Wagon Peoples
Recreation and Festivities
Wagers all in Good Fun
The Wagon Peoples, though a warring society, are a happy people, enjoying life, the freedom on the plains, the beauty of their world.
Although perhaps their recreational activities may not be as sophisticated as their city counterparts, the Wagon Peoples do take time to enjoy these activities. Some are spur of the moment wagerings, to children's games, to organized contests of skill.
As soon as Kamchak had agreed to Albrecht's proposal the children and several of the slave girls immediately began to rush toward the wagons, delightedly crying "Wager! Wager!"
Soon, to my dismay, a large number of Tuchuks, male and female, and their male or female slaves, began to gather near the worn lane on the turf. The terms of the wager were soon well known. In the crowd, as well as Tuchuks and those of the Tuchuks, there were some Kassars, a Paravaci or two, even one of the Kataii. The slave girls in the crowd seemed particularly excited. I could hear bets being taken. The Tuchuks, not too unlike Goreans generally, are fond of gambling. Indeed, it is not unknown that a Tuchuk will bet his entire stock of bosk on the outcome of a single kaiila race; as many as a dozen slave girls may change hands on something as small as the direction that a bird will fly or the number of seeds in a tospit. — Nomads of Gor, page 66.
Even the slaves of the Wagon Peoples are permitted at times to wager.
The girl laughed. Then, to my surprise, she looked at me boldly, though wearing the Turian collar; though she wore the nose ring; though she were only a branded slave clad Kajir. "I wager," she said, "that I will reach the lance."
This irritated me. Moreover, I was not insensitive to the fact that though she were slave and I a free man, she had not addressed me, as the custom is, by the title of Master. I had no objection to the omission itself, but I did object to the affront therein implied. For some reason this wench seemed to me rather arrogant, rather contemptuous.
"I wager that you do not," I said.
"Your terms!" she challenged.
"What are yours?" I asked.
She laughed. "If I win," she said, "you give me your bola, which I will present to my master."
"Agreed," I said. "And if I should win?"
"You will not," she said.
"But if so?"
"Then," said she, "I will give you a golden ring and a silver cup."
"How is it that a slave has such riches?" I asked.
She tossed her head in the air, not deigning to respond.
"I have given her several such things," said Albrecht.
I now gathered that the girl facing me was not a typical slave, and that there must be a very good reason why she should have such things. "I do not want your golden ring and silver cup," I said.
"What then could you want?" asked she.
"Should I win," I said, "I will claim as my prize the kiss of an insolent wench."
"Tuchuk sleen!" she cried, eyes flashing.
Conrad and Albrecht laughed. Albrecht said to the girl, "It is permitted."
"Very well, he-tharlarion," said the girl, "your bola against a kiss." Her shoulders were trembling with rage.
"I will show you how a Kassar girl can run!' — Nomads of Gor, pages 68-78.
Various Forms of Gambling
Goreans as a whole are fond of gambling; the Wagon Peoples are no exception. No casinos are necessary; they will wager on most anything: the number of seeds in a piece of fruit, the migration of birds, the outcome of a game, etc. The Wagon Peoples generally will not wager unless they are confident they will win, and are knowledgable enough on a particular subject before they trap their unsuspecting victim into a wager — as Tarl Cabot quickly learns. Here are but a few examples.
Contests of Arms
Wagering is often made between combatants in various contests of arms.
He rode his kaiila to Kamchak. "What do you want for your pretty little barbarian slave?" he asked.
"She is not for sale," said Kamchak.
"Will you wager for her?" pressed the rider. He was Albrecht of the Kassars, and, with Conrad of the Kassars, had been riding against myself and Kamchak.
Kamchak's eyes gleamed. He was Tuchuk. "What are your terms?" he asked.
"On the outcome of the sport," he said, and then pointed to two girls, both his, standing to the left in their furs, "against those two."
Conrad, hearing the wager of Albrecht, snorted derisively.
"No," cried Albrecht, "I am serious!"
"Done!" cried Kamchak. — Nomads of Gor, page 65.
The two girls of Albrecht were standing to one side, their eyes shining, trying not to smile with pleasure. Some of the girls in the crowd looked enviously on them. It is a great honor to a girl to stand as a stake in Tuchuk gambling. To my amazement Elizabeth Cardwell, too, seemed rather pleased with the whole thing, though for what reason I could scarcely understand. She came over to me and looked up. She stood on tiptoes in her furred boots and held the stirrup. "You will win," she said.
I was second rider to Kamchak, as Albrecht was to Conrad, he of the Kassars, the Blood People. There is a priority of honor involved in being first rider, but points scored are the same by either rider, depending on his performance. The first rider is, commonly, as one might expect, the more experienced, skilled rider. — Nomads of Gor, page 66.
As the day grew late points were accumulated, but, to the zest and frenzy of the crowd, the lead in these contests of arms shifted back and forth, first being held by Kamchak and myself, then by Conrad and Albrecht. — Nomads of Gor, page 67.
Following are examples of common contests of arms of the Wagon Peoples.
Bola Run
This sport is two-fold; it is first, a contest of arms — specifically, the bola — as well as a contest amongst the girls of the wagons in their running and evading skills. In this sport, a bosk whip is laid on the ground in a circle. This would be the starting point. About four hundred (400) yards away, a lance is fixed into the dirt. The object of this sport for the girl is that she run from the circle to the lance, while attempting to evade the man on kaiila chasing her, bola in hand. The object of course, for the rider is to capture the girl using the bola. Should the girl reach the lance first, she wins. Time is counted by the heart beats of a standing kaiila. When the judge gives the signal, the girl starts to run, being given a head start of fifteen (15) beats.
I was second rider to Kamchak, as Albrecht was to Conrad, he of the Kassars, the Blood People. There is a priority of honor involved in being first rider, but points scored are the same by either rider, depending on his performance. The first rider is, commonly, as one might expect, the more experienced, skilled rider. … As the day grew late points were accumulated, but, to the zest and frenzy of the crowd, the lead in these contests of arms shifted back and forth, first being held by Kamchak and myself, then by Conrad and Albrecht. … Albrecht was rearing on his kaiila, loosening the bola at his saddle. "Remove your furs," he instructed his two girls. Immediately they did so and, in spite of the brisk, bright chilly afternoon, they stood in the grass, clad Kajir. They would run for us.
