Nomads of Gor (23 page)

      
Initiates, which, however, largely contents itself with its cere-

      
monies and sacrifices, and is only too happy to delegate the

      
complex management of those vast, commercial phenomena,

      
the Sardar Fairs, to members~of the lowly, much-despised

      
Caste of Merchants, without which, incidentally, the fairs

      
most likely could not exist, certainly not at any rate in their

      
current form.

      
"Now this," Saphrar the merchant was telling me, "is the

      
braised liver of the blue, four-spired Cosian wingfish."

      
This fish is a tiny, delicate fish, blue, about the size of a

      
tarn disk when curled in one's hand; it has three or four

      
slender spines in its dorsal fin, which are poisonous; it is

      
capable of hurling itself from the water and, for brief dis-

      
tances, on its stiff pectoral fins, gliding through the air,

      
usually to evade the smaller sea-tharlarions, which seem to be

      
immune to the poison of the spines. This fish is also some

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APHRIS OF

 
85

 
times referred to as the songfish because, as a portion of its

 
courtship rituals, the males and females thrust their heads

 
from the water and utter a sort of whistling sound.

 
The blue, four-spired wingfish is found only in the waters

 
of Cos. Larger varieties are found farther out to sea. The

 
small blue fish is regarded as a great delicacy, and its liver as

 
the delicacy of delicacies.

 
"How is it," I asked, "that here in Turia you can serve the

 
livers of wingfish?"

 
"I have a war galley in Port Kar," said Saphrar the

 
merchant, "which I send to Cos twice a year for the fish."

 
Saphrar was a short, fat, pinkish man, with short legs and

 
arms; he had quick bright eyes and a tiny, roundish red-

 
lipped mouth; upon occasion he moved his small, pudgy

 
fingers, with rounded scarlet nails, rapidly, as though rubbing

 
the gloss from a tarn disk or feeling the texture of a fine

 
cloth; his head, like that of many merchants, had been

 
shaved; his eyebrows had been removed and over each eye

 
four golden drops had been fixed in the pinkish skin; he also

 
had two teeth of gold, which were visible when he laughed,

 
the upper canine teeth, probably containing poison; mer-

 
chants are seldom trained in the use of arms. His right ear

 
had been notched, doubtless in some accident. Such

 
notching, I knew, is usually done to the ears of thieves; a

 
second offense is normally punished by the loss of the right

 
hand; a third offense by the removal of the left hand and

 
both feet. There are few thieves, incidentally, on Gor. I have

 
heard, though, there is a Caste of Thieves in Port Kar, a

 
strong caste which naturally protects its members from such

 
indignities as ear notching. In Saphrar's case, of course, he

 
being of the Caste of Merchants, the notching of the ear

 
would be a coincidence, albeit one that must have caused him

 
some embarrassment. Saphrar was a pleasant, gracious fel-

 
low, a bit indolent perhaps, save for the eyes and rapid

 
fingers. He was surely an attentive and excellent host. I

 
would not Rave cared to know him better.

 
"flow is it," 1 asked, "that a merchant of Turia has a war

 
galley in Port Kar."

 
Saphrar reclined on the yellow cushions, behind the low

 
table covered with wines, fruits and golden dishes heaped

 
with delicate viands.

 
"I did not realize Port Kar was on friendly terms with any

 
of the inland cities," I said.

 
"She is not," said Saphrar.

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86

     
NOMADS OF GOR

     
"Then how?" I asked.

     
He shrugged. "Gold has no caste," he said.

     
I tried the liver of the wingfish. Then another swig of

     
Saga.

     
Saphrar winced.

     
"Perhaps," he suggested, "you would like a piece of

     
roasted bask meat?"

     
I replaced the golden eating prong in its rack beside my

     
place, shoved back the glittering dish in which lay several

     
theoretically edible objects, carefully arranged by a slave to

     
resemble a bouquet of wild Bowers sprouting from a rock

     
outcropping. "Yes," I said, "I think so."

