A Mad Day Out

  The first rays of the Lar Torvis, still soft and golden, were just kissing the eastern towers as I rose. My own cottage, usually filled with the scent of herbs and the quiet rustle of parchment, felt unusually light this morning. Today was not a day for diagnosing the plague or setting a broken bone. Today was for me and for the joyful chaos that only Julia and Carly could bring. I moved with a practiced ease, pulling on a emerald green robe of soft, undyed linen that flowed gracefully to my ankles, belted loosely with a simple leather cord. My sandals were sturdy but elegant, suitable for a day of walking the cobbled streets. A small purse containing my tarsks – a mix of copper, silver, and a few precious gold pieces – hung at my side. As a physician, I earned well, and today, I intended to spend some of it.

  A knock at my door, just as I was pinning my hair back with a carved bone comb. "Elizabeth, are you ready to face the world?" It was Julia, her voice bright and full of an infectious energy that belied the early hour.  I opened the door to find her, a vision in deep sapphire blue, her dark hair coiled into an intricate braid. Beside her, Carly, a playful sprite in soft peach, was already fanning herself with a tiny, painted fan, despite the cool morning air. Her golden curls bounced with every movement.

   "Ready as I've ever been," I said, a smile blooming on my face. "Though I suspect you two will drain my energy before noon." Julia laughed, a rich, full sound. "Nonsense! We shall replenish you with wine and gossip. And perhaps, if we're lucky, some truly scandalous sightings.”  Carly linked her arm through mine. "Oh, Elizabeth, I had the most delightful dream last night. About a certain guard captain at the city gates, and a very large, very… “empty”… wine barrel." She winked, and we all dissolved into giggles. This was how our days always began – with mischief and unspoken promises of shared secrets.

    Our destination was the Grand Bazaar, a labyrinthine sprawl of stalls and shouting merchants that stretched across the heart of Ven’dara. The air thickened with each step we took, a heady perfume of spices, roasting meats, exotic flowers, and the undeniable scent of humanity. "First stop," Julia declared, pointing towards a vibrant stall heaped with sacks of colorful powders and fragrant leaves, "the spice merchant. My larder is shockingly barren of tarka root.” While Julia haggled with the merchant over the price of tarka and pungent kal-na, Carly drifted towards a smaller section, sniffing at jars of perfumed oils and incense. I followed her, drawn by the sweet, musky scent of burning frankincense.

  "This," Carly purred, holding up a small alabaster jar of shimmering oil, "is what a man wants to smell on his pillow. Or, perhaps, on his skin, after a particularly… invigorating night." Her eyes sparkled with a knowing glint. "Carly, you temptress," I chuckled, taking the jar and dabbing a little on my wrist. The scent was warm, earthy, and undeniably sensual. "Imagine a warrior, smelling of this after a long day in the sand. Enough to make a woman forget her vows of sensible living."

  Julia joined us, victorious in her tarka-root acquisition. "Speaking of warriors," she said, leaning in conspiratorially, "I saw Hakan, that giant of a man from the Sardar, training in the arena yesterday. Kings, his muscles are like carved granite."

   "Oh, Hakan!" Carly fanned herself dramatically. "He could snap me in half, and I'd thank him for it.”  I rolled my eyes playfully. "You two are incorrigible. But I admit, Hakan has a certain… presence. Though I prefer a man with wit as well as strength. Perhaps someone who can articulate something beyond 'Ho!' and 'By the Name of the Kings!'"

   We left the spice merchant with full purses and even fuller spirits, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine we would eventually consume. Next, we plunged into the vibrant chaos of the fabric stalls. Bolts of silk shimmered in the sunlight, linen lay in stacks of pristine white, and woolens in every shade imaginable formed mountains of texture. Julia, ever practical, was on a mission for new bed linens. "Something durable, but soft. My current set is starting to show its age." She ran her hand over a bolt of finely woven cotton.

   Carly, however, had eyes only for the silks. "Look at this, Elizabeth!" she gasped, holding up a length of fabric that seemed to change color with every shift of light, from deep violet to iridescent green. "Imagine a gown of this! Or even just a veil. It would make a man's eyes linger, wouldn't it?"

  "Indeed," I said, my physician's mind momentarily drifting to the practicalities of dyes and weaving, but then quickly returning to the pleasure of the moment. "It would make any man linger. And probably curse the gods for making him wear rough wool." I found myself drawn to a rich, deep crimson velvet. It wasn't for a gown, perhaps, but a luxurious cushion for my reading nook. It felt so soft against my cheek, like a lover's whisper.

