Nomads of Gor (30 page)

      
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 space 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 grass 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 participate. Indeed, without the

 
Courage Scar one could not even think of proposing oneself

 
for the competition. 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 glasses 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,