Wagon Peoples

Camp Guardsmen: The Outriders

In the camps of the Wagon Peoples, all men serve as guards men to protect the wagons and the bosk. On kaiila-back, they ride the perimeters of the encampments, watching for stray bosk, as well as anyone who may seek to intrude upon the wagons — including members of other tribes. In this capacity, they are known as outriders. Even a Ubar rides as outrider as well. In fact, it was the four Ubars of the four tribes riding as outriders that met Tarl that fateful day.

"The hair on the back of my neck seemed to leap up and I felt the hair on my forearms stiffen. The earth itself was shaking from the hoofs of the bosk herds of the Wagon Peoples. They were approaching. Their outriders would soon be in sight." — Nomads of Gor, page 5.

"And then I saw the first of the outriders, moving toward me, swiftly yet not seeming to hurry. I saw the slender line of his light lance against the sky, strapped across his back." — Nomads of Gor, page 10.

The Or, the Orlu, the Oralus

In a military sense, within each tribe are their own divisions. Much like the military of earth, there are the Wagon People versions of platoons, companies and such. Each member of the Wagon Peoples is a member of a Ten (Or), each Ten a member of a Hundred (Orlu), and each Hundred a member of a Thousand (Oralus).

"Outside, as Kamchak and I bounded down the steps of the slave wagon, the darkness was filled with hurrying men, some with torches, and running kaiila, already with their riders. War lanterns, green and blue and yellow, were already burning on poles in the darkness, signaling the rallying grounds of the Orlus, the Hundreds, and the Oralus, the Thousands. Each warrior of the Wagon Peoples, and that means each able-bodied man, is a member of an Or, or a Ten; each ten is a member of an Orlu, or Hundred; each Orlu is a member of an Oralus, a Thousand. Those who are unfamiliar with the Wagon Peoples, or who know them only from the swift raid, sometimes think them devoid of organization, sometimes conceive of them as mad hordes or aggregates of wild warriors, but such is not the case. Each man knows his position in his Ten, and the position of his Ten in the Hundred, and of the Hundred in the Thousand. During the day the rapid movements of these individually maneuverable units are dictated by bosk horn and movements of the standards; at night by the bosk horns and the war lanterns slung on high poles carried by riders." — Nomads of Gor, pages 174-175.

Each Or, Orlu and Oralu has a commander which leads them. The salute to the commander of an Or is one smote of the lance to the shield; the salute to the commander of a Hundred is two smotes of the lance to the shield. To be the Commander of an Oralu is one of great honor. The Commander of a Thousand is the next level directly beneath that of a Ubar. Three smotes of the lance to the shield is the proper salute to such a commander.

I was astonished when, at the gate to the palace of Phanius Turmus, the four Tuchuk guards smote their lances three times on their leather shields. The lance strikes the shield once for the commander of a Ten; twice for the commander of a Hundred; three times for the commander of a Thousand. "Pass, Commanders," said the chief of the four guards, and they stepped aside. Naturally I inquired of Harold, shortly after entering, the meaning of the guards' salutation. I had expected to be challenged and then perhaps, if all went well, wrangled inside on some stratagem dreamed up by Harold on the spur of, the moment.
       "It means," remarked Harold, looking about the courtyard, "that you have the rank of a Commander of a Thousand."
       "I don't understand," I said.
       "It is a gift of Kamchak," said Harold. "I suggested it as appropriate in view of your manly, if somewhat clumsy, efforts at the gate."
       "Thank you," I said.
       "I of course recommended the same rank for myself," said Harold, "inasmuch as I am the one who really carried the thing off."
       "Naturally," I said.
       "You do not, of course, have a Thousand to command," pointed out Harold.
       "Nonetheless," I said, "there is considerable power in the rank itself."
       "That is true," he said.
       Indeed it was true, for the next level beneath a Ubar among the Wagon Peoples is that of the Commander of a Thousand. — Nomads of Gor, pages 250-251.

The Commander of a Thousand is given his own wagon, which is painted red to designate his status.

"A Tuchuk," he informed me loftily, "may — if he wishes — rest comfortably on even the horns of a bosk, but only a Koroban is likely to recline on a marble floor when he might just as well sleep upon the pelt of a larl in the wagon of a commander." — Nomads of Gor, page 272.
       I propped myself up on one elbow. "I do not have a wagon," I said.
       "But of course you do," he said. "And so do I."
       I merely looked at him, wondering if it were merely Harold the Tuchuk at work again.
       "I am serious," he averred. "The night that you and I departed for Turia, Kamchak ordered a wagon prepared for each of us to reward us."
       "At that time, of course," said Harold, "our wagons were not painted red, nor filled with booty and rich things, for we were not then commanders." — Nomads of Gor, page 273.
       "As you wish," said he, "but I have had it well stocked — with Paga and Ka-la-na wines from Ar and such." In Turia, even though we had much of the riches of the city at our disposal, there had not been much Paga or Ka-la-na wine. As I may have mentioned the Turians, on the whole, favor thick, sweet wines. I had taken, as a share of battle loot, a hundred and ten bottles of Paga and forty bottles of Ka-la-na wine from Tyros, Cos and Ar, but these I had distributed to my crossbowmen, with the exception of one bottle of Paga which Harold and I had split some two nights ago. I decided I might spend the night in my wagon. — Nomads of Gor, page 275.
       It was a large wagon, drawn by eight black bosk. There were two Tuchuk guards outside. Beside it, fixed in the earth, on a pole, there was a standard of four bosk horns. The pole had been painted red, which is the color of commanders … The two Tuchuk guards saluted us, striking their lances three times on their shields. We acknowledged the salute, lifting our right hands, palm inward. — Nomads of Gor, pages 276-277.

Honor Amongst Warriors

Honor amongst the warriors of the Wagon Peoples is one of the highest virtues, and goes hand in hand with courage. Even in fighting an enemy, if that enemy is also of the warriors, respect and honor is given him.

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 sligthest movement. It would soon fall. — Nomads of Gor, pages 19-21.

Surrounded by his peers, his fellow warriors, the warrior of the Wagon Peoples becomes most vain — and the need for a kill that much more.

"He wants a kill, I told myself. He is under the eyes of warriors of the other peoples. It would be safest to throw low. It would be a finer cast, however, to try for the throat or head. How vain is he? How skillful is he? He would be both skillful and vain; he was Tuchuk." — Nomads of Gor, page 25.

Should a warrior not wish to kill his enemy, he may offer quarter. Each culture offers quarter differently, but one way which does not need words of explanation, is to set aside one's weapons. The opponent then may acknowledge quarter — or not.

"But I did not wish to slay the animal, nor its rider. To the astonishment of the Tuchuk and the others who observed, I threw away the weapon. The Tuchuk sat still on his mount, as did the others. Then he took his lance and smote it on the small, glossy shield, acknowledging my act. Then so too did the others, even the white-caped man of the Paravaci." — Nomads of Gor, page 24.

Warriors, when gathered, as a display of approval for a fight well met, or other such reasons for applauding, do so by striking their shields with their weapons. In the case of the Wagon Peoples, they strike their lances to their shields.

I could hear the other three men of the Wagon Peoples, the Kataii, the Kassar, the Paravaci, striking their shields with their lances. "Well done," said the Kassar. — Nomads of Gor, page 25.

Mercenaries are often hired by peoples of the cities to help in times of war. However, even the Wagon Peoples have been known to do so as well.

Kamchak looked about himself, and picked up one of the arrows and snapped it. "Turians are responsible for this," he said.
       "Saphrar?" I asked.
       "Surely," said Kamchak, "for who could hire tarnsmen but Saphrar of Turia or arrange for the diversion that drew fools to the edge of the herds." — Nomads of Gor, page 179.

"They are mercenaries," growled Kamchak.
       "I do not understand your meaning," I said.
       "We have paid them not to burn the wagons nor slay the bosk," said he.
       "They are being paid by both sides?" I asked.
       "Of course," said Kamchak, irritably.
       For some reason this angered me, though, naturally, I was pleased that the wagons and boss; were yet safe. I suppose I was angered because I myself was a tarnsman, and it seemed somehow improper for warriors astride the mighty tarns to barter their favors indiscriminately for gold to either side. — Nomads of Gor, pages 181-183.

Although Wagon Peoples are not tarnsmen, that does not stop them from the desire to learn in times of need. Vain as they are, they are willing to leap all obstacles in doing so.

More disturbing to me was the prospect of bringing the golden sphere down the rope and under the water and through the underground stream to the place where we had embarked on this adventure. Also, I was not clear how Harold, supposing him to be successful in his shopping amongst the ferns and flowers of Saphrar's Pleasure Gardens, intended to conduct his squirming prize along this unscenic, difficult and improbable route. Being an inquisitive chap, I asked him about it, some two or three hundred feet up the rope.
       "In escaping," he informed me, "we shall steal two tarns and make away."
       "I am pleased to see," I said, "that you have a plan."
       "Of course," he said, "I am Tuchuk."
       "Have you ever ridden a tarn before?" I asked him.
       "No," he said, still climbing somewhere above me.
       "Then how do you expect to do so?" I inquired, hauling myself up after him.
       "You are a tarnsman, are you not?" he asked.
       "Yes," I said.
       "Very well," said he, "you will teach me."
       It is said," I muttered, "that the tarn knows who is a tarnsman and who is not and that it slays him who is not."
       Then," said Harold, "I must deceive it."
       "How do you expect to do that?" I asked.
       "It will be easy," said Harold. "I am a Tuchuk." — Nomads of Gor, pages 190-191.

I've often seen comments about Wagon Peoples not accepting anyone into their wagons that was not born of the Wagon Peoples. Other than Tarl Cabot, another good example is that of a young warrior of Turia, during the Tuchuk siege of Turia, Kamchak saw great potential in him, and he was in fact, taken in by Tuchuks to one day be a great warrior of the Wagon Peoples.

