Quarry of gor, p.31
Quarry of Gor, page 31
On the game ship, as it plied its way through the cold, choppy waters to the deemed “Skerry of Lars,” I knelt at the knee of the seated Bruno of Torcadino. I was not the only kajira kneeling amongst the benches on which sat the masters. I noted seven. Each, like myself, was front-braceleted. On the other hand, I was the only one who was leashed. Two seemed noticeably agitated. The others seemed tranquil, or even curious. Some had presumably made this short voyage before, and others not. There were some forty men on board this particular game ship, one of several coming and going from and to the Southern Gate, not counting the oarsmen, two to an oar, the rudder men, and he whom I took to be the captain. The passengers were diverse in attitude and mien, and varied in apparent wealth and status. Yet they sat side by side, speaking to one another, and exchanging views. The rank, distance, and hierarchy common to Gorean society seemed in these crowded precincts to be abated or ignored. In sporting events, there can be a leveling, one founded on wagering, a shared community of uncertainty and anticipation, a fellowship in a democracy of risk. Many of the male passengers seemed well at ease, and I suspected that they had made the journey before, perhaps several times; others seemed curious, or animated or eager; it may have been their first trip; some others, though few, seemed tense, as though something of moment might be afoot, profit or loss, or perhaps even ruin or redemption. Some conversed, lightly, others with marked intent. Some perused the kneeling slaves, for few men are unaware of the presence of visible, purchasable beauty. I pretended not to notice, and straightened my body, pleased. “Slave,” whispered Bruno of Torcadino. Some men carried sheets on small boards, sheets on which were lists or, at least, characters arranged in dense columns. Sometimes they conferred with one another, and underlined or circled given lines with a marking stick. Two men on board were Players, members of the checkered caste. They were playing “speech kaissa,” or “boardless kaissa,” announcing to one another their moves and countermoves.
“So I was free!” I thought.
How I hated Addison Steele, whose slave I wished to be!
What an arrogant, uncompromising beast and master he was. What could a woman be to such a man but a slave? What such men do to us! How they treat us! How they own us! How on Earth I had dreamed of such men, and now I was on Gor, where they were abundant, helpless, in a collar!
But how was it that he had come to the apartment of Bruno of Torcadino? Had Bruno of Torcadino, to assuage my needs, as one might see to the feeding and watering of a hungering and thirsting animal, and not wishing to bother with the matter himself, merely accosted a stranger on the street, and referred him to his apartment? Surely that seemed unlikely. And far more unlikely yet that such a stranger would be Addison Steele, who on Earth, as I understood it, contemptuous and displeased with me, had first called me to the attention of Gorean slavers, a possibly suitable prospect for the sales block. For what else might I have been any good? So what then might be the connection or relationship between Bruno of Torcadino and Addison Steele? It did not seem to me that there could be such a connection or relationship, but yet it must somehow exist. I recalled the miseries and tortures to which Addison Steele had brought me, the tunic of fire and the noxious fumes of burning powders. Why had he done so? Cared he nothing for me? How pleased I was that I had revealed nothing of the former Lady Julia Leta to my captors! How dishonorable he must be to have subjected an innocent, helpless slave to so frightening and painful an interrogation. And how disappointed I had been with him, and how ashamed I had been for him, when I had discovered he was involved with the hateful Dorna of Tharna, and perhaps another, in a clandestine scheme to seize the former Lady Julia Leta of Ar and return her, doubtless for some reward, to a stern, vindictive justice far beyond her deserts. It seemed so cruel and uncalled for. I did not care for the haughty Adraste, but I had no wish for her to be suspended naked in a dangling cage in Ar’s Street of Coins, perhaps for years, as a testimonial to a sure and implacable justice and a warning to any who might otherwise be tempted to follow her embezzling example. How could Addison Steele be involved in so ugly, unworthy, and perhaps dishonorable, a project? How wrong I had been about him! And how I longed nonetheless for his touch, and the clasp of his arms! I must dismiss him from my mind! I would do so! I must! But Bruno of Torcadino, too, I was sure, despite his tales of a fictive Felitia Thaliana of Besnit, wished to acquire the former Lady Julia Leta of Ar, and obtain some reward contingent on her delivery to Ar. But now I must wonder if Addison Steele had abandoned the Lady Dorna of Tharna and her possible colleague, and had joined Bruno of Torcadino, or if he was feigning the service of each, thus betraying both. It did not seem likely to me that Bruno of Torcadino and the Lady Dorna of Tharna, and her possible colleague, would join forces. Each I suspected would be inimical to the other, easily to the point of knives and poison. And, in either case, if serving one and betraying the other, I feared that the life of Addison Steele might be in dire peril.
Then I remembered that he was nothing to me, and that I hated him.
But he had, I gathered, spared my life, refraining from casting me from the delta wall to tharlarion.
“But that mercy,” I thought, “if it be a mercy, would be typical of Gorean men.” It was substantially meaningless. Gorean men do not cast slaves to tharlarion, no more than other valuable, domestic beasts, such as tarsks and verr.
Then I hated him, again.
