John Norman - Nomads of Gor

“You recall, of course,” Kamchak was saying, “that I am an ambassador of the Wagon Peoples and am entitled to the courtesies of your city.”

“Impale him!” cried a number of voices.

“It is a joke,” cried out Saphrar. “A joke! A Tuchuk joke!”

“Slay him!” screamed Aphris of Turia.

But no one would move against the quiva.

“Now, gentle Aphris,” Saphrar was purring, “you must be calm — soon one from the Caste of Metal Workers will appear to free you — all will be well — return to your own chambers.”

“No!” screamed Aphris. “The Tuchuk must be slain!”

“It is not possible, my dear,” wheezed Saphrar.

“You are challenged!” said Kamras, spitting to the floor at Kamchak’s booted feet.

For an instant I saw Kamchak’s eyes gleam and thought he might at the very table at which he stood accept the challenge of the Champion of Turia, but instead, he shrugged and grinned. “Why should I fight?” he asked.

It did not sound like Kamchak speaking.

“You are a coward!” cried Kamras.

I wondered if Kamras knew the meaning of the word which he had dared to address to one who wore the Courage Scar of the Wagon Peoples.

But to my amazement, Kamchak only smiled. “Why should I fight?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” demanded Kamras.

“What is to be gained?” inquired Kamchak.

“Aphris of Turia!” cried the girl.

There were cries of horror, or protest, from the men crowded about.

“Yes!” cried Aphris of Turia. “If you will meet Kamras, Champion of Turia, I — Aphris of Turia — will stand at the stake in Love War!”

Kamchak looked at her. “I will fight,” he said.

There was a silence in the room.

I saw Saphrar, a bit in the background, close his eyes and nod his head. “Wily Tuchuk,” I heard him mutter. Yes, I said to myself, wily Tuchuk. Kamchak had, by means of the very pride of Aphris of Turia, of Kamras, and the offended Turians, brought the girl by her own will to the stake of Love War. It was something he would not buy with the golden sphere from Saphrar the merchant; it was something he was clearly capable of arranging, with Tuchuk cunning, by himself. I supposed, naturally, however, that Saphrar, guardian of Aphris of Turia, would not permit this to occur.

“No, my dear,” Saphrar was saying to the girl, “you must not expect satisfaction for this frightful injury which has been wrought upon you — you must not even think of the games — you must forget this unpleasant evening — you must try not to think of the stories that will be told of you concerning this evening — what the Tuchuk did and how he was permitted to escape with impunity.”

“Never!” cried Aphris. “I will stand, I tell you! I will! I will!”

“No,” said Saphrar, “I cannot permit it — it is better that the people laugh at Aphris of Turia — and perhaps, in some years, they may forget.”

“I demand to be permitted to stand,” cried the girl. Then she cried, “I beg of you Saphrar — permit me!”

“But in a few days,” said Saphrar, “you will attain your majority and receive your fortunes — then you may do as you wish.”

“But it will be after the games!” cried the girl.

“Yes,” said Saphrar, as though thinking, “that is true.”

“I will defend her,” said Kamras. “I will not lose.”

“It is true you have never lost,” wavered Saphrar.

“Permit it!” cried several of those present.

“Unless you permit this,” wept Aphris, “my honour will be forever stained.”

“Unless you permit it,” said Kamras sternly, “I may never have an opportunity to cross steel with this barbaric sleen.”

It then occurred to me, suddenly, that, following Gorean civic law, the properties and titles, assets and goods of a given individual who is reduced to slavery are automatically regarded as having been transferred to the nearest male relative — or nearest relative if no adult male relative is available — or to the city — or to, if pertinent, a guardian. Thus, if Aphris of Turia, by some mischance, were to fall to Kamchak, and surely slavery, her considerable riches would be immediately assigned to Saphrar, merchant of Turia. Moreover, to avoid legal complications and free the assets for investment and manipulation, the transfer is asymmetrical, in the sense that the individual, even should he somehow later recover his freedom, retains no legal claim whatsoever on the transferred assets.

“All right,” said Saphrar, his eyes cast down, as though making a decision against his better judgment, “I will permit my ward, the Lady Aphris of Turia, to stand at the stake in Love War.”

There was a cry of delight from the crowd, confident now that the Tuchuk sleen would be fittingly punished for his bold use of the richest daughter of Turia.

“Thank you, my guardian,” said Aphris of Turia, and with one last vicious look at Kamchak threw back her head and with a swirl of her white gown, bordered with gold, walked regally from between the tables.

“To see her walk,” remarked Kamchak, rather loudly, “one would hardly suspect that she wears the collar of a slave.”

Aphris spun to face him, her right fist clenched, her left hand muffling her veil about her face, her eyes flashing. The circle of steel gleamed on the silk at her throat.

“I meant only, little Aphris,” said Kamchak, “— that you wear your collar well.”

The girl cried out in helpless rage and turned, stumbling and clutching at the banister on the stairs. Then she ran up the stairs, weeping, veil disarranged, both hands jerking at the collar. With a cry she disappeared.

“Have no fear, Saphrar of Turia,” Kamras was saying, “I shall slay the Tuchuk sleen — and I shall do so slowly.”

It was early in the morning, several days after Saphrar’s banquet, that Kamchak and myself, among some hundreds of others of the Four Wagon Peoples, came the Plains of a Thousand Stakes, some pasangs distant from lofty Turia.

Judges and craftsmen from Ar, hundreds of pasangs away, across the Cartius, were already at the stakes, inspecting than and preparing the ground between them. These men, as in every year, I learned, had been guaranteed safe passage across the southern plains for this event. The journey, even so, was not without its dangers, but they had been well recompensed, from the treasure chests of both Turia and the Wagon Peoples. Some of the judges, now wealthy, had officiated several times at the games. The fee for even one of their accompanying craftsmen was sufficient to support a man for a year in luxurious Ar.

We moved slowly, walking the kaiila, in four long lines, the Tuchuks, the Kassars, the Kataii, the Paravaci, some two hundred or so warriors of each. Kamchak rode near the head of the Tuchuk line. The standard bearer, holding aloft on a lance a representation of the four bosk horns, carved from wood, rode near us. At the head of our line, on a huge kaiila, rode Kutaituchik, his eyes closed, his head nodding, his body swaying with the stately movement of the animal, a half-chewed string of kanda dangling from his mouth.

Beside him, but as Ubars, rode three other men, whom I took to be chief among the Kassars, the Kataii, the Paravaci I could see, surprisingly near the forefront of their respective lines, the other three men I had first seen on coming to the Wagon Peoples, Conrad of the Kassars, Hakimba of the Kataii and Tolnus of the Paravaci. These, like Kamchak, rode rather near their respective standard bearers. The standard of the Kassars is that of a scarlet, three-weighted bola, which hangs from a lance; the symbolic representation of a bola, three circles joined at the centre by lines, is used to mark their bosk and slaves; both Tenchika and Dina wore that brand; Kamchak had not decided to rebrand them, as is done with bosk; he thought, rightly, it would lower their value; also, I think he was pleased to have salves in his wagon who wore the brand of Kissers, for such night lie taken as evidence of the superiority of Tuchuks to Kassars, that they had bested them and taken their slaves; similarly Kamchak was pleased to have in his herd bosk, and he had several, whose first brand was that of the three-weighted bola; the standard of the Kataii is a yellow bow, bound across a black lance; their brand is also that of a bow, facing to the left; the Paravaci standard is a large banner of jewels beaded on golden wires, forming the head and horns of a bosk its value is incalculable; the Paravaci brand is a symbolic representation of a bosk head, a semicircle resting on an inverted isosceles triangle.