The other man with them was a young man, dark-haired and eyed, a simple man-at-arms, perhaps not more than twenty. He wore the scarlet of a warrior. He carried a short sword and stood between us and the others. Kamchak regarded him, and I thought with the merest trace of amusement. "Do not interfere, Lad," said he, quietly. "There is the business of men afoot in this place."
       "Stand back, Tuchuk," cried the young man. He held his sword ready.
       Kamchak signaled for a bag of gold, and Phanius Turmus was kicked forward, and from a large, bronze pan which he carried, Kamchak removed a sack of gold and threw it to one side. The young man did not move from his place, but set himself to take the charge of the Tuchuks. Kamchak threw another sack of gold to his feet, and then another.
       "I am a warrior," said the young man proudly.
       Kamchak signaled his archers and they came forward, their arrows trained on the young man. He then threw, one after another, a dozen bags of gold to the floor.
       "Save your gold, Tuchuk sleen," said the young man. "I am a warrior and I know my codes."
       "As you wish," said Kamchak and raised his hand to signal the archers.
       "Do not" I cried.
       In that moment, uttering the Turian war cry, the young man rushed forward with his sword on Kamchak and the dozen arrows flew simultaneously, striking him a dozen times, turning him twice. Yet did he try still to stagger forward and then another arrow and another pierced his body until he fell at Kamchak's feet. To my astonishment I saw that not one of the arrows had penetrated his torso or head or abdomen, but that each had struck only an arm or leg. It had been no accident. Kamchak turned the young man over with his boot. "Be a Tuchuk," he said.
       "Never," wept the young man in pain, between clenched teeth. "Never, Tuchuk sleen, never!"
       Kamchak turned to certain of the warriors with him.
       "Bind his wounds," he said. "See that he lives. When he can ride teach him the saddle of the kaiila, the quiva, the bow and lance Put him in the leather of a Tuchuk. We have need of such men among the wagons."
       I saw the astonished eyes of the young man regarding Kamchak, and then he was carried away.
       "In time," said Kamchak, "that boy will command a Thousand." — Nomads of Gor, pages 314-315.

The Wagon Peoples in Battle

The bosk drum and horn are the means of communication amongst the peoples of the wagons. Signals of length and repetition determine the message of intruders, of war, or other such events as a call to meet at the wagon of the Ubar. War lanterns and standards are also used to signal those at the wagons as well as the warriors, as to which way the enemy is heading, if the wagons need to be moved, etc.

"I heard then the shouts of men and the cries of women and children. Kamchak lifted his head intently, listening, Then we heard the pounding of a small drum and two blasts on the horn of a bosk. Kamchak read the message of the drum and horn." — Nomads of Gor, page 33.

"War lanterns, green and blue and yellow, were already burning on poles in the darkness, signaling the rallying grounds of the Orlus, the Hundreds, and the Oralus, the Thousands." — Nomads of Gor, page 174.

"When the bosk horns sound the women cover the fires and prepare the men's weapons, bringing forth arrows and bows, and lances. The quivas are always in the saddle sheaths. The bosk are hitched up and slaves, who might otherwise take advantage of the tumult, are chained. Then the women climb to the top of the high sides on the wagons and watch the war lanterns in the distance, reading them as well as the men. Seeing if the wagons must move, and in what direction." — Nomads of Gor, pages 175-176.

"During the day the rapid movements of these individually maneuverable units are dictated by bosk horn and movements of the standards; at night by the bosk horns and the war lanterns slung on high poles carried by riders." — Nomads of Gor, page 175.

"With these he hurriedly conferred and then I saw him lift his arm and red war lanterns were moved on ropes to the top of poles, and to my amazement, aisles seemed to open in the densely packed bosk before the men, herdsmen and herd sleen moving the animals back to clear long grassy passages between their lumbering shaggy hulks." — Nomads of Gor, page 176.

"I saw two yellow lanterns and a red lantern on the high pole. I was startled by the appearance of tarnsmen on the southern plains. The nearest tarn cavalries as far as I knew were to be found in distant Ar. Surely great Ar was not at war with the Tuchuks of the southern plains. They must be mercenaries!" — Nomads of Gor, page 177.

The Role of Women in Battle

Now this is a touchy subject! Much debate has been made on women and being armed, in fighting in battles, in taking part in raids, and the like. Although women may never be a warrior, she can be in the Caste of Warriors via marriage (to a Warrior) or birth (a Warrior father) (please refer to the Warrior Caste page for detailed information), the women of the wagons are also expected to pitch in and help where needed. They gather and prepare the men's weapons, hitch the bosk in preparation to move the wagons, if needed, and watch the war lanterns for their instructions.

"When the bosk horns sound the women cover the fires and prepare the men's weapons, bringing forth arrows and bows, and lances. The quivas are always in the saddle sheaths. The bosk are hitched up and slaves, who might otherwise take advantage of the tumult, are chained. Then the women climb to the top of the high sides on the wagons and watch the war lanterns in the distance, reading them as well as the men. Seeing if the wagons must move, and in what direction." — Nomads of Gor, pages 175-176.

But wait! We do learn that even the free women engage in battle, and in fact, use knives to kill!

"The brunt of the Paravaci charge almost tipped and broke through the wagons, but we had lashed them together and they held. It was like a flood of kaiila and riders, weapons flourishing, that broke and piled against the wagons, the rear ranks pressing forward on those before them. Some of the rear ranks actually climbed fallen and struggling comrades and leaped over the wagons to the other side, where they were cut down by archers and dragged from their kaiila to be flung beneath the knives of free Tuchuk women." — Nomads of Gor, page 262.

The Role of Slaves in Battle

Slaves, though normally not allowed to handle weapons, are used for loading and winding bows. Female slaves, however, are chained for safe-keeping should they decide it would be a good time to make a run for it or should they decide to take up arms and help in the battle or to burn wagons.

"Each warrior had at his disposal five crossbows and four Turian slaves, for winding and loading the bows." — Nomads of Gor, page 271.

"The bosk are hitched up and slaves, who might otherwise take advantage of the tumult, are chained." — Nomads of Gor, pages 175-176.

"Kamchak took her roughly by the arm and shoved her stumbling toward the sleen cage where, holding the bars, frigthened, knelt Elizabeth Cardwell. Kamchak unlocked the cage and thrust Aphris inside with Elizabeth. She was slave and would be secured, that she might not seize up a weapon or try to fight or burn wagons." — Nomads of Gor, page 176.

Kaiila in Battle

The kaiila plays an important part in the lives of the Wagon Peoples, not only in the herding of the bosk, but also in times of battles. Therefore, not only are the Wagon Peoples trained to ride kaiila as a child before they even learn to walk, the kaiila are trained in many aspects of battle, such as avoiding spears and such.

"As suddenly as he had finished, as soon as the men had named themselves, as if a signal had been given, the four kaiila bounded forward, squealing with rage, each rider bent low on his mount, lance gripped in his right hand, straining to be the first to reach me.
       One, the Tuchuk, I might have slain with a cast of the heavy Gorean war spear; the others would have had free play with their lances. I might have thrown myself to the ground as the tart hunters from Ar, once their weapon is cast, covering myself with the shield; but then I would have been beneath the clawed paws of four squealing, snorting kaiila, while the riders jabbed at me with lances, off my feet, helpless. So gambling all on the respect of the Wagon Peoples for the courage of men, I made no move to defend myself but, heart pounding, blood racing, yet no sign visible of agitation on my face, without a quiver of a muscle or tendon betraying me, I stood calmly erect. At the last instant, the lances of four riders but a hand's breadth from my body, the enraged, thundering kaiila, hissing and squealing, at a touch of the control straps, arrested their fierce charge, stopping themselves, tearing into the deep turf with suddenly emergent claws. Not a rider was thrown or seemed for an instant off balance. The children of the Wagon Peoples are taught the saddle of the kaiila before they can walk." — Nomads of Gor, pages 16-17.

"The charge of the Tuchuk, in spite of its rapidity and momentum, carried him no more than four paces beyond me. It seemed scarcely had he passed than the kaiila had wheeled and charged again, this time given free rein, that it might tear at me with its fangs. I thrust with the spear, trying to force back the snapping jaws of the screaming animal. The kaiila struck, and then withdrew, and then struck again.. Then the animal seized my shield in its teeth and reared lifting it and myself, by the shield straps, from the ground. I fell from some dozen feet to the grass and saw the animal snarling and biting on the shield, then it shook it and hurled it far and away behind it." — Nomads of Gor, page 23.
       "Warily now the animal began to circle, in an almost human fashion, watching the spear. It shifted delicately, feinting, and then withdrawing, trying to draw the cast. I was later to learn that kaiila are trained to avoid the thrown spear. It is a training which begins with blunt staves and progresses through headed weapons. Until the kaiila is suitably proficient in this art it is not allowed to breed. Those who cannot learn it die under the spear." — Nomads of Gor, pages 23-24.

Sleen in Battle

Herd sleen become useful in times of battle to help herd the bosk to safety.

"With these he hurriedly conferred and then I saw him lift his arm and red war lanterns were moved on ropes to the top of poles, and to my amazement, aisles seemed to open in the densely packed bosk before the men, herdsmen and herd sleen moving the animals back to clear long grassy passages between their lumbering shaggy hulks." — Nomads of Gor, page 176.

A Time of Truce

The Wagon Peoples are constantly at war with each other, although they do have a gathering of the peoples during the Omen Year, which takes place once every ten years and lasts for approximately two years. It is during this time omens are taken to determine if it is favorable to elect a Ubar San, the high chief of all four tribes. Such had not happened for over a hundred years, no doubt due to each tribal faction wishing to remain autonomous from the other three tribes, proud, vain peoples that they are.

"The Wagon Peoples war among themselves, but once in every two hands of years, there is a time of gathering of the peoples, and this, I had learned, was that time. In the thinking of the Wagon Peoples it is called the Omen Year, though the Omen Year is actually a season, rather than a year, which occupies a part of two of their regular years, for the Wagon Peoples calculate the year from the Season of Snows to the Season of Snows… the Omen Year, or season, lasts several months, and consists of three phases, called the Passing of Turia, which takes place in the fall; the Wintering, which takes place north of Turia and commonly south of the Cartius, the equator of course lying to the north in this hemisphere; and the Return to Turia, in the spring, or, as the Wagon Peoples say, in the Season of Little Grass. It is near Turia, in the spring, that the Omen Year is completed…" — Nomads of Gor, pages 11-12.

