Gor - Nomads For Gor Part 15

When I had returned to the wagon Kamchak's first words to me had been, "I hope you got a good price for her."

I smiled.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

I recalled the Plains of Turia. "Yes," I said, "I am well satisfied."

Elizabeth Cardwell, who had been fixing the fire in the wagon, had been startled when I had returned without Dina, but had not dared to ask what had been done with her. Now her eyes were on me, wide with disbelief. "You sold her?"

she said, uncomprehendingly. "Sold?"

"You said she had fat ankles," I reminded her.

Elizabeth regarded me with horror. "She was a person"

said Elizabeth, "a human person"

"No!" said Kamchak, giving her head a shake. "An ani- mal! A slaver" Then he added, giving her head another shake, "Like yourself!"

Elizabeth looked at him with dismay.

"I think" said Kamchak, "I will sell you."

Elizabeth's face suddenly seemed terrified. She threw a wild, pleading look at me.

Kamchak's words had disturbed me as well.

I think it was then, perhaps the first time since her first coming to the Wagon Peoples, that she fully understood her plight for Kamchak had, on the whole, been kind to her he had not put the Tuchuk ring in her nose, nor had he clothed her Kajir, nor put the brand of the bask horns on her thigh, nor even enclosed her lovely throat with the Turian collar. Now, again, Elizabeth, visibly shaken, ill, realized that she might, should it please Kamchak's whims, be sold or exchanged with the same ease as a saddle or a hunting sleen.

She had seen Tenchika sold. Now she a.s.sumed that the disappearance of Dina from the wagon was to be similarly explained. She looked at me disbelievingly, shaking her head.

Por my part I did not think it would be a good idea to tell her that I had freed Dina. What good would that information do her? It might make her own bondage seem more cruel, or perhaps fill her with foolish hopes that Kamchak, her master, might someday bestow on her the same beautiful gift of freedom. I smiled at the thought. Kamchak, Free a slaver And, I told myself, even if I myself owned Elizabeth, and not Kamchak, I could not free her for what would it be to free her? If she approached Turia she would fall slave to the first patrol that leashed and hooded her; if she tried to stay among the wagons, some young warrior, sensing she was undefended and not of the Peoples, would have his chain on her before nightfall. hand I myself did not intend to stay among the wagons. I had now learned, if the information of He that the golden sphere, doubtless the egg of Priest-Kings, lay in the wagon of Kutaituchik. I must attempt to obtain it and return it to the Sardar. This, I knew, might well cost me my life. No, it was best that Elizabeth Cardwell believe I had callously sold the lovely Dina of Turia. It was best that she understand herself for what she was, a barbarian slave girl in the wagon of Kamchak of the Tuchuks.

"Yes," said Kamchak, "I think I will sell her."

Elizabeth shook with terror and put her head to the rug at Kamchak's feet. "Please," she said, in a whisper, "do not sell me, Master."

"What do you think she would bring?" asked Kamchak.

"She is only a barbarian," I said. I did not wish Kamchak to sell her.

"Perhaps I could have her trained" mused Kamchak.

"It would considerably improve her price," I admitted. I also knew a good training would take months, though much can be done with an intelligent girl in only a few weeks.

"Would you like to learn," asked Kamchak of the girl, "to wear silk and bells, to speak, to stand, to walk, to dance to drive men mad with the desire to own and master you?"

The girl said nothing but shuddered.

"I doubt if you could learn," said Kamchak.

Elizabeth said nothing, her head down.

"You are only a little barbarian," said Kamchak wearily.

Then he winked at me. "But," said he, "she is a pretty little barbarian, is she not?"

"Yes," I said, "She is that indeed."

I saw Miss Cardwell's eyes close and her shoulders shake with shame. Her hands then covered her eyes.

I followed Kamchak out of the wagon. Once outside, to my astonishment, he turned to me and said, "You were a fool to free Dina of Turia."

"How do you know I freed her?" I asked.

"I saw you put her on your kaiila and ride toward Turia,"

he said. "She was not even running beside the kaiila bound."

He grinned. "And I know that you liked her that you would not wager for her and," he added, nodding toward the pouch at my belt, "your pouch is no heavier now than when you left."

I laughed.

