Tuchuk Recreation

Tuchuk Recreation

Bola Racing: One of the most dangerous and exciting of all Tuchuk sports, the bola race pits the speed and cunning of a slave girl against the power and accuracy of a mounted warrior. A girl who does not run her best can expect a long and excruciating death at the hands of Camp Torturers. Thus it is that a girl does her best to evade, zigging and zagging in an erratic fashion, attempting to free herself from her bonds when she is finally snared—even biting the neck of her captor’s kaiila, if she can!

“Now the Kassar, mounted on his kaiila, his lance under the tip of the girl's chin, who knelt before him, looking up at him, suddenly laughed and removed the lance. I breathed a sigh of relief. He rode his kaiila to Kamchak.

"’What do you want for your pretty little barbarian slave?’ he asked.

"’She is not for sale,’ said Kamchak.

"’Will you wager for her?’ pressed the rider.

“He was Albrecht of the Kassars, and, with Conrad of the Kassars, had been riding against myself and Kamchak. My heart sank.

“Kamchak's eyes gleamed. He was Tuchuk. ‘What are your terms?’ he asked.

"’On the outcome of the sport,’ he said, and then pointed to two girls, both his, standing to the left in their furs, ‘against those two.’

“The other girls were both Turian. They were not barbarians. Both were lovely. Both were, doubtless, well skilled in the art of pleasing the fancy of warriors of the Wagon Peoples. Conrad, hearing the wager of Albrecht, snorted derisively.

"’No,’ cried Albrecht, ‘I am serious!’

"’Done!’ cried Kamchak.

“Watching us there were a few children, some men, some slave girls. As soon as Kamchak had agreed to Albrecht's proposal the children and several of the slave girls immediately began to rush toward the wagons, delightedly crying ‘Wager! Wager!’ Soon, to my dismay, a large number of Tuchuks, male and female, and their male or female slaves, began to gather near the worn lane on the turf. The terms of the wager were soon well known.

“In the crowd, as well as Tuchuks and those of the Tuchuks, there were some Kassars, a Paravaci or two, even one of the Kataii. The slave girls in the crowd seemed particularly excited. I could hear bets being taken.

“The Tuchuks, not too unlike Goreans generally, are fond of gambling. Indeed, it is not unknown that a Tuchuk will bet his entire stock of bosk on the outcome of a single kaiila race; as many as a dozen slave girls may change hands on something as small as the direction that a bird will fly or the number of seeds in a tospit…

“There is a priority of honor involved in being the first rider, but points scored are the same by either rider, depending on his performance. The first rider is, commonly, as one might expect, the more experienced, skilled rider..

“Albrecht was rearing on his kaiila, loosening the bola at his saddle.

"Remove your furs," he instructed his two girls. Immediately they did so and, in spite of the brisk, bright chilly afternoon, they stood in the grass, clad Kajir. They would run for us.

“Kamchak raced his kaiila over to the edge of the crowd, entering into swift negotiation with a warrior, one whose wagon followed ours in the march of the Tuchuks. Indeed, it had been from that warrior that Kamchak had rented the girls who had dragged Elizabeth Cardwell about the wagons, teaching her Gorean with thong and switch.

“I saw a flash of copper, perhaps a tarn disk from one of the distant cities, and one of the warrior's girls, an attractive Turian wench, Tuka, began to remove her fur. She would run for one of the Kassars, doubtless Conrad.

“Tuka, I knew, hated Elizabeth, and Elizabeth, I knew, reciprocated the emotion with vehemence. Tuka, in the matter of teaching Elizabeth the language, had been especially cruel. Elizabeth, bound, could not resist and did she try, Tuka's companions, the others of her wagon, would leap upon her with their switches flailing. Tuka, for her part, understandably had reason to envy and resent the young American slave. Elizabeth Cardwell, at least until now, had escaped, as Tuka had not, the brand, the nose ring and collar. Elizabeth was clearly some sort of favorite in her wagon. Indeed, she was the only girl in the wagon. That alone, though of course it meant she would work very hard, was regarded as a most enviable distinction. Lastly, but perhaps not least, Elizabeth Cardwell had been given for her garment the pelt of a larl, while she, Tuka, must go about the camp like all the others, clad Kajir.

“I feared that Tuka would not run well, thus losing us the match, that she would deliberately allow herself to be easily snared. But then I realized that this was not true.

