The Paga Diaries (50) by Arizona Traveller

 50.  A Breath of Fresh Air.

It was great to be on the back of a tarn again, though the flight from the tower to the large estate farm outside of the city is short.  Once he had flown our tarn past the city walls Trem changed his usual course and flew low, along the river, following it until we reached the section of the farm where the dung was delivered.   I had never been with him on this route, as it was not the most direct.  We saw a barge tied to a dock on the bank of the estate and there were a dozen men unloading wooden timbers that had been fashioned into some sort of component, perhaps parts or pieces of a larger structure.  They looked familiar, and reminded me of the timbers I had worked on as a sawyer in the lumberyard.

Trem landed the tarn basket that had been beneath us in tow during our flight.  He showed me once again how to make a tarn hover and then land next to the basket full of dung.  A man with a wide brimmed hat walked over and greeted us.  It was Therin, the overseer on this part of the farm.  He invited us for a paga while we waited for the field slaves to unload the dung from the large basket.

Olsi, the tan, stocky, muscled field slave with nice hips and firm breasts came to serve us paga under the large tarp of Therin’s shade.  Her paga serve was modest, lacking the usual grace of a tavern girl.  It reminded me of Mena’s serves, and how she needed more practice to obtain a more eye pleasing level of skill.

“Have you noticed on your flights the large amount of mercenaries in the army camp? It seems that there are now more mercenaries than Argentum regulars,” Therin said as Olsi served.

“No, I hadn’t noticed,” Trem said.

“I’m surprised the city hasn’t initiated conscription.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Trem said.

“Do you think they are still going to have the races?”

“Yes, I’m sure a date will be scheduled very soon,” Trem replied.

“I haven’t been to the races in a long time. I missed the last one, but I heard there was some really good action. You’ve told me about some of it. A lot of people were surprised Red Spike didn’t win more races and carry the day overall. I’ve always wondered how the wagering odds were figured.”

“It’s complicated,” Trem said and they talked about the races for a bit as we finished our paga.  I didn’t say much of anything, mostly focusing on understanding the words as they spoke them so quickly in conversation.  I glanced periodically at Olsi in her work tunic, her bare knees spread wide in nadu on the ground a bit from us on the edge of the shade, ignored.  Her face was plain but it was her position and posture, collared, sweating, resting in the shade waiting to serve men, this position of a slave maintaining patient readiness was attractive and pleasing to note.  I thought of Mena and how I had forced her to learn and accept this slave patience of being ready to serve.  We thanked Therin for the paga and walked away from his shade and into a freshly plowed field.  Trem told me he had something he wanted to show me.

We walked a little more into the field and he pulled a tarn whistle out from under his shirt that hung on some binding fiber which had been looped around his neck.

“I want you to have this. It’s the whistle for Risto. I haven’t had a chance yet to secure a purchase of him. Keep the whistle safe and only use it if there is an emergent need. If you are close enough he will hear it in his pen and become agitated. I have instructed the tarnskeepers to release him from his pen if they notice him trying to respond to a whistle. I don’t know how long it will be before the tarncot comes under full martial control with all flights registered, and a release of a tarn like this will be forbidden. There are officers who, at the moment, have their tarns watched for signal release.  Don’t expect a good response if you signal at night, the night monitoring intervals are reduced. I ask that you not tell anyone that I have arranged this,” he said and blew on the whistle with a full breath of air.

He blew on it a couple more times and then we waited. Within just a few ehn, I saw a tarn coming towards us.  He landed near us in the field.

“You probably won’t have a tarn goad with you when you blow a signal. You must be prepared to approach him confidently and climb the saddle ladder without one. Today, let your goad hang from your belt loosely, ready to grab if you need it, but try approaching him without it in your hand.”

I was nervous, never having approached a tarn without a goad in my hand.  I knew I couldn’t show this nervousness, that my outward appearance must be the opposite, a display of unquestionable confidence.  I boldly walked straight at Risto and he cocked his head, using both of his eyes regarding me.  I continued to walk and to my amazement, he stood there motionless as I came to the ladder. Without hesitation I put my foot on the ladder and climbed up into the saddle.  My heart was racing from excitement at having both survived and succeeded. I looked for the saddle straps to secure me for flight.

“Well done Rykart, you are a tarnsman!” Trem yelled and then said, “Fly him back to the cot and don’t take too long.”