"The omens, I understood, had not been favorable in more than a hundred years. I suspected that this might be due to the hostilities and bickerings of the peoples among themselves; where people did not wish to unite, where they relished their autonomy, where they nursed old grievances and sang the glories of vengeance raids, where they considered all others, even those of the other Peoples, as beneath themselves, there would not be likely to exist the conditions for serious confederation, a joining together of the wagons, as the saying is; under such conditions it was not surprising that the 'omens tended to be unfavorable;' indeed, what more inauspicious omens could there be? The haruspexes, the readers of bosk blood and verr livers, surely would not be unaware of these, let us say, larger, graver omens. It would not, of course, be to the benefit of Turia, or the farther cities, or indeed, any of the free cities of even northern Gor, if the isolated fierce peoples of the south were to join behind a single standard and turn their herds northward, away from their dry plains to the lusher reaches of the valleys of the eastern Cartius, Perhaps even beyond them to those of the Vosk. Little would be safe if the Wagon Peoples should march. A thousand years ago it was said they had carried devastation as far as the walls of Ar and Ko-ro-ba." — Nomads of Gor, pages 12-13.

Traitors Among the Peoples

Although the tribes war with each other, it was uncommon that one of the tribes would side with their ultimate enemy, the city of Turia. Unfortunately, it turns out that one of the Paravaci, a high-ranking member who also is a member of the Clan of Torturers, has such hired himself out to Turia.

"We knelt before a low dais, covered with rugs and cushions, on which reclined Saphrar of Turia. The merchant wore his pleasure robes of white and gold and his sandals, too, were of white leather bound with golden straps. His toenails, as well as the nails of his hands, were carmine in color. His small, fat hands moved with delight as he observed us. The golden drops above his eyes rose and fell. He was smiling and I could see the tips of the golden teeth which I had first noticed on the night of the banquet. Beside him, on each side, cross-legged,sat a warrior. The warrior on his right wore a robe, much as one might when emerging from the baths. His head was covered by a hood, such as is worn by members of the Clan of Torturers. He was toying with a Paravaci quiva. I recognized him, somehow in the build and the way he held his body. It was he who had hurled the quiva at me among the wagons, who would have been my assassin save for the sudden flicker of a shadow on a lacquered board. On the left of Saphrar there sat another warrior, in the leather of a tarnsman, save that he wore a jeweled belt, and about his neck, set with diamonds, there hung a worn tarn disk from the city of Ar. Beside him there rested, lying on the dais, spear, helmet and shield." — Nomads of Gor, pages 193-194.
       The fact that the man with the Paravaci quiva wore the robe now seemed to be significant. "Who is the traitor to the Wagon Peoples?" asked Harold. The man in the hood stiffened. "Of course," said Harold, "I see now the quiva he is Paravaci, naturally."
       The man's hand went white on the quiva, and I feared he might leap to his feet and thrust the quiva to its hilt in the breast of the Tuchuk youth.
       "I have often wondered," said Harold, "where the Paravaci obtained their riches."
       With a cry of rage the hooded figure leaped to his feet, quiva raised. — Nomads of Gor, page 194.
       "I would introduce our hooded friend," explained Saphrar, "but even I do not know his name nor face only that he stands high among the Paravaci and accordingly has been of great use to me." — Nomads of Gor, page 195.

Later, we learn that the traitor of all the Wagon Peoples is the Ubar of the Paravaci himself, Tolnus. It must be remembered that the Wagon Peoples belong not only to the wagons, but to a specific clan, up to and including a Ubar. However, even in his dishonor to his peoples, it is felt that his death should have been an honorable one, rather than the one he received.

I was scarcely aware of the brief whimpering of the Paravaci as, twisting and turning on the rug, biting at it, holding his arm, his flesh turning orange from ost venom, he writhed and died. Kamchak walked to him and tore away the mask. I saw the contorted, now-orange, twisted, agonized face. Already it was like colored paper and peeling, as though lit and burned from the inside. There were drops of blood and sweat on it. I heard Harold say, "It is Tolnus."
       "Of course," said Kamchak. "It had to have been the Ubar of the Paravaci — for who else could have sent their riders against the Tuchuk wagons, who else could have promised a mercenary tarnsman half the bosk and gold and women and wagons of the Paravaci?" — Nomads of Gor, pages 318-319.
       Slowly, not hurrying, in his boots he tramped across the rug, toward the sound. He stopped once beside the twisted, hideous body of Tolnus of the Paravaci. "It is too bad," he said, "I would have preferred to stake him out in the path of the bosk." — Nomads of Gor, pages 320-321.

Noted Battles

Specific battles among the Wagon Peoples, among themselves as well as other Goreans, are listed here.

The Death of a Ubar

Well, at this time in our reading, we believe that Kutaituchik is the Ubar. In the following passages, we read of treachery amongst the peoples of the wagons and of the peoples of Turia, and the loss of the great Kutaituchik…

Suddenly Kamchak lifted his hand, alert, gesturing for silence. I noted, too, the other Tuchuks in the wagon. Suddenly they were not moving. Then I too heard it, the winding of a bosk horn in the distance, and then another. Kamchak leaped to his feet. "The camp is under attack!" he cried.
       Outside, as Kamchak and I bounded down the steps of the slave wagon, the darkness was filled with hurrying men, some with torches, and running kaiila, already with their riders. War lanterns, green and blue and yellow, were already burning on poles in the darkness, signaling the rallying grounds of the Oralus, the Hundreds, and the Oralus, the Thousands. Each warrior of the Wagon Peoples, and that means each able-bodied man, is a member of an Or, or a Ten; each ten is a member of an Oralus, or Hundred; each Oralus is a member of an Oralus, a Thousand. Those who are unfamiliar with the Wagon Peoples, or who know them only from the swift raid, sometimes think them devoid of organization, sometimes conceive of them as mad hordes or aggregates of wild warriors, but such is not the case. Each man knows his position in his Ten, and the position of his Ten in the Hundred, and of the Hundred in the Thousand. During the day the rapid movements of these individually maneuverable units are dictated by bosk horn and movements of the standards; at night by the bosk horns and the war lanterns slung on high poles carried by riders. — Nomads of Gor, pages 174-175.
       When the bosk horns sound the women cover the fires and prepare the men's weapons, bringing forth arrows and bows, and lances. The quivas are always in the saddle sheaths. The bosk are hitched up and slaves, who might otherwise take advantage of the tumult, are chained. Then the women climb to the top of the high sides on the wagons and watch the war lanterns in the distance, reading them as well as the men. Seeing if the wagons must move, and in what direction.
       In a short time Kamchak and I had reached our wagon. Aphris had had the good sense to hitch up the bosk. Kamchak kicked out the fire at the side of the wagon. "What is it?" she cried.
       Kamchak took her roughly by the arm and shoved her stumbling toward the sleen cage where, holding the bars, frigthened, knelt Elizabeth Cardwell. Kamchak unlocked the cage and thrust Aphris inside with Elizabeth. She was slave and would be secured, that she might not seize up a weapon or try to fight or burn wagons. "Please!" she cried, thrusting her hands through the bars. But already Kamchak had slammed shut the door and twisted the key in the lock.
       "Master!" she cried. It was better, I knew, for her to be secured as she was rather than chained in the wagon, or even to the wheel. The wagons, in Turian raids, are burned. Kamchak threw me a lance, and a quiver with forty arrows and a bow. The kaiila I rode already had, on the saddle, the quivas, the rope and bola. Then he bounded from the top step of the wagon onto the back of his kaiila and sped toward the sound of the bosk horns.
       In no more than a few Gorean Ihn we had come to the interior edge of the herds. There on a front pasangs in length, already the Thousands had nearly formed, and long lines of riders, few gaps in their ranks, waited, lance in hand, their eyes on the war lanterns. Among these but to no Ten or Hundred did Kamchak ride. Rather, to my astonishment, he rode before them all, racing his kaiila to the center of the line where some five or ten warriors, on kaiilaback, waited. With these he hurriedly conferred and then I saw him lift his arm and red war lanterns were moved on ropes to the top of poles, and to my amazement, aisles seemed to open in the densely packed bosk before the men, herdsmen and herd sleen moving the animals back to clear long grassy passages between their lumbering shaggy hulks. And then, following the war lanterns, filing out of their ranks with a swiftness and precision that was incredible, long, flying columns of warriors flowed like rivers between the beasts. I rode at Kamchak side and in an instant it seemed we had passed through the bellowing, startled herd and had emerged on the plain beyond. In the light of the Gorean moons we saw slaugthered bosk, some hundreds of them, and, some two hundred yards away, withdrawing, perhaps a thousand warriors mounted on tharlarion.
       Suddenly, instead of giving pursuit, Kamchak drew his mount to a halt and behind him the rushing cavalries of the Tuchuks snarled pawing to a halt, holding their ground. I saw that a yellow lantern was halfway up the pole below the two red lanterns.
       "Give pursuit!" I cried.
       "Wait!" he cried. "We are fools! Fools!"
       I drew back the reins on my kaiila to keep the beast quiet.
       "Listen!" said Kamchak, agonized.
       In the distance we heard a sound like a thunder of wings and then, against the three white moons of Gor, to my dismay, we saw tarnsmen pass overhead, striking toward the camp. There were perhaps eight hundred to a thousand of them. I could hear the notes of the tarn drum above controlling the flight of the formation.
       "We are fools!" cried Kamchak, wheeling his kaiila. In an instant we were hurtling through ranks of men back toward the camp. When we had passed through the ranks, which had remained still, those thousands of warriors simply turned their kaiila, the last of them now first, and followed us.
       "Each to his own wagon and war!" cried Kamchak.
       I saw two yellow lanterns and a red lantern on the high pole. I was startled by the appearance of tarnsmen on the southern plains. The nearest tarn cavalries as far as I knew were to be found in distant Ar. Surely great Ar was not at war with the Tuchuks of the southern plains. They must be mercenaries!
       Kamchak did not return to his own wagon but now raced his kaiila, followed by a hundred men, toward the high ground on which stood the standard of the four bosk horns; on which stood the huge wagon of Kutaituchik, called Ubar of the Tuchuks.
       Among the wagons the tarnsmen would have found only slaves, women and children, but not a wagon had been burned or looted. We heard a new thunder of wings and looking overhead saw the tarnsmen, like a black storm, drum beating and tarns screaming, streak by overhead. A few arrows from those who followed us looped weakly up after them, falling then among the wagons.
       The sewn, painted boskhides that had covered the domed framework over the vast wagon of Kutaituchik hung slashed and rent from the joined tem-wood poles of the framework. Where they were not torn I saw that they had been pierced as though a knife had been driven through them again and again, only inches apart.
       There were some fifteen or twenty guards slain, mostly by arrows. They lay tumbled about, several on the dais near the wagon. In one body there were six arrows. Kamchak leaped from the back of his kaiila and, seizing a torch from an iron rack, leaped up the stairs and entered the wagon.
       I followed him, but then stopped, startled at what I saw. Literally thousands of arrows had been fired through the dome into the wagon. One could not step without breaking and snapping them. Near the center of the wagon, alone, his head bent over, on the robe of gray boskhide, sat Kutaituchik, perhaps fifteen or twenty arrows imbedded in his body. At his right knee was the golden kanda box. I looked about. The wagon had been looted, the only one that had been as far as I knew. Kamchak had gone to the body of Kutaituchik and sat down across from it, cross-legged, and had put his head in his hands. I did not disturb him.
       Some others pressed into the wagon behind us, but not many, and those who did remained in the background. I heard Kamchak moan. "The bosk are doing as well as might be expected," he said. "The quivas I will try to keep them sharp. I will see that the axles of the wagons are greased." Then he bent his head down and sobbed, rocking back and forth. — Nomads of Gor, pages 175-178.