Kamchak raced his kaiila over to the edge of the crowd ,entering into swift negotiation with a warrior, one whose wagon followed ours in the march of the Tuchuks. Indeed, it had been from that warrior that Kamchak had rented the girls who had dragged Elizabeth Cardwell about the wagons, teaching her Gorean with thong and switch. I saw a flash of copper, perhaps a tarn disk from one of the distant cities, and one of the warrior's girls, an attractive Turian wench, Tuka, began to remove her fur. She would run for one of the Kassars, doubtless Conrad. Tuka, I knew, hated Elizabeth, and Elizabeth, I knew, reciprocated the emotion with vehemence. Tuka, in the matter of teaching Elizabeth the language, had been especially cruel. Elizabeth, bound, could not resist and did she try, Tuka's companions, the others of her wagon, would leap upon her with their switches flailing. Tuka, for her part, understandably had reason to envy and resent the young American slave. Elizabeth Cardwell, at least until now, had escaped, as Tuka had not, the brand, the nose ring and collar. Elizabeth was clearly some sort of favorite in her wagon. Indeed, she was the only girl in the wagon. That alone, though of course it meant she would work very hard, was regarded as a most enviable distinction. Lastly, but perhaps not least, Elizabeth Cardwell had been given for her garment the pelt of a larl, while she, Tuka, must go about the camp like all the others, clad Kajir. I feared that Tuka would not run well, thus losing us the match, that she would deliberately allow herself to be easily snared. But then I realized that this was not true. If Kamchak and her master were not convinced that she had run as well as she might, it wool not go easily with her. She would have contributor to the victory of a Kassar over a Tuchuk. That night, one of the hooded members of the Clan of Torturers would have come to her wagon and fetched her away, never to be seen again. She would run well, hating Elizabeth or not. She would be running for her life.
Kamchak wheeled his kaiila and joined us. He pointed his lance to Elizabeth Cardwell. "Remove your furs," he said. Elizabeth did so and stood before us in the pelt of the larl, with the other girls.
Although it was late in the afternoon the sun was still bright. The air was chilly. There was a bit of wind moving the grass. A black lance was fixed in the prairie about four hundred yards away. A rider beside it, on a kaiila, marked its place. It was not expected, of course, that any of the girls would reach the lance. If one did, of course, the rider would decree her safe. In the run the important thing was time, the dispatch and the skill with which the thing was accomplished. Tuchuk girls, Elizabeth and Tuka, would run for the Kassars; the two Kassar girls would run for Kamchak and myself; naturally each slave does her best for her master, attempting to evade his competitor. The time in these matters is reckoned by the heartbeat of a standing kaiila. Already one had been brought. Near the animal, on the turf, a long bosk whip was laid in a circle, having a diameter of somewhere between eight and ten feet. The girl begins her run from the circle. The object of the rider is to effect her capture, secure her and return her, in as little time as possible, to the circle of the whip. Already a grizzled Tuchuk had his hand, palm flat, on the silken side of the standing kaiila. Kamchak gestured and Tuka, barefoot, frightened, stepped into the circle.
Conrad freed his bola from the saddle strap. He held in his teeth a boskhide thong, about a yard in length. The saddle of the kaiila, like the tarn saddle, is made in such a way as to accommodate, bound across it, a female captive, rings being fixed on both sides through which binding fiber or thong may be passed. On the other hand, I knew, in this sport no time would be taken for such matters; in a few heartbeats of the kaiila the girl's wrists and ankles would be lashed together and she would be, without ceremony, slung over the pommel of the saddle, it the stake, her body the ring. "Run," said Conrad quietly.
Tuka sped from the circle. The crowd began to cry out, to cheer, urging her on. Conrad, the thong in his teeth, the bola quiet at his side, watched her. She would receive a start of fifteen beats of the great heart of the kaiila, after which she would be about half way to the lance. The judge, aloud, was counting. At the count of ten Conrad began to slowly spin the bola. It would not reach its maximum rate of revolution until he was in full gallop, almost on the quarry. At the count of fifteen, making no sound, not wanting to warn the girl, Conrad spurred the kaiila in pursuit, bola swinging. The crowd strained to see.
The judge had begun to count again, starting with one, the second counting, which would determine the rider's time. The girl was fast and that meant time for us, if only perhaps a beat. She must have been counting to herself because only an instant or so after Conrad had spurred after her she looked over her shoulder, seeing him approaching. She must then have counted about three beats to herself, and then she began to break her running pattern, moving to one side and the other, making it difficult to approach her swiftly.
"She runs well," said Kamchak.
Indeed she did, but in an instant I saw the leather flash of the bola, with its vicious, beautiful almost ten-foot sweep, streak toward the girl's ankles, and I saw her fall. It was scarcely ten beats and Conrad had bound the struggling, scratching Tuka, slung her about the pommel, raced back, kaiila squealing, and threw the girl, wrists tied to her ankles, to the turf inside the circle of the boskhide whip. "Thirty," said the judge. Conrad grinned. Tuka, as best she could, squirmed in the bonds, fighting them. Could she free a hand or foot, or even loosen the thong, Conrad would be disqualified.
After a moment or two, the judge said, "Stop," and Tuka obediently lay quiet. The judge inspected the thongs. "The wench is secured," he announced. In terror Tuka looked up at Kamchak, mounted on his kaiila. "You ran well," he told her. She closed her eyes, almost fainting with relief. She would live.
A Tuchuk warrior slashed apart the thongs with his quiva and Tuka, only too pleased to be free of the circle, leaped up and ran quickly to the side of her master. In a few moments, panting, covered with sweat, she had pulled on her furs. The next girl, a lithe Kassar girl, stepped into the circle and Kamchak unstrapped his bola. It seemed to me she ran excellently but Kamchak, with his superb skill, snared her easily. To my dismay, as he returned racing toward the circle of the boskhide whip the girl, a fine wench, managed to sink her teeth into the neck of the kaiila causing it to rear squealing and hissing, then striking at her. By the time Kamchak had cuffed the girl from the animal's neck and struck the kaiila's snapping jaws from her twice-bitten leg and returned to the circle, he had used thirty-five beats. He had lost. When the girl was released, her leg bleeding, she was beaming with pleasure. "Well done," said Albrecht, her master, adding with a grin, "For a Turian slave." The girl looked down, smiling. She was a brave girl. I admired her. It was easy to see that she was bound to Albrecht the Kassar by more than a length of slave chain.
At a gesture from Kamchak Elizabeth Cardwell stepped into the circle of the whip. She was now frightened. She, and I as well, had supposed that Kamchak would be victorious over Conrad. Had he been so, even were I defeated by Albrecht, as I thought likely, the points would have been even. Now, if I lost as well, she would be a Kassar wench. Albrecht was grinning, swinging the bola lightly, not in a circle but in a gentle pendulum motion, beside the stirrup of the kaiila. He looked at her.< "Run," he said.