“If Kamchak and her master were not convinced that she had run as well as she might, it would not go easily with her. She would have contributed to the victory of a Kassar over a Tuchuk. That night, one of the hooded members of the Clan of Torturers would have come to her wagon and fetched her away, never to be seen again. She would run well, hating Elizabeth or not. She would be running for her life.

“Kamchak wheeled his kaiila and joined us. He pointed his lance to Elizabeth Cardwell. ‘Remove your furs,’ he said…

“A black lance was fixed in the prairie about four hundred yards away. A rider beside it, on a kaiila, marked its place. It was not expected, of course, that any of the girls would reach the lance. If one did, of course, the rider would decree her safe.

“In the run the important thing was time, the dispatch, and the skill with which the thing was accomplished. Tuchuk girls, Elizabeth and Tuka, would run for the Kassars; the two Kassar girls would run for Kamchak and myself; naturally each slave does her best for her master, attempting to evade his competitor.

“The time in these matters is reckoned by the heartbeat of a standing kaiila. Already one had been brought. Near the animal, on the turf, a long bosk whip was laid in a circle, having a diameter of somewhere between eight and ten feet.

“The girl begins her run from the circle. The object of the rider is to effect her capture, secure her and return her, in as little time as possible, to the circle of the whip…

"’Run,’ said Conrad quietly.

“Tuka sped from the circle. The crowd began to cry out, to cheer, urging her on. Conrad, the thong in his teeth, the bola quiet at his side, watched her. She would receive a start of fifteen beats of the great heart of the kaiila, after which she would be about half way to the lance.

“The judge, aloud, was counting.

“At the count of ten Conrad began to slowly spin the bola. It would not reach its maximum rate of revolution until he was in full gallop, almost on the quarry.

“At the count of fifteen, making no sound, not wanting to warn the girl, Conrad spurred the kaiila in pursuit, bola swinging.

“The crowd strained to see.

“The judge had begun to count again, starting with one, the second counting, which would determine the rider's time.

“The girl was fast and that meant time for us, if only perhaps a beat. She must have been counting to herself because only an instant or so after Conrad had spurred after her she looked over her shoulder, seeing him approaching. She must then have counted about three beats to herself, and then she began to break her running pattern, moving to one side and the other, making it difficult to approach her swiftly.

"’She runs well,’ said Kamchak.

“Indeed she did, but in an instant I saw the leather flash of the bola, with its vicious, beautiful almost ten-foot sweep, streak toward the girl's ankles, and I saw her fall.

“It was scarcely ten beats and Conrad had bound the struggling, scratching Tuka, slung her about the pommel, raced back, kaiila squealing, and threw the girl, wrists tied to her ankles, to the turf inside the circle of the boskhide whip.

"’Thirty,’ said the judge.

“Conrad grinned.

“Tuka, as best she could, squirmed in the bonds, fighting them. Could she free a hand or foot, or even loosen the thong, Conrad would be disqualified.

“After a moment or two, the judge said, 'Stop,' and Tuka obediently lay quiet. The judge inspected the thongs. 'The wench is secured,' he announced.

“In terror Tuka looked up at Kamchak, mounted on his kaiila. "’You ran well,’ he told her.

“She closed her eyes, almost fainting with relief. She would live.”—Nomads, 65-66; 68-71

Dancing and Singing: The Tuchuk culture is rich with singing and dancing, both for fun and for ceremony. Whether to please the sky, to pray for victory in battle and honor in death, or to simply to herd a bosk, song and dance play an important role in Wagon life.

“Slowly, singing in a guttural chant, a Tuchuk warrior song, he began to swing the bola.”—Nomads, 24

“By one fire I could see a squat Tuchuk, hands on hips, dancing and stamping about by himself, drunk on fermented milk curds, dancing, according to Kamchak, to please the sky.”—Nomads, 28

“…the swift races across the frozen prairie; the meetings in arms; even the dancing to the sky about a fire of bosk dung.”—Nomads, 44

“About this time I heard someone come along the street whistling a tune. I had heard it…It was a Tuchuk tune, a wagon tune, sometimes sung by the girls with the bosk sticks.”—Nomads, 236

“Some of the Tuchuks began to sing the Blue Sky Song, the refrain of which is that though I die, yet there will be the bosk, the grass and sky.”—Nomads, 263

Gamboling and Wagering: With the exception of waging war—which is in itself considered a sport—there is nothing a Tuchuk loves more than gamboling and wagering. The call of “Wager! Wager!” can draw huge crowds of spectators to witness the outcome of an especially impressive bid, though something so simple as who will buy a bottle of Paga is often cause for a sporting bet.

