Free Nomads of Gor by John Norman

sensed that once this man might have ridden six
      hundred pasangs in a day, living on a mouthful of water and
      a handful of bask meat kept soft and warm between his
      saddle and the back of the kaiila; that there might have been
      few as swift with the quiva, as delicate with the lance, as
      he; that he had known the wars and the winters of the
      prairie; that he had met animals and men, as enemies, and
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      had lived; such a man did not need ceremony; such a man, I
      sensed, was Kutaituchik, called Ubar of the Tuchuks.
      And yet was I sad as I looked upon him, for I sensed that
      for this man there could no longer be the saddle of the
      kaiila, the whirling of the rope and bole, the hunt and the
      war. Now, from the right side of his mouth, thin, black and
      wet, there emerged the chewed string of kanda, a quarter of
      an inch at a time, slowly. The drooping eyes, glazed, regard-
      ed us. For him there could no longer be the swift races
      across the frozen prairie; the meetings in arms; even the
      dancing to the sky about a fire of bask dung.
      Kamchak and I waited until the string had been chewed.
      When Kamchak had finished he held out his right hand
      and a man, not a Tuchuk, who wore the green robes of the
      Caste of Pysicians, thrust in his hand a goblet of bask horn;
      it contained some yellow fluid. Angrily, not concealing his
      distaste, Kutaituchik drained the goblet and then hurled it
      from him.
      He then shook himself and regarded Kamchak.
      He grinned a Tuchuk grin. "How are the bosk?" he asked.
      "As well as may be expected," said Kamchak.
      "Are the quivas sharp?"
      "One tries to keep them so," said Kamchak.
      `'It is important to keep the axles of the wagons greased,"
      observed Kutaituchik.
      "Yes," said Kamchak, "I believe so."
      Kutaituchik suddenly reached out and he and Kamchak,
      laughing, clasped hands.
      Then Kutaituchik sat back and clapped his hands together
      sharply twice. "Bring the she-slave," he said.
      I turned to see a stout man-at-arms step to the dais,
      carrying in his arms, folded in the furs of the scarlet larl, a
      girl.
      I heard the small sound of a chain.
      The man-at-arms placed Elizabeth Cardwell before us, and
      Kutaituchik, and drew away the pelt of the scarlet larl.
      Elizabeth Cardwell had been cleaned and her hair combed.
      She was slim, lovely.
      The man-at-arms arranged her before us.
      The thick leather collar, I noted, was still sewn about her
      throat.
      Elizabeth Cardwell, though she did not know it, knelt
      before us in the position of the Pleasure Slave.
      She looked wildly about her and then dropped her head.
      Aside from the collar on her throat she, like the other girls
      on the platform, wore only the Sirik.
      Kamchak gestured to me.
      "Speak," I said to her.
      She lifted her head and then said, almost inaudibly, trem-
      bling in the restraint of the Sirik. "La Kajira" Then she

  dropped her head.
      Kutaituchik seemed satisfied.
      "It is the only Gorean she knows," Kamchak informed
      him.
      "For the time," said Kutaituchik, "it is enough." He then
      looked at the man-at-arms. "Have you fed her?" he asked.
      The man nodded.
      "Good," said Kutaituchik, "the she-slave will need her
      strength."
      The interrogation of Elizabeth Cardwell took hours. Need-
      less to say, I served as translator.
      The interrogation, to my surprise, was conducted largely
      by Kamchak, rather than Kutaituchik, called Ubar of the
      Tuchuks. Kamchak's questions were detailed, numerous,
      complex. He returned to certain questions at various times, in
      various ways, connecting subtly her responses to one with
      those of another; he wove a sophisticated net of inquiry
      about the girl, delicate and fine; I marveled at his skill; had
      there been