Nomads of Gor (32 page)

     
on, am superior," she was crying, "to those two Kassar

     
she-kaii1a!"

     
But the judge was already four stakes below her.

     
The selection of the girls, incidentally, is determined by

     
judges in their city, or of their own people, in Turia by

     
members of the Caste of Physicians who have served in the

     
great slave houses of Ar; among the wagons by the masters

     
of the public slave wagons, who buy, sell and rent girls,

     
providing warriors and slavers with a sort of clearing house

     
and market for their feminine merchandise. The public slave

     
wagons, incidentally, also provide Paga. They are a kind of

     
combination Paga tavern and slave market. I know of noth-

     
ing else precisely like them on Gor. Karuchak and I had

     
visited one last night where I had ended up spending four

     
copper tarn disks for one bottle of Paga. I hauled Kamchak

     
out of the wagon before he began to bid on a chained-up

     
little wench from Port Kar who had taken his eye.

     
I looked up and down the lines of stakes. The girls of the

     
Wagon Peoples stood proudly before their stakes, certain that

     
their champions, whoever they were to be, would be victori-

     
ous and return them to their peoples; the girls of the city of

     
Turia stood also at their stakes, but with feigned indifference.

     
I supposed, in spite of their apparent lack of concern, the

     
hearts of most of the Turian girls were beating rapidly. This

     
could not be for them an ordinary day.

     
I looked at them, veiled and beautiful in their silks. Yet I

     
knew that beneath those Robes of Concealment many wore

     
the shameful Turian camisk, perhaps the only time the hated

     
garment would touch their bodies, for should their warrior

     
lose this match they knew they would not be permitted to

     
Lithe stake in the robes in which they came

     
two of her teeth on the upper right hand side in the back.

     
"Oh," I said.

     
I noted with amusement that she was furious at having

     
been chosen only third stake. "I, Hereena of the First Wag-

     
on, am superior," she was crying, "to those two Kassar

     
she-kaii1a!"

     
But the judge was already four stakes below her.

     
The selection of the girls, incidentally, is determined by

     
judges in their city, or of their own people, in Turia by

     
members of the Caste of Physicians who have served in the

     
great slave houses of Ar; among the wagons by the masters

     
of the public slave wagons, who buy, sell and rent girls,

     
providing warriors and slavers with a sort of clearing house

     
and market for their feminine merchandise. The public slave

     
wagons, incidentally, also provide Paga. They are a kind of

     
combination Paga tavern and slave market. I know of noth-

     
ing else precisely like them on Gor. Kamchak and I had

     
visited one last night where I had ended up spending four

     
copper tarn disks for one bottle of Paga. I hauled Kamchak

     
out of the wagon before he began to bid on a chained-up

     
little wench from Port Kar who had taken his eye.

     
I looked up and down the lines of stakes. The girls of the

   
  
Wagon Peoples stood proudly before their stakes, certain that

     
their champions, whoever they were to be, would be victori-

     
ous and return them to their peoples; the girls of the city of

     
Turia stood also at their stakes, but with feigned indifference.

     
I supposed, in spite of their apparent lack of concern, the

     
hearts of most of the Turian girls were beating rapidly. This

     
could not be for them an ordinary day.

     
I looked at them, veiled and beautiful in their silks. Yet I

     
knew that beneath those Robes of Concealment many wore

     
the shameful Turian camisk, perhaps the only time the hated

     
garment would touch their bodies, for should their warrior

     
lose this match they knew they would not be permitted to

     
The stake in the robes in which they came. They would

      
away as free women.

     
To myself, wondering if Aphris of Turia, standing

     
first stake, wore beneath the robes of while

      
of a slave girl. I guessed not. She would wench?

     
Egg his kaiila through the crown

 
He leaned down from the saddle. "Good morning, little

 
Aphris," he said cheerily.

 
She stiffened, and did not even turn to regard him. "Are

 
you prepared to die, Sleen?" she inquired.