“’What do you want for your pretty little barbarian slave?’ he asked.

"’She is not for sale,’ said Kamchak.

"’Will you wager for her?’ pressed the rider.

“He was Albrecht of the Kassars, and, with Conrad of the Kassars, had been riding against myself and Kamchak. My heart sank.

“Kamchak's eyes gleamed. He was Tuchuk. ‘What are your terms?’ he asked.

"’On the outcome of the sport,’ he said, and then pointed to two girls, both his, standing to the left in their furs, ‘against those two.’

"’Done!’ cried Kamchak.

“We then spat to determine who would bargain for a bottle of Paga. By starting from the side and turning his head quickly, Kamchak bested me by some eighteen inches. In the light of his skill my own effort seemed depressingly naļve, quite simple-minded, unimaginative and straightforward. I had not known about the head-twisting trick. The wily Tuchuk, of course, had had me spit first.”—Nomads, 111-2

“We decided to wager to see who would get the second bottle of Paga.
“’What of the flight of birds?’ asked Kamchak.
“’Agreed,’ I said, but I have first choice.
“’Very well,’ he said.
“I knew, of course, that it was spring and, in this hemisphere, most birds, if they were migrating, would be moving south. ‘South,’ I said.
“’North,’ he said.
“We then waited about a minute, and I saw several birds—river gulls—flying north.
“’Those are Vosk gulls,’ said Kamchak, ‘In the spring, when the ice breaks the Vosk, they fly north.’
“I fished some coins out of my pouch for Paga.”—Nomads, 137

"'Odd or even?' he asked. I had resolved not to wager with Kamchak, but this was indeed an opportunity to gain a certain amount of vengeance which, on my part, would be sorely appreciated. Usually, in guessing tospit seeds, one guesses the actual number, and usually both guessers opt for an odd number. The common tospit almost invariably has an odd number of seeds. On the other hand the rare, long-stemmed tospit usually has an even number of seeds. Both fruits are indistinguishable outwardly.
"I could see that, perhaps by accident, the tospit which Kamchak had thrown me had had the stem twisted off. It must be then, I surmised, the rare, long-stemmed tospit.
"'Even,' I said. Kamchak looked at me as though pained. 'Tospits almost always have an odd number of seeds,' he said.
"'Even,' I said. 'Very well,' said he, 'eat the tospit and see.'
"'Why should I eat it?' I asked. The tospit, after all, is quite bitter. And why shouldn't Kamchak eat it? He had suggested the wager.
“'I am a Tuchuk,' said Kamchak, 'I might be tempted to swallow seeds.'
"'Let's cut it up,' I proposed. 'One might miss a seed that way,' said Kamchak.
"'Perhaps we could mash the slices,' I suggested. But would that not be a great deal of trouble,' asked Kamchak, 'and might one not stain the rug?'
"'Perhaps we could mash them in a bowl,' I suggested. 'But then a bowl would have to be washed,' said Kamchak.
"'That is true,' I admitted. 'All things considered,' said Kamchak, 'I think the fruit should be eaten.'
"'I guess you are right,' I said. I bit into the fruit philosophically. It was indeed bitter.
"'Besides,' said Kamchak, 'I do not much care for tospit.'
"'I am not surprised,' I said. 'They are quite bitter,' said Kamchak. 'Yes,' I said.
"I finished the fruit and, of course, it had seven seeds.
"'Most tospits,' Kamchak informed me, 'have an odd number of seeds.'
"'I know,' I said.
"'Then why did you guess even?' he asked.
"'I supposed,' I grumbled, 'that you would have found a long-stemmed tospit.'

"'But they are not available,' he said, 'until late in the summer.' "--Nomads, 149-150

Games of Love War: The Games of Love War are perhaps the best known of all Wagon sports, for they involve not only the four tribes but also the finest warriors of Turia. Many of the beautiful women standing braceleted at the one thousand stakes are led away in chains by the end of the day, and many brave champions fall in the defense of their home’s own woman.

