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-kaiiIa!'
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' 'You tharlarion,' she said. 'You sleety'
'What do you think?' asked Kamchak.
'She is marvelously beautiful,' I said.
'She must be plain indeed,' remarked Kamchak, looking closely again at Aphris.
'No,' said the judge, 'it is because she is defended by Kamras, Champion of Turia.'
'Oh, no!' cried Kamchak, throwing his fist to his forehead in mock despair.
'Yes,' said the judge, 'he.'
'Surely you recall?' laughed Aphris merrily.
'I had had much Paga at the time,' admitted Kamchak. 'You need not meet him if you wish.' said the judge. I thought that a humane arrangement that two men must understand who it is they face before entering the circle of sand. It would indeed be unpleasant if one suddenly, unex- pectedly, found oneself facing a superb, famed warrior, say, a Kamras of Turia.
'Meet him!' cried Aphris.
'If no one meets him,' said the judge, 'the Kassar girl will be his by forfeit.'
I could see that the Kassar girl, a beauty, at the stake opposite Aphris of Turia was distressed, and understandably so. It appeared she was to depart for Turia without so much as a handful of sand kicked about on her behalf.
'Meet him, Tuchuk!' she cried.
'Where are your Kassars?' asked Kamchak.
I thought it an excellent question. I had seen Conrad about, but he had picked out a Turian wench to fight for some six or seven stakes away. Albrecht was not even at the games. I supposed he was home with Tenchika.
'They are fighting elsewhere!' she cried. 'Please, Tuchuk!' she wept.
'But you are only a Kassar wench,' pointed out Kamchak. 'Please! she cried.
'Besides,' said Kamchak, 'you might look well in Pleasure Silk.'
'Look at the Turian wench!' cried the girl. 'Is she not beautiful? Do you not want her?'
Kamchak looked at Aphris of Turia.
'I suppose,' he said, 'she is no worse than the rest.' 'Fight for met' cried Aphris of Turia 'All right,' said Kamchak. 'I will.'
The Kassar girl put her back against the stake, trembling with relief.
'You are a fool,' said Kamras of Turia.
I was a bit startled, not realizing he was so close. I looked at him. He was indeed an impressive warrior. He seemed strong and fast. His long black hair was now tied behind his head. His large wrists had been wrapped in boskbide straps. He wore a helmet and carried the Turian shield, which is oval. In his right hand there was a spear. Over his shoulder was slung the sheath of a short sword.
Kamchak looked up at him. It was not that Kamchak was particularly short, but rather that Kamras was a very large man.
'By the sky,' said Kamchak, whistling, 'you are a big fellow indeed.'
'Let us begin,' proposed Kamras.
At this word the judge called out — to clear the space between the stakes of Aphris of Turia and the lovely Kassar wench. Two men, from Ar, I took it, came forward with rakes and began to smooth the circle of sand between the stakes, for it had been somewhat disturbed in the inspection of the girls.
Unfortunately for Kamchak, I knew that this was the year in which the Turian foeman might propose the weapon of combat. Fortunately, however, the warrior of the Wagon Peoples could withdraw from the combat any time before his name had actually been officially entered in the lists of the games. Thus if Kamras chose a weapon with which Kamchak did not feel at ease, the Tuchuk might, with some grace, decline the combat, in this forfeiting only a Kassar girl, which I was sure would not overly disturb the philosophical Kamchak.
'Ah, yes, weapons,' Kamchak was saying, 'what shall it be the kaiila lance, a whip and bladed bole perhaps the quiva?'