Kamchak pointed to the pouch. "You should have forty pieces of gold in that pouch," he said. "That much for her at least maybe more because she was skilled in the games of the bole." He chuckled. "A girl such as Dina of Turia is worth more than a kaiila," he said. "And, too," he added, "she was a beauty!" Kamchak laughed. "Albrecht was a fool,"

he said, "but Tarl Cabot was a bigger one!"

"Perhaps," I admitted.

"Any man who permits himself to care for a slave girl,"

said Kamchak, "is a fool."

"Perhaps someday," I said, "even Kamchak of the Tuchuks will care for a slave girl."

At this Kamchak threw back his head and roared, and then bent over slapping his knee.

"Then," I said, determinedly, "he may know how it feels."

At this Kamchak lost all control over himself and he leaned over backward slapping his thighs with the palms of his hands, laughing as though he were demented. He even reeled about roaring as though he were drunk and slapped the wheel of a neighbor's wagon for a minute or two until his laughter turned into spasmodic gasps and, making strange noises, he wheezingly fought to get a mouthful or two of air under his shaking ribs. I would not have much minded if he had asphyxiated himself on the spot.

"Tomorrow," I said, "you fight on the Plains of a Thou- sand Stakes."

"Yes," he said, "so tonight I will get drunk."

"It would be better," I said, "to get a good night's sleep."

"Yes," said Kamchak, "but I am Tuchuk so I will get drunk."

"Very well," I said, "then I, too, shall get drunk."

We then spat to determine who would bargain for a bottle of Paga. By starting from the side and turning his head quickly, Kamchak bested me by some eighteen inches. In the light of his skill my own effort seemed depressingly naive, quite simple-minded, unimaginative and straightforward. I had not known about the head-twisting trick. The wily Tuchuk, of course, had had me spit first.

Now this morning we had come to the Plains of a Thou- sand Stakes.

For all his uproarious stomping about the wagon last night, Paga bottle in hand, singing gusty Tuchuk songs, half frightening Miss Cardwell to death, he seemed in good spir- its, looking about, whistling, occasionally pounding a little rhythm on the side of his saddle. I would not tell Miss Cardwell but the rhythm was the drum rhythm of the Chain Dance. I gathered Kamchak had his mind on Aphris of Turia, and was, perilously to my mind, counting his wenches before he had won them.

I do not know if there are, by count, a thousand stakes or not on the Plains of a Thousand Stakes, but I would suppose that there are that many or more. The stakes, flat-topped, each about six and half feet high and about seven or eight inches in diameter, stand in two long lines facing one another in pairs. The two lines are separated by about fifty feet and each stake in a line is separated from the stake on its left and right by about ten yards. The two lines of stakes extended for more than four pasangs across the prairie. One of these lines is closest to the city and the other to the prairies beyond. The stakes had recently been, I observed, brightly painted, each differently, in a delightful array of colors; further, each was trimmed and decorated variously, depend- ing on the whim of the workman, sometimes simply, some- times fancifully, sometimes ornately. The entire aspect was one of color, good cheer, lightheartedness and gaiety. There was something of the sense of carnival in the air. I was forced to remind myself that between these two lines of stakes men would soon fight and die.

I noted some of the workmen still affixing small retaining rings to some of the stakes, bolting them one on a side, usually about five feet to five and a half feet from the ground. A workman sprang a pair shut, and then opened them with a key, which he subsequently hung from a tiny hook near the top of the stake.

I heard some musicians, come out early from Turia, playing a light tune behind the Turian stakes, about fifty yards or so away.

In the s.p.a.ce between the two lines of stakes, for each pair of facing stakes, there was a circle of roughly eight yards in diameter. This circle, the gra.s.s having been removed, was sanded and raked.

Moving boldly now among the Wagon Peoples were ven- dors from Turia, selling their cakes, their wines and meats, even chains and collars.

Kamchak looked at the sun, which was now about a quarter of the way up the sky.

"Turians are always late," he said.

From the back of the kaiila I could now see dust from Turia. "They are coming," I said.