     
Saphrar conveyed my wishes to the scandalized Feast Stew-

     
arc, and he, with a glare in my direction, sent two young

     
slaves scampering off to scour the kitchens of Turia for a

     
slice of bask meat.

     
I looked to one side and saw Kamchak scraping another

     
plate clean, holding it to his mouth, sliding and shoving the

     
carefully structured design of viands into his mouth.

     
I glanced at Saphrar, who was now leaning on his yellow

     
cushions, in his silken pleasure robes, white and gold, the

     
colors of the Caste of Merchants. Saphrar, eyes closed, was

     
nibbling on a tiny thing, still quivering, which had been

     
impaled on a colored stick.

     
I turned away and watched a fire swallower perform to the

     
leaping melodies of the musicians.

     
"Do not object that we are entertained in the house of

     
Saphrar of the Merchants," Kamchak had said, "for in Turia

     
power lies with such men."

     
I looked down the table a bit at Kamras, plenipotentiary

     
of Phanius Turmus, Administrator of Turia. He was a large-

     
wristed strong man with long, black hair. He sat as a

     
warrior, though in robes of silk. Across his face there were

     
two long scars, perhaps from their delicacy the scars of quiva

     
wounds. He was said to be a great warrior, indeed, to be

     
champion of Turia. He had not spoken with us nor acknowl-

     
edged our presence at the feast.

     
"Besides," Kamchak had told me, nudging me in tile ribs,

     
"the food and the entertainment is better in the house of

     
Saphrar than in the palace of Phanius Turmus."

     
I would still, I told myself, settle for a piece of bask

     
meat.

     
I wondered how the stomach of Kamchak could sustain

     
the delightful injuries he was heaping into it with such gusto.

     
1

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APHRIS 0P TUNA

 
87

 
To be sure, it had not. The Turian feast usually consumes the

 
better part of a night and can have as many as a hundred

 
and fifty courses. This would be impractical, naturally, save

 
for the detestable device of the golden bowl and tufted

 
banquet stick, dipped in scented oils, by means of which the

 
diner may, when he wishes, refresh himself and return with

 
eagerness to the feast. I had not made use of this particular

 
tool, and had contented myself with merely taking a bite or

 
two, to satisfy the requirements of etiquette, from each

 
course.

 
The Turians, doubtless, regarded this as a hopelessly bar-

 
barian inhibition on my part.

 
I had, perhaps, however, drunk too much Paga.'

 
This afternoon Kamchak and I, leading four pack kaiila,

 
had entered the first gate of nine-gated Turia.

 
On the pack animals were strapped boxes of precious

 
plate, gems, silver vessels, tangles of jewelry, mirrors, rings,

 
combs, and golden tarn disks, stamped with the signs of a

 
dozen cities. These were brought as gifts to the Turians,

 
largely as a rather insolent gesture on the part of the Wagon

 
Peoples, indicating how little they cared for such things, that

 
they would give them to Turians. Turian embassies to the

 
Wagon Peoples, when they occurred, naturally strove to

 
equal or surpass these gifts. Kamchak told me, a sort of

 
secret I gather, that some of the things he carried had been

 
exchanged back and forth a dozen times. One small, flat box,

 
however, Kamchak would not turn over to the stewards of

 
Phanius Turmus, whom he met at the first gate. He insisted

 
on carrying that box with him and, indeed, it rested beside

 
his right knee at the table now.

                                           
I was very pleased to enter Turia, for I have always been
         
j

                                           
excited by a new city.
    
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I'

 
I found Turia to match my expectations. She was luxuri-

 
ous. Her shops were filled with rare, intriguing paraphernalia.

 
I smelled perfumes that I had never smelled before. More

 
than once we encountered a line of musicians dancing single

 
file down the center of the street, playing on their flutes and

 
drums, perhaps on their way to a feast. 1 was pleased to see

 
again, though often done in silk, the splendid varieties of

 
caste colors of the typical Gorean city, to hear once more the

 
cries of peddlers that I knew so well, the cake sellers, the