The Wagon Peoples, being independent on each other, as well as being at war with each other almost constantly, normally do not join in with another tribe to help them in their battles.

Turia, to some extent, now lay under siege, though the Tuchuks alone could not adequately invest the city. The other Wagon Peoples regarded the problem of the slaying of Kutaituchik and the despoiling of his wagon as one best left to the resources of the people of the four bosk. It did not concern, in their opinion, the Kassars, the Kataii or the Paravaci. There had been Kassars who had wanted to fight and some Kataii, but the calm heads of the Paravaci had convinced them that the difficulty lay between Turia and the Tuchuks, not Turia and the Wagon Peoples generally. Indeed, envoys had flown on tarnback to the Kassars, Kataii and Paravaci, assuring them of Turia's lack of hostile intentions towards them, envoys accompanied by rich gifts.
       The cavalries of the Tuchuks, however, managed to maintain a reasonably effective blockade of land routes to Turia. Four times masses of tharlarion cavalry had charged forth from the city but each time the Hundreds withdrew before them until the charge had been enveloped in the swirling kaiila, and then its riders were brought down swiftly by the flashing arrows of the Tuchuks, riding in closely, almost to lance range and firing again and again until striking home. Several times also, hosts of tharlarion had attempted to protect caravans leaving the city, or advanced to meet scheduled caravans approaching Turia, but each time in spite of this support, the swift, harrying, determined riders of the Tuchuks had forced the caravans to turn back, or man by man, beast by beast, left them scattered across pasangs of prairie.
       The mercenary tarnsmen of Turia were most feared by the Tuchuks, for such could, with relative impunity, fire upon them from the safety of their soaring height, but even this dread weapon of Turia could not, by itself, drive the Tuchuks from the surrounding plains. In the field the Tuchuks would counter the tarnsmen by breaking open the Hundreds into scattered Tens and presenting only erratic, swiftly moving targets; it is difficult to strike a rider or beast at a distance from tarnback when he is well aware of you and ready to evade your missile; did the tarnsman approach too closely, then he himself and his mount were exposed to the return fire of the Tuchuks, in which case of proximity, the Tuchuk could use his small bow to fierce advantage. The archery of tarnsmen, of course, is most effective against massed infantry or clusters of the ponderous tharlarion. Also, perhaps not unimportantly, many of Turia's mercenary tarnsmen found themselves engaged in the time-consuming, distasteful task of supplying the city from distant points, often bringing food and arrow wood from as far away as the valleys of the eastern Cartius. I presume that the mercenaries, being tarnsmen a proud, headstrong breed of men made the Turians pay highly for the supplies they carried, the indignities of bearing burdens being lessened somewhat by the compensating weight of golden tarn disks. There was no problem of water in the city, incidentally, for Turia's waters are supplied by deep, tile-lined wells, some of them hundreds of feet deep; there are also siege reservoirs, filled with the melted snows of the winter, the rains of the spring.
       Kamchak, on kaiilaback, would sit in fury regarding the distant, white walls of Turia. He could not prevent the supplying of the city by air. He lacked siege engines, and the men, and the skills, of the northern cities. He stood as a nomad, in his way baffled at the walls raised against him.
       "I wonder," I said, "why the tarnsmen have not struck at the wagons with fire arrows why they do not attack the bosk themselves, slaying them from the air, forcing you to withdraw to protect the beasts."
       It seemed to be a simple, elementary strategy. There was, after all, no place on the prairies to hide the wagons or the bosk, and tarnsmen could easily reach them anywhere within a radius of several hundred pasangs.
       "They are mercenaries," growled Kamchak.
       "I do not understand your meaning," I said.
       "We have paid them not to burn the wagons nor slay the bosk," said he.
       "They are being paid by both sides?" I asked.
       "Of course," said Kamchak, irritably.
       For some reason this angered me, though, naturally, I was pleased that the wagons and boss; were yet safe. I suppose I was angered because I myself was a tarnsman, and it seemed somehow improper for warriors astride the mighty tarns to barter their favors indiscriminately for gold to either side.
       "But," said Kamchak, "I think in the end Saphrar of Turia will meet their price and the wagons will be fired and the bosk slain" He gritted his teeth. "He has not yet met it," said Kamchak, "because we have not yet harmed him nor made him feel our presence."
       I nodded. — Nomads of Gor, pages 181-183.

The Siege of Turia and the Taking of the City

The Tuchuks, facing the loss of the beloved Kutaituchik, and the promise of a long, weary battle decided to turn tail and run? That is what it seems…

"If you wish," said Harold. "After all, I can always visit I the baths after we take the city."
       "Take the city?" I asked.
       "Of course," said Harold.
       "Look," I said to him, "the bosk are already moving away the wagons will withdraw in the morning. The siege is over. Kamchak is giving up."
       Harold smiled. He looked at me. "Oh, yes," he said. — Nomads of Gor, page 192.

Tarl, in his quest for the egg of the Priest-Kings, sad at the thought the Tuchuks had decided not to seek revenge against Turia, left the wagons, to venture into Turia alone. However, one day, he notices a rather strange merchant wagon…