“’In the spring there will be the games of Love War and I will go to Turia, and you may then, if you wish, accompany me.’”--Nomads, 56

“’After the games of Love War,’ said Kamchak, ‘The omens will be taken.’”—Nomads, 56

“The institution of Love War is an ancient one among the Turians and the Wagon Peoples, according to the Year Keepers antedating even the Omen Year. The games of Love War, of course, are celebrated every spring between, so to speak, the city and the plains, whereas the Omen Year occurs only every tenth year. The games of Love War, in themselves, do not constitute a gathering of the Wagon Peoples, for normally the herds and the free women of the peoples do not approach one another at these times; only certain delegations of warriors, usually about two hundred from a people, are sent in the spring to the Plains of a Thousand Stakes.”—Nomads, 115-116

Kaiila Racing: A kaiila race can take place at any time, winter or summer—and woe to those who would stand in its path!

“Nearly were we run down by six riders on thundering kaiila who, riding for sport, raced past us wildly among the crowded, clustered wagons.”—Nomads, 27

“…the swift races across the frozen prairie; the meetings in arms; even the dancing to the sky about a fire of bosk dung.”—Nomads, 44

Living Wand, The: Although almost no Wagon sport is without risk, the Living Wand is the most dangerous of them all. Rather than an inanimate post, it is the slave girl herself who holds the tospit—-between her teeth, no less. One hairsbreadth of a miscalculation, and the kajira will be slain or horribly disfigured. As with the bola race, a girl who throws the competition—in this case, by flinching—will meet an unfortunate end at the hands of the Camp Torturers.

“Kamchak sucked in his breath. Several in the crowd shouted out, ‘The living wand!’

“I looked at Kamchak. I saw in his eyes that the challenge must be accepted. In this matter I must be Tuchuk. Save for armed combat, lance and tospit with the living wand is the most dangerous of the sports of the Wagon Peoples.

“In this sport, as might be expected, one's own slave must stand for one. It is essentially the same sport as lancing the tospit from the wand, save that the fruit is held in the mouth of a girl, who is slain should she move or in any way withdraw from the lance. Needless to say many a slave girl has been injured in this cruel sport.

“‘I do not want to stand for him!’ cried out Elizabeth Cardwell.

“‘Stand for him, Slave,’ snarled Kamchak.

“Elizabeth Cardwell took her position, standing sideways, the tospit held delicately between her teeth. For some reason she did not seem afraid but rather, to my mind, incomprehensibly infuriated. She should have been shuddering with terror.

“Instead she seemed indignant. But she stood like a rock and when I thundered past her the tip of my lance had been thrust through the tospit.

“The girl who had bitten the neck of the kaiila, and whose leg had been torn by its teeth, stood for Albrecht.

“With almost scornful ease he raced past her lifting the tospit from her mouth with the tip of his lance.

“‘Three points for each," announced the judge.

“’We are finished,’ I said to Albrecht. ‘It is a tie. There is no winner.’

“He held his saddle on his rearing kaiila. ‘There will be a winner!’ he cried. ‘Facing the lance!’

"’I will not ride,’ I said.

"’I claim victory and the woman’ shouted Albrecht.

"’It will be his,’ said the judge, ‘if you do not ride.’

“I would ride.

“Elizabeth, unmoving, faced me, some fifty yards away. This is the most difficult of the lance sports. The thrust must be made with exquisite lightness, the lance loose in the hand, the hand not in the retaining thong, but allowing the lance to slip back, then when clear, moving it to the left and, hopefully, past the living wand. If well done, this is a delicate and beautiful stroke. If clumsily done the girl will be scarred, or perhaps slain.

“Elizabeth stood facing me, not frightened, but seemingly rather put upon. Her fists were even clenched. I hoped that she would not be injured. When she had stood sideways I had favored the left, so that if the stroke was in error, the lance would miss the tospit altogether; but now, as she faced me, the stroke must be made for the center of the fruit; nothing else would do. “The gait of the kaiila was swift and even. A cry went up from the crowd as I passed Elizabeth, the tospit on the point of the lance.

“Warriors were pounding on the lacquered shields with their lances. Men shouted. I heard the thrilled cries of slave girls. I turned to see Elizabeth waver, and almost faint, but she did not do so.

“Albrecht the Kassar, angry, lowered his lance and set out for his girl. In an instant he had passed her, the tospit riding the lance tip. The girl was standing perfectly still, smiling. The crowd cheered as well for Albrecht.