Elizabeth Cardwell, barefoot, in the larl's pelt, streaked for the black lance in the distance. She had perhaps observed the running of Tuka and the Kassar girl, trying to watch and learn, but she was of course utterly inexperienced in this cruel sport of the men of the wagons. She had not, for example, timed her counting, for long hours, under the tutelage of a master, al against the heartbeat of a kaiila, he keeping the beat but not informing her what it was, until she had called the beat. Some girls of the Wagon Peoples in fact, incredible though it seems, are trained exhaustively in the art of evading the bola, and such a girl is worth a great deal to a master, who uses her in wagering. One of the best among the wagons I had heard was a Kassar slave, a swift Turian wench whose name was Dina. She had run in actual competition more than two hundred times; almost always she managed to interfere with and postpone her return to the circle; and forty times, an incredible feat, she had managed to reach the lance itself. At the count of fifteen, with incredible speed, Albrecht, bola now whirling, spurred silently after the fleeing Elizabeth Cardwell. She had misjudged the heartbeat or had not understood the swiftness of the kaiila, never having before observed it from the unenviable point of view of a quarry, because when she turned to see if her hunter had left the vicinity of the circle, he was upon her and as she cried out the bola struck her in an instant binding her legs and throwing her to the turf. It was hardly more than five or six beats, it seemed, before Elizabeth, her wrists lashed cruelly to her ankles, was thrown to the grass at the judge's feet. "Twenty-five!" announced the judge.
There was a cheer from the crowd, which, though largely composed of Tuchuks, relished a splendid performance. Weeping Elizabeth jerked and pulled at the thongs restraining her, helpless. The judge inspected the bonds. "The wench is secured," he said. Elizabeth moaned.
"Rejoice, Little Barbarian," said Albrecht, "tonight in Pleasure Silk you will dance the Chain Dance for Kassar Warriors."
The girl turned her head to one side, shuddering in the thongs. A cry of misery escaped her. "Be silent," said Kamchak. Elizabeth was silent and, fighting her tears; lay quietly waiting to be freed. I cut the thongs from her wrists and ankles.
"I tried," she said, looking up at me, tears in her eyes. "I tried."
"Some girls," I told her, "have run from the bola more than a hundred times. Some are trained to do so."
"Do you concede?" Conrad asked Kamchak.
"No," said Kamchak. "My second rider must ride."
"He is not even of the Wagon Peoples," said Conrad.
"Nonetheless," said Kamchak, "he will ride."
"He will not beat twenty-five," said Conrad.
Kamchak shrugged. I knew myself that twenty-five was a remarkable time. Albrecht was a fine rider and skilled in this sport and, of course, this time, his quarry had been only an untrained barbarian slave, indeed, a girl who had never before run from the bola.
"To the circle," said Albrecht, to the other Kassar girl. She was a beauty. She stepped to the circle quickly, throwing her head back, breathing deeply. She was an intelligent looking girl. Black-haired. Her ankles, I noted, were a bit sturdier than are thought desirable in a slave girl. They had withstood the shock of her body weight many times I gathered, in quick turnings, in leaps. I wished that I had seen her run before, because most girls will have a running pattern, even in their dodging which, if you have seen it, several times, you can sense. Nothing simple, but something that, somehow, you can anticipate, if only to a degree. It is probably the result of gathering, from their running, how they think; then one tries to think with them and thus meet them with the bola. She was now breathing deeply, regularly. Prior to her entering the circle I had seen her moving about in the background, running a bit, loosening her legs, speeding the circulation of her blood. It was my guess that this was not the first time she had run from the bola.
"If you win for us," Albrecht said to her, grinning down from the saddle of the kaiila, "this night you will be given a silver bracelet and five yards of scarlet silk."
"I will win for you, Master," she said. I thought that a bit arrogant for a slave.
Albrecht looked at me. "This wench," he said, "has never been snared in less than thirty-two beats." I noted a flicker pass through the eyes of Kamchak, but he seemed otherwise impassive.
"She is an excellent runner," I said. …
"I gather," I said to Albrecht, casually, "that the girl has run several times."
"Yes," said Albrecht, "that is true." Then he added, "You may have heard of her. She is Dina of Turia."
Conrad and Albrecht slapped their saddles and laughed uproariously. Kamchak laughed, too, so hard tears ran down the scarred furrows of his face. He pointed a finger at Conrad. "Wily Kassar!" he laughed. This was a joke. Even I had to smile. The Tuchuks were commonly called the Wily Ones. But, though the moment might have been amusing to those of the Wagon Peoples, even to Kamchak, I was not prepared to look on the event with such good humor. If might have been a good trick, but I was in no state of mind to relish it. How cleverly Conrad had pretended to mock Albrecht when he had bet two girls against one. Little did we know that one of those girls was Dina of Turia, who, of course, would run not for the skilled Kamchak, but for his awkward friend, the clumsy Tarl Cabot, not even of the Wagon Peoples, new to the kaiila and bola! Conrad and Albrecht had perhaps even come to the camp of the Tuchuks with this in mind. Undoubtedly! What could they lose? Nothing. The best that we might have hoped for was a tie, had Kamchak beaten Conrad. But he had not; the fine little Turian wench who had been able to bite the neck of the kaiila, thereby risking her life incidentally, had seen to that. Albrecht and Conrad had come for a simple purpose, to best a Tuchuk and, in the process, pick up a girl or two; Elizabeth Cardwell, of course, was the only one we had on hand. Even the Turian girl, Dina, perhaps the best slave among all the wagons in this sport, was laughing, hanging on the stirrup of Albrecht, looking up at him. I noted that his kaiila was within the whip circle, within which the girl stood. Her feet were off the ground and she had the side of her head pressed against his furred boot.
"Run," I said.
She cried out angrily, as did Albrecht, and Kamchak laughed. "Run, you little fool," shouted Conrad. The girl had released the stirrup and her feet struck the ground. She was off balance but righted herself and with an angry cry she sped from the circle. By surprising her I had gained perhaps ten or fifteen yards.
