I Work a Girl; Stadium Street

originally posted September 3, 2006

I do not claim to understand what the life of a Peasant entails. It is only a few rows of tilled soil, the black dirt turned to face the sky. I can say that the ache of working muscles and the sweat expended is an honest sort of equity that I am pleased to experience. As the staked saplings are planted, one after the other in their neat rows, I find a certain satisfaction standing atop the field of dina, surveying what I have done. I know that Sandal, too, finds the time alone with me supremely pleasing, no matter how hard she is worked. While the others of the chain are free to experience the culture and sophistication of Venna at the heel of either Darwin or Mathor, Joy must fetch the water. She must dig in the dirt with me. She is covetous of my time and while this is rather unbecoming in a kajira, it is not uncommon. I do not mind having her there for the diversion a woman can provide a man during his work day.
Last evening, while she was given time to 'pretty herself' after a day in the fields, I walked the girls Portia and Elise onto Venna's 'Stadium Street', Tasta leading the way. I have always enjoyed the tharlarion races each of the several times I have been to Venna. They are a touch more civilized than the tarn races of Ar, but that is not to say the potential for brutality does not exist. The factions are very competitive as I have intimated in a previous entry. The betting tables were alive with a sea of men that could not gain admittance into the sold out seating of the stadium. Every caste seemed to be shouting out their bets, their punched coins like bandaleros around their torsos. The Scribes of the tables worked furiously to record the wagers and accept the coins into the locked boxes as their brethren recorded the results of races on giant slate boards. Pages were given the berth of a man carrying a Home Stone between cities as they raced between the stadium and the terrazzo where the betting tables were erected to report these results. I will make note of the terrazzo at the entrance of the Stadium. A beautiful cerulean field creates the backdrop of the mosaic that thousands pass over with sandaled feet each race season. In intricate detail, atop this field, is a jockey in a multi-colored silken tunic saddled upon his fierce mount. In this fashion, one faction is not favored above another and, in the spirit of anticipation, there are colors in this fellow's tunic that do not represent any faction. If a 'purple' faction or a 'grey' faction is formed, in this manner they will already be represented. As beautiful as the terrazzo was and exciting as the betting tables were, however, neither matched the arrival of 'Horned Ubar'. We were forced to halt our forward progress as the flat trailer was towed across the avenue. Chained and hobbled was a beast of a high tharlarion. Leathery and black, he was striped about the rear flanks like a barred panther in fiery orange slashes. Across the upper ocular area of his skull, bony protrusions erupted from the dark flesh, giving the animal a fearsome countenance and, likely, defining his namesake. He was indeed horned and did command a respect from those around him generally reserved for a Ubar. But not Tasta. As this hobbled monster strained in his chains and roared at the sleen on my leash, Tasta went up off of her forepaws and then reared off her mid-legs to stand erect and meet the challenge, growling and barking right back as she pulled the leash taut. It seems like an incredible event and, for a few ihn, it was. With a few soothing words and reassurance that there was no true danger, the first girl of the whore coffle settled down into a mere 'irritated anger'. None brooked our path as she swung her broad head left and right, snapping at the air. It was an ahn or so before her hackles, raised, were settled completely. I can rest assured when I tell Tasta to 'mind my bitches', she takes the command very seriously.