as had the other slave girls and Master Faol, a young warrior in training. She had worn fine silver jewelry, elegant yellow silks, and chalwars of orange. She had served with poise and grace, bringing her own traditions to this new Home Stone.
They paused and Wessacat crouched low, flicking her tail at Wasi to do the same. She, being by far the taller of the two, had seen a deer grazing just over the next rise. Fortune was with them as the winds had shifted from the east to the north, placing them downwind of their prey. Together, they inched forward on their bellies, down into a shallow gully and up the other side to gaze through the blowing snow at the creature.
There was no need for strategy, no need to confer over a plan of attack. She and the ocelot beside her hunted as one, their patterns so ingrained in both it was as though their minds were linked by some invisible cord. He was the speed, she was the brawn. Combined, they were quiet death, taking their unsuspecting prey before it even realized it was in danger.
With a glance, she sent Wasi on his way. He would stay with the wind as long as possible, moving far to the east then, at the last moment, curving around to the north in a circling pattern. At that point, the deer would pick up his scent but by then it would be far too late.
Wessacat watched the smaller cat’s movements, her eyes narrowed to tiny slits to block out the glare of the sun on the harsh white snow. Her muscles tensed as he grew closer to the turning point and the tip of her tail flicked in anticipation. At the last moment, just before the wind would carry the scent to the animal, Wasi broke into a run, closing the distance to the turning point in seconds. Bursting out of the snow, he came straight at the huge buck from the north, startling it and driving it southward.
The buck snorted, a billowing cloud in the cold air, and leaped, dodging Wasi’s raking claws with ease. It turned then, coming at the cat with its array of antlers, the fur from their new growth still not rubbed away. Wasi cut to the west, escaping the deer’s charge, and lashed the animal’s hindquarters with razor sharp claws. The buck broke to the south, dashing in great leaps away from his attacker and, unknowingly, straight into the crouching larl.
As the buck bounded over the rise, the huge cat sprang up. Its powerful forearms wrapped around the animal’s midsection, three inch claws sinking into its hide and her weight dragging it to the ground. The two beasts rolled down the hill into the gully, Wessacat’s hind legs ripping through the deer’s underbelly and her powerful jaws finding its throat. Her four inch, needle-sharp canines pierced the deer’s jugular, spraying her face with warm blood.
By the time they reached the bottom of the gully, the deer was dead. They would feast well tonight and could for several days on such a kill; but, there was no time. The cats would eat their fill and the rest of the bounty would go to the night creatures and the carrion birds for they must press on, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the Hold.
Twilight found them at the edge of the forest, the sky turning from rosy orange to dull grey as the two cats searched for a place to camp for the night. The snow was thinner here, most of it caught in the thick branches of the tall pines that surrounded them. Together, they gathered sticks and limbs to make a makeshift bed. There would be no fire tonight. Wessacat had left her worn and tattered backpack behind.
The sun faded and the three moons rose high into the night sky, lighting up wessacat’s eyes with a frosty glow as she lay at the edge of their camp, staring southward and licking the dried blood from her paw. Her heart was what had caused her downfall. Always, it was her heart. What she had seen in Him, the young warrior in training, she couldn’t say; but, from the moment their eyes had met, she knew she wanted Him.
As the days and weeks passed, they grew closer. He had protected her, cared for her, given her a pet name and her love for Him had grown daily. So too, had grown her love for the Hold and the Lady Callista. Wessacat had felt loved and wanted, like no other time in her life. So great was her love for Him and the Hold that she offered herself up to Him, to be His slave, hoping that in so doing she could win His heart and a place in the Hold in one move.
The Master Faol had turned her down but only because she bore the collar of another, a Free Woman of a distant land, in a realm far removed from the world of Gor. His feelings for her though were clear. He wanted her and would take her when word was received from wessacat’s distant Owner.
Before that day could come to pass, however, word came from Master Claidhim Himself. Wessacat was to be granted membership into the Hold! She received a mark on her collar denoting her new Home Stone from the Lady Callista and on that day, Wessacat vowed her undying loyalty to both the Hold and to the Lady, making an oath to sacrifice her life for them should the need arise.
Wessacat’s eyes drooped and she purred softly as she remembered that day. How proud she had been! How filled with rapture! For then it seemed she had found all she could wish for…a strong Man to tame her, a loving Woman to care for her, a warm and safe Home Stone to dwell in and give her life for if need be. What more could a half-breed, larl-human wish for!
There was a crack, off to her left. Wessacat’s head spun in that direction, ears tilting to pick up the slightest sound, eyes widening, letting in all the available light. She opened her mouth a bit and tasted the air. A sleen, a few yards away to the east, was tracking the scent of the raw meat she and Wasi had dragged away from the deer carcass. She leaned her massive head back and roared, sending the animal skittering away through the underbrush for a safer meal.
