Gorean Games, Fun, and Sports

Game of Love Wars - Page Two

Continued from Page 1

Kamchak roared with laughter and turned the kaiila away.
"Are the women at stake?" called a judge.
From down the long lines, from other judges, came the confirming cry. "They are at stake."
"Let the women be secured," called the first judge, who stood on a platform near the beginning of the stake lines, this year on the side of the Wagon Peoples.
Aphris of Turia, at the request of one of the minor judges, irritably removed her gloves, of silk-lined white verrskin, trimmed with gold, and placed them in a deep fold of her robes.
"The retaining rings," prompted the judge.
"It is not necessary," responded Aphris. "I shall stand quietly here until the sleen is slain."
"Place your wrists in the rings," said the judge, "or it shall be done for you."
In fury the girl placed her hands behind her head, in the rings, one on each side of the stake. The judge expertly slipped them shut and moved to the next stake.
Aphris, not very obviously, moved her hands in the rings, tried to withdraw them. She could not, of course, do so. I thought I saw her tremble for just an instant, realizing herself secured, but then she stood quietly, looking about herself as though bored. The key to the rings hung, of course, on a small hook, about two inches above her head.
"Are the women secured?" called the first judge, he on the platform.
"They are secured," was relayed up and down the long lines.
I saw Hereena standing insolently at her stake, but her brown wrists, of course, were bound to it by steel.
"Let the matches be arranged," called the judge.
I soon heard the other judges repeating his cry.
All along the lines of stakes I saw Turian warriors and those of the Wagon Peoples press into the area between the stakes.
The girls of the wagons, as usual, were unveiled. Turian warriors walked along the line of stakes, examining them, stepping back when one spit or kicked at him. The girls jeered and cursed them, which compliment they received with good humor and pointed observations on the girls' real or imaginary flaws.
At the request of any warrior of the Wagon Peoples, a judge would remove the pins of the face veil of a Turian girl and push back the hood of her robes of concealment, in order that her head and face might be seen.
This aspect of the games was extremely humiliating for the Turian girls, but they understood its necessity; few men, especially barbarian warriors, care to fight for a woman on whose face they have not even looked.
"I would like to take a look at this one," Kamchak was saying, jerking a thumb in the direction of Aphris of Turia.
"Certainly," remarked the nearest judge.
"Can you not remember, Sleen," asked the girl, "the face of Aphris of Turia?"
"My memory is vague," said Kamchak. "There are so many faces."
The judge unpinned her white and gold veil and then, with a gentle hand, brushed back her hood revealing her long, lovely black hair.
Aphris of Turia was an incredibly beautiful woman.
She shook her hair as well as she could, bound to the post.
"Perhaps now you can remember?" she queried acidly.
"It's vague," muttered Kamchak, wavering, "I had in mind I think the face of a slave-- there was, as I recall, a collar--"
"You tharlarion," she said. "You sleen!"
"What do you think?" asked Kamchak.
"She is marvelously beautiful," I said.
"There are probably several better among the stakes," said Kamchak. "Let's take a look."
He started off, and I followed him.
I suddenly glimpsed the face of Aphris of Turia contort with rage and she tried to free herself. "Come back here!" she cried. "You sleen! You filthy sleen! Come back! Come back!" I heard her pulling at the rings and kicking at the post.
"Stand quietly," the judge warned her, "or you will be forced to drink a sedative."
"The sleen!" she cried.
But already several of the other warriors of the Wagon Peoples were inspecting the unveiled Aphris of Turia.
"Aren't you going to fight for her?" I asked Kamchak.
"Certainly," said Kamchak.
But he and I, before we finished, had looked over each of the Turian beauties.
At last he returned to Aphris.
"It's a sorry lot this year." He told her.
"Fight for me!" she cried.
"I do not know if I will fight for any of them," he said, "they are all she-sleen, she-kaiila."
"You must fight!" she cried. "You must fight for me!"
"Do you ask for it?" Inquired Kamchak, interested.
She shook with rage. "Yes," she said, "I ask for it."
