Gifts

I have received two gifts recently, and both mean much to me. One, because it came from something that I did in a way, and the other, more spontaneous, but equally as treasured by me.


Not too long after the weaver Aiyana came to the fires, we had sat one night and I told stories. The young woman loves stories, and I do have a few. I told her of the Perfect Heart, which is one of my favorites, and I think now, one of hers' too. It is a lovely story, with much meaning. Evidently she has been thinking upon the story quite a bit. At the stream the other day, she gave me a gift. It is a heart. From what she said, she has woven a blanket of hearts, and once it was done, she had unraveled parts of it, each section being a heart, and has given these separate sections of the whole to people that mean something to her. I found the sentiment beautiful, and I will treasure my part of it, always. In fact, that first day, I tucked it inside my tunic and wore it close to my own heart. It now resides in my little wooden chest of treasures, where I can take it out, run my fingers over it and think of the love and attention that went into it. I shall treasure it always, not just for the physical gift of it, but more for the emotions behind it. Thank you Aiyana. Thank you very much.


The second was more spontaneous, I think, but just as important to me. I have only seen the young spex Isu very few times. She seems very quiet, and into her own world most of the time. There is nothing wrong with this, it is simply part of her personality I think, due to her gift. She had come to the fires, and her little fingers were deftly weaving blades of grass. I think part of it may be from nervousness, and maybe part of it is because she sees things in the grass? I am never quite sure with those of the harsuspex clan, just what is going on in their minds, and to be honest, not sure if I want to. Soon, it was only she and I at the fires, talking mostly about nothing in particular. I watched as the blades of grass turned into a smallish square in her hands. Suddenly, she held it out to me, saying she wanted me to have it, that I could set my mug on it or something. I was touched. It was a simple thing, a spontaneous gesture, but it touched me. I hope to spend more time with her, to get to know her better. As for now, I have the coaster in my wagons, and as I write this, my mug of tea rests on it.


Two gifts...........both treasured..

Leaving Klima Behind

'I sent,' said Hassan, Haroun, high Pasha of Kavars, 'a thousand kaiila, a thousand lances, supplies, to Klima. I thought such men might prove useful.'T'Zshal raised the lance. The kaiila reared. 'We shall not forget the Kavars, Pasha,' said T'Zshal.I feared that Hassan had made a terrible mistake. Who would dare to arm such men?---Tribesmen of Gor, p 327

It had been many nights since Rook had talked about his time at Klima, and much had happened to keep them from spending time together. The night was cool, Loch was at the scaring wagons with a warrior that he had just scarred that afternoon. She had sat for a time playing her flute for Tug. The boy was restless and refusing to sleep. Rook finally gathered him into his lap, and began to tell pick up hi story, letting his deep, rumbling voice to lull the child. As he spoke, she fixed the tea, putting a good measure of sugar in each small glass, then sat them on a tray by his knee. Settling down, she pulled the furs closer, stared into the flames of the fire and listened as he spoke.


Time came when I was chosen to work on the surface. Perhaps chosen is a poor choice of words, for many do not want to work out in the heat under the unmerciful rays of the Central Fire, but it was preferred to being in the abyss that was the pits. I was put to working the pumps. Men die working the pumps, it is arduous work, unprotected from the heat, and the stench of the salt was still there. I think it simply seeps deep into your pores and becomes a part of you after time. But, I was in the open for what it was worth. There is not much to see. Klima sets in a vast, shallow bowl in the Tahari. Even what buildings there are, are constructed of white mud bricks, covered with a white plaster. When you look around, there is nothing to see by these buildings and salt and heat. There are no homes, for there are no families there. No women, not even female slaves, no children, only the men that are slaves to the salt. Few animals, no grasses, no trees, nothing. What food an water there is has to be brought in by caravans, that are led there by special, trusted men that know the way. There are no roads into Klima, no marked paths, only the desert. The only animals that you will see on the surface are a verr that is particular to the place, that is used to carry water, and precious little water. The water from the brine pits is not drinkable, even after the largest portion of the salt is removed, it is still poisonous to drink.


But with all of this, the surface was better than the pits for me, but not for everyone. Many died at the pumps, some from the heat, some simply went mad and ran off into the desert to die there of thirst and hunger. I will say I was tempted, but something stopped me. So, I worked, I grew stronger, and withdrew more into myself, dwelling in my own mind, had I not, I would not have survived.


Once the salt is extracted from the waters, it is spread on long tables to dry, then there are other tables where it is molded into cylinders which are sent to the rest of the world. Caravans bring in the supplies, and leave with the salt, the white gold of the Tahari.


I heard tales of places in the desert, places called kasbah's where the Salt Ubar resided and bargained with the merchants. It was said that even the merchants bowed their head to him, for he was more powerful than any of them. These kasbah things are called Oasis. Oasis of the Nine Wells, Oasis of the Four Palms, The Stones of Silver, The Sleen Sands, just to name a few. In these places there are deep,fresh water wells, that serve the caravans and the rest of the desert. In these places there is life.


About the time that I was brought to the surface, there were whispers of unrest. Whispers of the salt slaves of Klima wishing to be masters of their own fate. And this unrest became an instrument of my leaving. A man named T'Zal who was one of the Salt Deputies came one day and pointed to me and a few others and we were pulled off the work we were doing. He was riding a kaiila, the first that I had seen since I started the march to Klima almost three full turnings of the season before. It was not exactly like ours. The desert kaiila are all lighter, more of a tan in color, they have webbing between their claws, and they suckle their young like the bosk do. And before you ask, yes, I did get a chance to drink kaiila milk. It has a reddish tint to it and is salty. As I said, the salt gets into your pores, most probably the kaiila too. But he was on a kaiila, and that was a welcome sight.