I took the binding thong from my belt and put it in my teeth. I began to swing the bola. To my amazement, as I swung the hole in ever faster circles, never taking my eyes off her, she broke the straight running pattern only about fifty yards from the whip circle, and began to dodge, moving always, however, toward the lance. This puzzled me. Surely she had not miscounted, not Dina of Turia. As the judge counted aloud I observed the pattern, two left, then a long right to compensate, moving toward the lance; two left, then right; two left, then right. "Fifteen!" called the judge, and I streaked on kaiila back from the circle of the boskhide whip. I rode at full speed, for there was not a beat to lose. Even if by good fortune I managed to tie Albrecht, Elizabeth would still belong to the Kassars, for Conrad had a clear win over Kamchak. It is dangerous, of course, to approach any but a naive, straight-running, perhaps terrified, girl at full speed, for should she dodge or move to one side, one will have to slow the kaiila to turn it after her, lest one be carried past her too rapidly, even at the margins of bola range. But I could judge Dina's run, two left, one right, so I set the kaiila running at full speed for what would seem to be the unwilling point of rendezvous between Dina and the leather of the bola. I was surprised at the simplicity of her pattern. I wondered how it could be that such a girl had never been taken in less than thirty-two beats, that she had reached the lance forty times. I would release the bola in another beat as she took her second sprint to the left. Then I remembered the intelligence of her eyes, her confidence, that never had she been taken in less than thirty-two beats, that she had reached the lance forty times. Her skills must be subtle, her timing marvelous. I released the bola, risking all, hurling it not to the expected rendezvous of the second left but to a first right, unexpected, the first break in the two-left, one-right pattern. I heard her startled cry as the weighted leather straps flashed about her thighs, calves and ankles, in an instant lashing them together as tightly as though by binding fiber. Hardly slackening speed I swept past the girl, turned the kaiila to face her, and again kicked it into a full gallop. I briefly saw a look of utter astonishment on her beautiful face. Her hands were out, trying instinctively to maintain her balance; the bola weights were still snapping about her ankles in tiny, angry circles; in an instant she would fall to the grass; racing past I seized her by the hair and threw her over the saddle; scarcely did she comprehend what was happening before she found herself my prisoner, while yet the kaiila did still gallop, bound about the pommel of the saddle. I had not taken even the time to dismount. Only perhaps a beat or two before the kaiila leapt into the circle had I finished the knots that confined her. I threw her to the turf at the judge's feet. The judge, and the crowd, seemed speechless.
"Time!" called Kamchak. The judge looked startled, as though he could not believe what he had seen. He took his hand from the side of the standing kaiila. "Time!" called Kamchak.
The judge looked at him. "Seventeen," he whispered. The crowd was silent, then, suddenly, as unexpectedly as a clap of thunder, they began to roar and cheer.
Kamchak was thumping a very despondent looking Conrad and Albrecht on the shoulders. I looked down at Dina of Turia. Looking at me in rage, she began to pull and squirm in the thongs, twisting in the grass. The judge allowed her to do so for perhaps a few lien, maybe thirty seconds or so, "The wench is secured," he said. There was another great cry and cheer from the crowd. They were mostly Tuchuks, and were highly pleased with what they had seen, but I saw, too, that even the Kassars and the one or two Paravaci present and the Kataii were unstinting in their acclaim. The crowd had gone mad. Elizabeth Cardwell was leaping up and down clapping her hands.
I looked down at Dina, who lay at my feet, now no longer struggling. I removed the bola from her legs. With my quiva I slashed the thong on her ankles, permitting her to struggle to her feet. She stood facing me, clad Kajir, her wrists still thonged behind her. I refastened the bola at my saddle. "I keep my bola, it seems," I said. She tried to free her wrists, but could not, of course, do so. Helpless she stood waiting for me. I then took Dina of Turia in my arms and, at some length, and with a certain admitted satisfaction, collected my winnings. Because she had annoyed me the kiss that was hers was that of master to a slave girl; yet was I patient because the kiss itself was not enough; I was not satisfied until, despite herself, I read in my arms her body's sudden, involuntary admission that I had conquered. "Master," she said, her eyes glazed, too weak to struggle against the thongs that encircled her wrists. With a cheerful slap I sped her back to Albrecht, who, angry, with the tip of his lance, severed the bonds that had confined her. Kamchak was laughing, and Conrad as well. And, too, many in the crowd. — Nomads of Gor, pages 66-78.
Run for the City
In this sport, girls do as the name of the game is call — run for the city [of Turia].
"Why have you brought me here?" she had asked.
I pointed into the distance. "It is Turia," I said, "your city."
She looked up at me. "Is it your wish," she asked, "that I run for the city?"
She referred to a cruel sport of the young men of the wagons who sometimes take Turian slave girls to the sight of Turia's walls and then, loosening bola and thong, bid them run for the city. — Nomads of Gor, page 107."It might be added that there are two items which the Wagon Peoples will not sell or trade to Turia, one is a living bosk and the other is a girl from the city itself, though the latter are sometimes, for the sport of the young men, allowed, as it is said, to run for the city. They are then hunted from the back of the kaiila with bola and thongs." — Nomads of Gor, page 58.
Tospit and Lance
In this sport, a tospit is placed on a wooden wand. On kaiila-back, the rider, with lance, must ride past, and capture the tospit upon his lance.
On the back of the kaiila, the black lance in hand, bending down in the saddle, I raced past a wooden wand fixed in the earth, on the top of which was placed a dried tospit, a small, wrinkled, yellowish-white peachlike fruit, about the size of a plum, which grows on the tospit bush, patches of which are indigenous to the drier valleys of the western Cartius. They are bitter but edible.
"Well done!" cried Kamchak as he saw the tospit, unsplit, impaled halfway down the shaft of the lance, stopped only by my fist and the retaining strap. Such a thrust was worth two points for us.
I heard Elizabeth Cardwell's cry of joy as she leaped into the air, clumsy in the furs, clapping her hands. She carried, on a strap around her neck, a sack of tospits. I looked at her and smiled. Her face was vital and flushed with excitement.
"Tospit!" called Conrad of the Kassars, the Blood People, and the girl hastened to set another fruit on the wand. There was a thunder of kaiila paws on the worn turf and Conrad, with his red lance, nipped the tospit neatly from the tip of the wand, the lance point barely passing into it, he having drawn back at the last instant.
"Well done!" I called to him. My own thrust had been full thrust, accurate enough but rather heavily done, in war, such a thrust might have lost me the lance, leaving it in the body of an enemy. His thrust was clearly, I acknowledged, worth three points.
Kamchak then rode, and he, like Conrad of the Kassars, deftly took the fruit from the wand; indeed, his lance entering the fruit perhaps a fraction of an inch less than had Conrad's. It was, however, also a three-point thrust. The warrior who then rode with Conrad thundered down the lane in the turf. There was a cry of disappointment, as the lance tip sheared the fruit, not retaining it, knocking it from the wand. It was only a one-point thrust.
Elizabeth cried out again, with pleasure, for she was of the wagon of Kamchak and Tarl Cabot. — Nomads of Gor, pages 59-60.
The Living Wand is a variation of the Tospit and lance sport, except that instead of a wooden wand, a slave girl is the "wand" and the test of skill is even more pronounced.
Albrecht pointed his lance at me. "You are challenged," he said. "Lance and tospit."
"We have finished with that," I said.
"The living wand!" shouted Albrecht. Kamchak sucked in his breath.
Several in the crowd shouted out, "The living wand!"
I looked at Kamchak. I saw in his eyes that the challenge must be accepted. In this matter I must be Tuchuk. Save for armed combat, lance and tospit with the living wand is the most dangerous of the sports of the Wagon Peoples.