"Very well," said Kamchak, "I will fight for you."
It seemed then Aphris of Turia leaned back for an instant in exhausted relief against the stake. Then she regarded Kamchak with pleasure. "You will be slain by inches at my feet," she said.
Kamchak shrugged, not dismissing the possibility. Then he turned to the judge. "Do any wish to fight for her but me?" he asked.
"No," said the judge.
When more than one wish to fight for a given woman, incidentally, the Turians decide this by rank and prowess, the Wagon Peoples by scars and prowess. In short, in their various ways, something like seniority and skills determines, of two or more Turians and those of the Wagons, who will take the field. Sometimes men fight among themselves for this honor, but such combat is frowned upon by both the Turians and those of the Wagons, being regarded as somewhat disgraceful, particularly in the presence of foes.
"She must be plain indeed," remarked Kamchak, looking closely again at Aphris.
"No," said the judge, "it is because she is defended by Kamras, Champion of Turia."
"Oh, no!" cried Kamchak, throwing his fist to his forehead in mock despair.
"Yes," said the judge, "he."
"Surely you recall?" laughed Aphris merrily.
"I had had much Paga at the time," admitted Kamchak.
"You need not meet him if you wish." said the judge.
I thought that a humane arrangement--that two men must understand who it is they face before entering the circle of sand. It would indeed be unpleasant if one suddenly, unexpectedly, found oneself facing a superb, famed warrior, say, a Kamras of Turia.
"Meet him!" cried Aphris.
"If no one meets him," said the judge, "the Kassar girl will be his by forfeit."
I could see that the Kassar girl, a beauty, at the stake opposite Aphris of Turia was distressed, and understandably so. It appeared she was to depart for Turia without so much as a handful of sand kicked about on her behalf.
"Meet him, Tuchuk!" she cried.
"Where are your Kassars?" asked Kamchak.
I thought it an excellent question. I had seen Conrad about, but he had picked out a Turian wench to fight for some six or seven stakes away. Albrecht was not even at the games. I supposed he was home with Tenchika.
"They are fighting elsewhere!" she cried. "Please, Tuchuk!" she wept.
"But you are only a Kassar wench," pointed out Kamchak.
"Please!" she cried.
"Besides," said Kamchak, "you might look well in Pleasure Silk."
"Look at the Turian wench!" cried the girl. "Is she not beautiful? Do you not want her?"
Kamchak looked at Aphris of Turia.
"I suppose," he said, "she is no worse than the rest."
"Fight for met" cried Aphris of Turia
"All right," said Kamchak. "I will."
The Kassar girl put her back against the stake, trembling with relief.
"You are a fool," said Kamras of Turia.
I was a bit startled, not realizing he was so close. I looked at him. He was indeed an impressive warrior. He seemed strong and fast. His long black hair was now tied behind his head. His large wrists had been wrapped in boskhide straps. He wore a helmet and carried the Turian shield, which is oval. In his right hand there was a spear. Over his shoulder was slung the sheath of a short sword.
Kamchak looked up at him. It was not that Kamchak was particularly short, but rather that Kamras was a very large man.
"By the sky," said Kamchak, whistling, "you are a big fellow indeed."
"Let us begin," proposed Kamras.
At this word the judge called out to clear the space between the stakes of Aphris of Turia and the lovely Kassar wench. Two men, from Ar, I took it, came forward with rakes and began to smooth the circle of sand between the stakes, for it had been somewhat disturbed in the inspection of the girls.
Unfortunately for Kamchak, I knew that this was the year in which the Turian foeman might propose the weapon of combat. Fortunately, however, the warrior of the Wagon Peoples could withdraw from the combat any time before his name had actually been officially entered in the lists of the games. Thus if Kamras chose a weapon with which Kamchak did not feel at ease, the Tuchuk might, with some grace, decline the combat, in this forfeiting only a Kassar girl, which I was sure would not overly disturb the philosophical Kamchak.
"Ah, yes, weapons," Kamchak was saying, "what shall it be--the kaiila lance, a whip and bladed bola--perhaps the quiva?"
