John Norman - Nomads of Gor

Tears formed in the eyes of Phanius Turmus and he held the Home Stone of the city to his heart.

“In the morning,” called Kamchak, “we return to the wagons.”

“You will spare Turia, Master?” asked Aphris, wondering, knowing the hatred he had borne the city.

“Yes,” said he, “Turia will live.”

Aphris looked at him, not understanding.

I myself was startled, but would not speak. I had thought that Kamchak might destroy the stone, thus breaking the heart of the city, leaving it in ruins in the minds of men. It was only at that time, as he held court in the palace of Phanius Turmus that I realized he would permit the city its freedom, and its soul. I had hitherto only understood that Turians might perhaps return to the city, and that its walls would be left standing. I had not understood that it would be permitted to retain a Home Stone.

It seemed to me a strange act for a conqueror, for a Tuchuk.

Was it only because Kamchak believed, as he had once said, that the Wagon Peoples must have an enemy? or was there some other reason, beyond that?

Suddenly there was commotion at the door and three men, followed by some others, burst into the hall.

The first was Conrad of the Kassars, and with him were Hakimba of the Kataii and a third man I did not know, but who was Paravaci. Behind them were some others, among whom I saw Albrecht of the Kassars, and behind him, to my astonishment, clad in brief leather, not collared, was Tenchika, who held a small bundle tied in cloth in her right hand.

Conrad, Hakimba and the Paravaci strode to the throne of Kamchak, but none of them, as befitted Ubars of their peoples, knelt.

Conrad spoke. “The Omens have been taken,” he said.

“They have been read well,” said Hakimba.

“For the first time in more than a hundred years,” said the Paravaci, “there is a Ubar San, a One Ubar, Master of the Wagons!”

Kamchak stood up and threw from his shoulders the purple of the Turian Ubar and stood in the black leather of a Tuchuk.

As one man the three Ubars raised their arms to him.

“Kamchak,” they cried, “Ubar San!”

The cry was taken up by all in the room, even myself.

“Kamchak Ubar San”

Kamchak held forth his hands and the room was quiet.

“Each of you,” he said, “the Kassars the Kataii the Paravaci have your own bosk and your own wagons live so but in time of war when there are those who would divide us when there are those who would fight us and threaten our wagons and our bosk and women our plains, our land then let us war together and none will stand against the Wagon Peoples we may live alone but we are each of us of the Wagons and that which divides us is less than that which unites us we each of us know that it is wrong to slay bosk and that it is right to be proud and to have courage and to defend our wagons and our women we know that it is right to be strong and to be free and so it is together that we will be strong and we will be free. Let this be pledged.”

The three men came to Kamchak and he and they placed their hands together.

“It is pledged,” they said. “It is pledged.”

Then they stood back. “All hail Kamchak,” they cried, “Ubar San!”

“All hail Kamchak,” rang throughout the hall, “Kamchak Ubar San!”

It was late in the afternoon before the business of the day had subsided and the great hall emptied.

At last only a few remained in that place, some commanders and some leaders of Hundreds, and Kamchak and Aphris.

Harold and I were there, too, and Hereena and Elizabeth.

Shortly before Albrecht and Tenchika had been there, and Dina of Turia with her two Tuchuk guards, who had kept her safe from harm during the fall of the city.

Tenchika had approached Dina of Turia.

“You wear no collar now,” Dina had said.

Tenchika had dropped her head shyly. “I am free,” she said.

“Will you now return to Turia?” asked Dina.

“No,” said Tenchika, smiling. “I will remain with Albrecht With the wagons.”

Albrecht himself was busy elsewhere, talking with Conrad, Ubar of the Kassars.

“Here,” said Tenchika, thrusting the small cloth sack she held into Dina’s hands. “These are yours you should have them you won them.”

Dina, wondering, opened the package and within it she saw the cups and rings, and pieces of gold, which Albrecht had given her for her victories in the runnings from the bola.

“Wake them,” insisted Tenchika.

“Does he know?” asked Dina.

“Of course,” said Tenchika.

“He is kind,” said Dina.

“I love him,” said Tenchika, kissing Dina and hurrying away.

I approached Dina of Turia. I looked at the objects she held. “You must have run well indeed,” I remarked.

She laughed. “There is more than enough here to hire help,” she said. “I shall reopen the shop of my father and brothers.”

“If you like,” I said, “I will give you a hundred times that.”

“No,” she said, smiling, “for this is my own.”

Then she lowered her veil briefly and kissed me. “Goodbye, Tarl Cabot,” she said. “I wish you well.”

“And I,” I said, “wish you well noble Dina of Turia.”

She laughed. “Foolish warrior,” she chided, “I am only the daughter of a baker.”

“He was a noble and valiant man,” I said.

“Thank you,” said she.

“And his daughter, too,” I said, “is a noble and valiant woman and beautiful.”

I did not permit her to replace her veil until I had kissed her, softly, one last time.

She refastened her veil and touched her fingertips to her lips beneath it and then pressed them to my lips and turned and hurried away.

Elizabeth had watched but she had shown no sign of anger or irritation.

“She is beautiful,” said Elizabeth.

“Yes,” I said, “she is.” And then I looked at Elizabeth.

“You, too,” I told her, “are beautiful.”

She looked up at me, smiling. “I know,” she said.

“Vain wench,” I said.

“A Gorean girl,” she said, “need not pretend to be plain when she knows that she is beautiful.”

“what~true,” I admitted. “But where,” I asked, “did you come by the notion that you are beautiful?”

“My master told me,” she sniffed, “and my master does not lie does he?”

“Not often,” I said, “and particularly not about matters of such importance.”

“And I have seen men look at me,” she said, “and I know that I would bring a good price.”

I must have appeared scandalized.

“I would,” said Elizabeth firmly, “I am worth many tarn disks.”

“You are,” I admitted.

“So I am beautiful,” she concluded.

“It is true,” I said.

“But,” said she, “you will not sell me — will you?”

“Not immediately,” I said. “We shall see if you continue to please me.”

“Oh, Tarl!” she said.

“Master,” I prompted.

“Master,” she said.

“Well?” I asked.

“I shall,” she said, smiling, “strive to continue to please you.”

“See that you do,” I said.

“I love you,” she said suddenly, “I love you, Tarl Cabot, Master.” She put her arms about my neck and kissed me.

I kept her long in my arms, savouring the warmth of her lips, the delicacy of her tongue on mine.

“Your slave,” she whispered, “Master, forever your slave.”

It was hard for me to believe that this marvellous, collared beauty in my arms was once a simple girl of Earth, that this astounding wench, Tuchuk and Gorean, was the same as Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, the young secretary who so long before had found herself inexplicably thrust into intrigues and circumstances beyond her comprehension on the plains of Gor. Whatever she might have been before, a clock number, a set of records in a personnel file, an unimportant employee, with her salary and benefits, under the obligation to please and impress other employees, scarcely more important than herself, she was now alive, and free in her emotions though her flesh might be subject to chains; she was now vital, passionate, loving, mine; I wondered if there were other girls of Earth in whom a transformation might be wrought, others who might, not fully understanding, long for a man and a world a world in which they must find and be themselves, for no other choice would be theisms world in which they might run and breathe and laugh and be swift and loving and prized and in their hearts at last open and free though paradoxically perhaps, for a time, or until the man should choose otherwise, wearing the collar of a slave girt