I smiled, pulled on the one strap and felt the mighty power of Risto as he jumped into flight and beat his great wings, forcing the air to support his great weight.  I kept ascending as I flew West, or Klim in Gorean, away from the city and away from the army camp and any sign of the war.  Soon I was at a great height, the air becoming cold and thin.  Did Trem not only want me to learn how to use the whistle, or did he also want me to feel the freedom, the fresh air, and perhaps contemplate leaving?  The wandering spirit grew large in my chest and I had the impulse to fly away and never look back, leaving city life behind and head for the adventure of the Gorean wild.

I leveled off at a great height, perhaps ten thousand feet above the ground and enjoyed breathing the fresh crisp air. As the impulse to run faded, I thought about the difference between fleeing and striking out on one’s own to simply wander.  Running didn’t feel right and I knew that as much as I wanted to wander, it wasn’t the right time.  I made a wide descending turn back to the city.

***

Mena came to greet me as I opened the door, the chains of her sirik rustling as she knelt before me and put her lips to the tops of my sandaled feet.  I told her to remove my sandals and clothing; I was ready to go the bath.

“You stink of tarns Master,” Mena mumbled as she undressed me.  I did not say anything, thinking I should, but knowing that I did stink.  After I had been undressed we went to the tavern bathing area.  While she bathed me, she asked for permission to speak, twice.  Both times I denied her speech, instructing her to continue bathing me in silence.  The morning after our first night free from the jail she had asked what Niketas had said to me, the details I why I was released.  I didn’t tell her what he said; only that I would learn more about what he wanted in future visits.  Last night when I had returned to our room after enjoying the service of Sofi, Mena had asked about where I had been and what I had done that day.  She wanted to know if I had seen Niketas again.  I told her that he wanted me to go to sword training every day and act normal, not changing my routines.

When we got back to our room from the bath, she knelt before me and kissed my feet using her tongue, the way I had instructed her to ask for permission to speak.  I knew that she wanted to talk about what I had been doing and specifically, what our immediate future looked like.

“You may speak slave, but watch your tongue,” I said.

“Yes Master. Did you see Niketas again? What did he say?”

“Curiosity is not becoming,” I said having anticipated her questioning.

“Please Master!  I hate that saying. I can’t help but wonder what is going on. I’m a nervous wreck not knowing our future.”

“Your future is wearing a collar, you only need to be nervous about whip,” I said.

“Yes Master but this slave cares for her Master. Please tell me something, anything Master!” she begged.

“I saw Niketas, Atticus, and Trem,” I said.  I had no intention of telling her that I had seen Mirus yesterday and given him the scrolls.  “We are safe now,” I tried to say with confidence, hoping it would ease her anxiety about my situation.

“What did you tell Trem?”

“It is better for you not to know things.  Slaves not to question masters,” I said.

“But Master, you haven’t told me anything.  Of course I knew you would see Niketas and eventually your friend Trem. Did you tell Trem everything?”

“No more questions, no more talk,” I said.

“Please Master, you are a barbarian. You don’t know Gorean culture. Please let me help you figure out what to do!” she whined.

I looked down at her, kneeling at my feet with pleading eyes.  I reached over and put my right hand into her hair.  What a powerful thing it is to grab a fistful of a woman’s hair at the back of her head.  It is a very effective way to control a woman, probably the oldest method that men have used since the beginning of time, before the first tool was created.

No need for tools like collars and chains, their hair in the grasp of a man’s hand is a feeling women have felt for so long it is woven into their genes, triggering an innate submissive response.  I wondered if the initial catalyst for the development of women’s submissive qualities was from the eons of handling them by their hair.

Other times when Mena had tried to nag or utter aloud minor complaints, she would melt into butter instantly when I took her hair, grabbed a breast, or clasped my hand on her wrist; transitioning instantly into an unresisting submissive, ready for sex, like a switch had been flipped.  I felt like a milestone had been reached with this response.  I felt this response again, her feisty resistance to my will disappearing instantly.  It was time again to remind her whose collar she wore.

“When I say no more talk, should this command be repeated?” I asked, using her hair to turning her head to face me.

“No Master, this slave is only trying to help. This slave begs mercy,” she said quietly, not meeting my gaze.

“Fetch switch and bring to me in mouth.”

***

The lumberyard was very busy today, busier than usual; the smell of sawdust and sweat filling the air. I noticed there were some new sawyers working that I hadn’t seen before.  There were more carpenters too, working on assembling timbers into components as well.

