"For them a city is almost a living thing, or more than a living thing. It is an entity with a history, as stones and rivers do not have a history; it is an entity with a tradition, a heritage, customs, practices, character, inten- tions, hopes. When a Gorean says, for example, that he is of Ar, or Ko-ro-ba, he is doing a great deal more than informing you of his place of residence.
The love of their city tends to become invested in a stone which is known as the Home Stone, and which is normally kept in the highest cylinder in the city. In the Home Stone - sometimes little more than a crude piece of carved rock, dating back perhaps several hundred generations to when the city was only a cluster of huts by the bank of a river, sometimes a magnificent and impressively wrought, jewel- encrusted cube of marble or granite - the city finds its symbol. Yet to speak of a symbol is to fall short of the mark. It is almost as if the city itself were identified with the Home Stone, as if it were to the city what life is to man. The myths of these matters have it that while the Home Stone survives, so, too, must the city." Outlaw of Gor, pg. 22, by John Norman.

As was wise I avoided cities in my long journey, though I passed several, for to enter a city without permission or without satisfactory reason is tantamount to a capital crime, and the punishment is usually a swift and brutal impalement. Pikes on the walls of Gorean cities are often surmounted with the remains of unwelcome guests. The Gorean is suspicious of the stranger, particularly in the vicinity of his native walls. Indeed, in Gorean the same word is used for both stranger and enemy." Outlaw of Gor, pg. 49, by John Norman.

City of Ar

City of Ko-ro-ba

'And there,' he said, poking downward with his finger, 'is the City of Ar, hereditary enemy of Ko-ro-ba, the central city of Marlenus, who intends to be Ubar of all Gor.' Tarnsman of Gor, pg. 64, by John Norman.

City of Tharna

The streets of Tharna were crowded, yet strangely silent. The gate had been open and though I had been carefullly scrutinised by its guards, tall spearmen in blue helmets, no one had objected to my entry. It must be as I had heard, that the streets of Tharna were open to all men who came in peace, whatever their city.

Curiously, I examined the crowds, all seemingly bent on their business, yet strangely tight lipped, subdued, much different from the normal, bustling throngs of a Gorean city. Most of the male citizens wore grey tunics, perhaps indicative of their superiority to pleasure, their determination to be serious and responsible, to be worthy scions of that industrious and sobre city." Outlaw of Gor, pg. 65, by John Norman.

Tharna, though a city of cylinders, did not seem to my eye as beautiful as many other cities I had seen. This was perhaps the cylinders were, on the whole, less lofty than those of other cities, and much broader, giving an impression of a set of squat, accumulated disks, so different from the lofty forests of sky-challenging towers and battlements distinguishing most Gorean cities." Outlaw of Gor, pg. 69, by John Norman.

'Where are the Pleasure Slaves?' I demanded.
The proprietor seemed stunned.
'I would see a woman dance,' I said.
The men of Tharna seemed horrified. One whispered, 'There are no Pleasure Slaves in Tharna.'
'Alas!' I cried, 'not a bangle in all Tharna!'
Two or three of the men laughed. At last I had touched them.
'Those creatures that float in the street behind masks of silver,' I asked, 'are they truly women?'
'Truly,' said one of the men, restraining a laugh.
'I doubt it,' I cried. 'Shall I fetch one, to see if she will dance for us?'
The men laughed."Outlaw of Gor, pg. 79, by John Norman.

The eyes behind the yellow mask regarded me, curiously.
'Is it thus, Stranger,' she asked, her tones cold, 'that you expected to carry from the city the wealth of Tharna?'
I was puzzled, my body was racked with pain, my vision was blurred with sweat.
'The yoke is of silver,' said she, 'from the mines of Tharna.'
I was stunned, for if the yoke was truly of silver, the metal on my shoulders might have ransomed a Ubar.
'We of Tharna,' said the Tatrix, 'think so little of riches that we use them to yoke slaves.' Outlaw of Gor, pg. 91, by John Norman.

I noted her throat was encircled by a collar of grey metal. I supposed it indicated that she was a state slave of Tharna.
She reached into the cistern, first scraping the surface of the water to clear it of the green scum that floated there, and then, in the palms of her cupped hands, carried water to my parched lips.
'Thank you,' I said.
She smiled at me. 'One does not thank a slave,' she said.
'I thought women were free in Tharna,' I said, gesturing with my head toward the grey metal collar she wore.
'I will not be kept in Tharna,' she said. 'I will be sent from the city, to the Great Farms, where I will carry water to Field Slaves.'
'What is your crime?' I asked.
'I betrayed Tharna,' she said.
'You conspired against the throne?' I asked.
'No,' said the girl. 'I cared for a man.'
I was speechless.
'I once wore the silver mask, Warrior,' said the girl. 'But now I am only a Degraded Woman, for I allowed myself to love.'
'That is no crime,' I said." Outlaw of Gor, pg. 102, by John Norman.

Poets, on the whole, did not live well on Gor, but they never starved, were never forced to burn the robes of their caste. Some had even sung their way from city to city, their poverty protecting them from outlaws, and their luck from the predatory beasts of Gor. Nine cities, long after his death, claimed the man who, centuries ago, had called Ko-ro-ba the Towers of the Morning.
'The Caste of Poets is not so bad,' I said to Linna.
'Of course not,' she said, 'but they are outlawed in Tharna.' Outlaw of Gor, pg. 104, by John Norma

Nonetheless,' she said, her eyes happy, 'this man, Andreas, of the Desert City of Tor, crept into the city - looking for a song he said.' She laughed. 'But I think he really wanted to look behind the silver masks of our women.' She clapped her hands with delight. 'It was I,' she continued, 'who apprehended and challenged him, I who saw the lyre beneath his grey robes and knew him for a singer. In my silver mask I followed him, and determined that he had been within the city for more than ten hours.'
'What is the significance of that?' I asked, for I had heard something of the sort before.
'It means one is made welcome in Tharna,' said the girl, 'and this means one is sent to the Great Farms to be a Field Slave, to cultivate the soil of Tharna in chains until ond dies.'
'Why are strangers not warned of this,' I asked, 'when they enter the gates?'
'That would be foolish indeed, would it not?' laughed the girl. 'For how then would the ranks of Field Slaves be replenished?' Outlaw of Gor, pg. 105, by John Norman.

'I had never been in the arms of a man before,' she said, 'for the men of Tharna may not touch women.'Outlaw of Gor, pg. 106, by John Norman.