Among the Tuchuks, though dismounted, I saw the young man Harold, he whom Hereena of the First Wagon had so sorely insulted at the time of the wagering with Conrad and Albrecht. I did not, however, see the girl. The young man seemed to me a strong, fine fellow, though of course un- scarred. He had, as I mentioned, blond hair and blue eyes, not unknown among the Tuchuks, but unusual. He carried weapons. He could not, of course, compete in these contests, for there is status involved in these matters and only warriors of repute are permitted to partic.i.p.ate. Indeed, without the Courage Scar one could not even think of proposing oneself for the compet.i.tion. It might be mentioned, incidentally, that without the Courage Scar one may not, among the Tuchuks, pay court to a free woman, own a wagon, or own more than five bosk and three kaiila. The Courage Scar thus has its social and economic, as well as its martial, import.

"You're right," said Kamchak, rising in the stirrups. "First the warriors."

On long lines of tharlarion I could see warriors of Turia approaching in procession the Plains of a Thousand Stakes.

The morning sun flashed from their helmets, their long thar- larion lances, the metal embossments on their oval shields, unlike the rounded shields of most Gorean cities. I could hear, like the throbbing of a heart, the beating of the two tharlarion drums that set the cadence of the march. Beside the tharlarion walked other men-at-arms, and even citizens of Turia, and more vendors and musicians, come to see the games.

On the heights of distant Turia itself I could see the flutter of flags and pensions. The walls were crowded, and I sup- posed many upon them used the long gla.s.ses of the Caste of Builders to observe the field of the stakes.

The warriors of Turia extended their formation about two hundred yards from the stakes until in ranks of four or five deep they were strung out in a line as long as the line of stakes itself. Then they halted. As soon as the hundreds of ponderous tharlarion had been marshaled into an order, a lance, carrying a fluttering pennon, dipped and there was a sudden signal on the tharlarion drums. Immediately the lances of the lines lowered and the hundreds of tharlarion, hissing and grunting, their riders shouting, the drums beating, began to bound rapidly towards us.

"Treachery!" I cried.

There was nothing living on Gor I knew that could take the impact of a tharlarion charge.

Elizabeth Cardwell screamed, throwing her hands before her face.

To my astonishment the warriors of the Wagon Peoples seemed to be paying very little attention to the b.e.s.t.i.a.l ava- lanche that was even then hurtling down upon them. Some were haggling with the vendors, others were talking among themselves.

I wheeled the Kaiila, looking for Elizabeth Cardwell, who, afoot, would be slain almost before the tharlarion had crossed the lines of the stakes. She was standing facing the charging tharlarion, as though rooted to the earth, her hands before her face. I bent down in the saddle and tensed to kick the kaiila forward to sweep her to the saddle, turn and race for our lives.

"Really," said Kamchak.

I straightened up and saw that the lines of the tharlarion lancers had, with much pounding and trampling of the earth, with shouting, with the hissing of the great beasts, stopped short, abruptly, some fifteen yards or so behind their line of stakes.

"It is a Turian joke," said Kamchak. "They are as fond of the games as we, and do not wish to spoil them."

I reddened. Elizabeth Cardwell's knees seemed suddenly weak but she staggered back to us.

Kamchak smiled at me. "She is a pretty little barbarian, isn't she, he said.

"Yes," I said, and looked away, confused.

Kamchak laughed.

Elizabeth looked up at us, puzzled.

I heard a cry from the Turians across the way. "The wenches!" he cried, and this shout was taken up by many of the others. There was much laughing and pounding of lances on shields.

In a moment, to a thunder of kaiila paws on the turf, racing between the lines of stakes, scattering sand, there came a great number of riders, their black hair swirling behind them, who pulled up on their mounts, rearing and squealing, between the stakes, and leaped from the saddle to the sand, relinquishing the reins of their mounts to men among the Wagon Peoples.

They were marvelous, the many wild girls of the Wagons, and I saw that chief among them was the proud, beauteous Hereena, of the First Wagon. They were enormously excited, laughing. Their eyes shone. A few spit and shook their small fists at the Turians across the way, who reciprocated with good-natured shouts and laughter.

I saw Hereena notice the young man Harold among the warriors and she pointed her finger imperiously at him, gestur- ing him to her.

He approached her. "Take the reins of my kaiila, Slave,"

she said to him, insolently throwing him the reins.

He took them angrily and, to the laughter of many of the Tuchuks present, withdrew with the animal.