Laying her head down on her paws, her thoughts drifted to the past again. A Stranger had come to the Hold, not long after Wessacat had received her Claidhim mark, a Free Woman of the Caste of Scribes. From Her first days there, it was clear her intent was on winning the young Warrior’s heart. At first, Wessacat had been troubled. The Hold had been plagued by outlaws and assassins. Was this another one, hoping to kill the only resident warrior and weaken the Hold?
Days had passed and Wessacat’s fears were relieved. The Woman became a regular guest, taking up residence in one of the many guest rooms in the upper floor of the Hold. She was strict, this Scribe, and had called “kitty” down several times to ask her to explain her actions. Wessacat began to think the Woman would make a good mate for her would-be Master, for surely a Free Man needed a Free Woman by his side…and a slave girl at his feet.
More time passed and then, one day, the Woman was gone, leaving as mysteriously as she had arrived. Not long after, Wessacat discovered a note, slipped in her trunk and hidden among her silks. The wax seal bore the insignia of the Master Faol! Late that night, while the other girls slept, she had sat beside the fire and torn the letter open.
~~kitty, I must speak to you of a matter of great urgency! Meet Me at the Waterside Inn at the 19th ahn . I will send a courier to bring you to Me. Speak not of this to ANYONE!! Faol~~
Wessacat had read the brief note several times, committing the time and place to memory before tossing the missive into the fire. On the given night, she had met with him and he had told her of his plan. He, along with the mysterious Scribe, was leaving the Hold to go off and form a new Home Stone. Along with them were coming leyli, his slave girl in training, navah the slave of Lady Hazine of Turia, and the Lady of Turia Herself, the Lady Callista’s own sister!
Wessacat’s claws dug into the cold ground as she remembered her first reaction to his words. “Traitors! All of you! You, Master, a warrior in training bound to the Hold! And Lady Tuatha, who had accepted Blood Sisterhood from the Lady Callista! And the Lady Callista’s own Sister!” Her breath came out in clouds of steam in the frigid night as her anger rose once more, remembering her thoughts.
Of course, she had not spoken those words to his face, for what was she but a slave girl. He could, and rightfully so, have taken off her head. No, instead, she had listened to his words and had fumed alone and silently the rest of that night. For days, as Gormas came and went, as the New Year came and went, he reasoned with her, seeing what torment she was in.
Yes, torment. Agonizing, sleepless nights and tortured days as her heart wrestled with her mind and soul. Some of his words were true. Yes, there was inequity in the Hold and the newer girls were treated more harshly than Callista’s girls. But was fairness a part of slavery? Had not Wessacat suffered under the hands of a brutal Master Trainer before she had earned her place as “first girl” in the days of her training?
Surely he was right when he said there was a lack of discipline in the Hold and that the Old Ways were not being adhered to. But could anyone live a life in this modern world “strictly by the book”? Could anyone, ever, live literal interpretations of the Sacred Scrolls? It was an impossible task, for no one could go back in time and relive the past. All one could hope to do was to follow the guidelines set down by those great works.
What was wrong with the one she longed to call her Master? Had the mysterious Woman bewitched him? Had some spell been put on him to blind him? Perhaps she had poisoned his drink with some strange elixir that had put the Master under her control! Such things were not unheard of in the land of her birth.
As she wrestled day and night with these thoughts, there came the killing blow. The “council” of the new Home Stone had decided. There could be no “half-breeds” in the new Home Stone for the mysterious Mistress demanded “purity” in their new Home. There could be no “kitty”. If she were to join them, to follow the Man she loved, she must deny her identity and pretend to be something she was not.
Yes, the Master had said they could live their own lives, as “Wolf” and “kitty”, in the privacy of his chambers, or in the wilds, away from Landa, the new Home Stone; but, what kind of life was that? How could she wear a mask over her face, hide her tail beneath her silks, and speak like a Gorean? Did he not know her heart? Did he not realize such a life of hiding was no better than the torturous lives she had lived in other realms?
As the moons sank low and the end of another sleepless night approached, Wessacat sat up on her haunches. Lifting her head, she let out an anguished cry, her heart wrenching in her chest as she cried out in bitter agony to the Priest-kings and to her Ancestors. The night creatures scurried into their burrows, even their tiny hearts trembling at the sound of such great torment.
How could she leave the Hold, reject her vows, and break the heart of the Lady Callista, who had shown her nothing but kindness and acceptance? How could she stay and see the Man she loved leave, taking her heart with him as he walked out, broken hearted over her disloyalty to him? How could she hurt one and not the other; be disloyal to one and not the other? Oh Priest-Kings, was there no answer to this tumultuous state of affairs?
In the end, it had been Wasi who, as always, had come to her aid. It was he who had crept into her open window, tugged at the hem of her silk, and had led her out onto the icy rooftop of the Hold. It was he who had stared off in the distance, saying without words the only answer there was.
As the sun rose, Wessacat looked towards the south again. Not even the smoke trails of the place she had called “Home” were visible now. She sighed heavily and turned away. She would never look back.
- 1
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Wessacat of Gor