“So I was free!” I thought. “Free! Consider that, and fume! So Bruno of Torcadino thought so little of me that he would not even charge a tarsk-bit for my use! And that arrangement was accepted without demure as appropriate by Addison Steele!”
I hated men, and wanted to kneel before them, naked, in their chains, and gratefully press my lips to their feet.
At that point the game ship drew up beside the wharf.
We had arrived at the Skerry of Lars.
Chapter Thirty
The Skerry of Lars;
The Red-and-Yellow Enclosure;
I Am Informed as to the Gambles of Blades
Leashed, I heeled Bruno of Torcadino closely.
“Watch the crutch, cripple,” warned a man.
“Beg elsewhere,” said another, brushing forward.
But I feared Bruno of Torcadino had not come to this place to beg.
It was noisy and crowded on the islet deemed ‘The Skerry of Lars’. An atmosphere of carnival or holiday prevailed.
I cried out, softly, humiliated. A slave must expect, and endure, such attentions.
There were several structures lining this muddy street, most the size of huts, shedlike, brightly painted, with backward sloping roofs, to carry rain water away from the street. Narrow apertures, trimmed, most now shuttered, served as windows. The doors of these small structures were fitted into doorways which were also trimmed. Some of the doors were closed with colorful signature knots. Most of these small structures, I assumed, were rented to visitors to the islet, some of whom might wish to have private quarters for an Ahn or so, or perhaps, even, to spend the night.
Farther down the street, perhaps a quarter of a pasang away, I could see the red-and-yellow walls of some sort of enclosure.
It was toward that structure that we seemed to be making our way.
Though there was no lessening of color and brightness along the street, a change in structures was now coming about. Most were now larger, and several might have served as dormitories. Several were open, with waist-high, flat counters. These supplied varieties of food and drink. There were also restaurants where a more leisurely clientele could avail itself of tables. One shop specialized in both the buying and selling of garmenture and footwear. There seemed to me little point in such a shop here. I also saw two paga taverns and a kal-da shop.
Of most interest, to most I gathered, were the large public boards covered with writing, which writing was occasionally changed by a scribe, walking back and forth on a platform, with a sponge and marking stick. I gathered from the conversations, comments, observations, and such, that these boards listed contestants, matches, and odds. Bruno of Torcadino stopped before more than one of these boards. Then, finally, he looked up at one, said, “Good,” and then turned again toward the red-and-yellow structure at the end of the street. Near these boards, at long tables, men stood in lines, paying money and receiving slips of paper in exchange. Bruno of Torcadino passed these tables. “We will wait until the stadium,” he said. “Things can change from day to day, from Ahn to Ahn. Fitness and tonicity, given results, news, surprise, fear, confidence, and such, can vary within Ehn. One who knows for what to look can predict much. It is more expensive but one can utilize the commercial runners, almost to the inspection of the blades.”
I understood little of this.
One thing surprised me. I had noticed no free women about, either on the game ship or on the islet itself. I was not disappointed, of course, for, as a kajira, I much feared free women. Indeed, I was terrified of them. They much hated us, for our attractiveness to men, I suppose, and we, half naked in our collars, weak, helpless, and vulnerable, unable to resist, were much at their mercy. I wished that the masters would take them in hand, strip, mark, and collar them, and make them all slaves, no different from us, as apparently had the men of Tharna. In Tharna, as I may have mentioned, only one woman is free, Lara, its Tatrix.
One did not need a ticket to enter the enclosure. The ticket for the game ship, which, I think, is partially subsidized by the entrepreneurs of the Skerry of Lars, is, in effect, an admission fee to the islet. The entrepreneurs, on the other hand, do very well in a variety of ways. They rent the huts, like inn rooms, charge for shops and concessions, tax purchases, and, in particular, charge a handling fee for processing wagers and maintaining the public boards. To be sure, much wagering, as one would suppose, takes place amongst individuals.