 “Mirus said to tell you that you are to start working here every day,” Dimos said.

“No. I came to tell you that I not come to work here anymore. Working here was good for me. Helped me to learn Gorean and build muscle. But I not want to be sawyer anymore.”

“We need sawyers. I can put you on the payroll and you will earn the same wages as the others,” he said.

“Thank you Dimos. I not want to be sawyer anymore.”

“Mirus should be here for lunch soon. I suggest you tell him yourself,” he said.

 

“Okay. I did carpenter work at times before coming here. Can I work with carpenters until Mirus comes?”

“Sure. We need more carpenters too. If you have skills you will be hired,” he said and took me to be introduced to the carpenter crew.  I helped assemble the timber components for a bit, holding pieces in place while minor wood shaving could be done to make for tight fitting joints.  I wanted to use the carpenter tools and learn the names for them, but for now all they wanted me to do was hold things in place.  We were making ladders of different sizes.  Some were stout with very wide steps.  Others were lightweight with narrow steps.  When the ladders were assembled, they were stored in the large warehouse section of the lumberyard.  I noticed some laborers moving the lightweight ones outside of the warehouse, loading them onto a large flatbed wagon harnessed to a team of draft tharlarion.

“Tal Rykart, please join us for lunch,” I heard Mirus say as he came from behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.  I followed him to the shaded corner of the lumberyard just outside the door of the overseer office where Mirus and Dimos often had lunch when the weather was nice like today.  There was a low table and small floor cushion placed on top of smooth paved stones.  I had been invited to lunch with Mirus and Dimos only a couple times and we had eaten here both times.  Sometimes they lunched in an area inside of Dimos’s office.

I was surprised to see Lina kneeling next to the low table taking out items from a basket with an open lid.  She was placing food onto a tray that was on the table.  I had never seen Lina here at the lumberyard.  The beautiful blond kajira seemed so out place here inside the walls of this industrial compound.  She wore a revealing low cut green camisk that reminded me of my when I tried to purchase her from Mirus.  Her blue eyes glanced up at me for a brief moment meeting mine and she smiled slightly, returning her attention to the lunch items.

After we sat on the cushions around the table she served us white ka-la-na wine in small glasses that came from the basket.  We ate suls in a savory garlic sauce.  Mirus was talking about the upcoming tarn races and speculated on the success of the Red Spike and Storm racing teams.  We finished eating and Mirus changed to subject.

“Dimos told me that you are interested in being a carpenter?” Mirus said.

“I not want to do sawyer work anymore.  It has been good for me to build muscle and learn Gorean. I was a carpenter before coming here.  I want to learn Gorean tools and methods. But I am not working here anymore.”

“I want you to work here. This place is safe for you,” he said.

“I am more interested in tarns and am going to help Trem prepare for races.”

“Last time we met you agreed to follow my instructions. My instructions are for you to work here. You can work as a carpenter. Right now you are in danger. You know people are looking for you and if they find you, your Gorean adventure will be over,” he said.

“City Tarncot is safe too and tarns interest me more than being carpenter.”

“Rykart, I have my reasons for instructing you to work here, please respect them.”

“Sir, I respect you and reasons. You have done much for me and I am very grateful.  Are instructions orders? I am free man and will follow your instructions on most things. I am going to work with tarns.

“Have you told Trem anything about what we discussed last time we met?”

“No Sir,” I lied.

“Good. I am not pleased with your decision. You do continue to surprise, men who work for me don’t tell me no.”

“I do not work for you. I volunteer to come here, trading labor for experiences. I am grateful for what you have done for me and that you care about my safety. I will follow instructions for matter we discussed last time. Thank you for delicious lunch and ka-la-na. I wish you well,” I said.  Lina’s mouth was shaped into a small ‘o’ as she watched me stand up and walk away. 

I left the lumberyard and wondered what Mirus would do.  I felt bad.  He was a great friend who had done so much for me, and I hoped that our friendship would continue.  I wandered about the streets and came to the river bank where I watched river fowl dive for fish.  I had a feeling that I should move again, leave the Tickling Curlies and find another place to stay for a while.  Tickling Curlies was a great place to stay and I really enjoyed the bathing rooms, but the best thing at the moment was to relocate, staying ahead of the spy group searching for me.  I walked back to the tavern, taking random routes, hoping to find my next home.