In this sport, as might be expected, one's own slave must stand for one. It is essentially the same sport as lancing the tospit from the wand, save that the fruit is held in the mouth of a girl, who is slain should she move or in any way withdraw from the lance. Needless to say many a slave girl has been injured in this cruel sport. — Nomads of Gor, page 79.
This is the most difficult of the lance sports. The thrust must be made with exquisite lightness, the lance loose in the hand, the hand not in the retaining thong, but allowing the lance to slip back, then when clear, moving it to the left and, hopefully, past the living wand. If well done, this is a delicate and beautiful stroke. If clumsily done the girl will be scarred, or perhaps slain. — Nomads of Gor, page 80.
Distance Spitting
The longest spitter wins!
"Tomorrow," I said, "you fight on the Plains of a Thousand Stakes."
"Yes," he said, "so tonight I will get drunk."
"It would be better," I said, "to get a good night's sleep."
"Yes," said Kamchak, "but I am Tuchuk so I will get drunk."
"Very well," I said, "then I, too, shall get drunk."
We then spat to determine who would bargain for a bottle of Paga. By starting from the side and turning his head quickly, Kamchak bested me by some eighteen inches. In the light of his skill my own effort seemed depressingly naive, quite simple-minded, unimaginative and straightforward. I had not known about the head-twisting trick. The wily Tuchuk, of course, had had me spit first. — Nomads of Gor, pages 111-112.
Migration of Birds
Wagers are made on the flights of birds.
Kamchak had circled around and we found ourselves back at the slave wagon. We decided to wager to see who would get the second bottle of Paga.
"What about the flight of birds?" asked Kamchak.
"Agreed," I said, "but I have first choice."
"Very well," he said. I knew, of course, that it was spring and, in this hemisphere, most birds, if there were any migrating, would be moving south. "South," I said.
"North," he said.
We then waited about a minute, and I saw several birds river gulls flying north.
"Those are Vosk gulls," said Kamchak, "In the spring, when the ice breaks in the Vosk, they fly north."
I fished some coins out of my pouch for the Paga.
"The first southern migrations of meadow kites," he said, "have already taken place. The migrations of the forest hurlit and the horned gim do not take place until later in the spring. This is the time that the Vosk gulls fly."
"Oh," I said.
Singing Tuchuk songs, we managed to make it back to the wagon. — Nomads of Gor, pages 137-138.
Spear Gambling
Spear gambling is not a gambling sport of fun and games. It is, rather, a gamble of honor and the spirit of the warrior of the Wagon Peoples. When a challenge is made, each rider thrusts his spear into the dirt. The gamble is in which direction the spear will fall. Whoever the spear falls to, is the rider who will face the opponent in a one-on-one battle.
He threw back his head and laughed. He slapped his thigh. "A Koroban! And he flies to the Wagon Peoples!" Tears of mirth ran from the sides of his eyes. "You are a fool" he said.
"Let us fight," I suggested.
Angrily the Tuchuk pulled back on the reins of the kaiila, causing it to rear, snarling, pawing at the sky. "And willingly would I do so, Koroban sleen," he spit out. "Pray thou to Priest-Kings that the lance does not fall to me!" I did not understand this. He turned his kaiila and in a bound or two swung it about in the midst of his fellows. Then the Kassar approached me. "Koroban," said he, "did you not fear our lances?"
"I did," I said.
"But you did not show your fear," said he. I shrugged. "Yet," said he, "you tell me you feared." There was wonder on his face. I looked away. "That," said the rider, "speaks to me of courage." We studied each other for a moment, sizing one another up. Then he said, "Though you are a dweller of cities, a vermin of the walls, I think you are not unworthy, and thus I pray the lance will fall to me." He turned his mount back to his fellows. They conferred again for a moment and then the warrior of the Kataii approached, a lithe, strong proud man, one in whose eyes I could read that he had never lost his saddle, nor turned from a foe. His hand was light on the yellow bow, strung taut. But no arrow was set to the string. "Where are your men?" he asked.
"I am alone," I said.
The warrior stood in the stirrups, shading his eyes. "Why have you come to spy?" he asked.
"I am not a spy," I said.
"You are hired by the Turians," he said.
"No," I responded.
"You are a stranger," he said.
"I come in peace," I said.
"Have you heard," he asked, "that the Wagon Peoples slay strangers?"
"Yes," I said, "I have heard that."
"It is true," he said, and turned his mount back to his fellows.
Last to approach me was the warrior of the Paravaci, with his hood and cape of white fur, and the glistening broad necklace of precious stones encircling his throat. He pointed to the necklace. "It is beautiful, is it not?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"It will buy ten bosks," said he, "twenty wagons covered with golden cloth, a hundred she-slaves from Turia."
I looked away.
"Do you not covet the stones," he prodded, "these riches?"
"No," I said.
Anger crossed his face. "You may have them," he said.
"What must I do?" I asked.
"Slay me!" he laughed.
I looked at him steadily. "They are probably false stones," I said, "amber droplets, the pearls of the Vosk sorp, the polished shell of the Tamber clam, glass colored and cut in Ar for trade with ignorant southern peoples." The face of the Paravaci, rich with its terrible furrowed scars, contorted with rage. He tore the necklace from his throat and flung it to my feet.
"Regard the worth of those stones!" he cried. I fished the necklace from the dust with the point of my sword, it in the sun. It hung like a belt of light, sparkling with a spectrum of riches hundred merchants.
"Excellent," I admitted, handing it back to him on the tip of the spear.
Angrily he wound it about the pommel of the saddle.
"But I am of the Caste of Warriors," I said, "of a high city and we do not stain our spears for the stones of men not, even such stones as these." The Paravaci was speechless. "You dare to tempt me," I said, feigning anger, "as if I beyond the dreams of a man, were of the Caste of Assassins or a common thief with his dagger in the night." I frowned at him.
"Beware," I warned, "lest I take your words as insult."
The Paravaci, in his cape and hood of white fur, with the priceless necklace wrapped about the pommel of his saddle, sat stiff, not moving, utterly enraged. Then, furiously, the scars wild in his face, he sprang up in the stirrups and lifted both hands to the sky. "Spirit of the Sky," he cried, "let the lance fall to me!" Then abruptly, furious, he wheeled the kaiila and joined the others, whence he turned to regard me.
As I watched, the Tuchuk took his long, slender lance and thrust it into the ground, point upward. Then, slowly, the four riders began to walk their mounts about the lance, watching it, right hands free to seize it should it begin to fall. The wind seemed to rise. In their way I knew they were honoring me, that they had respected my stand in the matter of the charging lances, that now they were gambling to see who would fight me, to whose weapons my blood must flow, beneath the paws of whose kaiila I must fall bloodied to the earth. I watched the lance tremble in the shaking earth, and saw the intentness of the riders as they watched its slightest movement. It would soon fall. — Nomads of Gor, pages 19-21.
