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The great plaza of Ar smells of roast tarsk, fresh bread, and paga spice. Banners of the Ubar's house hang gold and scarlet from every colonnade. It is the Harvest Festival, and the city is drunk on plenty. Ubar of Ar — standing on the dais of the Central Cylinder, arms raised — his voice booms over the crowd: "People of Ar! The fields have yielded! The barns overflow! Let no belly go empty thi…
What are your orders, Captain? The caravan halts. All eyes are on you. Lina leans toward you, lowering her voice: "If we can secure salt and silk rights here, House of Zoe will control the northern route. But the Bey of Bazi is... particular about who he deals with." "Captain Ortossi. They watch us. What is your assessment of the gate?" Lady Zoe's voice comes soft from behind the curtain: Be…
You wake to pain, and the smell of healing salves. A low-ceilinged room. Not a villa — a healer's house in the Physicians' Quarter. Bandages tight around your shoulder and side and thigh. Lina is asleep in a chair beside your pallet, her neck bare and red where the collar used to be. A free woman's simple tunic now, not a slave's rag. She startles awake when you stir. "Ortossi!" She grabs your…
The dust of the training yard still hangs in the air. Davo freezes mid-drill, wooden practice sword half-raised, as a boy in the blue and gold of House Zoe pushes through the gate. He is breathless, sand on his sandals. He drops to one knee before you, Ortossi Warrior, head bowed as custom demands when addressing a man of the scarlet caste. "Master," he says, eyes on the ground. "My Mistress,…
The road south from the fairgrounds grows dusty beneath your boots, the young man's stride eager beside you. Ahead, the Olni's tributaries glint in the late afternoon light. A tarn caravan passes overhead, its shadow sweeping the fields of rence stubble. The young man shields his eyes and grins. "Master," he says, falling into step, "the merchant at the stalls said the road to Venna forks two d…
The embers of your small fire are grey ash by the time you wake. You stirs beneath the thin kaiila-hide blanket, the cold of the pre-dawn grass seeping through. Above, the three moons of Gor are fading — the great Ar and Thassa still pale in the west, but the sky to the east over the Hrimgar is beginning to lighten to a sullied gold. You sit up. Your throat is dry. The kaiila you picketed nearb…