We chosen ones were taken aside and he singled me out, asked me if I was the one they called the Tuchuk. All I could do at this point was nod. He then asked me if I could fight. Again I nodded. It was then that he dismounted, took off the garment that he wore and kicked me in the jaw. I took it that he wanted to see if I could fight, so I did. I will not say that it was the most difficult match I had ever fought, but it was close. I got the impression that he intended to kill me, and that was not happening. Finally, when we were both bloody and exhausted, he stood back, wiped the blood from his mouth and laughed, saying that I would do.


All in all, there were about a thousand of us chosen, and we began to train for war. I was told that it was a man named Haroun that sent what we needed. Within a few days we had better food, weapons and kaiila, and training began in earnest. Since it was high summer, we trained mostly at night when it was somewhat cooler. I learned to use the lance of the region, and a curved sword called a scimitar. It is a deadly weapon, and it is used to fight not only on the ground, but also from the backs of kaiila. A formidable weapon.


And what were we to fight for? The salt, and the rights to it. It was during this time that I learned more of something I had only heard stories about, the Kurri. But they are a story for another time.


In the Tahari there are tribes, just like there are on the plains, and they get along just about as well as we do. The two main ones are the Aretai and the Kavar. Each of these is made up of smaller tribes that they have conquered. They are nomads, much like us, and each time a people is conquered, it becomes an ally of the ones that have conquered it. The Aretai and the Kavar are always fighting one another. And the Kurri had turned a man named Abdul, who was the brother of the head of the Kavar into one of their agents. He infiltrated the kasbah of the Salt Ubar, deposed him, set himself up as Ubar and endeavored to start a war between these two tribes, to bring unrest to the area to protect something the Kurri had hidden in the desert. The plot was discovered, and the tribes united to drive Abdul out, and this quirk of their fate, is what gained me my freedom.


A man named Haroun,who was Kavar, was the one that sent the kaiila and weapons to Klima, so that we would aid them in their fight against this Abdul. We were trained and led into battle by T'Zal, who was basically a good man, a warrior, a slave to the salt. We marched upon Abdul, and the battle lasted several days. We were outnumbered almost two to one, but they were mercenaries, and we were slaves that had little to lose and much to gain. In the end, we were victorious.


When things settled, the men from Klima prepared to return, which confused me somewhat. I asked T'Zal why they were returning. He told me that they were slaves to the salt, slaves to the deseert. They had plans to dethrone the other salt ubars, to govern themselves and take over their own destiny in the salt. The men of Klima had been offered places with Haroun, but had respectfully refused the offer, preferring to return to Klima to confederate the salt districts. I have no doubts that the succeeded for T'Zal was a leader. A slave, but a leader.


I had fought well, and was given my choice, to leave or to return with them. You may not believe this, but at that moment, I had shared much with those men, and the choice was difficult, but I did choose to leave. When I told T'Zal this, he dismounted and called for one of the young salt boys, who are slaves to the salt pashas. The boy brought a small box of salt. T'zal took a small measure of it and placed it upon the back of my right wrist, he then did the same to his. He then took my arm and licked the salt from it, in return I did the same. He told me that we had shared salt, and that if ever I needed them, the men of Klima would come to my aid.


As I watched them ride off, there was a feeling of loss in me. I did not wish to return, but then again, I had survived, and I had great respect for these men.


Outfitted with food, water, a burnoose and a kaiila, I left the Tahari, making my way to Tor, and then back to Kasra. I dwelled there for several days, until I saw the one I sought. That same peasant that had been the agent of my ending up in Klima. So many nights, I had dreamed of the things that I would do to him were I to ever have the chance, but when once I saw him, another thought came to me.


I followed him, and in the night, I rendered him unconscious. The next morning, he awoke to find himself hooded, naked, and on his way to Klima. I doubt that he made it far.


As for me, I left. Turned the kaiila away from the Tahari and began to wander again aimlessly. This time, I rode towards the mountains. I had never seen mountains before and they looked green, lush and cool, and I still was not ready to return home. I was not the same man that had left here, and I needed to find out who the man was that I was at that time.

The Ya Ya Sisterhood of the Kaiila

It had been an odd evening at the fires with much going on. As the night grew late, she had found herself at them alone with Leonette and Akasha, talking of the kaiila. Some basic pointers were given, such as keeping a change of clothing at the clan wagons, so that when one of the unruly beasts nipped you, and tore your skirt off your flanks, you did not have to try and sneak through camp to your own wagons for a change of clothing. A very, very important thing for a woman that works with kaiila to know. Now, this brought to light a problem that Leonette has. She has no extra clothes. She was more than please that before she could even jump in, that Akasha beat her to the punch, offering to send some things to her wagons for her.


This was a good thing to see. As it progressed, it was decided that they would both send things to Leonette's wagon, and that kasra would go and help her to alter them to fit. Akasha's offer made the woman rise in her estimations. She did not have to do this, she had no history with Leonette, but the unselfish way that she made the offer brought a smile to Cana's face.


The more time that they spent together she realized that a bond was forming between the three of them. Maybe at first it was a bond of sisterhood between those that had a love and an affinity for the beast, but she felt that it went much deeper than that. It became simply a bond between women. And once such is formed, it can take quite a bit to put it asunder.


