Nomads of Gor (45 page)

 
the bargain, it seemed, he had contracted with the fellow

 
with the quivas and saddle.

 
There were a large number of tethered animals about the

 
outer edge of the circle, and, beside them, stood many

 
haruspexes. Indeed, I supposed there must be one haruspex

 
at least for each of the many altars in the field. Among the

 
animals I saw many verrs; some domestic tarsks, their tusks

 
sheathed; cages of flapping vulos, some sleen, some kaiila,

 
even some bask; by the Paravaci haruspexes I saw manacled

 
male slaves, if such were to be permitted; commonly, I

 
understood from Kamchak, the Tuchuks, Kassars and Kataii

 
rule out the sacrifice of slaves because their hearts and livers

 
are thought to be, fortunately for the slaves, untrustworthy in

 
registering portents; after all, as Kamchak pointed out, who

 
would trust a Turian slave in the kes with a matter so

 
important as the election of a Ubar San; it seemed to me

 
good logic and, of course, I am sure the slaves, too, were

 
taken with the cogency of the argument. The animals sac-

 
rificed, incidentally, are later used for food, so the Omen

 
Taking, far from being a waste of animals, is actually a time

 
of feasting and plenty for the Wagon Peoples, who regard

 
'the Omen Taking, provided it results that no Ubar San is to

 
be chosen, as an occasion for gaiety and festival. As I may

 
have mentioned, no Ubar San had been chosen for more than

 
a hundred years.

 
As yet the Omen Taking had not begun. The haruspexes

 
had not rushed forward to the altars. On the other hand on

 
each altar there burned a small bosk-dung fire into which,

 
like a tiny piece of kindling, had been placed - an incense

 
stick.

 
Kamchak and I dismounted and, from outside the circle,

        
watched the four chief haruspexes of the Wagon Peoples

        
approach the huge altar in the center of the field. Behind

        
them another four haruspexes, one from each People, carried

        
a large wooden cage, made of sticks lashed together, which

        
contained perhaps a dozen white vulos, domesticated pigeons.

        
This cage they placed on the altar. I then noted that each of

        
the four chief haruspexes carried, about his shoulder, a white

        
linen sack, somewhat like a peasant's rep-cloth seed bag.

        
"This is the first Omen," said Kamchak, "The Omen to

        
see if the Omens are propitious to take the Omens."

        
"Oh," I said.

        
Each of the four haruspexes then, after intoning an in-

        
volved entreaty of some sort to the sky, which at the time

        
was shining beneficiently, suddenly cast a handful of some-

  
      
thing doubtless grain to the pigeons in the stick cage.

        
Even from where I stood I could see the pigeons pecking

        
at the grain in reassuring frenzy.

        
The four haruspexes turned then, each one facing his own

        
minor haruspexes and anyone else who might be about, and

        
called out, "It is propitious!"

        
There was a pleased cry at this announcement from the

        
throng.

        
"This part of the Omen Taking always goes well," I was

        
informed by Kamchak.

        
"Why is that?" I asked.

        
"I don't know," he said. Then he looked at me. "Perhaps,"

        
he proposed, "it is because the vulos are not fed for three

        
days prior to the taking of the Omen."

        
"Perhaps," I admitted.

        
"I," said Kamchak, "would like a bottle of Paga."

        
"I, too," I admitted.

        
"Who will buy?" he asked.

        
I refused to speak.

        
"We could wager," he suggested.

        
"I'll buy it," I said.

        
I could now see the other haruspexes of the peoples

        
pouring with their animals toward the altars. The Omen

        
Taking as a whole lasts several days and consumes hundreds

        
of animals. A tally is kept, from day to day. One haruspex, as

        
we left, I heard cry out that he had found a favorable liver.

