"Yes," said Kamchak, "I think I will sell her."
Elizabeth shook with terror and put her head to the rug at Kamchak's feet. "Please," she said, in a whisper, "do not sell me, Master."
"What do you think she would bring?" asked Kamchak. "She is only a barbarian," I said. I did not wish Kamchak to sell her.
"Perhaps I could have her trained" mused Kamchak.
"It would considerably improve her price," I admitted. I also knew a good training would take months, though much can be done with an intelligent girl in only a few weeks. "Would you like to learn," asked Kamchak of the girl, "to wear silk and bells, to speak, to stand, to walk, to dance to drive men mad with the desire to own and master you?" The girl said nothing but shuddered.
"I doubt if you could learn," said Kamchak.
Elizabeth said nothing, her head down.
"You are only a little barbarian," said Kamchak wearily. Then he winked at me. "But," said he, "she is a pretty little barbarian, is she not?"
"Yes," I said, "She is that indeed."
I saw Miss Cardwell's eyes close and her shoulders shake with shame. Her hands then covered her eyes.
I followed Kamchak out of the wagon. Once outside, to my astonishment, he turned to me and said, "You were a fool to free Dina of Turia."
"How do you know I freed her?" I asked.
"I saw you put her on your kaiila and ride toward Turia," he said. "She was not even running beside the kaiila bound." He grinned. "And I know that you liked her that you would not wager for her and," he added, nodding toward the pouch at my belt, "your pouch is no heavier now than when you left."
I laughed.
Kamchak pointed to the pouch. "You should have forty pieces of gold in that pouch," he said. "That much for her at least maybe more because she was skilled in the games of the bole." He chuckled. "A girl such as Dina of Turia is worth more than a kaiila," he said. "And, too," he added, "she was a beauty!" Kamchak laughed. "Albrecht was a fool," he said, "but Tarl Cabot was a bigger one!"
"Perhaps," I admitted.
"Any man who permits himself to care for a slave girl," said Kamchak, "is a fool."
"Perhaps someday," I said, "even Kamchak of the Tuchuks will care for a slave girl."
At this Kamchak threw back his head and roared, and then bent over slapping his knee.
"Then," I said, determinedly, "he may know how it feels." At this Kamchak lost all control over himself and he leaned over backward slapping his thighs with the palms of his hands, laughing as though he were demented. He even reeled about roaring as though he were drunk and slapped the wheel of a neighbor's wagon for a minute or two until his laughter turned into spasmodic gasps and, making strange noises, he wheezingly fought to get a mouthful or two of air under his shaking ribs. I would not have much minded if he had asphyxiated himself on the spot.
"Tomorrow," I said, "you fight on the Plains of a Thou- sand Stakes."
"Yes," he said, "so tonight I will get drunk."
"It would be better," I said, "to get a good night's sleep." "Yes," said Kamchak, "but I am Tuchuk so I will get drunk."
"Very well," I said, "then I, too, shall get drunk." We then spat to determine who would bargain for a bottle of Paga. By starting from the side and turning his head quickly, Kamchak bested me by some eighteen inches. In the light of his skill my own effort seemed depressingly naive, quite simple-minded, unimaginative and straightforward. I had not known about the head-twisting trick. The wily Tuchuk, of course, had had me spit first.
Now this morning we had come to the Plains of a Thou- sand Stakes.
For all his uproarious stomping about the wagon last night, Paga bottle in hand, singing gusty Tuchuk songs, half frightening Miss Cardwell to death, he seemed in good spir- its, looking about, whistling, occasionally pounding a little rhythm on the side of his saddle. I would not tell Miss Cardwell but the rhythm was the drum rhythm of the Chain Dance. I gathered Kamchak had his mind on Aphris of Turia, and was, perilously to my mind, counting his wenches before he had won them.
I do not know if there are, by count, a thousand stakes or not on the Plains of a Thousand Stakes, but I would suppose that there are that many or more. The stakes, flat-topped, each about six and half feet high and about seven or eight inches in diameter, stand in two long lines facing one another in pairs. The two lines are separated by about fifty feet and each stake in a line is separated from the stake on its left and right by about ten yards. The two lines of stakes extended for more than four pasangs across the prairie. One of these lines is closest to the city and the other to the prairies beyond. The stakes had recently been, I observed, brightly painted, each differently, in a delightful array of colors; further, each was trimmed and decorated variously, depend- ing on the whim of the workman, sometimes simply, some- times fancifully, sometimes ornately. The entire aspect was one of color, good cheer, lightheartedness and gaiety. There was something of the sense of carnival in the air. I was forced to remind myself that between these two lines of stakes men would soon fight and die.
I noted some of the workmen still affixing small retaining rings to some of the stakes, bolting them one on a side, usually about five feet to five and a half feet from the ground. A workman sprang a pair shut, and then opened them with a key, which he subsequently hung from a tiny hook near the top of the stake.
I heard some musicians, come out early from Turia, playing a light tune behind the Turian stakes, about fifty yards or so away.
In the space between the two lines of stakes, for each pair of facing stakes, there was a circle of roughly eight yards in diameter. This circle, the grass having been removed, was sanded and raked.
Moving boldly now among the Wagon Peoples were ven- dors from Turia, selling their cakes, their wines and meats, even chains and collars.
Kamchak looked at the sun, which was now about a quarter of the way up the sky.
"Turians are always late," he said.
From the back of the kaiila I could now see dust from Turia. "They are coming," I said.
Among the Tuchuks, though dismounted, I saw the young man Harold, he whom Hereena of the First Wagon had so sorely insulted at the time of the wagering with Conrad and Albrecht. I did not, however, see the girl. The young man seemed to me a strong, fine fellow, though of course un- scarred. He had, as I mentioned, blond hair and blue eyes, not unknown among the Tuchuks, but unusual. He carried weapons. He could not, of course, compete in these contests, for there is status involved in these matters and only warriors of repute are permitted to participate. Indeed, without the Courage Scar one could not even think of proposing oneself for the competition. It might be mentioned, incidentally, that without the Courage Scar one may not, among the Tuchuks, pay court to a free woman, own a wagon, or own more than five bosk and three kaiila. The Courage Scar thus has its social and economic, as well as its martial, import. "You're right," said Kamchak, rising in the stirrups. "First the warriors."
On long lines of tharlarion I could see warriors of Turia approaching in procession the Plains of a Thousand Stakes. The morning sun flashed from their helmets, their long thar- larion lances, the metal embossments on their oval shields, unlike the rounded shields of most Gorean cities. I could hear, like the throbbing of a heart, the beating of the two tharlarion drums that set the cadence of the march. Beside the tharlarion walked other men-at-arms, and even citizens of Turia, and more vendors and musicians, come to see the games.