Much is sang about the strength of warriors and the bonds that are forged by them shedding blood together, but very little is said or sung of the bonds of women. The silent keepers of the people. Men might be the ones that protected them, but it was the women that were often the backbone of anything. They were the nurturers, the teachers, the ones that tended to the people. Both had a duty, and both did them well. They were both needed to keep the tribe strong.


She had always had an affection for Leonette, even when she was simply belle. But then again, there had never been anything simple about the woman, regardless of her status. This had not changed, in fact they were both free now to explore that friendship in a different way. She knows that there will be those that will be constantly putting the young woman to the test. Those that will never accept her completely. She hoped to be there to support and help her in all that she could. She would not exactly fight her battles for her, but she would be there for encouragement and support. She had no doubts that Leonette would learn to stand strong on her own two feet and embrace this new life of hers, but she would watch it with great interest, and yes, a bit of pride.


As for Akasha, I see a lot of myself in her. She is young, quiet, but passionate about the kaiila, to me that says much. She told me with a bit of reticence about her mother, and I explained to her, that I did not care. I try very hard to know people on their own merits, on who they are, not who they are related to or where they are from. I know that I don't always succeed, but I do try. She will be an asset to the clan, and I do look forward to working with her, teaching what I can, and learning from her. And I am eager to learn more about her during all of that.


I find myself proud to be a part of this little trio. It dawns on me, that we three are the ones that represent our clan at the first fires. That in itself is a huge responsibility, but one that I think we are up to.


Be afraid. Be very afraid. The Sisterhood of the Kaiila has arrived.

Where O' Where is Dear Little Mayala?

Where O' where is dear little Mayla?

Where O' where is dear little Mayla?

Where O' where is dear little Mayla?

Where O' where is dear little Mayla?

Way down yonder in the Paw Paw Patch.

Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.

Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.

Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.

Pickin' up paw paws put 'em in you pocket.

Way down yonder in the Paw Paw Patch.

Come on boys, let's go find her.

Come on boys, let's go find her.

Come on boys, let's go find her.

Come on boys, let's go find her.

Way down yonder in the Paw Paw Patch.

Ok, where was Mayala? The woman had not been seen in several days. She had asked around to see if anyone knew where she was. Her wagon was still parked along with theirs, just as it had been, but no one had seen the leather worker in a long time. In fact, not since that day she had come to the pens to visit with her. Chunluun was still on his perch, being fed daily by various slaves, but no Mayala.

Many times she had stepped up on the platform, called to her, but got no answer. She truly hated to invade anyone's personal space, but worry had finally forced her hand. Stepping into the wagon, it was cold. The fire in the small copper bowl had been out for a long time, there was no sign of heat in the ashes. The interior was neat and tidy, as it always was, but empty of any feeling of habitation. She wasn't sure why, but this bothered her, and as long as she was snooping anyhow, she began to open chests, inspecting the clothing that she found. It all seemed to be there, or at least the items that she could remember Mayala wearing. The only ones she did not find were the ones Mayala had been wearing that day she had visited her at the pens.

Laying on the furs were two small sets of leathers that looked to be just the right size for Tug. Were these the ones she had promised? Standing in the middle of the wagon, she slowly turned around, the hazel eyes taking in everything that was there. It was as if the woman had simply disappeared. The only things that seemed to be missing were the clothing that she was wearing, and the satchel that was her constant companion. There were pieces of unfinished projects neatly stacked in the work area, but that did not seem odd, Mayala was a very neat person.

Her brow furrowed as she saw something sitting on a shelf. Approaching it, the frown deepened. Reaching out, her fingers caressed the cup. The same cup that Mayala always brought to the fires. The cup she always drank from. The cup she was rarely without. How curious that it was here, and not Mayala.

Stepping outside, once more she looked around, pondering this all in her mind. A thought hit her and she jumped down from the platform and almost ran towards the pens, that braid flying behind her. When she got there, she began to ask around about Corbin and where he was, finally finding out that he had patrol last evening and was due back soon. Almost as if it was a gift, she saw the exhausted man ride up to the pens and dismount. She questioned him, where was Mayala? He didn't know, he had not seen her in several days. And there it was again, that frown that came when she was worried. She told him that she was worried about the woman. He did not even look at her, but said…….Me too.

To Feast Your Eyes.....You Have to Pay

She had worked most of the day in the pens. There were more new foals that needed to be ringed, pregnant mares to check on, saddles to be oiled, tack to be repaired and training to be done. From time to time she would stop and watch Leonette, and smile. The woman was maybe working harder now than she had as a slave. From time to time she would sense hesitation in her, and would remind her that it was her decision to make, and to make it. But not often.


Another distraction was the slave that was called sleen. It seemed that she found more and more reason to be near the pens, and it wasn't an interest in kailla that drew her there. She was seen hanging on the fence oogling the outriders working the animals, with that over the hill, faraway look in her eyes. And this would not have been so bad, but the outriders definitely noticed her and her attributes.


Shaking her head she had laughed watching it all, then went on with her work. It was almost two ahn later that she caught a glimpse of the girl still hanging on the fence, flirting with the men. This did not truly bother her, except no work was getting done. Elbowing a couple of the riders away, she moved to the fence to lean against it asking sleen if she was enjoying herself. One thing about the girl, she was honest. She allowed that bring here was like having a huge meal set before her from which she could take her pick of all the goodies. Goodies? She looked to the men she worked with every day and considered them. Were they that handsome? She had never really given it any thought.