I watched the merchant wagon, large and heavy, wide, with planked sides painted alternately white and gold, covered with a white and gold rain canvas. It was drawn not by the draft tharlarion like most merchant wagons but, like some, by four brown bosk. — Nomads of Gor, pages 240-241.
       The heavy merchant wagon was near the main gate now and it was being waved forward.
       I looked out over the prairie, in the direction that had been taken by the Tuchuk wagons. Some five days now they had been gone. It had seemed strange to me that Kamchak, the resolute, implacable Kamchak of the Tuchuks, had so soon surrendered his assault on the city not that I expected it would have been, if prolonged, successful. Indeed, I respected his wisdom — withdrawing in the face of a situation in which there was nothing to be gained and, considering the vulnerability of the wagons and bosk to tarnsmen, much to be lost. He had done the wise thing. But how it must have hurt him, he — Kamchak — to turn the wagons and withdraw from Turia, leaving Kutaituchik unrevenged and Saphrar of Turia triumphant. It had been, in its way, a courageous thing for him to do. I would rather have expected Kamchak to have stood before the walls of Turia, his kaiila saddled, his arrows at hand, until the winds and snows had at last driven him, the Tuchuks, the wagons and the bosk away from the gates of the beleaguered city, the nine-gated, high-walled stronghold of Turia, inviolate and never conquered.
       This train of thought was interrupted by the sounds of an altercation below, the shouting of an annoyed guardsman at the gate, the protesting cries of the driver of the merchant wagon. I looked down from the wall, and to my amusement, though I felt sorry for the distraught driver, saw that the right, rear wheel of the wide, heavy wagon had slipped the axle and that the wagon, obviously heavily loaded, was now tilting crazily, and then the axle struck the dirt, imbedding itself.
       The driver had immediately leaped down and was gesticulating wildly beside the wheel. Then, irrationally, he put his shoulder under the wagon box and began to push up, trying to right the wagon, surely an impossible task for one man. This amused several of the guards and some of the passersby as well, who gathered to watch the driver's discomfiture. Then the officer of the guard, nearly beside himself with rage, ordered several of his amused men to put their shoulders to the wagon as well. Even the several men, together with the driver, could not right the wagon, and it seemed that levers must be sent for.
       I looked away, across the prairie, bemused. Dina was still watching the broil below and laughing, for the driver seemed so utterly distressed and apologetic, cringing and dancing about and scraping before the irate officer. Then I noted across the prairie, hardly remarking it, a streak of dust in the sky.
       Even the guards and townsfolk here and there on the wall seemed now to be watching the stalled wagon below. I looked down again. The driver I noted was a young man, well built. He had blond hair. There seemed to be something familiar about him. Suddenly I wheeled and gripped the parapet. The streak of dust was now more evident. It was approaching the main gate of Turia. I seized Dina of Turia in my arms.
       "What's wrong!" she said.
       I whispered to her, fiercely. "Return to your home and lock yourself in. Do not go out into the streets!"
       "I do not understand," said she. "What are you talking about?"
       "Do not ask questions," I ordered her. "Do as I say! Go home, bolt the door to your rooms, do not leave the house!"
       Suddenly she looked out over the parapet. She, too, saw the dust. Her hand went to her mouth. Her eyes widened in fear.
       "You can do nothing," I said. "Run!"
       I kissed her savagely and turned her about and thrust her a dozen feet down the walkway inside the wall. She stumbled a few feet and turned. "What of you?" she cried.
       "Run!" I commanded.
       And Dina of Turia ran down the walkway, along the rim of the high wall of Turia. — Nomads of Gor, pages 241-243.
       Beneath the unbelted tunic of the Bakers, slung under my left arm, its lineaments concealed largely by a short brown cloak worn over the left shoulder, there hung my sword and with it, the quiva. I now, not hurrying, removed the weapons from my tunic, removed the cloak and wrapped them inside it. I then looked once more over the parapet. The dust was closer now. In a moment I would be able to see the kaiila, the flash of light from the lance blades. Judging from the dust, its dimensions, its speed of approach, the riders, perhaps hundreds of them the first wave, were riding in a narrow column, at full gallop. The narrow column, and probably the Tuchuk spacing, a Hundred and then the space for a Hundred, open, and then another Hundred, and so on, tends to narrow the front of dust, and the spaces between Hundreds gives time for some of the dust to dissipate and also, incidentally, to rise sufficiently so that the progress of the consequent Hundreds is in no way impeded or handicapped. I could now see the first Hundred, five abreast, and then the open space behind them, and then the second Hundred. They were approaching with great rapidity. I now saw a sudden flash of light as the sun took the tips of Tuchuk lances.
       Quietly, not wishing to hurry, I descended from the wall and approached the stalled wagon, the open gate, the guards. Surely in a moment someone on the wall would give the alarm. At the gate the officer was still berating the blond-haired fellow. He had blue eyes, as I had known he would, for I had recognized him from above.
       "You will suffer for this!" the commander of the guard was crying. "You dull fool!"
       "Oh mercy, master!" whined Harold of the Tuchuks.
       At that moment there was a long, wailing cry of horror from the wall above. "Tuchuks!" The guards suddenly looked about themselves startled. Then two more people on the wall took up the cry, pointing wildly out over the wall. "Tuchuks! Close the gates!"
       The officer looked up in alarm, and then he cried out to the men on the windlass platform. "Close the gates!"
       "I think you will find," said Harold, "that my wagon is in the way." Suddenly understanding, the officer cried out in rage and whipped his sword from his sheath but before he could raise his arm the young man had leaped to him and thrust a quiva into his heart. "My name," he said, "is Harold of the Tuchuks!"
       There was now screaming on the walls, the rushing of guardsmen toward the wagon. The men on the windlass platform were slowly swinging the great double gates shut as much as possible. Harold had withdrawn his quiva from the breast of the officer. Two men leaped toward him with swords drawn and I leaped in front of him and engaged them, dropping one and wounding the other. "Well done, Baker," he cried.
       I gritted my teeth and met the attack of another man. I could now hear the drumming of kaiila paws beyond the gate, perhaps no more than a pasang away. The double gate had closed now save for the wagon wedged between the two parts of the gate. The wagon bosk, upset by the running men, the shouting and the clank of arms about them, were bellowing wildly and throwing their heads up and down, stomping and pawing in the dust.
       My Turian foe took the short sword under the heart. I kicked him from the blade barely in time to meet the attack of two more men. I heard Harold's voice behind me. "I suppose while the bread is baking," he was saying, "there is little to do but stand about and improve one's swordplay."
       I might have responded but I was hard pressed.
       "I had a friend," Harold was saying, "whose name was Tarl Cabot. By now he would have slain both of them."
       I barely turned a blade from my heart.
       "And quite some time ago," Harold added.
       The man on my left now began to move around me to my left while the other continued to press me from the front. It should have been done seconds ago. I stepped back, getting my back to the wagon, trying to keep their steel from me. "There is a certain resemblance between yourself and my friend Tarl Cabot," Harold was saying, "save that your sword is decidedly inferior to his. Also he was of the caste of warriors and would not permit himself to be seen on his funeral pyre in the robes of so low a caste as that of the Bakers. Moreover, his hair was red like a larl from the sun whereas yours is a rather common and, if I may say so, a rather uninspired black."
       I managed to slip my blade through the ribs of one man and twist to avoid the-thrust of the other. In an instant the position of the man I had felled was filled by yet another guardsman. "It would be well to be vigilant also on the right," remarked Harold.
       I spun to the right just in time to turn the blade of a third man. "It would not have been necessary to tell Tarl Cabot that," Harold said. — Nomads of Gor, pages 243-245.
       Some passersby were now fleeing past, crying out. The great alarm bars of the city were now ringing, struck by iron hammers.
       "I sometimes wonder where old Tarl Cabot is," Harold said wistfully.
       "You Tuchuk idiot!" I screamed.
       Suddenly I saw the faces of the men fighting me turn from rage to fear. They turned and ran from the gate.
       "It would now be well," said Harold, "to take refuge under the wagon." I then saw his body dive past, scrambling under the wagon. I threw myself to the ground and rolled under with him.
       Almost instantly there was a wild cry, the war cry of the Tuchuks, and the first five kaiila leaped from outside the gate onto the top of the wagon, finding firm footing on what I had taken to be simple rain canvas, but actually was canvas stretched over a load of rocks and earth, accounting for the incredible weight of the wagon, and then bounded from the wagon, two to one side, two the other, and the middle rider actually leaping from the top of the wagon to the dust beyond the harnessed bosk. In an instant another five and then another and another had repeated this maneuver and soon, sometimes with squealing of kaiila and dismounting of riders as one beast or another would be crowded between the gates and the others, a Hundred and then another Hundred had hurtled howling into the city, black lacquered shields on the left arms, lance seized in the right hand. About us there were the stamping paws of kaiila, the crying of men, the sound of arms, and always more and more Tuchuks striking the top of the wagon and bounding into the city uttering their war cry. Each of the Hundreds that entered turned to its own destination, taking different streets and turns, some dismounting and climbing to command the roofs with their small bows. Already I could smell smoke. — Nomads of Gor, page 245-246.
       I sat cross-legged under the wagon, my sword across my knees, watching the paws and legs of the swirling kaiila bounding past. I heard the hiss of crossbow quarrels and one rider and his mount stumbled off the wagon top, falling and rolling to one side, others bounding over him. Then I heard the twang of the small ham bows of Tuchuks. Somewhere, off on the other side of the wagon, I heard the heavy grunting of a tharlarion and the squealing of a kaiila, the meeting of lances and shields. — Nomads of Gor, pages 246-247.

The Tuchuks arrive in full force. Here we learn of a Tuchuk military strategy, The Tuchuk Turn.

I could hear screaming some hundred yards away. The roof of a building on the left was afire and smoke and sparks were being hurled into the sky and swept by the wind across the adjoining buildings. Some dozen dismounted Tuchuks were now at the great windlass on its platform slowly opening the gates to their maximum width, and when they had done so the Tuchuks, howling and waving their lances, entered the city in ranks of twenty abreast, thus only five ranks to the Hundred. I could now see smoke down the long avenue leading from the gate, in a dozen places. Already I saw a Tuchuk with a dozen silver cups tied on a string to his saddle. Another had a screaming woman by the hair, running her beside his stirrup. And still more Tuchuks bounded into the city. The wall of a building off the main avenue collapsed flaming to the street. I could hear in three or four places the clash of arms, the hiss of the bolts of crossbows, the answering featherswift flight of the barbed Tuchuk war arrows. Another wall, on the other side of the avenue, tumbled downward, two Turian warriors leaping from it, being ridden down by Tuchuks, leaping over the burning debris on kaiilaback, lance in hand.
       Then in the clearing inside the gate, on his kaiila, lance in his right fist, turning and barking orders, I saw Kamchak of the Tuchuks, waving men to the left and right, and to the roof tops. His lance point was red. The black lacquer of his shield was deeply cut and scraped. The metal net that depended from his helmet had been thrown back and his eyes and face were fearful to behold. He was flanked by officers of the Tuchuks, commanders of Thousands, mounted as he was and armed. He turned his kaiila to face the city and it reared and he lifted his shield on his left arm and his lance in his right fist. "I want the blood of Saphrar of Turia," he cried.
       It had, of course, been the Tuchuk turn.
       One makes a pretext of seriously besieging a city, spending several days, sometimes weeks, in the endeavor, and then, apparently, one surrenders the sedge and withdraws, moving away slowly with the wagons and bosk for some days in this case four — and then, the bosk and wagons removed from probable danger, swiftly, in a single night, under the cover of darkness, sweeping back to the city, taking it by surprise. It had worked well. — Nomads of Gor, pages 247-248.

The city of Turia is taken…

Much of Turia was in flames. Certain of the Hundreds, delegated the task, had immediately, almost before the alarm bars could sound, seized many of the wells, granaries and public buildings, including the very palace of Phanius Turmus itself. The Ubar, and Kamras, his highest officer, had fallen captive almost immediately, each to a Hundred set that purpose. Most of the High Council of Turia, too, now reposed in Tuchuk chains. The city was largely without leadership, though here and there brave Turians had gathered guardsmen and men-at-arms and determined civilians and sealed off streets, forming fortresses within the city against the invaders. The compound of the House of Saphrar, however, had not fallen, protected by its numerous guardsmen and its high walls, nor had the tower elsewhere that sheltered the tarn cots and warriors of Ha-Keel, the mercenary from Port Kar.
       Kamchak had taken up quarters in the palace of Phanius Turmus, which, save for the looting and the ripping down of tapestries, the wanton defacing of wall mosaics, was unharmed. It was from this place that he directed the occupation of the city.
       Harold, after the Tuchuks had entered the city, insisted on squiring the young woman home whom he had encountered under the wagon, and, for good measure, the wine vendor and potter as well. After we had taken the girl and the potter and wine vendor to whatever safety their homes might afford, we set out for the House of Saphrar, where, after some examination of the scene, I convinced myself there was nothing immediately to be done. It was invested by better than two of the Thousands. No assault of the place had yet begun. Doubtless rocks and large pieces of building stone had already been piled behind the gates. I could smell tharlarion oil on the walls, waiting to be fired and poured on those who might attempt to dig at the walls or mount ladders against them. Occasional arrows and crossbow bolts were exchanged. One thing troubled me. The standing wall about the compound kept the Tuchuk bowmen far enough from the roof of the keep within that tarns might, without too great a danger, enter and leave the compound. Saphrar, if he chose, could escape on tarnback. As yet, cut off, he probably had no way of knowing how serious his danger was. Within he undoubtedly had ample food and water to withstand a long siege. It seemed to me he could fly with safety when he chose, but that he had merely not yet chosen. — Nomads of Gor, pages 248-249.

