by John Norman
One disappointment to me in trekking through the streets of Turia was that a crier advanced before us, calling to the women of the city to conceal themselves, even the female slaves. Thus, unfortunately, save for an occasional furtive pair of dark eyes peering from behind a veil in a recessed casement, we saw in our journey from the gate of the city to the House of Saphrar none of the fabled, silken beauties of Turia.
I mentioned this to Kamchak and he laughed loudly.
He was right, of course. Among the Wagons, clad in a brief bit of cord and leather, branded, wearing nose ring and Turian collar, could be found many of the beauties of Turia. Indeed, to the annoyance of Elizabeth Cardwell, who had spent her nights under the wagon in the last weeks, there were two such in our own wagon, the girl Dina, whom I had snared in the contests of the bola, and her companion, the fine wench who had bitten the neck of Kamchak's kaiila and had attempted to conceal her injury by the lance of Albrecht; her name was Tenchika, a Tuchuk corruption of her Turian name, Tendite; she struggled to serve Kamchak well, but it was clear that she lamented her separation from Albrecht of the Kassars; he had, surprisingly, twice tried to buy his little slave back, but Kamchak was holding out for a higher price; Dina, on the other hand, served me skillfully and devotedly; once Albrecht, having a bola match planned, tried to buy her back, as well as Tenchika, but I had demurred.
"Does it mean," Dina had asked me that night, head to boot, "that Dina's master is pleased with her?"
"Yes," I said, "it does."
"I am happy," she had said.
"She has fat ankles," Elizabeth Cardwell had observed.
"Not fat," I said, "—strong, sturdy ankles."
"If you like fat ankles," Elizabeth had said, turning about, perhaps inadvertently revealing the delightful slimness of her own ankles, and leaving the wagon.
Suddenly I became aware again of the banquet of Saphrar of Turia.
My piece of bosk meat, roasted, had arrived. I picked it up and began to chew on it. I liked it better cooked over the open-fires on the prairie, but it was good bosk. I sank my teeth into the juicy meat, tearing it and chewing on it.
I observed the banquet tables, laid out in an open-ended rectangle, permitting slaves to enter at the open end, facilitating the serving, and, of course, allowing entertainers to perform among the tables. To one side there was a small altar to Priest-Kings, where there burned a small fire. On this fire, at the beginning of the feast the Feast Steward had scattered some grains of meal, some colored salt, some drops of wine. "Ta-Sardar-Gor," he had said, and this phrase had been repeated by the others in the room. "To the Priest-Kings of Gor." It had been the general libation for the banquet. The only one in the room who did not participate in this ceremony was Kamchak, who thought that such a libation, in the eyes of the sky, would not have been fitting. I partook of the libation out of respect for Priest-Kings, for one in particular, whose name was Misk.
A Turian sitting a few feet from me noted that I had partaken of the libation. "I see," he said, "that you were not raised among the wagons."
"No," I said.
"He is Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba," Saphrar had remarked.
"How is it," I asked, "that you know my name?"
"One hears of such things," he said.
I would have questioned him on this matter, but he had turned to a man behind him and was talking with him, some matter I gathered pertaining to the feast.
I forgot about it.