Pushing off the rail, she motioned the slave to come into the pen. With just a trace of a smirk upon her features she explained to her that no one partook of the meal for free, that everyone worked to eat. With that, she pointed to the thousands of piles of kaiila droppings that dotted the area, explaining that she knew full well that sleen knew where the dung sacks were, and she was to pick up the droppings, put them in sacks then distribute them to the wagons. Was that shock she saw on that beautiful face? Probably so, but to her credit, the girl did not complain and set to the task that was given to her.. .


Returning to the training of Frick, she was approached by her brother Gabriel. He had watched it all and asked her if she had any idea how long it would take one girl to pick up all those droppings. She grinned at him and said............probably not more than a couple of days.

What Happens if You Chain a Heart? Or When You Free it?

Fonce sought her out to tell her personally about belle, or Leonette as she is to be called now. I got the feeling that he was a bit relieved when I told him that I thought it was a good move. I have always had a certain connection to belle when she was a slave. We have spent many an ahn just talking. I wish her all the luck that I can with her new life, and I will help her in anyway that I can. I have spoken with others of the clan today, telling them that she will be among us, and we will share our knowledge with her completely. She has a knack with the beasts that I have known about for some time now. She will be an asset to us.


Our talk turned into something deeper. And odd question came from him. What did I think of slaves? Now just how do you answer a question like that? Slaves are slaves and a part of our daily life, it is just how things are. I think that there are good slaves and bad slaves, just as there are good free persons and bad free persons. That is just how human nature is. I also told him that I would probably make a very poor slave, and he wanted to know why? That one for me was a bit easier. I may not be the most vocal woman around, or the one with the most fire in her eyes, but I am very stubborn, and I just cannot see myself as being subservient to anyone.


We talked about love, unconditional love and obsession. One question he did ask, took me a bit by surprise. He asked if I would have ever submitted to Tayco. Again, a question that is difficult to answer on many levels. I loved Tayco, for almost as long as I could remember. In many ways, I did submit to him my heart and my love, but as far as submitting to him as a slave? Never! Again something that has to be looked at from different angles. The first one being, that it is not my nature. I am independent, maybe quietly so, but independent none the less, and to submit to anyone would destroy that part of me, that makes me who I am. That part of me that is free. Free to love unconditionally, and not because it is expected because I am a slave. It would rob the soul and spirit of Cana. I am not too sure he understood that exactly, but he accepted it as how I felt on the matter.


Another angle at looking at this, is that I do not think Tayco would have wanted me to submit. He loved that part of me that is me. When he claimed me, he told me that it was because he loved me, and that through time, I had stayed true to myself, who I was and what I was. I had never tried to change to be what I thought he wanted as some did. I had stayed Cana, waited patiently, and lived my life. Being true to myself, is very important to me. It is the same with Lochlan. He fell in love with me for who and what I am. I am a woman that has been blessed with the love of two good men that have accepted me as who I am, and both seem to find joy and comfort in it.


Since my talk with Fonce, I have brought up memories of a night long ago. The girl pariah and I had came upon a man camped on the plains and when we returned to camp had told Bo and some of the other warriors about it. A few nights later, Sef and Lone had taken me on a raid to his camp,but that is another story, for another time. The result of it, was that we took his bosk and his wagons.

A few days later, Tayco had gone to talk again to the man. Traveling with him was his niece, or a woman that he said was his niece. He offered her to Tayco in exchange for one of his wagons back. Odd, don't you think? As that evening progressed we took the woman back to camp. I will never forget her. She was strong, independent and true to herself. Time and time again, Tayco tried to get her to submit, she would not. She defied him at every turn. As a last resort, he made small cuts on her arms and neck by the kaiila pens, and told her that if she did not submit freely, he would turn the kaiila loose on her. Up until the very end, she held her head high, and refused. She died that night, free. In a way, it saddened both of us, but we came away with respect for the woman.


I can still remember standing there, Tayco nodding then looking at me and saying that the woman died an honorable death, because she would not submit to being something that she was not. I like to think that I would be that brave if given the same choice. That I would be able to remain true to who I am until the death. And because of that night, I know that Tayco would have never have asked me to submit to him, nor would I offer to do it freely. For to do so, I would be denying who I am.


Now does this mean that all women are this way? No. Each of us are different, with different needs, desires and paths to happiness. Mine just does not run the route of a collar.


He was very serious when he asked if I thought he would destroy any woman that was his personal slave? Skies, where did the man come up with all of these questions? It was hard to answer this. It would depend on the woman, I think. It would depend on how obsessive she was, and whether or not she could realize that he was not hers alone. I see slaves that do this, and to be honest, I do not understand it. They are slaves, pure and simple. They live and die at the whim of the free. And a personal slave to him would be no different.


Fonce is a complicated man, maybe that is why I enjoy our talks, even when the subject matter becomes a bit intense. I always try to be completely honest with him with my thoughts. I think that is what friends do, and he is my friend, so this time was no different. I told him that I did not think he was ready for the unconditional love that a personal slave might have for him. I think this shocked him in a way, and he pressed me to explain. How do you tell someone that they are not ready to love another, until they can completely take down all the barriers and stand with a naked soul? He holds back, and as long as he does, he will not know love. But that is my opinion, and we all know what is said about opinions.


All in all, I enjoyed the talk, as I always do. I am comfortable with him, and him with me, and that is a good feeling. I think of him as a brother, but most importantly, I think of him as a friend.


Now, I wonder how much trouble I would get into if I stole that kite?

