The Paga Diaries (54) by Arizona Wanderer

54 Ubars's Race 

The crowd roared as the tarns burst into the air from their starting perches, eager riders on their backs all jockeying for a favorable starting position to begin the first lap of the race.  The crowd of spectators was thrilled and excited that the Ubar’s race had finally started after weeks of anticipation.  I sensed a nervous energy coming from the people around me, a joyful celebration that the race was actually underway, negating the doubts of those who thought it would never occur.  In the days leading up to today, I had heard tavern whispers that the race was going to be cancelled, that war efforts and security concerns would take precedence over recreational events.

The Paga Diaries (53) by Arizona Wanderer

 53. New Routines

I finally had an opportunity to go to the city guardhouse. Mirus did not accompany me to the lumberyard this morning and after a boring day of wood chiseling, the afternoon was mine.  Atticus took me into a room and told me to wait, that Niketas would be coming soon.  The room was different than the interrogation rooms I had been in, but this still felt as if I was being kept, secured for the moment.  I was tempted to test the door, to see if it was locked, but I didn’t, deciding it didn’t matter at the moment.  It was at least an ahn before Atticus returned with Niketas.

The Paga Diaries (52) by Arizona Wanderer

 52.  Melancholia

I spent a sleepless night in Mirus’s guest room, alone with my questioning thoughts.  I have to admit to myself that I am in the grips of melancholy, not being able to shake from my thoughts the current position I am in.  I missed Mena.  It was hard for me to accept that she was gone.  I spent a lot of time thinking about her.  Had she been stolen, or had she escaped?  Was she complicit in the theft?  Did the thieves find nothing to take and left her there alone, where she decided to take the gems they did not find and make it look like they had?  Did she then take the gemstones and gold for herself, leaving the room on her own thinking that the wealth would secure her freedom?  How would a slave that possessed gold make herself free?  Would she obtain robes of concealment to cover her brand and collar, and then use the money to pose as a Free Woman?  She had friends when she was free, would those friends help her now that she was a slave?

The Paga Diaries (51) by Arizona Wanderer

 51. Theft

I met with Atticus after a morning of training with the guardsmen.  I was exhausted after another long grueling session of using the shield and learning to move as a group in a shield wall, pushing against an opposing group of men.  The opposing group did not have shields, and all of us took turns being in the opposing group, simulating an angry aggressive mob.  Once coordinated, the group with shields, stepping in sync, imposed their will on the opposing group, pushing them steadily back.  Atticus told me not all of my mornings would be drilling and sparring; that I would soon be assigned to a squad and assist with foot patrols in the city.

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.

The Paga Diaries (49) by Arizona Wanderer

 49. Ubar’s Paga

I stepped into a tavern before going home to Mena.  Niketas hadn’t said that I couldn’t go to taverns, just that I couldn’t go yesterday on my way home from the jail.  The tavern was dark and the patrons were subdued, speaking to each other in low voices and whispers.  Many of them stopped speaking as I walked through the door, looking at me as I sought a place to have paga.  I did not see any paga slaves and I went to the paga attendant at the bar.  There was a tense energy in this tavern and I decided to leave and go to another.

The walk to Tickling Curlies wasn’t far and I decided to get a drink in its tavern since it was close.  This was my second time in the paga section of the large manor and the patrons here seemed subdued as well.  I sat on a floor cushion at an empty low table and immediately a large bosomed brunette paga slave kneIt next to me to take my order.  Four men at a table next to mine had stopped talking when I sat down.  After I ordered and received my paga, they began to speak again. I wondered how many of the patrons here were also staying in rented rooms like me.  I wondered if high quality taverns like this one, which offered nice rooms, had a high ratio of guests who were not residents of the city.

The Paga Diaries (48) by Arizona Wanderer.

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The Paga Diaries (47) by Arizona Wandereer

 47. Cellmate

The gruel was difficult to eat.  It was a cold paste, flavorless, with no texture.  There was nothing to chew, yet it was not easy to swallow.  It reminded me of plain oatmeal  that needed more water.  The slave gruel that I bought for Mena on the street had tasted better than this.  Last night alone in the cell seemed to never end.  I was anxious and could not sleep.  Getting gruel this morning brought back the myriad of thoughts that went through my mind the night before.  Had I been given slave gruel and was I now a slave?  Was it better to be a slave than a prisoner?  Would I be condemned to the horrible fate of public impalement?  Should I attempt to take my life and avoid such horror and humiliation?  How long would I be in this cell?  I was hungry and should acquire any energy I could get.  I forced myself to eat the gruel, but I did not lick the bowl clean.  I am not a slave.