 
"No," Kamchak said.

 
I heard her laugh softly beneath the white veil, trimmed

 
with silk.

 
"I see you no longer wear your collar," observed Kamchak.

 
She lifted her head and did not deign to respond.

 
"I have another," Kamchak assured her.

 
She spun to face him, her fists clenched. Those lovely

 
almond eyes, had they been weapons, would have slain him

 
in the saddle like a bolt of lightning.

 
"How pleased I shall be," hissed the girl, "to see you on

 
your knees in the sand begging Kamras of Turia to finish

 
you!"

 
"Tonight, little Aphris," said Kamchakj "as I promised

 
you, you shall spend your first night in the dung sack."

 
"Sleen!" she cried. "Sleen! Sleen!"

 
Kamchak roared with laughter and turned the kaiila away.

 
"Are the women at stake?" called a judge.

 
Prom down the long lines, from other judges, came the

 
confirming cry. "They are at stake."

 
"Let the women be secured," called the first judge, who

 
stood on a platform near the beginning of the stake lines, this

 
year on the side of the Wagon Peoples.

 
Aphris of Turia, at the request of one of the minor judges,

 
irritably removed her gloves, of silk-lined white verrskin,

 
trimmed with gold, and placed them in a deep fold of her

 
robes.

 
' "The retaining rings," prompted the judge.

 
"It is not necessary," responded Aphris. "I shall stand

 
quietly here until the sleen is slain."

 
"Place your wrists in the rings," said the judge, "or it shall

 
be done for you."

 
In fury the girl placed her hands behind her head, in the

 
rings, one on each side of the stake. The judge expertly

 
lipped them shut and moved to the next stake.

 
Aphris, not very obviously, moved her hands in the rings,

 
fed to withdraw them. She could not, of course, do so. I

 
ought I saw her tremble for just an instant, realizing herself

 
cured, but then she stood quietly, looking about herself as

 
though bored. The key to the rings hung, of course, on a small

 
hook, about two inches above her head.

       
"Are the women secured?" called the first judge, he on the

       
platform.

       
"They are secured," was relayed up and down the long

       
lines.

       
I saw Hereena standing insolently at her stake, but her

       
brown wrists, of course, were bound to it by steel.

       
"Let the matches be arranged," called the judge.

       
I soon heard the other judges repeating his cry.

       
All along the lines of stakes I saw Turian warriors and

       
those of the Wagon Peoples press into the area between the

       
stakes.

       
The girls of the wagons, as usual, were unveiled. Turian

       
warriors walked along the line of stakes, examining them,

       
stepping back when one spit or kicked at him. The girls

       
jeered and cursed them, which compliment they received

       
with good humor and pointed observations on the girls' real

       
or imaginary flaws.

       
At the request of any warrior of the Wagon Peoples, a

       
judge would remove the pins of the face veil of a Turian girl

       
and push back the hood of her robes of concealment, in

       
order that her head and face might be seen.

       
This aspect of the games was extremely humiliating for the

       
Turian girls, but they understood its necessity; few men,

       
especially barbarian warriors, care to fight for a woman on

       
whose face they have not even looked.

       
"I would like to take a look at this one," Kamchak was

       
saying, jerking a thumb in the direction of Aphris of Turia.

       
"Certainly," remarked the nearest judge.

       
"Can you not remember, Sleen," asked the girl, "the face

       
of Aphris of Turia?"

       
"My memory is vague," said Kamchak. "There are so many

       
faces."

       
The judge unpinned her white and gold veil and then, with

       
a gentle hand, brushed back her hood revealing her long,

       
lovely black hair.

       
Aphris of Turia was an incredibly beautiful woman.

       
She shook her hair as well as she could, bound to the,

       
"Perhaps now you can remember?" she queried acidly.

       
"It's vague," muttered Kamchak, wavering, "I had in mind

       
I think the face of a slave there was, as I recall, a collar"