Gay, Bejeweled, Nazi Bikers of Gor

"To the walls!" cried Blergus.

All around us, the warriors of Er leapt to the stone walls of Er, these being high and made of strong stone, brought, so to speak, from the quarries near Er, where the blocks would have been hewn by slaves and pulled to the city by Thralion, this being the way of the stonecutter's caste, who did not deal with the merchant caste but were rather, so to speak, enlisted by the Uber of the city and its government, this being the way the government ensured the safety of the city and its hotel-stone.

"To the walls!" cried another warrior, he clad in the scarlet tunic of his caste, and the armor and helmet, which resembled that of a Greek hoplite, the Spartans in particular having been brought to Gor by the Pope-Kings centuries ago and bringing with them the manly culture of their home, which on Gor had been allowed to grow and prosper in manly ways by the Pope-Kings.

"To the walls!" cried another warrior. He, too, was clad as the first, being of the city guard, and I saw that his tunic was tight around his bottom in a most manly way.

"To the walls!" I heard again, the voices of manly warriors doing their manly duty of protecting glorious Er and its hotel-stone.

"To the walls!" I cried. "To the walls!" I heard. "To the walls!"

Above, I saw a tern turn and dive, its ternsman casting his spear at the oncoming phalanx of iron Harleys. This ternsman cried out as his spear struck a sidecar and the dark figure atop the Harley swerved.

A shout went up from the wall.

But still the Harleys came, their roar deafening.

"The sound!" cried Blergus. "It frightens the terns!"

I looked up and saw that this was true. Terns are fierce creatures, among the fiercest on Gor, save for the Gorean swallow and the rare Gorean robin, which are too fierce to tame, even for Gorean warriors, but which are sometimes hunted by the most manly of Gorean hunters. The hunt will be led by one hunter, who will cast his spear at the swallow or robin, and then make a cry which, should the bird not be slain, will distract it so that the man behind can cast before the bird pecks the first. This dangerous game goes on until either the swallow or robin is slain or the hunters are forced to flee, this being a thing few Goreans will do, being honorable and brave and knowing cowardice to be a thing they do not, as Gorean men, do, so to speak. Better for a Gorean man to be slain by a swallow or robin than have to face the scorn of his fellow warriors. Gor is a harsh world of firm modalities.

Below, the phalanx of Harleys had approached the great gate of Er, and now they roared about in a circle, tearing up the road, even as from a loud box in the sidecar of one came the war song of the Harleys, rumbling loudly over the high stone walls of Er.

I met him at the slave market of Ka-ca-ba.
He turned around and smiled at me.
Ya get the picture? (Yes, we see)
That's when I fell for...
The Leader of the Pack!

The roar built, loudly, even as the lead Harley turned and accelerated toward the gate. I gasped as it rushed up a mound of earth and leapt into the sky, sailing over the high stone walls of Er, these having been built of stone quarried from near the city by slaves and hauled to the city by Thralion, or perhaps by slaves if Thralion were not available, and paid for, so to speak, directly by the government of the city to the stonecutter's caste, which does not deal in normal economic terms as do the other castes of Gor. My eyes followed, helpless, caught by the long ponytail of the rider, flapping behind him from beneath his helmet, which, being of Earth, I recognized as being not of Gor but of Earth.

I gasped again as the Harley landed in the midst of the square behind the great gate of Er, and as it roared, kicking up dirt, the rider slipping a shotgun from his holster and firing a single shot at the strong chain that held the gate closed.

A cry went up from Er as the gate fell open and, by the dozens, Harleys roared into the city.

"To the square!" cried Blergus.

"To the square!" the other guardsmen cried. "To the square!" "To the square!"

I rushed down, my sword drawn, ready to face death before I would surrender the hotel-stone of Er to these savage, bejeweled marauders. As I and the guardsmen rushed forth, the dread war song came again to our ears.

My kajirae were always puttin' him down.
Down! Down!
They said he came from the wrong side of town.
They told me that he was bad,
but I knew that he was sad.
And that's why I fell for...
The Leader of the Pack!

"To arms!" cried Blergus, rushing forward.

"To arms!" cried a guardsman.

"To arms!" cried another.

But I saw, then, that it was too late. The mighty gates of Er were open and Harleys were flooding in now, doing doughnuts in the streets of Er, sending the free citizens of Er running. And I knew, my heart fluttering as I saw the leader of the Harleys, that there was no escape.

Very well. We would fight to the death, as honorable Gorean men. I raised my sword, prepared to sell my life dearly. The Harley before me stopped and the Leader of the Pack stepped from it. He was big, dressed in leather, golden chains around his neck and an old German helmet on his head. His eyes were hidden behind strange, dark glasslike coverings that obscured them.

"C'mere, Sweet Cheeks," he said.

I rushed forward with a battle cry of the city of Er.

His fist hit my Greek helmet and I fell unconscious.