Lost? Is It Bigger that a Breadbox?

How do you lose a kaiila? It's easy if he wants to go. I haven't told Fonce yet that he is gone. In fact, I dread telling him, because I had promised him that I would take care of the beast and not let any harm come to him. I hate when I fail to keep a promise. All I know is, that I had four of my best men to take Holo to Mayala's wagon so that he could be measured for a new saddle at Fonce's request. When they returned to get him, all they found were the lashings that had been chewed through and no Holo. I haven't seen her to asks if she got the measurements she needed.

I know that she has been upset by all that has been going on between her and Saresh, which is understandable. I felt badly about nipping her at the fires the other night about disrespecting him, but I still stand by my words. She came to me the next day to apologize to me, and to say she understood what I had said and why. She even told me that she was going to seek Saresh out, to see if the breech between them could be bridged. I hope she was successful, because if she was not, her life is not going to be very pleasant. I have seen the bruises, and heard the gossip, but it is none of my business what goes on between two mated people. I will say this though, I never quite knew that Saresh had that anger in him. The other night I was almost certain that he was going to throw his bota at her. I think the only thing that stopped him was the rest of us being there. It is sad, and I hope they manage to work their way through this time of transition.

It is also an amazement to me, that one as sweet as Mayala can have such a vicious tongue at times, but I guess we all have our secret sides. And right now, by secret side wants to strangle that blasted bird that is perched on the rail of her wagon. It screeches constantly, and it drew blood from kasra's fingers today when she tried to feed it. I swear............bird stew is looking better and better.

Sorrow Comes

To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Hallowed Ground












Death has come to us again, and this time it was of one at the first fires. The potter Zarina, has met with an accident that brought about her death. It is so sad on many levels. We tell ourselves that death is a part of life, but that does nothing to assuage the pain and grief that you feel.


She had passed by the stream to see Polunu sitting there at the spot where it happened, staring into the waters. She did not stop. She did not intrude, for she knew he need his time to put all of this into perspective. She wanted to, but she did not stop. She wanted to go and simply sit beside him, to let him know that others cared, and understood, but it was not quite time yet.


She knew what he was feeling, the shock, the disbelief, the urge to ignore it, to deny it, to say it was not true. She had been there and felt all of those things. It would take a day or two for it all to sink in, and when it did, that is when the overwhelming, gut wrenching pain would truly hit. The why? He would question it all, could he have done something differently, were there things that he should have said or done that may have prevented it? There would be thoughts as to things he would have wanted to say, perhaps declarations of feelings. She had seen the two of them together, and had seen the seeds of something deeper beginning to take sprout and had found it a joy to watch, but now that plant would never mature, never truly take root and blossom into what it may have become. The flower would never bloom.


Such pain was felt for him, knowing what he was going through, and what he had yet to endure. She knew that the anger would come. He would curse the potter for what happened, even though it was not her fault. He would curse the skies for taking her, because he would not understand the why of it all. But in time, very slowly the acceptance would come to dwell within him. That is not to say he would forget, or forgive, but he would find his way back to living again. Until this happened, all any of them could do was let him know they were there if needed.


She had shed her own tears, not just for him, or for the lovely Zarina, but for all of them and the loss of such a bright light in their lives. She shed tears for herself, tinged with the memories of her own loss and pain. But these were all shed in the privacy at her own wagons. For the tribe, she would stand strong, for Polunu, she would stand strong, onlyh she would know how deeply the pain was running in her, but she would survive it, it was their way.

So would he.

Dem Bones, Dem Bones.....Dem Sly Bones

There was a new spex at the fires. In fact, there were a couple of new ones. There are many of the harsuspex clan, just as there are of the other clans, but for along time, there has been a dearth of them at the first fires. Fonce rarely mentions his gift, and she respects that. With Tarra, it is always there, mostly in the way she carries herself, how she interacts with others. She has given much thought as to how the talent and gifts manifest themselves in each of them. She was glad she was a simple kaiila worker.


When she was younger, she can remember going with her mother to the spex wagons, for charms, talismens, readings, things of that nature. For her it had always been an adventure of sorts. The unknown, the smells, the chants, the piercing looks from the older ones. Many a time she had hidden behind her mothers skirts to just watch. She no longer had that fear, but a healthy respect for those of that clan.


One of the new spex was very young, and was of the sort that seemed to travel in her own world, marching to her own drummer in some ways. She has to laugh now, thinking of the young woman's adamant protests that she would never mate. It would be amusing if she were to have to eat those words. Perhaps she would give her a jar of honey to make them go down a bit better.


But the one she had enjoyed the most was Kiryava, the reader of bones. It had brought back memories of those treks to the spex wagons with her mother, and it was quite entertaining. Each time she had seen the woman, she had been smiling and laughing, very likeable. The night she had read bones had be quite interesting.


The thing with spex, is that you just cannot take everything they say in a very literal way. There was just something about them and talking in riddles, that she found interesting and amusing. Often you had to take what was told to you, mull it around and pick the nutmeats from the shell. If you do, then you might just learn something about yourself. And is that not what it is supposed to be about? Growth and learning, with a bit of fun in the mix?


She was looking forward to more evenings in the company of the young woman, whether she read bones or not. She was very pleasant, friendly, and respectful.


Did she learn something about herself? It depends on how you interpret the bones, now does it not? She was told she had the determination to see it through. Exactly what that means, could yet to be seen. The surprising thing was when Kiryava looked up into her eyes and made a simple statement. You walk in your dreams. Always pay attention to your dreams.


