The Chickenthief of Gor

(If you are not aware of Gor, oh, are you missing out.  And by “missing out,” I mean, “I envy your blissful ignorance.”)

 

Rodney Dragondong did stealthily creep across his vast landholdings at Orchard Grace Retirement home, his two-handed man-blade peace-tied to his back. He had an honorable mission to accomplish, and no low-born Unmen were going to muchly stop him.

The chicken must die, in the way of chickens. For that is the way of chickens.

Rodney, Lord Dragondong of Orchard Grace, knew that his pursuit of chicken freedom would be frowned upon on Earth where things are all rong, and men are bee-stung, and women are terrifying, except for luscious, lovely Kajira Crystal, his devoted slave, who sat in perfect slave postures, prostrate and prostrated in his Weapon-heavy Knight’s Dojo/Den. He knew the risks were high. But Randy would pay and pay well, for that is the way of unmen. They pay. And pay well.

So Rodney, the Dragondongiest, did creep. For his very self did not resist creeping, and creeping is good and wise, as Earth’s gravity and rongness did weigh heavily upon his Dongness.

Randy and his Rongwife appeared to be sleeping, as is the way of Earthfolk whom haven’t found magical crystal elixirs that give you Tarnsman strength and endurance and mental acumen and facial cysts. Rodney, Everdonged and Armed, did creep around to the backyard at Randy’s enviable holding.

He could hear the chicken, clucking as is the way of chickens.

Creepingly, he crept into the back holding, creeping through the darkness in a low crouch while he crept.

The chicken clucked a greeting, safe in it’s coop, as chicken are natural slaves, and desire a coop the way Earthwomen do.

He unlatched the coop with much manliness and verve, chuckling to himself. Oh, yes. Randy would pay and pay well for the insults earlier, when he so rudely evicted Rodney from his hedges, threatening him with Earthlaws and hurling insults. Rodney Dragnondong could not bear this insult, and bear it he would not. Clutching is war spoils, he raced from the Randyshire, triumphant and full of victory and win. The chicken flapped and protested, but Rodney knew it was all a show, as chickens are there for the plucking and he had rightly plucked.

Oh, yes. Randy had paid, and paid well.