Diversity & Familiarity

originally posted March 23, 2006

There is much to 'do' here, of course, but I am finding it enjoyable to simply wander the 'Streets' with a girl or two or more in tow. I know it stimulates them and honestly it does truly open my eyes as well. The world is vast. There is incredible diversity. I think my wanderlust, that urge to walk beyond the gates of my beautiful city to see something new and unknown, is fueled by that. The need to recall that while a man one thousand pasangs from my city might pride himself on a tunic cut 'as it is in Ar' or 'in the fashion of Ar', he is not of Ar. We, in most cases, share the Language of course, but his life experience is far different than mine. Often, his appearance is markedly different than mine. Nowhere else in the world that I can think of can you see all of this diversity in one place. I have traveled many times with my Sandal, the girl Joy. Often she has shared this love of diversity and learning with me. She journeyed with me to the Fair once, a Se'Kara Fair. I traveled much more then. I remember the journey well. We traveled with Salen a pensioned Warrior Tarnsman of Cos, with a Torian Merchant called Habib. Diversity. Familiarity, too, was much a part of that trip. I fancied myself a Nomad of Gor during those times, striking out onto the road whenever it pleased me. Sandal would have my gear packed and the House shuttered within three ahn or less, including the preparation of a hot meal before we left. Then, like now, she is a source of familiarity in the middle of the night when I will look upon her, trace the inscription about her collar which reads, "I am Joy. My Master is Szol of Ar." Our travel retinue is much augmented these days. She would, I think, prefer to have me to herself. I have not chosen to whip the possessiveness out of her. It can be cruel at times, but I do not think she is anywhere approaching miserable to have the camaraderie of females when I am about my business or when, as we often do, congregate for supper or to venture forth as a group.
I recall traveling north toward the Vosk, after leaving Torcadino. The Fair Caravan was much smaller then, but we were joined by a large group of men from Tor and further south from the Tahari itself. Escorting Nirah about the campsites in search of a merchant of herb and spice, she caught sight of two such men dueling with sheathed scimitars. She caught, too, her breath in her throat. These turbaned fellows in their baggy, linen trousers and broad, bared chests, deeply tan, were not men of Ar. They were not a part of her day to day experience. Such men, and more, are much in attendance at the Fair.
A Tuchuk leading a girl in the traditional Chatka and Curla with Kalmak and Koora by a rough rope passed close by us on our first night of exploring the aisleways and streets of trampled grass. I happened to glance at Samantha as her jaw fell at the terrifying sight of his scarred countenance. I am not unaware of such fellows. I lived among them as a younger man. What must have the blonde girl been thinking as I nodded politely to the fellow and received the same in turn as if he were not some mythical thing, something other than another man? When I first made the acquaintance of this girl, she seemed to have a world-wise chip on her shoulder. I quickly knocked it off. She had no idea, I think, of the diversity and beauty of Gor. Now she has the tiniest inkling, at least. Yes. She is fortunate to be of service to the men of Ar, handsome sorts living more modernly and 'forward' than anywhere else, but I have enjoyed showing her what lays beyond the Sun Gate.
Elise, I know, is greatly stimulated by the sites and sounds and by the scents of the world's cuisines. As a girl growing up in a High Caste home, she would have, in all likelihood, attended the Fair at least once before her twenty-fifth birthday. She may never have seen those sites, however, as she sees them now. Through the eyes of a girl, a slave, unencumbered by the proprieties of such a lofty woman. Normally reserved, I've never seen her grey eyes wider.
There is much here for She, a slave who emulates a silver-haired woman I companioned nearly a year ago. Still tender from discipline laid to her in the last hand, She seemed to awaken for the first time in several days last night. I had to tie her wrinkled yellow garment at her hip, exposing her well to the world to settle her down a bit. I did not mind her prattling, however continual and maximally verbose it became, but I have come to recognize when She needs gentle reminder to settle down some. It was something to do with a spirited debate between her and the grey-eyed girl about the semantics of words, how an uncouth vernacular largely depended upon whom a girl might be serving at the moment as I recall. Much supposition was made that was, unfortunately, greatly stereotypical and somewhat presumptuous. All learning is knowledge and therefore good, she claims. Learn then, pretty She, that the mien of men is beyond your purview. We are what we are; Low Caste or High, Rogue or Scholar, Metropolitan or Rural. Make assumptions at your peril or as the case was last night, delightfully so, to the discovery that it is often your bare ass that men are interested in far more than your uninformed opinion.