At the edge of the dais Kamchak and I had stopped, where our sandals were removed and our feet washed by Turian slaves, men in the Kes, who might once have been officers of the city.
We mounted the dais and approached the seemingly som- nolent figure seated upon it.
Although the dais was resplendent, and the rugs upon it even more resplendent, I saw that beneath Kutaituchik, over these rugs, had been spread a simple, worn, tattered robe of gray boskhide. It was upon this simple robe that he sat. It was undoubtedly that of which Kamchak had spoken, the robe upon which sits the Ubar of the Tuchuks, that simple robe which is his throne.
Kutaituchik lifted his head and regarded us; his eyes seemed sleepy; he was bald, save for a black knot of hair that emerged from the back of his shaven skull; he was a broad-backed man, with small legs; his eyes bore the epican- thic fold; his skin was a tinged, yellowish brown; though he was stripped to the waist, there was about his shoulders a rich, ornamented robe of the red bask, bordered with jewels; about his neck, on a chain decorated with sleen teeth, there hung a golden medallion, bearing the sign of the four bask horns; he wore furred boots, wide leather trousers, and a red sash, in which was thrust a quiva. Beside him, coiled, perhaps as a symbol of power, lay a bask whip. Kutaituchik absently reached into a small golden box near his right knee and drew out a string of rolled kanda leaf.
The roots of the kanda plant, which grows largely in desert regions on Gor, are extremely toxic, but, surprisingly, the rolled leaves of this plant, which are relatively innocuous, are formed into strings and, chewed or sucked, are much favored by many Goreans, particularly in the southern hemisphere, where the leaf is more abundant.
Kutaituchik, not taking his eyes off us, thrust one end of the green kanda string in the left side of his mouth and, very slowly, began to chew it. He said nothing, nor did Kamchak. We simply sat near him, cross-legged. I was conscious that only we three on that dais were sitting. I was pleased that there were no prostrations or grovelings involved in ape preaching the august presence of the exalted Kutaituchik. I gathered that once, in his earlier years, he might have been a rider of the kaiila, that he might have been skilled with the bow and lance, and the quiva; such a man would not need ceremony; I 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 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 the least inconsistency or even hesitation, as though the girl were attempting to recollect or reconcile the details of a fabrication, it would have been instantly de" tected.
During all this time, and torches had been brought, the hours of the night being burned away, Elizabeth Cardwell was not permitted to move, but must needs retain the posi- tion of the Pleasure Slave, knees properly placed, back straight, head high, the gleaming chain of the Sirik dangling from the Turian collar, falling to the pelt of the red tart on which she knelt.
The translation, as you might expect, was a difficult task, but I attempted to convey as much as I could of what the girl, piteously, the words tumbling out, attempted to tell me. Although there were risks involved I tried to translate as exactly as I could, letting Miss Cardwell speak as she would, though her words must often have sounded fantastic to the Tuchuks, for it was largely of a world alien to them that she spoke a world not of autonomous cities but of huge na- tions; not of castes and crafts but of global, interlocking industrial complexes; not of batter and tarn disks but of | fantastic systems of exchange and credit; a world not of tarns I and the tharlarion but of aircraft and motor buses and trucks; a world in which one's words need not be carried by a lone rider on the swift kaiila but could be sped from one corner of the earth to another by leaping through an artifi- cial moon.