And perhaps one day, one year, they would meet again, when the protection of the Nameless One did not apply.
CHAPTER FIVE
Var knew well enough the significance of the golden bracelet. It was the product of crazy workmanship and distribution, costing the wearer nothing, indistinguishable physically from thousands of others. But not only did it identify him as a man, it served as a license to have a woman-for a night or a year or a lifetime. He had but to put the bracelet on the slender wrist of the girl of his choice and she was his, provided she agreed. Most girls were said to be flattered to be offered such attention, and sought to retain the bracelet as long as possible. They were particularly pleased to bear sons by the bracelet, for as a man proved himself in the circle, so a woman proved herself in fertility. The land always needed more people.
The big tent was standard. Each camp had one, where the unattached warriors resided, and where single girls made themselves available. In winter a great fire heated the central chamber, while the couples occupying the fringe compartments trusted to sleeping bags and mutual warmth for their comfort.
Var was sure he would get by nicely on the latter system. In any event, it was summer.
Dusk, and the lamps were already lighted inside. The collective banquet was just finishing. Var, flush with his achievement of a name, had not been hungry, so that was no loss.
The girls were there, lounging on home-made furniture. The crazies provided everything a warrior might need, but it was considered gauche to use such unearned merchandise. The nomads preferred, generally, to do for themselves.
He walked up to the nearest girl. She wore a lovely one-piece wrap-around fastened in front with a silver brooch-the costume signifying her availability. Her hair was a languorous waving brown. Her figure was excellent: high-breasted, low-thighed. Yes, she would do.
He looked the question at her, putting his right hand on the bracelet and beginning to twist it off. This was approved technique; he had seen warriors do it at the Master's camp.
'No,' she said.
Var stopped, hand on wrist. Had he misunderstood? He was tempted to query her again, but preferred not to speak. Words were not supposed to be necessary. He had only learned, or perhaps relearned, the language since joining the Master and though he understood it well enough, his mouth and tongue did not form the syllables well.
He went on to the next, somewhat disgruntled. He had not considered refusal, and didn't know how to handle it.
This adjacent girl was slightly younger, fair-haired and in pink. Now that he thought about it, she really looked better than the first. He tapped his bracelet.
She looked at him casually. 'Can't you talk?'
Embarrassed, he grunted the word. 'Brach-rit.' Bracelet. It was clear in his mind.
'Get lost, stupid.'
Var did not know how to deal with this either, so he nodded and went on.
None of the girls were interested. Some showed their contempt with disconcerting candor.
Finally an older woman, wearing a bracelet, came up to him.
'You obviously don't understand, Warrior, so I'll explain it to you. I saw you fight today, so don't think I'm trying to insult you.'
Var was glad to have anyone treat him with respect. Gratefully, he listened to her.
'These girls are young,' she said. 'They have never had to work, they have never borne children, they have little experience. They're out for a good time. You-well, you're a stranger, so they're cautious. And you're a fledgling warrior, so they're contemptuous. Unjustly so. But as I said, they're young. And I have to tell you-you're not pretty to look at. That doesn't matter in the circle, but it does here. An experienced woman might understand-but not these good-time juniors. Don't blame them. They need tempering by time, just as a warrior does. They make mistakes too.'
Var nodded, frustrated but thankful for her advice, though he did not completely understand it. 'Who-'
'I'm Tyla, the chiefs wife. I just wanted you to understand.'