The spoils of war often bring great rewards in trinkets and goods. Of course, the commanders get first chance at these spoils.

Beyond them, again in a large heap, were numerous weapons, saddles and harnesses. Beyond them I saw numerous rugs and tapestries, rolled, for transport from the city. "As a commander," said Harold, "you may take what you want of any of this." — Nomads of Gor, page 251.

The Wagon Peoples, known for their plundering and taking of women of the city, must resist that predilection when such is needed; a discipline of a warrior of the Wagon Peoples is strong.

At that moment there was a scream and commotion at the gate to the inner courtyard and two Tuchuks, one laughing and with a bloody shoulder, were dragging a fiercely resisting, unveiled but clothed girl between them. It was Dina of Turia! The laughing Tuchuk, he with the bloody shoulder, hauled her before us.
       "A beauty," said he, "Commander!" He nodded to his shoulder. "Marvelous! A figther!"
       Suddenly Dina stopped pulling and kicking and scratching. She flung up her head and looked at me, breathing hard, startled.
       "Do not add her to the chain," I said. "Neither remove her l clothing nor put her in bonds. Permit her to veil herself if she wishes. She is to be treated in all respects as a free woman. Take her back to her home and while we remain in the city, guard her with your lives."
       The two men were startled, but Tuchuk discipline is relentless. "Yes, Commander!" they both cried, releasing her. "With our lives!"
       Dina of Turia looked at me, gratitude in her eyes. "You will be safe," I assured her.
       "But my city burns," she said.
       "I am sorry," I said, and turned swiftly away, to enter the palace of Phanius Turmus. I knew that while the Tuchuks remained in Turia there would be in all the city no woman more safe than lovely Dina, she only of the Caste of Bakers. — Nomads of Gor, page 252.

A Tuchuk's revenge is neither pretty nor sweet. Here Tarl learns the depth of the need for vengeance by Kamchak.

Directed by Tuchuks we soon made our way to the throne room of Phanius Turmus, where, to my surprise, a banquet was in progress. At one end of the room, on the throne of the Ubar, a purple robe thrown over his black leather, sat dour Kamchak of the Tuchuks, his shield and lance leaning against the throne, an unsheathed quiva on the right arm of the throne. At the low tables, perhaps brought from various places in the palace, there sat many Tuchuk officers, and even some men without rank. With them, now freed of collars, were exuberant Tuchuk girls bedecked in the robes of free women. All were laughing and drinking. Only Kamchak seemed solemn. Near him, in places of honor, at a long, low table, above the bowls of yellow and red salt, on each side, sat many of the high men of Turia, clad in their finest robes, their hair oiled, scented and combed for the banquet. I saw among them Kamras, Champion of Turia, and another, on Kamchak's right hand, a heavy, swollen, despondent man, who could only have been Phanius Turmus himself. Behind them stood Tuchuk guards, quivas in their right hands. At a sign from Kamchak, as the men well knew, their throats would be immediately cut.
       Kamchak turned to them. "Eat," he said.
       Before them had been placed large golden dishes heaped with delicacies prepared by the kitchens of the Ubar, tall precious goblets filled with Turian wines, the small bowls of spices and sugars with their stirring spoons at hand. The tables were served by naked Turian girls, from the highest families of the city. There were musicians present and they, to the best of their ability under the circumstances, attempted to provide music for the feast. Sometimes one of the serving girls would be seized by an ankle or arm and dragged screaming to the cushions among the tables, much to the amusement of the men and the Tuchuk girls. "Eat," ordered Kamchak. Obediently the captive Turians began to put food in their mouths.
       "Welcome, Commanders," said Kamchak, turning and regarding us, inviting us to sit down.
       "I did not expect to see you in Turia," I said.
       "Neither did the Turians," remarked Harold, reaching over the shoulder of one of the high council of Turia and taking a candied verr chop. — Nomads of Gor, pages 252-253.
       But Kamchak was looking away disconsolately toward the rug before the throne, now stained with spilled beverages, cluttered with the thrown garbage of the feast. He hardly seemed aware of what was taking place. Though this should have been a night of triumph for him, he did not seem pleased.
       "The Ubar of the Tuchuks does not appear happy," I observed.
       Kamchak turned and looked at me again.
       "The city burns," I said.
       "Let it burn," said Kamchak.
       "It is yours," I said.
       "I do not want Turia," he said.
       "What is it you seek?" I asked.
       "Only the blood of Saphrar," said he.
       "All this," I asked, "is only to avenge Kutaituchik?"
       "To avenge Kutaituchik," said Kamchak, "I would burn a thousand cities."
       "How is that?" I asked.
       "He was my father," said Kamchak, and turned away.
       During the meal, from time to time, messengers, from various parts of the city, and even from the distant wagons, hours away by racing kaiila, would approach Kamchak, speak with him and hastily depart. — Nomads of Gor, pages 253-254.

Because the death of Kataituchik was over the lust of gold, Kamchak's vengeance was that a death by gold was profound and just for Turia. Free, and even slaves, were given four Gorean stone of gold.

I was utterly startled, overcome. I was shaking. Hundreds upon hundreds of men must have passed thus before us. "I — I do not understand," I stammered to Kamchak.
       He did not turn to face me, but continued to stare at the compound. "Let Saphrar of Turia die by gold," he said. Only then did I understand with horror the depth of Kamchak's hatred of Saphrar of Turia. Man by man, stone by stone of gold. Saphrar was dying, his walls and defenses being taken grain by grain from him, slipping away. His gold could not buy him the hearts of men. Kamchak, in his Tuchuk cruelty, would stand quietly to one side and, coin by coin, bit by bit, buy Saphrar of Turia. — Nomads of Gor, page 310.
       I even saw some slaves leaving the compound, and these, though they were slave, were given the four stone of gold as well, perhaps the more to insult those free men who had accepted the bribes of Tuchuks. — Nomads of Gor, page 311.

The Battle at the Wagons

"The morning after the Battle at the Wagons I had mounted a rested kaiila and set forth for Turia." — Nomads of Gor, page 268.

The Battle at the Wagons begins at the time Kamchak has occupation of Turia. In this battle, we learn of many things that the peoples of the wagons do in time of war with each other, some of which may surprise you. Upon instruction by Kamchak, Harold and Tarl first make a stop at the camps of the Kassars and Kataii, to enlist their aid in the attack, their forces already weakened by their siege of Turia.

At the height of such festivities, a distraught messenger rushed to Kamchak. The Ubar of the Tuchuks listened impassively and then arose. He gestured at the captive Turian men. "Take them away," he said, "put them in the Kes and chain them put them to work." Phanius Turmus, Kamras and the others were dragged from the tables by their Tuchuk guards. The feasters were now watching Kamchak. Even the musicians were now silent. "The feast is done," said Kamchak.
       The guests and the captives, led by those who would claim them, faded from the room. Kamchak stood before the throne of Phanius Turmus, the purple robe of the Ubar over one shoulder, and looked at the overturned tables, the spilled cups, the remains of the feast. Only he, Harold and I remained in the great throne room.
       "What is the matter?" I asked him.
       "The wagons and bosk are under attack," he said.
       "By whom?" cried Harold.
       "Paravaci," said Kamchak.
       Kamchak had had his flying columns followed by some two dozen of the wagons, mostly containing supplies. On one of these wagons, with the top removed, were the two tarns Harold and I had stolen from the roof of Saphrar's keep. They had been brought for us, thinking that they might be of use in the warfare in the city or in the transportation of goods or men. A tarn can, incidentally, without difficulty, carry a knotted rope of seven to ten men. Harold and I, mounted on kaiila, raced toward these wagons. Thundering behind each of us was a Thousand, which would continue on toward the main Tuchuk encampment, several Ahn away. Harold and I would take a tarn each and he would go to the Kassars and I to the Kataii, begging their help. I had little hope that either of these; peoples would come to the aid of Tuchuks. Then, on the path to the main Tuchuk encampment, Harold and I were each to join our Thousand, subsequently doing what we could to protect the bosk and wagons. Kamchak would meanwhile marshal his forces within the city, preparing to withdraw, Kutaituchik unavenged, to ride back against the Paravaci.
       I had learned to my surprise that the Ubars of the Kassars, Kataii and Paravaci were, respectively, Conrad, Hakimba and Tolnus, the very three I had first encountered with Kamchak on the plains of Turia when first I came to the Wagon Peoples. What I had taken to be merely a group of four outriders had actually been a gathering of Ubars of the Wagon Peoples. I should have known that no four common warriors of the four peoples would have ridden together. Further, the Kassars, the Kataii and the Paravaci did not reveal their true Ubars with any greater willingness than the Tuchuks had. Each people, as the Tuchuks had, had its false Ubar, its decoy to protect the true Ubar from danger or assassination. But, Kamchak had assured me, Conrad, Hakimba and Tolnus were indeed the true Ubars of their peoples.
       I was nearly slain by arrows when I dropped the tarn amidst the startled blacks of the Kataii, but my black jacket with the emblem of the four bosk horns, emblem of the Tuchuk courier, soon proved its worth and I was led to the dais of the Ubar of the Kataii. I was permitted to speak directly to Hakimba, when I made it clear to my escort that I knew the identity of their true Ubar and that it was with him I must speak. — Nomads of Gor, pages 255-257.

Historically, the Wagon Peoples did not support each other during times of battle, either with another tribe or a city. Much to Tarl's dismay, such is the welcome he receives also.