"The sword," said Kamras.
The Turian's decision plunged me into despair. In all my time among the wagons I had not seen one of the Gorean short swords, so fierce and swift and common a weapon among those of the cities. The warrior of the Wagon Peoples does not use the short sword, probably because such a weapon could not be optimally used from the saddle of the kaiila; the saber, incidentally, which would be somewhat more effective from kaiilaback, is almost unknown on Gor; its role, I gather, is more than fulfilled by the lance, which may be used with a delicacy and address comparable to that of a blade, supplemented by the seven quiva, or saddle knives; it might further be pointed out that a saber would barely reach to the saddle of the high tharlarion; the warrior of the Wagon Peoples seldom approaches an enemy more closely than is required to bring him down with the bow, or, if need be, the lance; the quiva itself is regarded, on the whole, as more of a missile weapon than a hand knife. I gather that the Wagon Peoples, if they wanted sabers or regarded them as valuable, would be able to acquire them, in spite of the fact that they have no metalworking of their own; there might be some attempt to prevent them from falling into the hands of the Wagon Peoples, but where there are gold and jewels available merchants, in Ar and elsewhere, would see that they were manufactured and reached the southern plains. Most quivas, incidentally, are wrought in the smithies of Ar. The fact that the saber is not a common weapon of Wagon Peoples is a reflection of the style, nature and conditions of warfare to which they are accustomed, a matter of choice on their part rather than the result of either ignorance or technological limitation. The saber, incidentally, is not only unpopular among the Wagon Peoples but among the warriors of Gor generally; it is regarded as being too long and clumsy a weapon for the close, sharp combat so dear to the heart of the warrior of the cities; further it is not of much use from the saddle of a tarn or tharlarion. The important point, however, in the circumstances was that Kamras had proposed the sword as the weapon of his encounter with Kamchak, and poor Kamchak was almost certain to be as unfamiliar with the sword as you or I would be with any of the more unusual weapons of Gor, say, the whip knife of Port Kar or the trained varts of the caves of Tyros.  Incidentally, Turian warriors, in order to have the opportunity to slay a foe, as well as acquire his woman, customarily choose as the weapon of combat in these encounters, buckler and dagger, ax and buckler, dagger and whip, ax and net, or the two daggers, with the reservation that the quiva, if used, not be thrown. Kamras, however, appeared adamant on the point. "The sword," he repeated.
"But I am only a poor Tuchuk," wailed Kamchak.
Kamras laughed. "The sword," he said, yet again.
I thought, all things considered, that the stipulation of Kamras regarding weapons was cruel and shameful.
"But how would I, a poor Tuchuk," Kamchak was moaning, "know anything of the sword?"
"Then withdraw," said Kamras, loftily, "and I will take this Kassar wench slave to Turia.
The girl moaned.
Kamras smiled with contempt. "You see," he said, "I am Champion of Turia and I have no particular wish to stain my blade with the blood of an urt."
The urt is a loathsome, horned Gorean rodent; some are quite large, the size of wolves or ponies, but most are very small, tiny enough to be held in the palm of one hand.
"Well," said Kamchak, "I certainly would not want that to happen either."
The Kassar girl cried out in distress.
"Fight him, filthy Tuchuk" screamed Aphris of Turia, pulling against the retaining rings.
"Do not be uneasy, gentle Aphris of Turia," said Kamras.  "Permit him to withdraw branded braggart and coward. Let him live in his shame, for so much the richer will be your vengeance."
But the lovely Aphris was not convinced. "I want him slain," she cried, "cut into tiny pieces, the death of a thousand cuts!"
"Withdraw," I advised Kamchak.
"Do you think I should," he inquired.
"Yes," I said, "I do."
Kamras was regarding Aphris of Turia. "If it is truly your wish," he said, "I will permit him to choose weapons agreeable to us both."
"It is my wish," she said, "that he be slain!"
Kamras shrugged. "All right," he said, "I will kill him." He then turned to Kamchak. "All right Tuchuk," he said, "I will permit you to choose weapons agreeable to us both."