"Ho!" I heard, and spun to see the black lance fall and scarcely had it moved but it was seized in the fist of the scarred Tuchuk warrior. The Tuchuk warrior lifted the lance in triumph, in the same instant slipping his fist into the retention knot and kicking the roweled heels of his boots into the silken flanks of his mount, the animal springing towards me and the rider in the same movement, as if one with the beast, leaning down from the saddle, lance slightly lowered, charging. — Nomads of Gor, pages 22-23.
Tospit Seeds
Wagers are made on the number of seeds in a tospit. Read carefully to determine just when it is to bet odd or even.
"Ho!" cried Kamchak, stomping into the wagon. "Meat!" he cried. Elizabeth and Aphris leaped up to tend the pot outside. He then settled down cross-legged on the rug, not far from the brass and copper grating. He looked at me shrewdly and, to my surprise, drew a tospit out of his pouch, that yellowish-white, bitter fruit, looking something like a peach but about the size of a plum. He threw me the tospit.
"Odd or even?" he asked.
I had resolved not to wager with Kamchak, but this was indeed an opportunity to gain a certain amount of vengeance which, on my part, would be sorely appreciated. Usually, in guessing tospit seeds, one guesses the actual number, and usually both guessers opt for an odd number. The common tospit almost invariably has an odd number of seeds. On the other hand the rare, long-stemmed tospit usually has an even number of seeds. Both fruits are indistinguishable outwardly. I could see that, perhaps by accident, the tospit which Kamchak had thrown me had had the stem twisted off. It must be then, I surmised, the rare, long-stemmed tospit.
"Even," I said.
Kamchak looked at me as though pained. "Tospits almost always have an odd number of seeds," he said.
"Even," I said.
"Very well," said he, "eat the tospit and see."
"Why should I eat it?" I asked. The tospit, after all, is quite bitter. And why shouldn't Kamchak eat it? He had suggested the wager.
"I am a Tuchuk," said Kamchak, "I might be tempted to swallow seeds."
"Let's cut it up," I proposed.
"One might miss a seed that way," said Kamchak.
"Perhaps we could mash the slices," I suggested.
"But would that not be a great deal of trouble," asked Kamchak, "and might one not stain the rug?"
"Perhaps we could mash them in a bowl," I suggested.
"But then a bowl would have to be washed," said Kamchak.
"That is true," I admitted.
"All things considered," said Kamchak, "I think the fruit should be eaten."
"I guess you are right," I said. I bit into the fruit philosophically. It was indeed bitter.
"Besides," said Kamchak, "I do not much care for tospit."
"I am not surprised," I said.
"They are quite bitter," said Kamchak.
"Yes," I said. I finished the fruit and, of course, it had seven seeds.
"Most tospits," Kamchak informed me, "have an odd number of seeds."
"I know," I said.
"Then why did you guess even?" he asked.
"I supposed," I grumbled, "that you would have found a long-stemmed tospit."
"But they are not available," he said, "until late in the summer."
"Oh," I said.
"Since you lost," pointed out Kamchak, "I think it only fair that you pay the admission to the performance."
"All right," I said.
"The slaves," mentioned Kamchak, "will also be coming."
"Of course," I said, "naturally." — Nomads of Gor, pages 149-150.
Games
The Wagon Peoples have various sorts of games, from the simpler games of children which teach them skills for their future, to the ceremonial complex games of all the peoples against a city.
Cork Ball and Quiva
A popular children's game amongst the Wagon Peoples, the object of the game is to strike the thrown ball with a quiva. This ingenious game no doubt helps a young boy learn accuracy when throwing the quiva.
"Here and there children ran between the wheels, playing with a cork ball and quiva, the object of the game being to strike the thrown ball." — Nomads of Gor, page 27.
The Games of the Love War
The Games of Love War are held annually in the Season of Little Grass and in fact, these games are said to pre-date even the first Omen Year. Often, the two events are confused, and are often thought of going hand in hand with each year. The Games of Love War occur every two (2) years, while the Omen Year, takes place every tenth (10th) year.
The Games are a series of martial contests between the warriors of the Wagon Peoples, and the warriors of Turia. At the time of these Games, an unofficial truce is declared between Turia and the Wagon Peoples, normally enemies of one another. However, the Games does not constitute a true gathering of the Wagons; the herds and the free women do not approach one another at these times, instead remaining with the wagons. Certain delegations of warriors, approximately two hundred (200) in all, are sent to the playing field, the Plains of a Thousand Stakes.
"The institution of Love War is an ancient one among the Turians and the Wagon Peoples, according to the Year Keepers antedating even the Omen Year. The games of Love War, of course, are celebrated every spring between, so to speak, the city and the plains, whereas the Omen Year occurs only every tenth year. The games of Love War, in themselves, do not constitute a gathering of the Wagon Peoples, for normally the herds and the free women of the peoples do not approach one another at these times; only certain delegations of warriors, usually about two hundred from a people, are sent in the spring to the Plains of a Thousand Stakes." — Nomads of Gor, page 115.
The justification for the bloody Games is twofold. Firstly, it gives the warriors of Turia a chance to match their skills against those of the Wagon Peoples in hand-to-hand combat, something of which is rare enough in day-to-day life. The nomadic warrior tends to be an evasive foe; their method of attack is to strike swiftly and then withdraw almost immediately with slaves and goods, allowing no time for reprisals. Only in the Games, does a Turian warrior have the opportunity to fight on equal terms.
Secondly, the Games allow for a transfer of female slaves from the City to the Wagons, and vice versa. The Turians find the wild girls of the Wagon Peoples to be almost irresistible as slaves.
The theoretical justification of the games of Love War, from the Turian point of view, is that they provide an excellent arena in which to demonstrate the fierceness and prowess of Turian warriors, thus perhaps intimidating or, at the very least, encouraging the often overbold warriors of the Wagon Peoples to be wary of Turian steel. The secret justification, I suspect, however, is that the Turian warrior is fond of meeting the enemy and acquiring his women, particularly should they be striking little beasts, like Hereena of the First Wagon, as untamed and savage as they are beautiful; it is regarded as a great sport among Turian warriors to collar such a wench and force her to exchange riding leather for the bells and silks of a perfumed slave girl. It might also be mentioned that the Turian warrior, in his opinion, too seldom encounters the warrior of the Wagon Peoples, who tends to be a frustrating, swift and elusive foe, striking with great rapidity and withdrawing with goods and captives almost before it is understood what has occurred. I once asked Kamchak if the Wagon Peoples had a justification for the games of Love War. "Yes," he had said. And he had then pointed to Dina and Tenchika, clad Kajir, who were at that time busy in the wagon. "That is the justification," said Kamchak. And he had then laughed and pounded his knee. — Nomads of Gor, page 116.