Interesting.

Klima

...Some of these deposits are far below the surface of the Tahari. Men live in some of them, for weeks at a time. In other areas, certain of these solid deposits are exposed and are worked rather in the manner of open mining or quarries. In places these salt mountains are more than six hundred feet high....---Tribesmen of Gor, p 239

It was hard for him to continue, to put into words the anguish that he felt upon descending down into the pits at Klima. If there was a hell or a purgatory, then for a Tuchuk this was it. Even on the hooded journey, he could still feel the winds on his body, hot though they were. The air was still there. Hot, fresh, breathable, but none of that was found in the pits. The deeper they went, there was that one, single, prevalent stench. Salt. You could taste it in the air, that mineral, pungent, bitter taste. One that he had enjoyed at times, but now found no enjoyment in.

But the taste, he could endure. The darkness he couldn't. Looking up, there was that initial hope that some opening, some crevasse existed whereby he could see the skies, the stars, anything that was from his former life. But all he saw over head was darkness and salt.

There is not a man that lives and breathes that has not known fear of some sort. Any man that says he has no fears, does not know truth. And each man's fears are things to be dealt with on different levels. He had feared a larl once when he hunted it. There had been twinges of fear and uncertainty during storms on the plains. Moments of dread when he had approached the unknown for the first time. But nothing, nothing in his past had prepared him for the paralyzing fear that he felt at being entombed below the earth in the chamber of horrors that was the salt pits of Klima. On that first long, agonizing march into the pits, he could feel his blood rushing in his ears, his chest felt as if it were weighted down by the very walls of stone, earth and salt that surrounded him. Closing his eyes, for that briefest of moments, he had actually prayed to die, to end this misery.

But somewhere from deep inside him, came something else. A strength, the will to live, that quintessential drive that all cognizant creatures possess. The instinct for survival began to take over, and slowly, within his mind, he was able to calm himself, tell himself that he would survive this. He must survive this, he would not allow them to see weakness in him, lack of honor, cowardice. He was Tuchuk.

There are many ways to mine the salt, and many jobs within the pits and over time he learned them all. In the beginning he worked as a carrier, toting the buckets of sludge that was raised from the brine pits to the drying tables. Backbreaking, mindless work that reduced man to a beast of burden. He was strong, stood up well under the work, but it gave him too much time to think. After a time, he simply tried not to think, for if he did, it made the hours endless. It was in this work that he learned to discipline his mind into shutting down, to not dwell on his life. From that, he went to the harvesting barges. For ahn upon ahn, they poled along the vast underground waters, dipping their cone shaped buckets into the sludge, bringing it to the surface of the water to be deposited into buckets that were spirited away to the outside by a vast machine for that purpose. On the surface, there were the easier jobs at the drying tables, then the shaping table where the salt was shaped into the cylinders that would eventually be packed into crates for shipment to the outside world. But, it would be almost two turnings before he would be able to work his way into a position up in the freedom of the open air. And for those two turnings, he labored, keeping his mind on the work and nothing else.

It was at night, when the pain and anguish were the worse for him. Exhausted by the days work, sometimes sleep would still not come to him. He would lay awake, staring up into that darkness. Eventually, he was able to close his eyes, see the stars that for all of his life had given him guidance. It was the hope of one day, laying under those same stars once again, that kept him from madness.

Some might find it odd, but in the pits of Klima there existed a world where men were bound by hard work, respect and brotherhood. They were all slaves to the salt in one way or another, and there was a heirachy that existed there, fueled by the same things that drove the men on the rest of Gor. Survival of the fittest and the strongest, the same thing that drove all men. There were fights. Fights for survival, for position, for dominance. He won some, lost some, but in time his peers recognized something in him, that was different. He never gave up. Even when beaten and bloody, he would still stumble to his feet and fight. From this, he earned respect not only for himself, but for his people. He became known simply as.......The Tuchuk.

When he finally managed to work his way to one of the jobs on the surface it was a mixed blessing. He was out of the dreaded pit, he could see the sky, he could breathe halfway fresh air. The salt was still there, but not in the cloying, bitter way it was below. They were even allowed to sleep under the stars, and many a night he lay there watching them, pondering. He recognized formations, the same ones that were in the skies over the plains, perhaps in a slightly different location, but there none the less. On the surface, he thrived.

Escape. Did he ever consider escape? Each and every day that he lived he thought of little but escaping, but to say it and to think upon it was quite different than doing it. One could not just break and run. Where would you run to? On the journey there, they had all been hooded as a precaution. But, that precaution was probably overkill in a way. Even had he known the route home, there were other obstacles. The heat, the blistering sun, the salt flats themselves, and there was no water. It was said that there was no water within a thousand pasangs of Klima. He did not want to test that the hard way.

Eventually he did escape, but by a very different route.

The March to Death

It had taken several days for the old warrior to get back to his tale. It was almost as if the speaking of it, and the reliving of it took a toll on him. She did not press. Curious? Yes, but there was enough respect for the man that had become her confidante, to allow him to tell the tale at his own pace. Life went on, they worked, visited with others as was normal, then late one evening, he asked for tea. It was served, and he just began to talk.

He cannot even remember the number of times that he tried to escape in those first few days, or the number of beatings that the overseer's handed out. A time had come when he simply walked, the weight of the chains a constant reminder of what he considered his own folly. There were few stops along the road, rations were sparse especially the water. He probably held up better than most, being who he was and having led the life he had previously.

