General Arrangement & The Camp of Itinerants

originally posted February 13, 2006

"Just your percentage for the hand," I said, sliding the heavy pouch across the table. "And then some."
"And then some?" the General asked.
In that pouch, weighed down by the work of five subjected females, was the customary thirty-nine percent of profits due the General at the end of each hand. Included as well, the aforementioned 'and then some', was an additional thirty-nine percent. Severance, I called it. Separation pay. I had arranged the meeting in a nameless paga tavern that once was held in high regard but had fallen into disrepair over the years. Still, I like to frequent the place now and again. There is a girl there in a soiled tunic, dirt beneath her fingernails, called Sheila that I like. She served us both paga in her timid, unobtrusive way that neither of us deigned to drink. If it had become the sort of meeting that required a bit of alcohol to dot the last 'i' and cross the last 't', I was prepared for it.
Some say, no, many say that the General is psychotic. I do not know. I know that he is driven and seeks power. In him, perhaps, is an Ubar. My heart, my loyalty, of course, would lay with Marlenus in such matters. He is a larl among men, an architect of Empire. I wonder if Kyron seeks power for the same reasons Marlenus once did. Would he seek to unite all of the distant lands of Gor under one flag? Only he knows that. He, like Marlenus, has his cadre of loyal men. Fellows like Ephraim, Babrossa and Ajax. Theirs is the sort of loyalty that scares comfortable men. Men with titles, councils and administrations. It is undeniable that the General is a dangerous man on several levels, whether you believe he is certifiable or not. Our meeting, however, went smoothly. He was amicable to the severance I offered and wished me well on my journey. Too, he called me friend.
---
I have boarded the windows and whitewashed the doors. Both properties, Samsara and the Boarding House, have been shut down. Carpets have been rolled. Pelts have been beaten and stored. Furniture has been covered. The perishable food stuffs have been eaten. The women were roused early, first laden down with packs and then coffled, added to the chain by shackles at their left wrist. It was designated simply, by height. Portia, exotic black girl, is first in coffle. She is followed by the dancer, Emily. Next is the Tuchuk-pierced Nirah, the centerpiece of the coffle. Samantha, also called Evona, the blonde, easily drawing the eye, is fourth. Last in the coffle is Sana. She, I know, attempted to grow that half hort that would have made her fourth in one evening. I could imagine her stretching her limbs for half the evening to edge her blonde Sa Fora, but the result was the same. Women will strive, always, for the place they perceive to be 'better' in a coffle. It is good for them.
Of the eight women travelling, three were not added to the coffle. The Lady Jenny, my free companion, was spared the indignity of being grouped with the whores. She, too, being free, will not be required to carry a pack. Joy, too, was not added to the coffle. She is my personal slave, not available for three (or as the blonde girl is, four) copper per ahn. Putting her in the coffle, while convenient, could cause honest misunderstandings between well-meaning fellows. She will, instead, be permitted to walk beside me carrying my personal pack. Tasta, the other girl in the group, was also not added to the coffle. She is a sleen. That would just be silly.
I am, for the record, several pasangs west of Ar in an encampment of itinerant workers bound for Torcadino. The women have been given duties in our assigned area. Tents will be raised. A fire will be started. Supper, too, will be cooked. I have informed Mathor, stoic guardsman that I've retained for the trip, that per usual arrangement, he is welcome to whatever whore finds herself unspoken for at any given ahn. He is a good fellow and the wenches seem to enjoy being owned by him from time to time.