The morning sun, still tentative, painted the eastern spires of Ar in hues of gold and rose as I made my way through the bustling streets. The air, usually thick with the scents of commerce and humanity, held a crispness unique to early autumn. My satchel, heavier than usual with assessment charts and various unguents, swayed gently against my hip with each stride. Today was the day for the city guard’s annual physicals, a task I, Elizabeth, Physician of Gor, had come to anticipate with a blend of professional diligence and quiet amusement.The medical station, a sturdy building adjacent to the main barracks, was already a hive of subdued activity. A junior assistant, Tarl, was meticulously laying out sterile cloths and instruments, while another, the young and earnest Lucas, prepped the examination rooms. They greeted me with respectful nods, a silent testament to the trust I had painstakingly earned since my arrival in Ar. My reputation, like a well-tempered blade, had been forged in the crucible of countless fevers, broken bones, and the quiet dignity of life’s end.
"Good morning, Tarl, Lucas," I said, my voice resonating with a calm authority that often belied the whirl of thoughts beneath. "Everything prepared?" "Yes, Physician," Tarl confirmed, his gaze steady. "The first cohort of guards is already gathering in the waiting area."
I nodded, adjusting the simple, practical tunic and trousers I favoured for such work. The city guards of Ar were a formidable lot. Strong, disciplined, often hardened by the demanding realities of their profession in a world as perilous as Gor. Yet, beneath their breastplates and formidable demeanour, they were simply men, vulnerable to the same ailments and injuries as any other. My job was to peer past the armour, both metal and emotional, and ensure the warriors protecting this magnificent city were fit for duty.
My first patient of the day was Hargus, a veteran guard whose beard was more salt than pepper and whose eyes held the weary wisdom of too many skirmishes. He entered the examination room with a slight creak in his left knee, a familiar sound I had catalogued from previous encounters.
"Hargus," I greeted, gesturing to the examination bench. "Good to see you again. Though I confess, I hope not *too* good." He grunted a laugh, a deep rumble in his chest. "Always a pleasure, Physician. Even when you’re poking and prodding." He eased himself onto the bench, his movements careful.
"Standard procedure, Hargus," I replied, my hands already moving with practised ease. I checked his eyes, a surprisingly vibrant blue despite his age, then moved to his ears, nose, and throat. "Tell me, how is that old knee of yours faring with the damp mornings?"
He sighed. "It remembers every drop of rain, Physician. A regular weather prophet, it is."
"Indeed," I murmured, pressing gently around the joint, feeling for swelling or tenderness. "Still, its pronouncements seem less dire than they once were. Have you been diligent with the exercises I prescribed?” He looked away for a moment, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. "Most days, Physician. Most days.”
"Most days isn’t all days, Hargus," I chided gently, my tone more amused than critical. "A guard whose knee fails him in a moment of need is a risk to himself and his comrades. Think of it as training for your golden years, when your only battles are with a comfortable chair and a good cup of kai-wine.” He chuckled again, a genuine sound. "Kai-wine sounds good right now, Physician.” After a thorough examination of his lungs and heart – strong, if a little laboured from years of exertion – I assessed his reflexes, a quick tap of the hammer bringing his leg up with surprising vigour. "Remarkable, Hargus. Your reflexes are still sharp enough to catch a falling coin.”
"Or a fleeing thief," he added, a hint of pride in his voice.
I finished with a general assessment, noting the slight stiffness in his shoulders, a common complaint among those who wore heavy armour daily. "Continue with the stretches, Hargus. And try not to let that knee predict any more than two days in advance. We wouldn't want you becoming too accurate a prophet; it might make the weather-priests jealous." He rose, grunting softly, a genuine smile on his face. "Thank you, Physician. It's... good to know things still work.” "They do, Hargus. And we’ll keep them working for as long as we can."
The procession continued, a steady stream of men, each a study in stoicism and strength. There was Joric, young and eager, whose chest swelled with the pride of recent promotion. I noted the slight tremor in his hands, a nascent nervousness that would likely fade with experience.
"Joric," I began, observing his rigid posture. "Relax, guard. This isn't a parade inspection."
He forced a smile, his eyes darting nervously. "No, Physician."
"Your heart is thrumming like a caged tarn," I observed, listening with my ear pressed to his powerful chest. "Are you always so excited to see your physician?" He blushed, a deep crimson that spread from his neck to his hairline. "No, Physician. It's just... my first annual physical. I want to be in peak condition."