When they did stop for the night he would listen to the conversations around him, garnering information where he could. It seemed they were on their way to a place called Klima. Some on this chain had been sentenced to the salt pits in Klima for crimes, whether real or on trumped charges, it made no difference the sentence was the same. Some were like him, being fools who had allowed themselves to be duped or tricked into their present situation. There was talk of men that did as his peasant friend did. Enticed the unaware into paga dens, places of that ilk, seeing that they were served paga that was laced with sleeping potions. They awoke the next morning, just as he had. Stripped, in chains and on their way to what was considered a certain death in the pits of Klima.

The hardest part for him, had been not being able to see the skies. The purposes of the hoods was to keep them from knowing exactly where they were going. Much about the pits was secret, and he would later learn, that they were all slaves to the salt. Even the ones that wielded the whips were the same as the ones that walked in the chains. They were simply those that were trusted to move the new slaves to their certain lives at Klima. Even the pasha's, that run the entire place were said to be slaves to the salt in their own ways.

So, they marched. From what he was able tell, they started early in the morning and walked until after the rays of the Central Fire were gone. It was difficult to tell at times, for there was not the cool breezes that he had known on the plains. The air was hot, dry and unmerciful. The weaker died quickly, their bodies unchained and left to the mercies of those that ate the carrion on the road. With each that died, the chains became heavier for those that managed to survive. After several days, they had reached the Tahari. At the time he did not know what this was, but he was able to tell the difference in the ground. It was no longer hot and solid, but something much different. Each step that was taken, his feet would sink deep into the hot sands, the grains causing cuts to the flesh. It reminded him of when he had scars placed, the painful pinpricks. The longer they marched, the worse it became. There were times when he wanted to scream to the skies in pain and frustration, but he would give none that satisfaction.

After walking for pasang after pasang on the burning sands, each day it grew worse. One day, they stopped. Still hooded, the ones of them that were left, had their feet and legs wrapped in thick strips of leather. One of the keepers told them that it was to protect their feet now that they were near their destination. When questioned as to why this had not been done earlier, his answer was very blunt. Why protect those that were too weak to finish the journey. After walking for two more days, they stopped mid-day. The hoods were finally removed. What met his eye was like nothing he had ever seen before, like nothing he could have ever dreamed. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but the hot, blindingly white sands. Or what he thought was sand, he would be told later that it was salt. Precious salt.

His hand lifted to shade his eyes from the dazzling reflection of the Central Fire off of the salt. It looked somewhat like the snows he had seen in the past, but much more desolate, and there was not that comforting chill, only the stifling heat that hung in the air. There were precious few tents about, there was nothing but the salt. One of the handlers walked by, unlocking the chains. The only words that came from him were........enjoy your last look at the skies, for you will never see them again. It was then, that they were herded into the pits. The pits from which most of them would never leave alive again. Turning to look over his shoulder one last time, he whispered more to himself than to anyone else. "Skies help me."

Wandering Into Slavery

They had spent a quiet evening at their own fires, doing nothing. A meal had been shared, then she had played the flute. Loch had laughed, watching Tug's clumsy attempts at dancing to one sprightly tune she had played. It was Loch who eventually picked the boy up and took him to bed. As soon as Tug was asleep, he came out dressed for patrol, stopped to kiss her and was gone into the night.


Sitting there for a time, she watched the fires, then lifted to her feet to make tea for Rook. Along with the small glasses of sweetened tea, she served a bowl of her honey, salted nut. The old man picked up one of the nuts, held it between his thumb and forefinger, studying it. In time, he simply lay it upon his kneel and stared into the flames, thinking. She said nothing, for this is how they were at times. Eventually, he asked her an odd question. "Do you know the value of salt?" This surprised her and the dark head turned, her gaze settling on him, and she explained that she knew that it was expensive to trade for, and that a lack of it was dangerous, as it was needed.


"It is worth its' weight in blood." Taking up the nut, it was placed into his mouth and he chewed slowly seeming to savor the taste. Upon swallowing, he began to speak, regaling her with another tale of his life.


After he had finished his quest for revenge, he had wandered. He simply took a direction and rode, hunting when he hungered, resting when he was tired, and trying to bring some sense to his existence. Wandering for moons along the foothills of the Ta-Thassa Mountains, alone and in pain. Time had come when he had approached the banks of the Cartius River. He had camped on the banks for several days, refreshing himself, trying to decide what to do next. Eventually the day came, when he had decided to just follow the river on its' journey, finding some comfort in the way the waters moved along the shores. Maybe his mistake had been in following it the wrong way. Maybe he should have turned to follow it upstream to its' source, and not downstream where it flowed to it's conclusion.

The point had come when the river he was following branched out into another. In his travels, he occasionally approached small villages, only to be met with fear and suspicion. The scars on his cheeks did not bring much in the way of trust from people. It seemed that the tales of the men of the plains were prevalent everywhere. At this point in his life, the emotions conjured up by this fear, were two fold. There was the pride in knowing that his people were considered a force to be reckoned with, but there was also a sadness that the same fear that brought him this pride, also made him a lonely man. A man set alone from others.

At this point, where the Cartius changed into the two branches of the Fayeen, more and more people began to cross his path. One peasant that had chose to walk beside his kaiila, talking incessantly, told him they all journeyed to Kasra, to trade. Kasra? This must be a city. The only city he had ever been close to was Turia. He asked if this Kasra was like Turia, and the man laughed, telling him no, that it was much smaller, and in some ways much more dangerous. He huffed slightly at this, no city could be more dangerous for a Tuchuk, than Turia. He would be proved wrong.