  "This would be glorious," I mused, "to sink into after a particularly trying day at the clinic."

   "Or a particularly satisfying one," Carly added with a sly grin, earning a poke from Julia.

  After securing our fabric treasures – Julia with her practical cotton, Carly with a shimmering scarf she insisted would make her "irresistible," and I with my velvet – we decided it was time for refreshment. The "Silver Tarsk Tavern," a bustling, open-air establishment with shaded tables, beckoned. We settled into a corner, ordering cool wine and platters of roasted meat, fresh fruit, and warm flatbread. The conversation, fuelled by the wine, deepened.

 "Honestly," Julia sighed, leaning back in her chair, "sometimes I wonder if I Companioned the right man. Not that Lars isn't wonderful, but… he never notices when I buy a new trinket, or change my hair."

  "Men are often blind to such things, my dear," I said, spearing a sweet fig. "Their minds are on the hunt, or the battle, or the next game of kaissa. It's why we have each other.” Carly, however, was already planning her next romantic conquest. "I'm thinking of sending a basket of honeyed figs to that new musician at the House of Song. He has such delicate hands, and his voice… it melts me."

  "Delicate hands and a melting voice, hmm?" I teased. "Perhaps he'll write a ballad about you, my dear."

  "Or sing a private one," Carly winked. "You know, I once heard that a certain warrior – a very famous one – has a secret collection of love poems he recites to his chosen women. Imagine that! Strength and poetry. A truly dangerous combination."

  Julia hummed. "Lars brings me flowers sometimes. And he always makes sure there's firewood for the hearth. Practical love." 

   "And that has its own profound beauty," I agreed. "But a little bit of the dangerous combination never hurt anyone, either. Perhaps that's why we physicians so often fall for the wilder sort. A man who lives life on the edge keeps things interesting, don't you think? Like a challenging diagnosis." I paused, considering. "Though less fatal, one hopes."

  We laughed, the sound echoing through the tavern. The honesty, the vulnerability, and the sheer joy of our shared experiences were the true currency of our friendship. Revitalized, we ventured back into the market, eventually finding ourselves in a quieter section dedicated to handcrafted pottery and decorative arts. Julia needed a new water pitcher, and Carly was searching for a small, intricately carved wooden box for her growing collection of scented oils. 

  I, however, found myself captivated by a series of glazed earthenware bowls, painted with swirling patterns of blues and greens, reminiscent of the Thassa. They were utterly impractical for my clinic, but I imagined them filled with fresh fruit on my dining table, or simply sitting as objects of beauty. I purchased three, knowing they would bring a quiet pleasure to my home. Our last stop was a perfumery, a small, dark shop tucked away down a narrow alley, where the air was thick with a thousand different scents. The proprietor, a wizened old woman with keen eyes, offered us tiny vials to sample.

   Carly, predictably, chose something overtly floral and sweet. Julia selected a calming lavender, practical for her home. I, after much deliberation, settled on a complex blend of sandalwood, amber, and a hint of something spicy and unknown.

  "This is Elizabeth," Carly declared, sniffing my wrist. "Mysterious, a little exotic, and with a comforting warmth at its core."

  "And slightly intimidating if you get too close," Julia added with a smirk.

  "Only to those who deserve it," I retorted, spraying a fine mist of my new perfume onto my neck.

    As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the city, we finally made our way back, our purses lighter but our hearts full. My arms ached from carrying my packages – the velvet, the painted bowls, my new perfume. But the weariness was a sweet one.

  "That was precisely what I needed," Julia sighed contentedly, linking arms with both of us. "Away from Lars's grumbling and the children's endless demands."

  "And away from my duties, away from the stench of illness and the weight of decisions," I added, a genuine sense of peace settling over me. "Thank you both for dragging me out."

  Carly leaned her head on my shoulder. "You never need dragging, Elizabeth. You just need a gentle push towards the delights of the world. And a few scandalous stories to brighten your day."

   We reached my home, and I invited them in for a final glass of wine. As we sat, the last light fading, sharing quiet stories and contemplating our purchases, I knew that these days, these precious moments of laughter, honest conversation, and the easy camaraderie of old friends, were more valuable than any tarsk, any silk, or any exotic spice. They were the true treasures of life, gifts from the Kings themselves. And I wouldn't trade them for all the gold on Gor.