"And so you are," I reassured him, my tone softening. "Your strength is impressive, your lungs clear. But remember, a guard's greatest weapon isn't just his blade, but his clear head. Don't let apprehension cloud your judgment, whether on the walls or in a physician’s office." I tapped his bicep lightly. "You’ll be a formidable guard, Joric. Just breathe." I spent a moment discussing basic hydration and nutrition, common pitfalls for young guards who often subsisted on rations and irregular meals. His earnest nods suggested he would take my advice to heart, quite literally.
Next came Borin, a hulking man of few words, whose quiet strength was legendary among his peers. He stripped to the waist, revealing a landscape of old scars, each a testament to his service. I meticulously traced a particularly nasty one that ran from his left shoulder blade down to his ribs. "This one looks like a souvenir from the northern raids," I commented, my fingers light on his skin. He grunted. "A warrior of the Tobar, Physician. Nasty blade."
"Indeed. But it healed well. Your body is a testament to resilience, Borin." My hands moved to his back, feeling the knots of muscle, the subtle shifts in his spine. "Any persistent aches or pains we should address?” He shook his head. "None that keep me from my duties."
"Good," I affirmed, though I made a mental note of a slight asymmetry in his gait when he walked. I would advise him on some specific stretches to maintain flexibility, a quiet suggestion made without fanfare, knowing Borin preferred efficiency to lengthy explanations. His trust was a silent, weighty thing, and I valued it immensely.
The morning wore on, a cadence of questions, observations, and the rhythmic thump of the reflex hammer. I examined calloused hands that gripped swords, and feet that had tramped countless miles on cobblestone and dusty roads. I saw the signs of hard living, of stress, and of unwavering dedication. Each man, in his own way, held a story of Ar within him.
Mid-morning brought Torvin, a guard known for his jovial nature and his occasional indulgence in the city’s richer ales. He greeted me with a booming laugh.
"Physician! Here to remind me of all my impending doom, eh?" he boomed, attempting to lighten the mood. "Hardly impending, Torvin," I replied, a small smile touching my lips. "More like a gentle nudge away from a *self-inflicted* doom, perhaps." I gestured for him to sit. "Let’s start with that heart. You haven't been challenging any kaiilla to a foot race recently, have you?"
He laughed even louder. "Only in my dreams, Physician!"
I listened carefully to his heart, noting the slight but discernible irregularities. His blood pressure was also a touch higher than I liked. "Your heart is a sturdy organ, Torvin, but even the strongest walls can crumble if not maintained. Less of the richer ales, more of the spring water, eh? And perhaps a few more laps around the training grounds that don't involve chasing a stray meade.” He winced. "You always know, Physician. It’s like you have eyes in the very barrels of the Golden Stag Inn."
"A physician’s duty is to observe, Torvin. And your duty is to listen." I gave him specific dietary advice, and a stern but fair warning about the consequences of ignoring his health. "A healthy guard is a vigilant guard. And Ar needs vigilant guards.” He nodded, the joviality subdued, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "Understood, Physician. I shall endeavour to disappoint the brewers less often."
As the last guard of the cohort departed, I leaned back, stretching my shoulders. My mind, though tired, felt sharp and satisfied. Each physical was more than a routine check; it was an intimate glimpse into the lives of these men, a brief window into the demands placed upon their bodies and spirits. I thought of the city, vibrant and strong, and the unwavering resolve of its protectors. My role as a physician in Ar, in this complex and often brutal world of Gor, was to mend, to advise, and to preserve. It was a role I embraced with every fibre of my being. The light-hearted banter, the knowing smiles, the gentle chiding – they were all tools in my kit, as vital as any scalpel or salve, for they built the trust necessary for true healing. Tarl entered, carrying a fresh cup of warm Bazi tea. "The next cohort will be ready in a few moments, Physician.” I took a grateful sip, the earthy sweetness a welcome respite. "Excellent, Tarl. Let them come. There are still many breastplates to see beneath." And with a renewed sense of purpose, I prepared for the next wave of warriors, ready to apply my skills, my knowledge, and a judicious measure of humour to ensure the health of Ar's finest. The sun, now high in the sky, streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, each one a tiny, silent witness to the quiet work of preservation.
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