The Games are held on the Plain of a Thousand Stakes, a designated area some pasangs from the walls of Turia. Here the girls of the Wagon Peoples gather on kaiila-back, while the free women of Turia approach from the city in curtained palanquins borne on the backs of male slaves. The warriors of both peoples approach in long lines, behind their war standards. Onlookers gaze from the tops of the walls of the city, eager to see the contests. The Plain of a Thousand Stakes is so named because each girl to be offered must be bound to a stake in a cleared area where the combats are to take place. The stakes are placed in pairs, one stake for Turia opposite one stake for the Wagon Peoples. For the sake of the Games, all four tribes of the Wagon People are counted as one. The entire aspect is one of color, good cheer, lightheartedness and gaiety. There is something of the sense of a carnival in the air. Safe conducts through the southern plains are granted for judges and craftsmen from as far away as the City of Ar. Merchants freely peddle their wares to the mixed population of warriors; food, drink, and even slave collars.
"I do not know if there are, by count, a thousand stakes or not on the Plains of a Thousand Stakes, but I would suppose that there are that many or more. The stakes, flat-topped, each about six and half feet high and about seven or eight inches in diameter, stand in two long lines facing one another in pairs. The two lines are separated by about fifty feet and each stake in a line is separated from the stake on its left and right by about ten yards. The two lines of stakes extended for more than four pasangs across the prairie. One of these lines is closest to the city and the other to the prairies beyond. The stakes had recently been, I observed, brightly painted, each differently, in a delightful array of colors; further, each was trimmed and decorated variously, depending on the whim of the workman, sometimes simply, sometimes fancifully, sometimes ornately. The entire aspect was one of color, good cheer, lightheartedness and gaiety. There was something of the sense of carnival in the air. I was forced to remind myself that between these two lines of stakes men would soon fight and die.
I noted some of the workmen still affixing small retaining rings to some of the stakes, bolting them one on a side, usually about five feet to five and a half feet from the ground. A workman sprang a pair shut, and then opened them with a key, which he subsequently hung from a tiny hook near the top of the stake. I heard some musicians, come out early from Turia, playing a light tune behind the Turian stakes, about fifty yards or so away.
In the space between the two lines of stakes, for each pair of facing stakes, there was a circle of roughly eight yards in diameter. This circle, the grass having been removed, was sanded and raked.
Moving boldly now among the Wagon Peoples were vendors from Turia, selling their cakes, their wines and meats, even chains and collars." — Nomads of Gor, pages 112-113.
There are more or less a thousand girls as stakes each year, half from the City, and half from the Plains. Each is led to a pole of wood that has been hammered into the ground. Here she will stand throughout the Games. The stakes, flat-topped, each about six and a half feet high and about seven or eight inches in diameter, stand in two long lines facing one another in pairs. The two lines are separated by about fifty feet and each stake in a line is separated from the stake on its left and right by about ten yards. The two lines of stakes extend for about four pasangs across the prairie. One of these lines is closest to the city, and the other to the prairie beyond. The stakes are brightly painted, each differently, in a delightful array of colors; further, each is trimmed and decorated variously, depending on the whim of the workman, sometimes simply, sometimes fancifully, sometimes ornately.
Approximately, a foot from the top of each stake, hang a pair of retaining rings, similar to slave bracelets. These will hold the hands of the girl who is to stand at this stake during the combats. Near the top of the stake hangs a tiny key, which will be used to unlock the bracelets by the victor, who will then carry the girl away, whether to freedom or to slavery. Each girl has a champion from her own people, who has been pre-selected, and who will fight on her behalf. Only the most beautiful girls are allowed to stand as stakes in the Games of Love War. Where warriors are fighting to the death for possession of a woman, that woman must be worthy of the honor. Although a woman may propose herself as a stake, she can only be accepted if the judges of her people agree that she is a fitting offering. If she is less than perfect, she will be rejected, as the honor of her People rests on her beauty. The stakes are ranked by numbers, First Stake, Second Stake, and so on. Judges with lists call out the names of the girls who will stand at each stake. The most beautiful becomes the first stake, and continues to the least desirable being on the thousandth stake; there is much competition amongst the women to be first stake.. The Turian girls stand at the stakes nearest to the prairie; the girls of the Wagon People stand at the stakes closest to the walled city. The girls are ranked by a delegation from their own people, the Turians by members of the Caste of Physicians who have served in the great slave houses of Ar. The girls of the Wagon People are selected by the masters of the public slave wagons. Some of the Turian girls, when they come to the Games, wear beneath their Robes of Concealment the camisk of a Turian slave girl. This is for the sake of modesty, for should their champion be defeated, they will be stripped of their robes at the stake and led away naked.
At the commencement of the Games, the warriors of the Wagons and Turia arrive in almost parade-like fashion. The same is true of the girls. Once the girls are placed at the stakes, the warriors of both sides stroll between the stakes, examining the girls, deciding which ones they wish to fight for. Judges will accompany the warriors of the Wagon People to unpin the veils of the Turian girls. It is not expected that a man will fight to the death for a girl whose face he has never seen. This is considered a great indignity to the girls. If more than one warrior wants to fight for a given girl, the possessor of the greatest number of courage scars wins the honor. A warrior is also entitled to know who a girl's champion is, before he commits himself to fighting for her.
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. … — Nomads of Gor, page 105.
On long lines of tharlarion I could see warriors of Turia approaching in procession the Plains of a Thousand Stakes. The morning sun flashed from their helmets, their long tharlarion lances, the metal embossments on their oval shields, unlike the rounded shields of most Gorean cities. I could hear, like the throbbing of a heart, the beating of the two tharlarion drums that set the cadence of the march. Beside the tharlarion walked other men-at-arms, and even citizens of Turia, and more vendors and musicians, come to see the games. On the heights of distant Turia itself I could see the flutter of flags and pensions. The walls were crowded, and I supposed many upon them used the long glasses of the Caste of Builders to observe the field of the stakes. The warriors of Turia extended their formation about two hundred yards from the stakes until in ranks of four or five deep they were strung out in a line as long as the line of stakes itself. Then they halted. As soon as the hundreds of ponderous tharlarion had been marshaled into an order, a lance, carrying a fluttering pennon, dipped and there was a sudden signal on the tharlarion drums. Immediately the lances of the lines lowered and the hundreds of tharlarion, hissing and grunting, their riders shouting, the drums beating, began to bound rapidly towards us.
"Treachery!" I cried. There was nothing living on Gor I knew that could take the impact of a tharlarion charge. Elizabeth Cardwell screamed, throwing her hands before her face. To my astonishment the warriors of the Wagon Peoples seemed to be paying very little attention to the bestial avalanche that was even then hurtling down upon them. Some were haggling with the vendors, others were talking among themselves. I wheeled the kaiila, looking for Elizabeth Cardwell, who, afoot, would be slain almost before the tharlarion had crossed the lines of the stakes. She was standing facing the charging tharlarion, as though rooted to the earth, her hands before her face. I bent down in the saddle and tensed to kick the kaiila forward to sweep her to the saddle, turn and race for our lives.