If there had been no women for us to view in the streets of Turia, Saphrar, merchant of the city, had determined to make that omission good at his banquet. There were several women present at the tables, free women, and several others, slaves, who served. The free women, shamelessly to the mind of the rather prudish Kamchak, lowered their veils and threw back the hoods of their Robes of Concealment, enjoying the feast, eating with much the same Gorean gusto as their men. Their beauty and the sparkle of their eyes, their laughter and conversation, to my mind, immeasurably improved the evening. Many were swift-tongued, witty wenches, utterly charming and uninhibited. I did think, however, that it was somewhat unusual that they should appear in public unveiled, particularly with Kamchak and myself present. The women in bondage present, who served us, each wore four golden rings on each ankle and each wrist, locked on, which clashed as they walked or moved, adding their sound to the slave bells that had been fixed on their Turian collars, and that hung from their hair; the ears of each, too, had been pierced and from each ear hung a tiny slave bell. The single garment of these women was the Turian camisk. I do not know particularly why it is referred to as a camisk, save that it is a simple garment for a female slave. The common camisk is a single piece of cloth, about eighteen inches wide, thrown over the girl's head and worn like a poncho. It usually falls a bit above the knees in the front and back and is belted with cord or chain. The Turian camisk, on the other hand, if it were to be laid out on the floor, would appear somewhat like an inverted "T" in which the bar of the "T" would be beveled on each side. It is fastened on the girl at three points, behind the neck, behind the back, and in front, at the waist. The Turian camisk, unlike the common camisk, will cover a girl's brand; on the other hand, unlike the common camisk, it leaves the back uncovered and can be tied, and is, snugly, the better to disclose the girl's beauty. In donning the camisk the girl will tie the camisk behind the back of her neck; the rather vertical bar then falls before her, and she will then pull it to the sides, and tie it behind her back, this providing some shielding, though not much, for the beauty of her bosom; the farther part of the bar, falling before her, is then drawn back between her legs and drawn up in back, snugly, this providing a nether shielding, unusual in a garment permitted slaves; the two beveled edges are then brought forward and wrapped about the hips; the garment is then tied before the girl, snugly, at the waist, a location from which the tie, ready to the hand of a master, may be conveniently undone, enabling the cloth to be easily torn away, pulled loose, brushed aside, such things. Indeed, the cloth, once loosened, may, if one wishes, be taken up and used as a slave hood, held in place by cords, secured about the girl's neck.
In any event, women in a camisk, whether a common camisk or a Turian camisk, well know themselves slave.
In passing one might note that there is a rich, provocative variety of garments designed by Gorean masters to instruct, excite and display their female slaves. The simple, short, sleeveless tunic is familiar. A common light tunic, often of silk, because it moves easily on the body, fits loosely and has a single tie, at the left shoulder. A tug drops the garment to her ankles. The tie is at the left shoulder because most masters are right-handed. The girl herself, of course, standing or kneeling in the presence of the master, may be told to drop the garment. I have already delineated what it is, typically, for a female slave to be clad Kajir amongst the Wagon Peoples, the Chatka and Curla, the Kalmak and Koora. Elizabeth Cardwell's being permitted the pelt of the red larl was, as you have doubtless understood, unusual amongst the wagons. Still, it left no doubt that she was a slave.
We had been treated to exhibitions of juggling, fire swallowing, and acrobats. There had been a magician, who particularly pleased Kamchak, and a man who, whip in hand, guided a dancing sleen through its paces.
I could pick up snatches of conversation between Kamchak and Saphrar, and I gathered from what was said that they were negotiating places of meeting for the exchange of goods. Then, later in the evening, when I was drunker on paga than I should have permitted myself to become, I heard them discuss details which could only have pertained to what Kamchak had called the games of Love War, details having to do with specifications of time, weapons and judges, and such. Then I heard the sentence, "If she is to participate, you must deliver the golden sphere."
Abruptly, it seemed, I came awake, no longer half asleep, more than half drunk. It seemed suddenly I was shocked awake and sober. I began to tremble, but held the table, and, I believe, betrayed no sign of my inward excitement.
&n
bsp; "I can arrange that she is chosen for the games," Saphrar was saying, "but it must be worth my while."
"How can you determine that she is selected?" Kamchak was asking.
"My gold can determine that," Saphrar was saying, "and further determine that she is ill defended."
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Kamchak's dark eyes gleaming.
Then I heard the Feast Steward call out, his voice silencing all else, all conversation, even the musicians. The acrobats who were at the moment performing fled from between the tables. The Feast Steward's voice was heard, "The Lady Aphris of Turia."
I and all others turned our eyes to a wide, swirling marble stairway in the back and to the left of the lofty banquet hall in the house of Saphrar the merchant.