“Then they were quiet, for the judge was rushing to the lance of Albrecht, demanding it. Albrecht the Kassar, puzzled, surrendered the weapon.

"’There is blood on the weapon,’ said the judge.

"’She was not touched,’ cried Albrecht.

"’I was not touched!’ cried the girl.

“The judge showed the point of the lance. There was a tiny stain of blood at its tip, and too there was a smear of blood on the skin of the small yellowish-white fruit.

"’Open your mouth, slave,’ demanded the judge.

“The girl shook her head.

"’Do it,’ said Albrecht.

“She did so and the judge, holding her teeth apart roughly with his hands, peered within. There was blood in her mouth. The girl had been swallowing it, rather than show she had been struck. It seemed to me she was a brave, fine girl.

“It was with a kind of shock that I suddenly realized that she, and Dina of Turia, now belonged to Kamchak and myself.”—Nomads, 80-83

Love Dances of the Wagon Peoples: As is the case with Gorean cities, each of the tribes of the Wagon Peoples has its own love dance. While these dances are never described in great detail, they are apparently as wild as plains life itself.

“The girl looked at him gratefully and she, with the others, rose to her feet and to the astounding barbarity of the music performed the savage love dances of the Kassars, the Paravaci, the Kataii, the Tuchuks.

“They were magnificent.

“One girl, the leader of the dancers, she who had spoken to Kamchak, was a Tuchuk girl, and was particularly startling, vital, uncontrollable, wild.

“It was then clear to me why the Turian men so hungered for the wenches of the Wagon Peoples.

“At the height of one of her dances, called the Dance of the Tuchuk Slave Girl…”—Nomads, 99

Running for the City: In this cruel sport, a Turian slave girl is allowed to run for the city of her birth. Any hope of freedom is fleeting, however, for she is soon caught upon the plains, brought down by the whirling bola and secured in leather thongs upon the back of a kaiila.

“It might be added that there are two items which the Wagon Peoples will not sell or trade to Turia, one is a living bosk and the other is a girl from the city itself, though the latter are sometimes, for the sport of the young men, allowed, as it is said, to run for the city. They are then hunted from the back of the kaiila with bola and thongs.”—Nomads, 58

Target Practice: While fun, target practice does have a practical purpose as well—-namely, teaching the use of the thrown saddle knife, the quiva.

“Here and there children ran between the wheels, playing with cork ball and quiva, the object of the game being to strike the thrown ball.”—Nomads, 27

“I was most fond, perhaps, of the balanced saddle knife, the quiva; it is about a foot in length, double edged; it tapers to a daggerlike point…At forty feet I could strike a thrown tospit; at one hundred feet I could strike a layered boskhide disk, about four inches in width, fixed to a lance thrust in the turf.”—Nomads, 67

Tospit Lancing: This sport involves the lancing of a dried tospit fruit from a wooden wand. The scoring is determined by a simple point system based on the skill of the thrust: shearing the fruit in half earns the rider one point, lancing the fruit all the way through gains two points, and spearing it on the tip of the lance garners three points, the maximum possible. Usually there are two riders on each team, the teams alternating turns; each rider only gets one round.

“On the back of the kaiila, the black lance in hand, bending down in the saddle, I raced past a wooden wand fixed in the earth, on the top of which was placed a dried topsit…

“’Well done!’ cried Kamchak as he saw the tospit, unsplit, impaled halfway down the shaft of the lance, stopped only by my fist and the retaining strap…

“’Tospit!’ called Conrad of the Kassars, the Blood People, and the girl hastened to set another fruit on the wand.

“There was a thunder of kaiila paws on the worn turf and Conrad, with his red lance, nipped the tospit neatly from the tip of the wand, the lance point barely passing into it, he having drawn back at the last instant.

“’Well done!’ I called to him. My own thrust had been a full thrust, accurate enough but rather heavily done; in war, such a thrust might have lost me the lance, leaving it in the body of the body of an enemy. His thrust was clearly, I acknowledged, worth three points.

“Kamchak then rode, and he, like Conrad of the Kassars, deftly took the fruit from the wand; indeed, the lance entering the fruit perhaps a fraction of an inch less than had Conrad’s. It was, however, also a three-point thrust.

“The warrior who then rode with Conrad thundered down the lane in the turf.

“There was a cry of disappointment, as the lance tip sheared the fruit, not retaining it, knocking it from the wand. It was only a one-point thrust.”—Nomads, 60

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