As I expected, Hakimba's brown eyes and richly scarred countenance showed little interest in my presentation of the plight of the Tuchuks. It was little to him, apparently, that the Paravaci should raid the herds and wagons of the Tuchuks when most of the Tuchuk warriors were engaged in Turia. He did not, on the other hand, approve of the fact that the raid had taken place during the Omen Year, which is a time of general truce among the Wagon Peoples. I sensed, however, that he was angry when I spoke of the probable complicity of the Paravaci with the Turians, striking when and how they did, even during the Omen Year, presumably to draw the Tuchuks away from Turia. In short, though Hakimba did not approve of the Paravaci action and was incensed at their presumed league with the Turians, he did not feel sufficiently strongly to invest his own men in a struggle that did not seem to concern him directly. — Nomads of Gor, page 257.
       "We have our own wagons," said Hakimba, at last. "Our wagons are not the wagons of the Tuchuks or of the Kassars or of the Paravaci. If the Paravaci attack our wagons, we will fight. We will not fight until then." Hakimba was adamant and it was with a heavy heart that I climbed once more to the saddle of my tarn.
       In the saddle I said to him, "I have heard that the Paravaci are killing bosk." — Nomads of Gor, page 257.

But wait… something sparks a fury in Hakimba, Ubar of the Kataii… but seemingly for the moment, and then again he returns to his conviction of not aiding the Tuchuks in battle.

Hakimba looked up. "Killing bosk?" he asked, skeptically.
       "Yes," I said, "and cutting out the nose rings to sell in Turia after the Tuchuks withdraw."
       "Will you help?" I asked.
       "We have our own wagons," said Hakimba. "We will watch our own wagons."
       "What will you do," I asked, "if in another year the Paravaci and the Turians turn on the Kataii and kill their bosk?"
       "The Paravaci," said Hakimba slowly, "would like to be the one people and own the grass of all the prairie and all the bosk."
       "Will you not fight?" I demanded.
       "If the Paravaci attack us," said Hakimba, "then we will fight." Hakimba looked up. "We have our own wagons," he said. "We will watch our own wagons."
       I drew on the one-strap and took the tarn into the air, striking out across the prairie skies to intercept my Thousand on its way to the wagons of the Tuchuks. In my flight I could see at one point the Omen Valley, where the haruspexes were still working about their numerous, smoking altars. I laughed bitterly.
       In a few Ehn I had overtaken my Thousand and given the tarn over to five men, who would keep it until its wagon I should, following the tracks of the riders, reach them. Within perhaps the Ahn a grim, angry Harold brought his tarn down between the two columns, that of his Thousand and of mine. It took only a moment for him to give the tarn into the keeping of some five warriors and leap on the back of his kaiila. I had noted, to my satisfaction, that he now handled the tarn rather well. He had apparently, in the past several days since our escape from Saphrar's keep, been familiarizing himself with the saddle straps and the bird's habits and responses. But he was not elated as he rode beside me nor did he speak lightly.
       Like my own mission to the Kataii, Harold's mission to the Kassars had been fruitless. For much the same reasons as the Kataii, Conrad was unwilling to commit his forces to the defense of Tuchuk herds. Indeed, as we rode together, we wondered that Kamchak had even sent us on an errand so unlikely of success, an errand in its way, considering the temper of the Wagon Peoples, so foolish. Our kaiila were spent when we reached the wagons of the Tuchuks and the herds, and we were only two thousand. Hundreds of the wagons were burning and fighting was taking place among them. We found thousands of bosk slain in the grass, their throats cut, their flesh rotting, the golden nose rings chopped or torn away. The men behind us cried out with rage.
       Harold took his Thousand into the Wagons, engaging the Paravaci wherever he could find them. I knew that in little more than fifteen or twenty Ehn his forces would be lost, dissipated among the wagons, and yet surely the Paravaci must be met and fought there as well as on the prairie. I swept with my Thousand about the outskirts of the herds until we found some hundred or two hundred Paravaci engaged in the grisly work of destroying Tuchuk bosk. These two hundred, stood, looking up with their quivas axes, startled, screaming, were ridden down in a matter of an Ehn. But then we could see, forming on the crest of a hill, thousands of Paravaci warriors, apparently held in readiness in case reinforcements should come. Already they were mounting their fresh, rested kaiila. We could hear the bosk horns forming their Hundreds, see the movements of the sunlight on their arms.
       Raising my arm and shouting, I led the Thousand toward them, hoping to catch them before they could form and charge. Our bosk horns rang out and my brave Thousand, worn in the saddle, weary, on spent kaiila, without a murmur or a protest, turned and following my lead struck into the center of the Paravaci forces. In an instant we were embroiled among angry men the half-formed, disorganized Hundreds of the Paravaci — striking to the left and right, shouting the war cry of the Tuchuks. I did not wish to remain on the crest of the hill long enough to allow the left and right flanks of the Paravaci — rapidly assembling to fold about my men and so, in less than four Ehn — as their disorganized, astonished center fell back — our bosk horn sounded our retreat and our men, as one, withdrew to the herds only a moment before the left and right flanks of the Paravaci would have closed upon us. We left them facing one another, cursing, while we moved slowly back through our bosk, keeping them as a shield. We would remain close enough that small parties would not be able to approach the bosk with impunity again. If they sent archers forth to slay the beasts, we could, from within the herd, answer their fire, or, if we wished, open the herd and ride forth, scattering the archers.
       Among the bosk I ordered my men to rest. But the Paravaci neither sent forth small groups nor contingents of archers, but formed and, en masse, riding over the bodies of their fallen comrades, began to approach the herd slowly, to move through it, slaying them as they went, and; close with us.
       Once again our bosk horns sounded and this time my Thousand began to cry out and jab the animals with their lances, turning them toward the Paravaci. Thousands of animals were already turned toward the approaching enemy and beginning to walk toward them when the Paravaci suddenly realized what was happening. Now the bosk began to move more swiftly, bellowing and snorting. And then, as the, Paravaci bosk horns sounded frantically, our bosk began to run, their mighty heads with the fearsome horns nodding up and down, and the earth began to tremble and my men cried out more and jabbed animals, riding with the flood and the Paravaci with cries of horror that coursed the length of their entire line tried to stop and turn their kaiila but the ranks behind them pressed on and they were milling there before us, confused, trying to make sense out of the wild signals of their own bosk horns when the herd, horns down, now running full speed, struck them.
       It was the vengeance of the bosk and the frigthened, maddened animals thundered into the Paravaci lines goring and trampling both kaiila and riders, and the Paravaci who could manage turned their animals and rode for their lives. In a moment, maintaining my saddle in spite of the leaping and stumbling of my kaiila over the slain bosk, fallen kaiila and screaming men, I gave orders to turn the bosk back and reform them near the wagons. The escaping Paravaci could now, on their kaiila, easily outdistance the herd and I did not wish the animals to be strung out over the prairie, at the mercy of the Paravaci when they should at last turn and take up the battle again. By the time the Paravaci had reformed my Tuchuks had managed to swing the herd, slow it, get it milling about and then drive it back to a perimeter about the wagons. It was now near nightfall and I was confident the Paravaci, who greatly outnumbered us, perhaps in the order of ten or twenty to one, would wait until morning before pressing the advantage of their numbers. When, on the whole, the long-term balance of battle would seem to lie with them, there would be little point in their undertaking the risk of darkness.
       In the morning, however, they would presumably avoid the herd, find a clear avenue of attack, and strike, perhaps even ride through the wagons, pinning us against our own herd. That night I met with Harold, whose men had been fighting among the wagons. He had cleared several areas of Paravaci but they were still, here and there, among the wagons. Taking council with Harold, we dispatched a rider to Kamchak in Turia, informing him of the situation, and that we had little hope of holding out.
       "It will make little difference," said Harold. "It will take the rider, if he gets through, seven Ahn to reach Turia and even if Kamchak rides with his full force the moment the rider comes to the gates of the city, it will be eight Ahn before their vanguard can reach us and by then it will be too late."
       It seemed to me that what Harold said was true, and that there was little point in discussing it much further. I nodded wearily. Both Harold and I then spoke with our men, each issuing orders that any man with us who wished might now withdraw from the wagons and rejoin the main forces in Turia. Not a man of either Thousand moved. We set pickets and took what rest we could, in the open, the kaiila saddled and tethered at hand. In the morning, before dawn, we awakened and fed on dried bosk meat, sucking the dew from the prairie grass. Shortly after dawn we discovered the Paravaci forming in their Thousands away from the herd, preparing to strike the wagons from the north, pressing through, slaying all living things they might encounter, save women, slave or free. The latter would be driven before the warriors through the wagons, both slave girls and free women stripped and bound together in groups, providing shields against arrows and lance charges on kaiilaback for the men advancing behind them. Harold and I determined to appear to meet the Paravaci in the open before the wagons and then, when they charged, to withdraw among the wagons, and close the wagons on their attacking front, halting the charge, then at almost point blank range hopefully taking heavy toll of their forces by our archers. It would be, of course, only a matter of time before our barricade would be forced or outflanked, perhaps from five pasangs distant, in an undefended sector.
       The battle was joined at the seventh Gorean hour and, as planned, as soon as the Paravaci center was committed, the bulk of our forces wheeled and retreated among the wagons, the rest of our forces then turning and pushing the wagons together. As soon as our men were through the barricade they leaped from their kaiila, bow and quiver in hand, and took up prearranged positions under the wagons, between them, on them, and behind the wagon box planking, taking advantage of the arrow ports therein.
       The brunt of the Paravaci charge almost tipped and broke through the wagons, but we had lashed them together and they held. It was like a flood of kaiila and riders, weapons flourishing, that broke and piled against the wagons, the rear ranks pressing forward on those before them. Some of the rear ranks actually climbed fallen and struggling comrades and leaped over the wagons to the other side, where they were cut down by archers and dragged from their kaiila to be flung beneath the knives of free Tuchuk women. At a distance of little more than a dozen feet thousands of arrows were poured into the trapped Paravaci and yet they pressed forward, on and over their brethren, and then arrows spent, we met them on the wagons themselves with lances in our hands, thrusting them back and down. About a pasang distant we could see new forces of the Paravaci forming on the crest of a sweeping gradient. The sound of their bosk horns was welcome to us, signaling the retreat of those at the wagons.
       Bloody, covered with sweat, gasping, we saw the living Paravaci draw back, falling back between the newly forming lines on the gradient above. I issued orders swiftly and exhausted men poured from beneath and between the wagons to haul as many of the fallen kaiila and riders as possible from the wagons, that there might not be a wall of dying animals and men giving access to the height of our wagons.
       Scarcely had we cleared the ground before the wagons when the Paravaci bosk horns sounded again and another wave of kaiila and riders, lances set, raced towards us. Four times they charged thus and four times we held them back. My men and those of Harold had now been decimated and there were few that had not lost blood. I estimated that there was scarcely a quarter of those living who had ridden with us to the defense of the herds and wagons. Once again Harold and I issued our orders that any wishing to depart might now do so. Again no man moved.
       "Look," cried an archer, pointing to the gradient. There we could see new thousands forming, the standards of Hundreds and Thousands taking up their position.
       "It is the Paravaci main body," said Harold. "It is the end." — Nomads of Gor, pages 257-263.