"Really," said Kamchak. I straightened up and saw that the lines of the tharlarion lancers had, with much pounding and trampling of the earth, with shouting, with the hissing of the great beasts, stopped short, abruptly, some fifteen yards or so behind their line of stakes.
"It is a Turian joke," said Kamchak. "They are as fond of the games as we, and do not wish to spoil them." I reddened. Elizabeth Cardwell's knees seemed suddenly weak but she staggered back to us. — Nomads of Gor, pages 113-114.
I heard a cry from the Turians across the way. "The wenches!" he cried, and this shout was taken up by many of the others. There was much laughing and pounding of lances on shields.
In a moment, to a thunder of kaiila paws on the turf, racing between the lines of stakes, scattering sand, there came a great number of riders, their black hair swirling behind them, who pulled up on their mounts, rearing and squealing, between the stakes, and leaped from the saddle to the sand, relinquishing the reins of their mounts to men among the Wagon Peoples. They were marvelous, the many wild girls of the Wagons, and I saw that chief among them was the proud, beauteous Hereena, of the First Wagon. They were enormously excited, laughing. Their eyes shone. A few spit and shook their small fists at the Turians across the way, who reciprocated with good-natured shouts and laughter. I saw Hereena notice the young man Harold among the warriors and she pointed her finger imperiously at him, gestur ing him to her. He approached her. "Take the reins of my kaiila, Slave," she said to him, insolently throwing him the reins. He took them angrily and, to the laughter of many of the Tuchuks present, withdrew with the animal.
The girls then went to mingle with the warriors. There were between a hundred and a hundred and fifty girls there from each of the four Wagon Peoples.
"Hah!" said Kamchak, seeing now the lines of tharlarion part for a space of perhaps forty yards, through which could be seen the screened palanquins of Turian damsels, borne on the shoulders of chained slaves, among them undoubtedly men of the Wagon Peoples. Now the excitement of the throng seemed mostly to course among the warriors of the Wagon Peoples as they rose in their stirrups to see better the swaying, approaching palanquins, each reputedly bearing a gem of great beauty, a fit prize in the savage contests of Love War. — Nomads of Gor, pages 114-115.
One by one, clad in the proud arrays of resplendent silks, each in the Robes of Concealment, the damsels of Turia, veiled and straight-standing, emerged from their palanquins, scarcely concealing their distaste for the noise and clamor about them. Judges were now circulating, each with lists, among the Wagon Peoples and the Turians. As I knew, not just any girl, any more than just any warrior, could participate in the games of Love War. Only the most beautiful were eligible, and only the most beautiful of these could be chosen. A girl might propose herself to stand, as had Aphris of Turia, but this would not guarantee that she would be chosen, for the criteria of Love War are exacting and, as much as possible, objectively applied. Only the most beautiful of the most beautiful could stand in this harsh sport.
I heard a judge call, "First Stake! Aphris of Turia!"
"Hah!" yelled Kamchak, slapping me on the back, nearly knocking me from the back of my kaiila. I was astonished. The Turian wench was beautiful indeed, that she could stand at the first stake. This meant that she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman in Turia, certainly at least among those in the games this year. In her silks of white and gold, on cloths thrown before her, Aphris of Turia stepped disdainfully forward, guided by a udge, to the first of the stakes on the side of the Wagon Peoples. The girls of the Wagon Peoples, on the other hand, would stand at the stakes nearest Turia. In this way the Turian girls can see their city and their warriors, and the girls of the Wagons can see the plains and the warriors of the Wagon Peoples. I had also been informed by Kamchak that this places the girl farther from her own people. Thus, to interfere, a Turian would have to cross the space between the stakes, and so, too, would one of the Wagon Peoples, thus clearly calling themselves to the attention of the judges, those officials supervising the Games.
The judges were now calling names, and girls, both of the Wagon Peoples and of Turia, were coming forward. I saw that Hereena, of the First Wagon, stood Third Stake, though, as far as I could note, she was no less beautiful than the two Kassar girls who stood above her. Kamchak explained that there was a slight gap between 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 Wagon, am superior," she was crying, "to those two Kassar she-kaiila!"
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 nothing 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. — Nomads of Gor, pages 117-118.
"Are the women at stake?" called a judge.
From 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.
"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. — Nomads of Gor, pages 119-120.
At the battles, the warriors must mutually agree to the weapons used, as well as know who first is their competitor. They are then given the opportunity to walk away from the combat. If everything is agreeable, the warriors step inside the circle of sand to do battle. When the judge gives the signal, the warriors begin to fight. If it is the girl's champion who wins, she is returned to her own people, with all honor. If her champion is defeated, however, she is led away in chains to be the slave of strangers. In this way, many proud Turian beauties leave the walled city to care for the bosk in the dust of the Wagons. And in this way, many wild girls of the Plains are locked away behind Turia's gates, to become silken slaves. During the Games of Love War many freeborn girls come to know the tears and terror of becoming slave.
"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."
"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, unexpectedly, found oneself facing a superb, famed warrior, say, a Kamras of Turia. — Nomads of Gor, page 122.
"What weapon do you choose?" asked the judge. "Remember," cautioned the judge, "the weapon or weapons chosen must be mutually agreeable." — Nomads of Gor, page 125.
Special Note
Because of the differences in publishing the books, depending upon whether published in the U.S. or Europe, depending upon whether a first publishing or a Masquerade Books release, page numbers will often vary. All of my quotes are from original, first-printing U.S. publications (see The Books page for a listing of publishers and dates) with the exception of the following books:
- Tarnsman of Gor (2nd Printing, Balantine)
- Outlaw of Gor (11th Printing, Balantine)
- Priest-Kings of Gor (2nd Printing, Balantine)
- Assassin of Gor (10th Printing, Balantine)
- Raiders of Gor (15th Printing, Balantine)
- Captive of Gor (3rd Printing, Balantine)
Disclaimer
These pages are not written for any specific home, but rather as informational pages for those not able to get ahold of the books and read them yourself. Opinions and commentaries are strictly my own personal views, therefore, if you don't like what you are reading — then don't. The information in these pages is realistic to what is found within the books. Many sites have added information, assuming the existences of certain products and practices, such as willowbark and agrimony for healing, and travel to earth and back for the collection of goods. I've explored the books, the flora, the fauna, and the beasts, and have compiled from those mentioned, the probabilities of certain practices, and what vegetation mentioned in the books is suitable for healing purposes, as well as given practicalities to other sorts of roleplaying assumptions.