Down the stairway, slowly, in trailing white silk bordered with gold, the colors of the Merchants, there regally descended the girl who was Aphris of Turia.
Her sandals were of gold and she wore matching gloves of gold.
Her face could not be seen, for it was veiled, a white silken veil trimmed with gold, nor even her hair, for it was hidden in the folds of the free woman's Robes of Concealment, in her case, of course, done in the colors of the Merchants.
Aphris of Turia, then, was of the Caste of Merchants.
I recalled Kamchak had spoken of her once or twice.
As the woman approached I suddenly became aware again of Saphrar speaking. "Behold my ward," he was saying, indicating the approaching girl.
"The richest woman in all Turia," Kamchak said.
"When she reaches her majority," Saphrar remarked.
Until then, I gathered, her means were in the doubtless capable hands of Saphrar the merchant.
This supposition was later confirmed by Kamchak. Saphrar was not related to the girl, but had been appointed by the Turian merchants, on whom he undoubtedly exercised considerable influence, the guardian of the girl following the death of her father in a Paravaci caravan raid several years before. The father of Aphris of Turia, Tethrar of Turia, had been the richest merchant in this city, itself one of the richest cities of Gor. There had been no surviving male heir and the considerable wealth of Tethrar of Turia was now that of his daughter, Aphris, who would assume control of these remarkable fortunes upon attaining her majority, which event was to occur this spring.
The girl, not unaware I am sure of the eyes upon her, stopped on the stairway and loftily surveyed the scene of the banquet. I could sense that she had almost immediately seen myself and Kamchak, strangers at the tables. Something in her carriage suggested that she might be amused.
I heard Saphrar whisper to Kamchak, whose eyes glowed as they rested on the figure in white and gold on the distant stairway.
"Is she not worth the golden sphere?" asked the merchant.
"It is hard to tell," said Kamchak.
"I have the word of her serving slaves," insisted Saphrar. "She is said to be marvelous."
Kamchak shrugged, his wily Tuchuk trading shrug. I had seen him use it several times while discussing the possible sale of little Tenchika to Albrecht in the wagon.
"The sphere is actually not of much value," Saphrar was saying, "it is not truly of gold—but only appears so."
"Still," Kamchak said, "the Tuchuks are fond of it."
"I would only wish it as a curiosity," Saphrar was saying.
"I must think on the matter," Kamchak was saying, not taking his eyes from Aphris of Turia.
"I know where it is," Saphrar was saying, his lips pulled back, revealing the golden canines, "I could send men for it."
Pretending not to listen I was, of course, as attentive as possible to their conversation. But few in that room would have noted my interest had I displayed it openly. All eyes, it seemed, were on the girl on the stairs, slim, said to be beautiful, veiled, clad in Robes of Concealment of white and gold. Even I was distracted by her. Even I, in spite of my preoccupation with the conversation of Kamchak and Saphrar, would have found it difficult, had I wished, to take my eyes from her. Now she descended the last three stairs and, stopping to nod her head and grace an eager fellow here and there along the tables with a word or gesture, she began to approach the head of the table. The musicians, at a signal from the Feast Steward, took up their instruments again and the acrobats rushed back among the tables, tumbling and leaping about.
"It is in the wagon of Kutaituchik," Saphrar was saying. "I could send mercenary tarnsmen from the north, but I would prefer not to have war."
Kamchak was still watching Aphris of Turia.
My heart was beating with great rapidity. I had learned now, if Saphrar was correct, that the golden sphere, undoubtedly the last egg of Priest-Kings, was in the wagon of Kutaituchik, said to be Ubar of the Tuchuks. At last, if Saphrar was correct, I knew its location.
I barely noticed, as Aphris of Turia made her way toward the head of the table, that she did not speak to nor acknowledge in any way any of the women present, though their robes suggested they must be of wealth and position. She gave them no sign that she recognized their existence. To a man here and there, however, she would nod her head or exchange a word or two. I thought perhaps Aphris was unwilling to acknowledge unveiled free women. Her own veil, of course, had not been lowered. Over the veil I could now see two dark, deep, almond-shaped eyes; her skin, what I could see of it, was lovely and clear; her complexion was not so light as that of Miss Cardwell, but was lighter than that of the girl Hereena, of the First Wagon.