He had followed along with the peasants on their sojourn to this city called Kasra. On the second day, it came into view, and in some ways he was very disappointed. This was not the great walled city he was expecting. This was not Turia. Nestled into a small valley, it did have walls, but not the great ones he had seen before, but they were wall, all the same. And the wonder of it to him, was that the gates were swung open to admit the steady stream of peasants that went to the city to trade. Pulling his windscarf up to try and disguise his scars, he entered the city, curious in some ways as to how these dwellers lived.


He had some pelts of animals that he had killed on his journey. He attempted to trade with them, but was advised again by his new peasant companion that he would need to take them to a furriers and get coin for them. For one that had spent his entire life on the plains, he found great amazement in the goods that were offered to him for his coin, including slaves that wore small boxes around their necks and dance in enticement with hints of pleasure that could be gained for a coin in their box. What was wrong with these dwellers? Did they not understand that if a man wished pleasures from a slave, he simply bent her over the nearest barrel, or pinned up up against the closest wall and took what he wanted? Strange ways these dwellers had, asking coin for something that was a man's right, by virtue of him simply being a man.


He had made a fatal error upon that day, but did not realize it until much later. He had trusted one that was not of his people. He had trusted this unknown peasant. Through the day, they had ate, drank, and enjoyed the carnival like atmosphere. In all honesty, this was much different than the merchant caravans that came to the plains. Much livelier, much more dangerous.


His last memories of that night, were of being very drunk on paga, and not in control of himself. There were also vague memories of the softness of a slaves body, offering up another bowl to him, then nothing.

When he awoke the next morning, he had a raging pain in his head, and in darkness. There was a collar around his nec, and he was naked and in chains. The smell of unwashed bodies assaulted his nose, and he was unable to move. Struggling to sit up, he realized he was chained to another man on either side of him. Looking around there were others that walked with whips and prods, placing hoods over the heads of each chained man. When it came time for him, he struggled, tried to fight to no avail. The last thing he saw before the darkness of the hood, was his new peasant friend, wearing his windscarf, standing beside his kaiila, taking coins from a large man in something that looked almost like the robes the dweller women word.


In that moment, he memorize the peasant's face. He did not know how long it would take, but someday he would find the man again, and what he had in store for him, would make the man scream to the skies for death.


When the hood dropped over his head, the guard struck him on the back of the head and laughed. "Fool, you will make a fine slave for the pits, if you live through the journey."

Of Bosks, Beauty and the Plains

They had gone for a ride, just the two of them, the old Oralu in a pensive mood. The kaiila clawed their way up the slope of a small hill that gave them the vantage of being able to see the camp and the almost endless herd of dark forms that were the bosk. Few words had passed between them, but this was not unusual. In fact, there were times when nothing passed between them beyond a nod of a head or a hand gesture.

Sitting on the kaiila, looking out over the plains, words finally came from the old warrior. "There is nothing like this. I have seen the great Thassa, the waters of the Vosk and the Cartius. I have seen the great cities of Ar and Ko-ro-ba, and the smaller villages and hamlets that are scattered over the land. I have gazed upon the great sheets of ice in the far north, and I have sweated in the sands of the Tahari. I have been to the Sardar to seek peace. But, none of that, none of those things touch me in the same way that looking out over my people, and the bosk does. None of them have this beauty." His gaze was far away, not only in distance, but in time.

Remaining quiet for a time, she tries to visualize what he has seen, but it is just not there for her. Continuing to allow her gaze to sweep the great herd, she simply says to him quietly……"Perhaps someday you will tell me of these things." As an answer, she got nothing more than the nod of the old, gray head.

In their time together, they had grown close, and she found him to be a good friend. Once she had even asked him if he ever grew tired of babysitting her. Her question was answered by the cocking of his brow, and he asked her "Do you think that is what I am doing? If you do, then you are wrong." She was confused by this, and it was one of the rare times she had pressed him, asking him if he was not babysitting her, then what was he doing. In that same quiet manner, his answer was very simple. "Watching" She took this in, pondered it and finally nodded. She did not ask what he watched, but she knew that he did. Very little got passed the man.

For the longest time, she thought he sat on that same platform each night, arms crossed, chin resting on his chest sleeping, but she was wrong. From time to time he would question her about why she said a certain thing, or why she did not speak up about something. It was these times, when she realized that he was watching more than her, and that he never slept. Always, he was watching, listening and weighing everything that went on around them. She accepted this, and never asked him about it again.

He had taught her many things. Things like how to sharpen a quiva, how to haggle with the metal workers to get what she wanted, how to inspect blades to know of what quality they were. He had taught her how to use her knowledge of things and supplies, to acquire that which she knew little about. She had learned that she could not do or be everything, and how to acknowledge that, and ways to get what she needed or wanted. He was teaching her how to capitalize on the talents of others. Teaching her to allow them to do what they did best.

Whether others knew it or not, the elder Oralu had a huge hand in shaping her into the woman she was evolving to be. When he had first taken up his duties, she was a shy, scared young woman that had just lost the one thing that was most important to her. She had no direction, no clue as to how to continue with her life. Rook was the one that talked to her long into the nights, gently prodding her into the direction she had taken. It was through him, that she had first started taking ownership of her place within the tribe. It was he, that had opened the door to her that allowed her to stand strong, and to trust in herself. And even now, when she stumbled, it was Rook who would speak to her in that calm tone, helping her to work through things that plagued her, helping her to put life into perspective.