The walls of the enclosure were not of stone or wood, but of brightly painted red-and-yellow canvas, suspended from high poles. Within the enclosure were circular tiers of wooden benches. There must have been seating for at least two to three thousand individuals. In the center of the enclosure, below the tiers of benches, sunken in the earth, was a wooden-walled pit, floored with sand, of some forty yards in diameter. Wooden steps, associated with aisles, led down into the pit. There were also some doors in the wooden walls themselves, connecting presumably with tunnels, through which individuals might come and go. When we entered, the stands were only partially occupied. Bruno of Torcadino took a seat on the lowest bench, and on one of the aisles. In this way he had convenient access to steps leading down to the sand. Seating was not reserved. I knelt at his knee. Even this early there were two hawkers in evidence, though they were now conversing and not yet moving about, one with small cups strung on a cord and a bulging shoulder-strap bota, now laid beside him on a bench, and another with a tray of assorted offerings, dried larma slices, nuts, dates, tastas, and other edibles, the tray with its straps also now resting on the bench. “There,” said Bruno of Torcadino, gesturing up and behind us, to the side, “is the box for announcers and officials.” “Wagers, Master?” asked a fellow with a red-and-yellow cap, and a red-and-yellow jacket, carrying papers and a mark board. “Presently,” said Bruno of Torcadino. Then he turned to me. “That is a runner,” he said. I nodded. “See that fellow to the right, across the aisle?” he asked. I nodded. “See the cap,” he said, “two red slashes. He has stood twice in the sand, victory on his blade.” I nodded, again. I wished I was back in the apartment, even close-shackled to a ring. But Bruno of Torcadino seldom let me out of his sight. “Look there,” he said, “to the sand.” An individual was now on the sand, a young fellow, having doubtless entered upon the sand from one of the doors in the wooden wall. He was looking about, sometimes shading his eyes and lifting his head, and sometimes looking down, as though studying the ground. Occasionally, in one place or another, he seemed to scuff sand or press his foot down. “That is Alan, of the House of Hesius,” said Bruno of Torcadino. “He is testing the sand and marking the sun. It is desirable to keep the sun at your back. There are boards beneath the sand. Footing can vary considerably from one place to another. Should the sand be too deep it is harder to move within it. One is slowed. If it is too shallow, a foot may slip.” I knew nothing of an Alan of the House of Hesius, of course. I did see the individual withdraw, exiting through one of the doors in the wooden wall. What I most remarked about him was what appeared to be very unusual hair. It was long, and bound back, tightly. It was red like flame, but parted with a broad band, or stripe, of blond hair on the left side. I would have supposed that such an individual, with such hair, would have sought to conceal its oddity from public view. Surely it would have been simple enough to dye one’s hair or even shave one’s head. At the very least one might have recourse to a hood or mariner’s cap. “You are smiling,” said Bruno of Torcadino. “I would not do so. That is one of the swiftest, keenest swords I have seen in dozens of cities, or on the islands.”
Before proceeding, I think some expository remarks might be in order, in the light of which certain matters to follow may be better comprehended.
Many Goreans, like those of my former world, are fond of gambling, and this penchant for risk and effortless profit, with its excitements and uncertainty, takes many forms. There is little on which one cannot bet, the turning of cards and the fates of small, marked stones, the trickle of rain drops down a polished shield, the number of petals on a dina or talendar. Goreans bet on the outcomes of kaissa matches, not only at the great fairs or the city championships, but in the alleys, squares, taverns, and streets. What play, what declamation, what dance, what song, what song drama will be awarded a city’s prize, a golden tripod and its sack of coins? Who is most skilled with the bow, the peasant bow or the riflelike crossbow, or the casting of darts or javelins? And races are popular, those of slaves, male and female, of the lofty kaiila, of tharlarion of various sorts, four-legged and two-legged, ponderous and fleet, and of the broad-winged, fierce, mighty tarns. Breeding lines are often kept in such matters. Breeding fees for champion animals can be exorbitant. There are also, of course, as one would expect, contests of physical combat, such as those of wrestling and boxing, fists often wrapped in the dreadful cesti, and weapon combat, amongst which would be numbered the Gambles of Blades.
Gambling amongst Goreans, as amongst those of my former world, can range from a pastime and a pleasure, something enjoyable and dismissible, to an obsession and an agony, a compulsive destructive force very much akin to an addiction, such as that to the dangerous and powerful drug, kanda.
The Gambles of Blades, as noted, is a form of weapon combat. One venue for such combat is the Skerry of Lars. Whereas there is, as I understand it, no standardization amongst such venues, and their activities, I would suppose that what occurred that afternoon on the Skerry of Lars might not be untypical. We shall suppose so. There was a single ring, so to speak, and the order of events was threefold. Matches in the first and second phase are posted on the public boards, and are followed by intermissions. The first phase, which is the longest and most anticipated phase, consists of “Fencing Matches.” It is limited to registered swordsmen, professionals, commonly, but not always. associated with a “House,” of which more will be said later. The second phase consists of “Blood Matches,” which are, essentially, private duels. Some of these duels are legitimate duels, following upon sensed infringements of honor, disparaging remarks pertaining to a free woman, insults, and such. Others are rather engineered duels, fought for winnings, the enhancement of a reputation, and such. The third phase consists of “Challenge Matches,” largely open at the discretion of the officials, in which the sand is, as it is said, “open.” The “Fencing Matches” are “First Blood” matches. Professional swordsmen are not interested in killing one another, but defeating one another, outdoing one another, particularly with style and grace. The winner is the first to draw blood, as adjudicated by the judges on the sand. The delivery of a mortal blow seldom occurs, and would almost certainly be an accident, given the implicit understandings involved. The “Blood Matches” and the “Challenge Matches” may be either “First Blood” or “Last Blood” matches. “Last Blood” matches are duels to the death.
The colors of the Gambles of Blades are red and yellow, red for blood, yellow for gold.
“Houses” often participate in, and are often featured in, the Gambles of Blades, which “Houses” are itinerant organizations which have no essential relationship to particular Home Stones, cities, regions, or districts. They are essentially travelling teams of swordsmen which move about and participate in one arena or theater or another. Promoters vie for, and bid for, Houses, particularly well-known, successful Houses, to participate in their games. The Houses will normally spend several days in a given venue and share in the profits of the venue.