"The golden sphere for Aphris of Turia," Saphrar whispered to Kamchak.
Kamchak turned to the small, fat merchant and his scarred, furrowed face broke into a grin, bearing down on the round, pinkish face of the merchant. "The Tuchuks," he said, "are fond of the golden sphere."
"Very well," snapped Saphrar, "then you will not obtain the woman—I shall see to that—and somehow I shall have the sphere—understand that!"
Kamchak now turned to watch Aphris of Turia.
The girl now approached us, behind the tables, and Saphrar leaped to his feet and bowed low to her. "Honored Aphris of Turia, whom I love as my own daughter," he said.
The girl inclined her head to him, "Honored Saphrar," she said.
Saphrar gestured to two of the camisk-clad girls in the room, who brought cushions and a silken mat and placed them between Saphrar and Kamchak.
Aphris nodded her head to the Feast Steward and he sent the acrobats running and tumbling from the room and the musicians began to play soft, honeyed melodies. The guests at the banquet returned to their conversation and repast.
Aphris looked about her.
She lifted her head, and I could see the lovely line of her nose beneath the veil of white silk trimmed with gold. She sniffed twice. Then she clapped her little gloved hands two times and the Feast Steward rushed to her side.
"I smell bosk dung," she said.
The Feast Steward looked startled, then horrified, then knowledgeable, and then bowed and spread his hands. He smiled ingratiatingly, apologetically. "I am sorry, Lady Aphris," said he, "but under the circumstances—"
She looked about, and then it seemed she saw Kamchak. "Ah!" she said, "I see—a Tuchuk—of course."
Kamchak, though sitting cross-legged, seemed to bounce twice on the cushions, slapping the small table, rattling dishes for a dozen feet on either side. He was roaring with laughter.
"Superb!" he cried.
"Please, if you wish, Lady Aphris, join us," wheezed Saphrar.
Aphris of Turia, pleased with herself, assumed her place between the merchant and Kamchak, kneeling back on her heels in the position of the Gorean free woman.
Her back was very straight and her head high, in the Gorean fashion.
She turned to Kamchak. "It seems we have met before," she said.
"Two years ago," said Kamchak, "in such a place at such a time—you recall it was then you called me a Tuchuk sleen."
"I seem to recall," said Aphris, as though trying very hard to do so.
"I had brought you a five-belt necklace of diamonds," said Kamchak, "for I had heard you were beautiful."
"Oh," said Aphris, "yes—I gave it to one of my slaves."
Kamchak slapped the table in merriment again.
"It was then," he said, "that you turned away, calling me a Tuchuk sleen."
"Oh, yes!" laughed Aphris.
"And it was then," said Kamchak, still laughing, "that I vowed I would make you my slave."
Aphris stopped laughing.
Saphrar was speechless.
There was no sound at the tables.
Kamras, Champion of the City of Turia, rose to his feet. He addressed Saphrar. "Permit me," he said, "to fetch weapons."
Kamchak was now swilling paga and acted as though he had not heard the remark of Kamras.
"No, no, no!" cried Saphrar. "The Tuchuk and his friend are guests, and ambassadors of the Wagon Peoples—they must not come to harm!"
Aphris of Turia laughed merrily and Kamras, embarrassed, returned to his seat.
"Bring perfumes!" she called to the Feast Steward, and he sent forth a camisk-clad slave who carried a tiny tray of exotic Turian perfumes. She took one or two of these small bottles and held them under her nose, and then sprinkled them about the table and cushions. Her actions delighted the Turians, who laughed.
Kamchak now was still smiling, but he no longer laughed. "For that," he said, smiling, "you will spend your first night in the dung sack."
Again Aphris laughed merrily and was joined by those of the banquet.