"But perhaps I will not fight," said Kamchak warily.
Kamras clenched his fists. "Very well," he said, "as you wish."
"But then again," mused Kamchak, "perhaps I shall."
Aphris of Turia cried out in rage and the Kassar wench in distress.
"I will fight," announced Kamchak.
Both girls cried out in pleasure.
The judge now entered the name of Kamchak of the Tuchuks on his lists.
"What weapon do you choose?" asked the judge. "Remember," cautioned the judge, "the weapon or weapons chosen must be mutually agreeable."
Kamchak seemed lost in thought and then he looked up brightly. "I have always wondered," he said, "what it would be like to hold a sword."
The judge nearly dropped the list.
"I will choose the sword," said Kamchak.
The Kassar girl moaned.
Kamras looked at Aphris of Turia, dumbfounded. The girl herself was speechless. "He is mad," said Kamras of Turia.
"Withdraw," I urged Kamchak.
"It is too late now," said the judge.
"It is too late now," said Kamchak, innocently.
Inwardly I moaned, for in the past months I had come to respect and feel an affection for the shrewd, gusty brawny Tuchuk.
Two swords were brought, Gorean short swords, forged in Ar.
Kamchak picked his up as though it were a wagon lever, used for loosening the wheels of mired wagons.
Kamras and I both winced.
Then Kamras, and I give him credit, said to Kamchak, "withdraw." I could understand his feelings. Kamras was, after all, a warrior, and not a butcher.
"A thousand cuts!" cried the gentle Aphris of Turia. "A piece of gold to Kamras for every cut!" she cried.
Kamchak was running his thumb on the blade. I saw a sudden, bright drop of blood on his thumb. He looked up.  "Sharp," he said.
"Yes," I said in exasperation. I turned to the judge. "May I fight for him?" I demanded.
"It is not permitted," said the judge.
"But," said Kamchak, "it was a good idea."
I seized Kamchak by the shoulders. "Kamras has no real wish to kill you," I said. "It is enough for him to shame you. Withdraw."
Suddenly the eyes of Kamchak gleamed. "Would you see me shamed?" he asked.
I looked at him, "Better, my friend," I said, "that than death."
"No," said Kamchak, and his eyes were like steel, "better death than shame."
I stepped back. He was Tuchuk. I would sorely miss my friend, the ribald, hard-drinking, stomping, dancing Kamchak of the Tuchuks.
In the last moment I cried out to Kamchak, "For the sake of Priest-Kings, hold the weapon thus!" trying to teach him the simplest of the commoner grips for the hilt of the short sword, permitting a large degree of both retention and flexibility. But when I stepped away he was now holding it like a Gorean angle saw.
Even Kamras closed his eyes briefly, as though to shut out the spectacle. I now realized Kamras had only wished to drive Kamchak from the field, a chastened and humiliated man. He had little more wish to slay the clumsy Tuchuk than he would have a peasant or a potmaker.
"Let the combat begin," said the judge.
I stepped away from Kamchak and Kamras approached him, by training, cautiously.
Kamchak was looking at the edge of his sword, turning it about, apparently noting with pleasure the play of sunlight on the blade.
"Watch out!" I cried.
Kamchak turned to see what I had in mind and to his great good fortune, as he did so, the sun flashed from the blade into the eyes of Kamras, who suddenly threw his arm up, blinking and shaking his head, for the instant blinded.
"Turn and strike now!" I screamed
"What?" asked Kamchak.
"Watch out!" I cried, for now Kamras had recovered, and was once again approaching.
Kamras, of course, had the sun at his back, using it as naturally as the tarn to protect his advance.
It had been incredibly fortunate for Kamchak that the blade had flashed precisely at the time it had in the way it had.
It had quite possibly saved his life.
