Beasts of Gor by John Norman Page B

slave, of course, is goods. The fairs, too, however, have many other functions. For example, they serve as a scene of caste conventions, and as loci for the sharing of discoveries and research. It is here, for example, that physicians, and builders and artisans may meet and exchange ideas and techniques. It is here that Merchant Law is drafted and stabilized. it is here that songs are performed, and song dramas. Poets and musicians, and jugglers and magicians, vie for the attention of the crowds. Here one finds peddlers and great merchants. Some sell trinkets and others the notes of cities. It is here that the Gorean language tends to become standardized. These fairs constitute truce grounds. Men of warring cities may meet here without fear. Political negotiation and intrigue are rampant, too, generally secretly so, at the fairs. Peace and war, and arrangements and treaties, are not unoften determined in a pavilion within the precincts of the fairs. “The nearest,” I told the fellow from Torvaldsland, pointing down a corridor between pavilions and booths, “lies some quarter of a pasang in that direction, beyond the booths of the rug merchants. The largest, on the other hand, the platforms of slave exhibition and the great sales pavilion, lie to your left, two pasangs away, beyond the smithies and the chain shops.”
    “You speak clearly for one of the south,” he said. He thrust the hock of roast tarsk to me. I took it and, holding it with both hands, cut at it with my teeth. I tore away a good piece of meat. I had not had food since the morning, when I arrived at the fair.
    “My thanks,” I said.
    “I am Oleg,” he said.
    “I have been called Jarl Red Hair in the north.” I said.
    “Jarl!” he cried. “Forgive me, I did not know!”
    “The meat is good,” I said. I handed it back to him. It was true that in the north, by the word of Sevin Blue Tooth, I had stood upon the shields as Jarl.
    “I fought with you,” he said, “at the camp of the beasts. I saw you once near the tents of Thorgard of Scagnar.”
    “It was a good fight,” I said.
    “It was,” said he, smacking his lips.
    “Is the north quiet?” I asked. “Is there Kur activity in Torvaldsland?”
    “No,” said he, “no more than an occasional stray. The north is quiet.”
    “Good,” I said. The Kurii were not active in Torvaldsland. They had been driven from that bleak, rocky land by the mighty men of the high-roofed halls.
    He grinned at me.
    “Good hunting,” said I, “in the slave markets.”
    “Yes, Jarl,” said he, grinning, lifting the hock of roast tarsk. He turned toward the nearest market. In a few moments he hurled the bone of the tarsk from him, wiping his hands on the sides of his jacket. Over his shoulder hung the great ax of Torvaldsland.
    It had rained in the night, and the streets of the fair were muddy.
    The Sardar fairs are organized, regulated and administered by the Merchant Caste.
    I heard a girl screaming, being lashed. She was on her knees, to one side, between two tents; she was chained at a short stake, about which she had wrapped her arms, holding it for support. The side of her cheek was against the stake. The prohibition against violence at the Sardar, of course, does not extend to slaves. They may there, as elsewhere, be lashed, or tortured or slain, as it should please the master. They are slaves.
    I turned down one of the muddy streets, making my way between booths featuring the wares of pottery and weavers. It seemed to me that if 1 could find the fair’s street of coins, that the makers of odds might well have set their tables there. It was, at any rate, a sensible thought.
    “Where is the street of coins?” I asked a fellow, in the tunic of the tarnkeepers.
    “Of which city?” he asked.
    “My thanks,” I said, and continued on. The fairs are large, covering several square pasangs.
    I turned another corner.
    “Buy the silver of Tharna,” called a man. “Buy the finest silver on all