So the call went out. And here we have three possible explanations for why our talenders are come in crimson as well as yellow. Soon there will be a voting as to which legend will become the official legend. So read below, and join us in building another piece of the history to our city.
On the third night, the three moons of Gor became like a triangle in the sky, and directly below that heavenly triad, a single Talender blossomed. The Bloom was deep red, and it burned with an inner fire. The whole night, all the Founders of Baren Touhk watched that blossom, not one slept, and in the morning, when the rest of the Talenders of the field bloomed, they were intersperced with bright red blossoms. All knew that this was the place to build their city, for the Crimson Talenders formed a perfect circle. And it came to pass that in the very center of that circle, the Home Stone of Baren Touhk was laid.
The builders built the fortress and the towers first. It was parisa's duty to take food to the watchmen of the towers, who watched day and night for raiders. One night as the girl climbed the steps of the tower she heard a scuffle. An enemy assassin had snuck into the tower and had just slit the throat of the warrior watchman. The girl silently carried the basket of food up the steps to the bell tower past the look-out roost. She then bravely tried to ring the bell as she spotted th e enemy ships entering the Bay of Kamba.
The assassin, hearing the noise, raced in to seize the girl and stabbed her mortally in the side and fled the scene thinking her dead. Dazed and dying the girl struggled to her feet and rang the bell loudly summoning the warriors of Baren Touhk before she stumbled down the stairs and collapsed into a bed of talender flowers that grew outside the tower. Her blood colored the yellow blossoms bright crimson.
The battle was short-lived and victorious as the Baren Touhk warriors had made great defensive preparations. After the battle the healers found that there was still life in the girl, and nursed her slowly back to health. However the girl, was very frail after that. The Ubara took very good care of her. The Ubara's old gardener grew very fond of the girl and often brought her gifts and flowers. He would sit with the weak girl and tell her stories and sing for her.
The Ubara was so touched by the kindness of the old man to the brave girl that she declared a Crimson Talender festival commemorating the bravery of the little slave girl. On this day all slaves are treated kindly, and given gifts. For the Crimson Talender Festival the Ubara's gardener had prepared diligently to develop a breed of talenders that are bright crimson, and as a surprize scattered those seeds all around the city so they would be in full bloom by the festival date. To this day, there is no were else on Gor that the crimson talenders grow.
Obviously, the name 'crimson talender' came from the legend of the incredibly brave slave girl who single-handedly saved the city, sacrificing her life as she lay dying on the field, her blood stained the talender's red....which not only explains the name, but explains why slaves are held in such high regard and protected by everyone in the city.
The Red Warrior's thoughts traveled swiftly to the last day he had been in the company of his lovely slave girl, the only slave girl to ever wear his golden ko-lar. His warrior's heart filled with pride as he thought of the curve of her spine as she kneeled at his feet, the softness of her parted thighs, and the skill and beauty she set forth to be pleasing to him on his last night in the city of his birth. A smile touched his hard, etched lips as he remember his parting words to his slave, 'Await me in the yellow fields of the talenders. Await your Master there...'
He pulled the long red cloak closer to his body as he gazed over the battle fields. Bodies littered the ground, blood seeped from open wounds, and now, those who could not stand to speak of the other, lay side-by-side, death uniting them as life never could.
The Red Warrior resheathed his sword, blood still fresh still dripping to the ground, and turned to the direction of his home stone and his slave. The stench of decaying bodies grew fainter with each step as he moved to mount his massive war tarn. The tarns black feathers gleaming in the light of the sun as he swung into the tarn saddle and strapped himself in place.
The tarn took flight with the sudden flap of his massive wings. The Red Warrior did not look behind him as the war tarn took flight, the battle behind him, his slave waiting before him.
As the tarn drew closer to his home, the yellow of the talender field came into view. His eyes searched for the loveliness of his slave, knowing she would be there waiting for him as he commanded. His war tarn touched the ground, the Red Warrior dropping his feet to the grass as his eyes searched for the presence of his slave.
The Red Warrior's gaze searched the field of yellow until his eyes fell upon his sleeping slave girl, her golden hair blanketing her body from him. He called her name as he neared, the sound music upon his lips as he waited for her to awake and greet him as a ko-lared slave should. But, her form did not move. The Red Warrior called to her again, louder, but there was nothing but the sound of his own voice and the hushed weeping sound of the talenders in the meadow.
This hand moved to his sword, ready for battle, as he ran to where his slave girl lay. The hairs on the back of his neck standing as he neared her peaceful form. He bent to one knee, his hands shook as his battle scared finger reached to her golden hair to brush it back from her face.
Blood flowed from his slave girl's neck and pooled in the grass beneath her head. The Red Warrior gathered his slave girl in his arms and pressed to his chest trying to give her some of his strength. He threw his head back and yelled the warrior's battle cry for the death of his slave girl. He yelled at the Priest-Kings, cursing them for taking him away from his slave girl, accusing them of killing the only person who mattered to him.
Tears ran from the eyes of the Red Warrior as he gently placed her on the ground. His hands stroking her soft hair once more. He took his sword from its sheathe and pressed it to his heart, his life unlivable without this small slave at his feet.
The Red Warrior pierced his heart on his own sword and fell beside the slave girl. Life had kept them apart in the end, but in death, they too would be united as one. The blood from the Red Warrior seeped from his wound and mixed with that of his slave girl's.
Their blood flowed deep into the field of yellow talenders that day. And there, the roots of the talenders tasted the mix of blood and drank fully from their death. Henceforth, the talenders of that field have grown red, for the love of the two, in life and forever in death.