Kamras lunged and it looked like Kamchak threw up his arm at the last instant as though he had lost balance, and indeed he was now tottering on one boot. I scarcely noticed the blow had been smartly parried. Kamras then began to chase Kamchak about the ring of sand. Kamchak was nearly stumbling over backward and kept trying to regain his balance. In this chase, rather undignified, Kamras had struck a dozen times and each time, astoundingly, the off-balance Kamchak, holding his sword now like a physician's pestle, had managed somehow to meet the blow.
"Slay him!" screamed Aphris of Turia.
I was tempted to cover my eyes.
The Kassar girl was wailing.
Then, as though weary, Kamchak, puffing, sat down in the sand. His sword was in front of his face, apparently blocking his vision. With his boots he kept rotating about, always facing Kamras no matter from which direction he came. Each time the Turian struck and I would have thought Kamchak slain, somehow, incomprehensibly, at the last instant, nearly causing my heart to stop, with a surprised weary little twitch, the blade of the Tuchuk would slide the Turian steel harmlessly to the side. It was only about this time that it dawned on me that for three or four minutes Kamchak had been the object of the ever-more-furious assault of Turia's champion and was, to this instant, unscratched.
Kamchak then struggled wearily to his feet.
"Die, Tuchuk!" cried Kamras now enraged, rushing upon him. For more than a minute, while I scarcely dared to breathe and there was silence all about save for the ring of steel, I watched Kamchak stand there, heavy in his boots, his head seeming almost to sit on his shoulders, his body hardly moving save for the swiftness of a wrist and the turn of a hand.
Kamras, exhausted, scarcely able to lift his arm, staggered backward.
Once again, expertly, the sun flashed from the sword of Kamchak in his eyes.
In terror Kamras blinked and shook his head, thrashing about wearily with his sword.
Then, foot by booted foot, Kamchak advanced toward him. I saw the first blood leap front the cheek of Kamras, and then again from his left arm, then from the thigh, then from an ear.
"Kill him!" Aphris of, Turia was screaming. "Kill him!"
But now, almost like a drunk man, Kamras was fighting for his life and the Tuchuk, like a bear, scarcely moving more than arm and wrist, followed him about, shuffling through the sand after him, touching him again and again with the blade.
"Slay hind" howled Aphris of Turia!
For perhaps better than fifteen minutes, patiently, not hurrying, Kamchak of the Tuchuks shuffled after Kamras of Turia, touching him once more and ever again, each time leaving a quick, bright stain of blood on his tunic or body. And then, to my astonishment, and that of the throng who had gathered to witness the contest, I saw Kamras, Champion of Turia, weak from the loss of blood, fall to his knees before Kamchak of the Tuchuks. Kamras tried to lift his sword but the boot of Kamchak pressed it into the sand, and Kamras lifted his eyes to look dazed into the scarred, inscrutable countenance of the Tuchuk. Kamchak's sword was at his throat. "Six years," said Kamchak, "before I was scarred was I mercenary in the guards of Ar, learning the walls and defenses of that city for my people. In that time of the guards of Ar I became First Sword."
Kamras fell in the sand at the feet of Kamchak, unable even to beg for mercy.
Kamchak did not slay him.
Rather he threw the sword he carried into the sand and though he threw it easily it slipped through almost to the hilt.
He looked at me and grinned. "An interesting weapon," he said, "but I prefer lance and quiva."
There was an enormous roar about us and the pounding of lances on leather shields. I rushed to Kamchak and threw my arms about him laughing and hugging him. He was grinning from ear to ear, sweat glistening in the furrows of his scars.
Then he turned and advanced to the stake of Aphris of Turia, who stood there, her wrists bound in steel, regarding him, speechless with horror.  NOMADS OF GOR-, Pages 112-129
 

Kudos to you, Mr. Norman for writing the Gorean series!
A rich, yet utterly simple saga; a world, a time, a people;
those of the Counter-Earth .. the planet .. Gor.
Thank you!

The material presented herein was researched and compiled by me, naia{Saul}.
The material referenced comes from John Norman's Gor Series, The Counter-Earth Saga.
This is a work in process.
Please, do not take, copy, duplicate, or use this work as your own.
If you find it valuable enough to share, please .. share the link to this page.

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