        
Another, from an adjoining altar had rushed to his side. They

        
were engaged in dispute. I gathered that reading the signs

        
was a subtle business, calling for sophisticated interpretation

        
and the utmost delicacy and judgment. Even as we made our

 
way back to the kaiila I could hear two more haruspexes

 
crying out that they had found livers that were clearly

 
unfavorable. Clerks, with parchment scrolls, were circulate

 
ing among the altars, presumably, I would guess, noting the

 
names of haruspexes, their peoples, and their findings The

 
four chief haruspexes of the peoples remained at the huge

 
central altar, to which a white bask was being slowly led.

 
It was toward dark when Kamchak and I reached the

 
slave wagon to buy our bottle of Paga.

 
On the way we passed a girl, a girl from Cos taken

 
hundreds of pasangs away in a raid on a caravan bound for

 
Ar. She had been bound across a wagon wheel lying on the

 
ground, her body over its hub. Her clothing had been re-

 
moved. Fresh and clean on her burned thigh was the brand of

 
the four bosk horns. She was weeping. The Iron Master

 
affixed the Turian collar. He bent to his tools, taking up a

 
tiny, open golden ring, a heated metal awl, a pair of pliers. I

 
turned away. I heard her scream.

 
"Do not Korobans brand and collar slaves?" asked

 
Kamchak.

 
"Yes," I admitted, "they do."

 
I could not rid my mind of the image of the girl from Cos

 
weeping bound on the wheel. Such tonight, or on another

 
night, would be the lovely Elizabeth Cardwell. I threw down

 
a wild swallow of Paga. I resolved I would somehow release

 
the girl, somehow protect her from the cruelty of the fate

 
decreed for her by Kamchak.

 
"You do not much speak," said Kamchak, taking the

 
bottle, puzzled.

 
"Must the Iron Master be called," I asked, "to the wagon

 
of Kamchak."

 
Kamchak looked at me. "Yes," he said.

 
I glared down at the polished boards of the wagon floor.

 
"Have you no feeling for the barbarian?" I asked.

 
Kamchak had never been able to pronounce her name,

 
which be regarded as of barbarian length and complexity.

 
"E-liz-a-beth-card-vella" he would try to say, adding the "a"

 
sound because it is a common ending of feminine names on

 
Gor. He could never, like most native speakers of Gorean,

 
properly handle the "w" sound, for it is extremely rare in

 
Gorean, existing only in certain unusual words of obviously

 
barbarian origin. The "w" sound, incidentally, is a complex

 
one, and, like many such sounds, is best learned only during

 
the brief years of childhood when a child's linguistic flexibility

      
is at its maximum those years in which it might be trained

      
to speak any of the languages of man with native fluency a

      
capacity which is, for most individuals at least, lost long prior

      
to attaining their majority. On the other hand, Kamchak

      
could say the sound I have represented as "vella" quite easily

      
and would upon occasion use this as Elizabeth's name. Most

      
often, however, he and I simply referred to her as the Little

      
Barbarian. I had, incidentally, after the first few days, re-

      
fused to speak English to her, thinking it would be more

      
desirable for her to learn to speak, think and hear in Gorean

      
as rapidly as possible. She could now handle the language

      
rather well. She could not, of course, read it. She was

      
illiterate.

      
Kamchak was looking at me. He laughed and leaned over

      
and slapped me on the shoulder. "She is only a slaver" he

      
chuckled.
  

      
"Have you no feeling for her?" I demanded.

      
He leaned back, serious for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I

      
am fond of the Little Barbarian."

      
"Then why?" I demanded.

      
"She ran away," said Kamchak.

      
I did not deny it.

      
"She must be taught."

      
I said nothing.

      
"Besides," said Kamchak, "the wagon grows crowded

      
and she must be readied for sale."

      
I took back the Paga bottle and threw down another

      
swallow.

      
"Do you want to buy her?" he asked.

      
I thought of the wagon of Kutaituchik and the golden

      
sphere. The Omen Taking had now begun. I must attempt

      
this night or some other in the near future to purloin the

      
sphere, to return it somehow to the Sardar. I was going to

      
say, "No," but then I thought of the girl from Cos, bound on

      
the wheel, weeping. I wondered if I could meet Kamchak's

      
price. I looked up.

      
Suddenly Kamchak lifted his hand, alert, gesturing for