When it seems that all is to be lost, the Tuchuks are saved — by the Kataii and Kassars, who decide that it was prudent after all, to join in the battle against the traitorous Paravaci.

I looked to the left and right over the torn, bloody barricade of wagons, at the remains of my men, wounded and exhausted, many of them lying on the barricade or on the ground behind it, trying to gain but a moment's respite. Free women, and even some Turian slave girls, went to and fro, bringing water and, here and there, where there was point in it, binding wounds. Some of the Tuchuks began to sing the Blue Sky Song, the refrain of which is that though I die, yet there will be the bosk, the grass and sky.
       I stood with Harold on a planked platform fixed across the wagon box of the wagon at our center, whose domed frame work had been torn away. Together we looked out over the field. We watched the milling of kaiila and riders in the distance, the movement of standards. "We have done well," said Harold.
       "Yes," I said, "I think so."
       We heard the bosk horns of the Paravaci signaling to the assembled Thousands.
       "I wish you well," said Harold.
       I turned and smiled at him. "I wish you well," I said.
       Then again we heard the bosk horns and the Paravaci, in vast ranks, like sweeping crescents, like steel scythes of men and animals and arms, far extending beyond our own lines, began to move slowly towards us, gaining steadily in momentum and speed with each traversed yard of stained prairie. Harold and I, and those of our men that remained, stood with the wagons, watching the nearing waves of warriors, observing the moment when the chain face guards of the Paravaci helmets were thrown forward, the moment when the lances, like that of a single man, were leveled. We could now hear the drumming of the paws of the kaiila, growing ever more rapid and intense, the squealing of animals here and there along the line, the rustle of weapons and accouterments.
       "Listen!" cried Harold.
       I listened, but seemed to hear only the maddeningly intensifying thunder of the Paravaci kaiila sweeping towards us, but then I heard, from the far left and right, the sound of distant bosk horns.
       "Bosk horns!" cried Harold.
       "What does it matter?" I asked. I wondered how many Paravaci there could possibly be. I watched the nearing warriors, lances ready, the swiftness of the charge hurtling into full career.
       "Look!" cried Harold, sweeping his hand to the left and right.
       My heart sank. Suddenly rising over the crest of rolling hills, like black floods, from both the left and the right, I saw on racing kaiila what must have been thousands of warriors, thousands upon thousands. I unsheathed my sword. I supposed it would he the last time I would do so.
       "Look!" cried Harold.
       "I see," I said, "what does it matter?"
       "Look!" he screamed, leaping up and down.
       And I looked and saw suddenly and my heart stopped beating and then I uttered a wild cry for from the left, riding with the Thousands sweeping over the hills, I saw the standard of the Yellow Bow, and on the right, flying forward with the hurtling Thousands, its leather streaming behind its pole, I saw the standard of the Three-Weigthed Bola.
       "Kataii!" screamed Harold, hugging me. "Kassars!"
       I stood dumbfounded on the planking and saw the two great wedges of the Kataii and the Kassars close like tongs on the trapped Paravaci, taking them in the unprotected flanks, crushing the ranks before them with the weight of their charge. And even the sky seemed dark for a moment as, from the left and right, thousands upon thousands of arrows fell like dark rain among the startled, stumbling, turning Paravaci. — Nomads of Gor, pages 263-264.

Tarl and Harold later meet with the other tribe leaders and discover the fate of the Paravaci adn the reasonings why these tribes joined to help the Tuchuks.

It was not until late that afternoon that I met with Hakimba of the Kataii and Conrad of the Kassars. On the field we met and, as comrades in arms, we embraced one another.
       "We have our own wagons," said Hakimba, "but yet we are of the Wagon Peoples."
       "It is so, too, with us," said Conrad, he of the Kassars.
       "I regret only," I said, "that I sent word to Kamchak and even now he has withdrawn his men from Turia and is returning to the wagons."
       "No," said Hakimba, "we sent riders to Turia even as we left our own camp. Kamchak knew of our movements long before you."
       "And of ours," said Conrad, "for we too sent him word thinking it well to keep him informed in these matters."
       "For a Kataii and a Kassar," said Harold, "you two are not bad fellows." And then he added. "See that you do not ride off with any of our bosk or women."
       "The Paravaci left their camp largely unguarded," said Hakimba. "Their strength was brought here."
       I laughed.
       "Yes," said Conrad, "most of the Paravaci bosk are now in the herds of the Kataii and Kassars."
       "Reasonably evenly divided I trust," remarked Hakimba.
       "I think so," said Conrad. "If not, we can always iron matters out with a bit of bosk raiding."
       "That is true," granted Hakimba, the yellow and red scars wrinkling into a grin on his lean, black face.
       "When the Paravaci — those who escaped us — return to their wagons," remarked Conrad, "they will find a surprise in store for them."
       "Oh?" I inquired.
       "We burned most of their wagons — those we could," said Hakimba.
       "And their goods and women?" inquired Harold.
       Those that pleased us both of goods and women," remarked Conrad, "we carried off — of goods that did not please us, we burned them — of women that did not please us, we left them stripped and weeping among the wagons."
       "This will mean war," I said, "for many years among the Wagon Peoples."
       "No," said Conrad, "the Paravaci will want back their bosk and women — and perhaps they may have them — for a price." "You are wise," said Harold.
       "I do not think they will slay bosk or join with Turians again," said Hakimba. — Nomads of Gor, pages 264-265.

Later, Tarl inquires of Kamchak his reasons for not abandoning Turia to fight against the Paravaci. It seems, once a gambler, always a gambler — even in the affairs of his own people.

I did ask Kamchak why, considering the probabilities that if the Kataii and the Kassars would not have come to the aid of the Tuchuks, he had not abandoned Turia and returned with his main forces to the wagons. "It was a wager," said he, "which I had made with myself."
       "A dangerous wager," I had remarked.
       "Perhaps," he said, "but I think I know the Kataii and the Kassars."
       "The stakes were high," I said.
       "They are higher than you know," he said.
       "I do not understand," I said.
       "The wager is not yet done," he said, but would speak no more. — Nomads of Gor, page 269.

Remember what I said about some things the Wagon Peoples do in battle that may surprise you? How about poisoning water supplies? Yes, that and more… And Tarl learns why Kamchak spares Turia from total ruination.

Also, Kamchak, to my pleasure but surprise, had had his men drive verr flocks and some Turian bosk after the refugees. I asked him about this, for Tuchuk warfare, as I understood it, was complete, leaving no living thing in its wake, killing even domestic animals and poisoning wells. Certain cities, burned by the Wagon Peoples more than a hundred years ago, were still said to be desolate ruins between their broken walls, silent save for the wind and the occasional footfall of a prowling sleen hunting for urts.
       "The Wagon Peoples need Turia," said Kamchak, simply.
       I was thunderstruck. Yet it seemed to me true, for Turia was the main avenue of contact between the Wagon Peoples and the other cities of Gor, the gate through which tradegoods flowed to the wilderness of grasses that was the land of the riders of the kaiila and the herders of bosk. Without Turia, to be sure, the Wagon Peoples would undoubtedly be the poorer.
       "And," said Kamchak, "the Wagon Peoples need an enemy."
       "I do not understand," I said.
       "Without an enemy," said Kamchak, "they will never stand together — and if they fail to stand together, someday they will fall." — Nomads of Gor, page 270.

The Election of the Ubar San

Kamchak's brilliance and wagering in the lives of his peoples was seen by others with such awe, that a Ubar San is named, one hundred some odd years after the last Ubar San. Kamchak also then decreed that the Wagon Peoples, in times of war, shall take up arms together to ensure their freedom and life on the plains.

Suddenly there was commotion at the door and three men, followed by some others, burst into the hall. The first was Conrad of the Kassars, and with him were Hakimba of the Kataii and a third man I did not know, but who was Paravaci. Behind them were some others, among whom I saw Albrecht of the Kassars, and behind him, to my astonishment, clad in brief leather, not collared, was Tenchika, who held a small bundle tied in cloth in her right hand. Conrad, Hakimba and the Paravaci strode to the throne of Kamchak, but none of them, as befitted Ubars of their peoples, knelt. Conrad spoke.
       "The Omens have been taken," he said.
       "They have been read well," said Hakimba.
       "For the first time in more than a hundred years," said the Paravaci, "there is a Ubar San, a One Ubar, Master of the Wagons!" Kamchak stood up and threw from his shoulders the purple of the Turian Ubar and stood in the black leather of a Tuchuk.
       As one man the three Ubars raised their arms to him. "Kamchak," they cried, "Ubar San!" The cry was taken up by all in the room, even myself. "Kamchak! Ubar San!"
       Kamchak held forth his hands and the room was quiet. "Each of you," he said, "the Kassars, the Kataii, the Paravaci have your own bosk and your own wagons — live so — but in time of war when there are those who would divide us — when there are those who would fight us and threaten our wagons and our bosk and women — our plains, our land — then let us war together — and none — will stand against the Wagon Peoples — we may live alone but we are each of us of the Wagons and that which divides us is less than that which unites us — we each of us know that it is wrong to slay bosk and that it is right to be proud and to have courage and to defend our wagons and our women — we know that it is right to be strong and to be free — and so it is together that we will be strong and we will be free. Let this be pledged."
       The three men came to Kamchak and he and they placed their hands together. "It is pledged," they said. "It is pledged." Then they stood back. "All hail Kamchak," they cried, "Ubar San!"
       "All hail Kamchak," rang throughout the hall, "Kamchak Ubar San!" — Nomads of Gor, pages 331-335.

 

 

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.

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