The Roasting
"The Wagon Peoples grow no food, nor do they have manufacturing as we know it. They are herders and it is said, killers. They eat nothing that has touched the dirt. They live on the meat and milk of the bosk. They are among the proudest of the peoples of Gor, regarding the dwellers of the cities of Gor as vermin in holes, cowards who must fly behind walls, wretches who fear to live beneath the broad sky, who dare not dispute with them the open, windswept plains of their world.The bosk, without which the Wagon Peoples could not live, is an oxlike creature. It is a huge, shambling animal, with a thick, humped neck and long, shaggy hair. It has a wide head and tiny red eyes, a temper to match that of a sleen, and two long, wicked horns that reach out from its head and suddenly curve forward to terminate in fearful points. Some of these horns, on the larger animals, measured from tip to tip, exceed the length of two spears.
Not only does the flesh of the bosk and the milk of its cows furnish the Wagon Peoples with food and drink, but its hides cover the domelike wagons in which they dwell; its tanned and sewn skins cover their bodies; the leather of its hump is used for their shields; its sinews forms their thread; its bones and horns are split and tooled into implements of a hundred sorts, from awls, punches and spoons to drinking flagons and weapon tips; its hoofs are used for glues; its oils are used to grease their bodies against the cold. Even the dung of the bosk finds its uses on the treeless prairies, being dried and used for fuel. The bosk is said to be the Mother of the Wagon Peoples, and they reverence it as such." (Nomads of Gor)
The Ubar Fonce was not present for the time being, and not able to speak for himself regarding the first gift... nor to read the omen. Though it was early still, and plenty of time for all the Tuchuks to participate in the division of the largest bull bosk... the very one whom I thanked for the priveldge of slaying him.
There were no expressions of joy. No attitude of feasting and merriment. And nothing but sharp words and ridicule from all those who sat complacently around the first fire. In fact they yawned and acted as if the Bosk was as common as the dirt beneath their boots. One woman addressed me as 'prospect' and said that I was nothing... refusing to recognize the red scar of courage on my cheeks. Refusing to recognize that I am Kazhuye, Warrior of the Tuchuks. It may just be one of the more significant things this year as the saying could well go... that was the Year When Tuchuks Turned Into City Dwellers .
The great bosk was drawn on the back of the flatbed wagon to the Outer Wagons where the Tuchuks have not grown too fat and complacent to honor and celebrate the Bosk and all that it represents. The Bosk is afterall... the Mother of Tuchuks.
Following the Roasting of meat and the drinking of much paga, the beast was divided and the remainder of its raw meat salted. The bones were cleaned and prepared for boiling before bleaching in the sun for many days, from which lance and dart tips may be made. Also needles, awls, and even spoons to eat with. The hooves too, I set aside in preparation for boiling and making glue.
The cleaning of the hide was saved for last, and it was only T'zuri of the Singers who came to participate. We dragged the hide into the stream and over the coarse of half the day or more, we scubbed the sinew from it's underside with stones. Even the sinew is saved aside, for it is useful to make thread for sewing leather pieces into clothing. Or for sewing the larger hides tightly around the domed tops of our wagons. In the end, it was only T'zuri with whom I shared a bounty of the spoils, giving her an abundance of the salted bosk shanks... as many as she could carry in her arms, all in one trip. She is... surprisingly strong for her size.
"Return to the fire again, T'zuri. I would have you make a new song to sing to the people."
"I will," she said.
"I will tell you the tale of the Year Of The Pavaraci's Tooth."
"I do not believe I remember that year," she mused.
"Of course not, Singer. You are not old enough."