The Paga Diaries (46) by Arizona Wanderer

 46. Interrogation.

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 45.  Choices
I looked down at my naked collared kajira, her body shaking in fear, the five bladed leather whip offered to me in her outstretched hands.  The trembling of her breasts caught my attention.  I didn’t want to whip her; she had acted on impulse, thinking that she could save my life by destroying the dangerous scrolls.  But she had tricked me, creating a distraction and seizing its brief moment to toss the scrolls into the fire.  

The Paga Diaries (44)

 44.  Scrolls

“What is the spirit of the bayonet?” the drill sergeant barked out loudly.

To KILL!” I yelled out in unison with the other recruits.

“What makes the grass grow?”

“Blood, Drill Sergeant!”

Lunge, parry, upstroke, butt stroke, slash, thrust!

I couldn’t get my bayonet to stick in the hard rubber of the tires that made up the target.

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 43.  Swordplay And A Satchel.
 

I drew my gladius as Lenious stepped toward me, his sword brandished.  This was not a wooden training gladius I held, and I was scared, realizing that this test of steel could end my idyllic life on this exotic planet.  What was I risking at this moment and why?

 

“Why are you following me?” Lenious snarled, stopping just out of my sword reach.  I didn’t know the answer to that question, and now I wish I hadn’t followed him.  I didn’t want to risk my life this way in a dark back alley.  I was having a marvelous time on Gor and I regretted following him, now realizing I had made a grave mistake.  I felt stupid and I didn’t know how to answer his question.

The Paga Diaries (42)

 

42. Risto And Encounter

I watched the small shadow racing on the ground far below me as I turned the tarn around for another pass at the target.  I took my eyes off of the moving winged shadow and directed my attention to the overstuffed rep cloth bundle on the ground ahead of me.  This was my fourth pass, my three previous attempts to land the capture loop on the bundle missing the mark.

The Paga Diaries (41)

 

41 Sharing Mena

“Brand,” Mirus said to Mena, who was kneeling in nadu next to me.  She looked at me confused and then at Mirus.

“Must a command be repeated slave?” he asked firmly.

“No Master! This slave does not know that command.”

“Rise up on your knees, keeping them spread wide. Now extend your left leg out. Pull the hem of your tunic high up above your brand, displaying it to me,” he said. She complied quickly, following his instructions immediately as they were given.

The Paga Diaries (40)

Visitor

 I was startled by a loud knocking on the door.  I had been putting Mena through slave paces, teaching her to assume positions when commanded.   I was letting her recover her breath , giving her a break while in the all fours position.  Her body was flushed from exertion.  I had taken my tunic off and was kneeling behind her, her ass pointing at me, inviting.  I had put my finger to her wet opening when the knocking began.   Mena turned her head, looking behind  at me and appeared  frightened.  The loud knocking stopped.  No one ever knocked on my door.

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 39. Every Breath You Take

Pain exploded in my left ear as I was knocked to the ground and began to see stars, my consciousness fading.  Somehow, I did not pass out and a sweaty hand reached down to help me get up.  I heard men snickering about my lack of focus.  I sat on a wood bench in the shade to recover and wipe off the sand that was crusted on my body where it had hit the ground.  I had overextended a thrust, exposing myself and becoming unbalanced after being blocked.  Mercifully, Dirk had hit me with the flat of his wooden training sword.

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The Paga Diaries (37)

 37.  Oral Training        

“What items did you have in mind?” Cleodemus asked as he gingerly rolled up the scroll and placed it back into the protective leather casing.

“Items from Trakkar manual, gags, dummy cock, no salt gruel. What else you advice?”

“I advise a long mirror. Make the kajira pose in front of it and look at herself for ahn, perfecting her form.  Now for gags. Keeta come out here,” he said.  Keeta, his petite dark skinned slave trotted out and kneeled at his feet in nadu.  I admired her collar as before, the thin steel bar encircling her neck; I had not seen a collar like that.  I also couldn’t help but admire her body, her small but pointy breasts straining against the fabric of her tight fitted slave tunic.

Paga Diaries (36)

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