Allusion

originally posted February 24, 2006

We are eight days out of Torcadino. On the Northern Silk Road, just past the intersection that takes travelers west to Argentum or east to Glorious Ar. It occurs to me to travel east, call an end to the journey. Perhaps I would take the Vosk Road into Venna, march this lewd coffle of whores into her well-heeled populace. The Poet Szol is not above scandal any more than the men of Venna are above the excitement of paying for something good enough to own by the ahn. More likely than not, I would simply take the Viktel Aria home. Still, despite the brigands which we've managed to elude for several days, it is not yet time to return home. I have business.
The play, the one that deals, perhaps scandalously, with 'The Second Knowledge', progresses well. In time, I will have enough material, enough culled memories, to start a write a first draft. The number of scenes, which events are important enough to be considered representative, is still undecided. I have the vision, however, and that is the important thing. I want it to be accurate, authentic. As much as possible, I want to show Goreans something many of them have only heard of. Something they might have dismissed. The world, this world, is not comprised of only five castes. Scribes and Builders, certainly Initiates if they even deign to watch, will likely scoff, claim what I am showing is the stuff of fantasy, of fiction, knowing all the while it is true. I want to move people with music, shock them with garmenture and make them thoughtful with dialogue. I wonder if it is possible?
----
In Torcadino, the second day I was there, in the afternoon, I took blonde Samantha and my dear, the kitchen slave with the exotic Tuchuk piercing, Nirah shopping for goods, sundry and otherwise. They are opposite as two women can be. Samantha, blonde and barbarian, torn from another world and deposited on mine, was little more than a street urt on the rougher streets of the harsher districts of Ar. Now, of course, because it is my whim to do so, and because it forces her to live up to the expectation men have when they pay extra, she is known by many as the four copper whore or simply 'Four Copper'. Nirah, refined, exquisitely trained, once sold from a high block to a man with means, a Scribe, is no street urt. She is no barbarian. Though I have not chosen to do so, I am certain she could speak to me on any number of topics pertaining to politics, current events, history and more. Though she is a gourmet in the kitchen, likely due to the advanced palate of her previous owner, I enjoy simpler fare. That, even, is prepared with an eye to detail. She, of course, knows of baser things and the nature of men as well. Nirah is quite popular behind the red doors with men of every caste, low or high. Standing side by side with Samantha, though they came to this sort of slavery on very different roads, barbarian and native with little in common save the collar, it was not unpleasant to see them enjoying one another's company. We purchased many things; produce, spices, dry goods, paper goods and more. When traveling over long distances, it is important to stock up on such things when passing through cities.
In the shop of a metal worker, after a long day in the bazaars and markets of Torcadino, two slaves, one blonde and one dark-haired, knelt with their chins high. I held them in place for the gruff fellow behind the counter as he inspected what ringed each of their necks. Simple, steel and heavy. The collar of a Red Door Whore.
"Like this. A size four," I said.
"Pick it up tomorrow," he replied, returning to his anvil and heavy tools.
I did. Too, I picked up other things. Among them, dye for a woman's hair and a garment fit for a certain sort of woman. One less than free. One slave. To the north, though it is still days distant, if one listens, they can hear the power of the mighty Vosk.