The girls then went to mingle with the warriors. There were between a hundred and a hundred and fifty girls there from each of the four Wagon Peoples.

"Hah!" said Kamchak, seeing now - the lines of thar- larion part for a s.p.a.ce of perhaps forty yards, through which could be seen the screened palanquins of Turian damsels, borne on the shoulders of chained slaves, among them un- doubtedly men of the Wagon Peoples.

Now the excitement of the throng seemed mostly to course among the warriors of the Wagon Peoples as they rose in their stirrups to see better the swaying, approaching palan- quins, each reputedly bearing a gem of great beauty, a fit prize in the savage contests of Love War.

The inst.i.tution of Love War is an ancient one among the Turians and the Wagon Peoples, according to the Year Keepers antedating even the Omen Year. The games of Love War, of course, are celebrated every spring between, 80 to speak, the city and the plains, whereas the Omen Year occurs only every tenth year. The games of Love War, in them- selves, do not const.i.tute a gathering of the Wagon Peoples, for normally the herds and the free women of the peoples do not approach one another at these times; only certain dele- gations of warriors, usually about two hundred from a peo- ple, are sent in the spring to the Plains of a Thousand Stakes.

The theoretical justification of the games of Love War, from the Turian point of view, is that they provide an excellent arena in which to demonstrate the fierceness and prowess of Turian warriors, thus perhaps intimidating or, at the very least, encouraging the often overbold warriors of the Wagon Peoples to be wary of Turian steel. The secret justifi- cation, I suspect, however, is that the Turian warrior is fond of meeting the enemy and acquiring his women, particularly should they be striking little beasts, like Hereena of the First Wagon, as untamed and savage as they are beautiful; it is regarded as a great sport among Turian warriors to collar such a wench and force her to exchange riding leather for the bells and silks of a perfumed slave girl. It might also be mentioned that the Turian warrior, in his opinion, too seldom encounters the warrior of the Wagon Peoples, who tends to be a frustrating, swift and elusive foe, striking with great rapidity and withdrawing with goods and captives almost before it is understood what has occurred. I once asked Kamchak if the Wagon Peoples had a justification for the games of Love War. "Yes," he had said. And he had then pointed to Dina and Tenchika, clad Kajir, who were at that time busy in the wagon. "That is the justification," said Kamchak. And he had then laughed and pounded his knee. It was only then that it had occurred to me that both girls might have been acquired in the games; as a matter of fact, I however, I later learned that only Tenchika had been so wenches!" he cried, and this sand The wagon girls, watching this, some of them chewing on fruit or stalks of gra.s.s, jeered.

One by one, clad in the proud arrays of resplendent silks, each in the Robes of Concealment, the damsels of Turia, veiled and straight-standing, emerged from their palanquins, scarcely concealing their distaste for the noise and clamor about them. ~ Judges were now circulating, each with lists, among the Wagon Peoples and the Turians.

As I knew, not just any girl, any more than just any warrior, could partic.i.p.ate in the games of Love War. Only the most beautiful were eligible, and only the most beautiful of these could be chosen.

A girl might propose herself to stand, as had Aphris of Turia, but this would not guarantee that she would be cho- sen, for the criteria of Love War are exacting and, as much as possible, objectively applied. Only the most beautiful of the most beautiful could stand in this harsh sport.

I heard a judge call, "First Stakel Aphris of Turial"

"Hah!" yelled Kamchak, slapping me on the back, nearly knocking me from the back of my kaiila.

I was astonished. The Turian wench was beautiful indeed, that she could stand at the first stake. This meant that she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman in Turia, cer- tainly at least among those in the games this year.

In her silks of white and gold, on cloths thrown before her, Aphris of Turia stepped disdainfully forward, guided by a judge, to the first of the stakes on the side of the Wagon Peoples. The girls of the Wagon Peoples, on the other hand, would stand at the stakes nearest Turia. In this way the Turian girls can see their city and their warriors, and the girls of the Wagons can see the plains and the warriors of the Wagon Peoples. I had also been informed by Kamchak that this places the girl farther from her own people. Thus, to interfere, a Turian would have to cross the s.p.a.ce between the stakes, and so, too, would one of the Wagon Peoples, thus clearly calling thcn~selves to the attention of the judges, those officials supervising the Games.