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.I heard the crack of a whip and the command “Fight!” and saw the two men begin to close with one another.I glanced at the game board.Cernus has paid me little attention, being absorbed in the game.I had not seen the opening.Judging from the pieces and positions it appeared to be late in the middle game.Cernus was sell in command of the board.I assumed he must be skilled at this sport.A blue line appeared across the chest of one of the slaves fighting between the tables, on a square of sand some twelve feet in dimension.The line was adjudicated as a point.The two men then returned to opposite corners of the ring and crouched down, waiting for the command to fight again.Without being asked I had taken a position at the table of Cernus himself.No one had objected, at least explicitly, though I did sense some disgruntlement at my action.It had been expected, I gathered, that I would sit at one of the two long side tables, and perhaps even below the bowls of red and yellow salt which divided these tables.The table of Cernu itself, of course, was regarded as being above the bowls.Ho-Tu sat beside me, on my left.There was a shout from the men-at-arms and members of the House who sat at the tables as the second slave, he who had scored the first point, managed to leave a long streak of blue down the inside of the right arm of the first slave.“Point!” called the man-at-arms, he with the whip, and the two slaves separated again, each going to their corners and crouching there in the sand, breathing heavily.The man whose arm had been marked was forced then to carry the sheathed hook knife in his left hand.I heard the odds changing rapidly at the tables as the men of the house of Cernus revised their betting.I heard Cernus announce “Capture of Home Stone,” and turned to see Caprus sit back in defeat, staring at the board.Cernus began to arrange the pieces once more on the board.“You could have been a Player,” said Caprus.Cernus laughed with pleasure, turning the board.“Take yellow,” he offered.Caprus shrugged and pushed Ubar’s Spearman to Ubar Four.Cernus looked at me eagerly.“Do you play?” he asked.“No,” I said.He turned again to regard the board.He pushed his Ubara’s Intiate’s Spearman to Ubara’s Intiate’s Spearman Four.The Torian Defense.There was a cry and I looked again to the square of sand and the first slave, with the hook knife in his left hand, had plunged across the sand, taking a stroke across the chest, to strike his own blue line blow at his opponent.“Point for both,” announced the man-at-arms.The food at the table of Cernus was good, but it was plain, rather severe, like the master of the House.I had tarsk meat and yellow bread with honey, Gorean peas and a tankard of diluted Ka-la-na, warm water mixed with wine.Ho-Tu, I noted, but did not speak to him of it, drank only water and, with a horn spoon, ate only a grain porridge mixed with bosk milk.At the wall on my right there were fifteen slave rings.To each, on furs, there was chained, by the left ankle, a bare-breasted girl about whose waist there was knotted a scarlet cord, in which was thrust a long, narrow rectangle of red silk.About their throats were matching red-enameled collars.Their lips were rouged and they wore eye-shadow.Some glistening red substance had been sprinkled on their hair.Following the meal, I understood, in the House of Cernus, is a time for the pleasure and recreation of the men.There are games and sports, and wagers and song.Paga and Ka-la-na are then, when Cernus would leave, brought forth.“A kill!” cried the man-at-arms with the whip.I saw that the second slave, who was doubtless the better man at the sport, had slipped behind the first and, holding his head back with a powerful forearm, had decisively drawn his sheathed hook knife across the throat of the first man.The first man seemed numb, the heavy blue streak on his throat, and slipped to his knees.Two men-at-arms rushed forward and put him in shackles.For some reason, the man with the whip took the slave’s hook knife, unsheathed it, and drew it across the slave’s chest, leaving there a smear of blood.It was not a serious wound.It seemed pointless to me.The slave who had lost was then led away in his shackles.The victor, on the other hand, turned about and raised his hands.He was greeted with cheers and was immediately taken to the table on my left, where he was seated at the far end of the table, before a plate heaped with meat, which he began to devour, holding it in his hands, eyes wild, almost lost in the food, to the amusement of the watching men.I gathered the feed troughs in the pens of the male slaves seldom contained viands so choice.Now that the sport was done some Musicians filed in, taking up positions to one side.There was a czehar player, two players of the kalika, four flutists and a pair of kaska drummers.The meal was served by slave girls in white tunics, each wearing a white-enameled collar.These would be girls in training, some of them perhaps White Silk Girls, being accustomed to the routines and techniques of serving at table.One of them carried a large pitcher of the diluted Ka-la-na wine and stepped behind us, climbing the two steps to the broad wooden dais on which our tables were set.She bent over my left shoulder woodenly, her body stiff.“Wine, Master?” she asked.“She-sleen,” hissed Ho-Tu.“How is it that you first serve wine to a strange man at the table of your master?”“Forgive Lana,” said she, tears springing to her eyes.“You belong in the iron pens,” said Ho-Tu.“He frightens me,” she wept.“He is of the black caste.”“Serve him wine,” said he, “or you will be stripped and thrown into a pen of male slaves.”The girl turned and withdrew, then approached again, climbing the stairs, delicately, as though timidly, head down.Then she leaned forward, bending her knees slightly, her body graceful, and spoke, her voice a whisper in my ear, an invitation, “Wine, Master?” as though offering not wine, but herself.In a large house, with various slave girls, it is thought only an act of courtesy on the part of a host to permit a guest the use of one of the girls for the evening.Each of the girls considered eligible for this service, at one time or another during the evening, will approach the guest and offer him wine.His choice is indicated by the one from whom he accepts wine.I looked at the girl.Her eyes met mine, softly.Her lips were slightly parted.“Wine, Master?” she asked.“Yes,” I said, “I will have wine.”She poured the diluted wine into my cup, bowed her head and with a shy smile, backed gracefully down the stairs behind me, then turned and hurried away.“Of course,” said Ho-Tu, “you may not have her tonight, for she is White Silk.”“I understand,” I said.The Musicians had now begun to play.I have always enjoyed the melodies of Gor, though they tend on the whole to a certain wild, barbaric quality.Elizabeth, I knew, would have enjoyed them as well.I smiled to myself.Poor Elizabeth, I thought.She would be hungry tonight and in the morning would have to go to the feed troughs in the quarters of the female staff slaves, probably for water and a porridge of grain and vegetables.When I had left the compartment, Ho-Tu preceding me down the hall, I had turned and blown her a kiss.She had been quite angry, kneeling there bound hand and foot, fastened to the slave ring by chain and collar, while I trotted off to have dinner with the master of the house.She would probably be quite difficult to get on with in the morning, which time it would be, I supposed, before I would return to the compartment.It is not pleasant to be bound all night.Indeed, such is a common and severe punishment for female slaves on Gor.It is less common to bind a girl during the day because then there is much work to be done
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