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.