The Year of the Paravaci's Tooth
"There were a large number of tethered animals about the outer edge of the circle, and, beside them, stood many haruspexes. Indeed, I supposed there must be one haruspex at least for each of the many altars in the field. Among the animals I saw many verrs; some domestic tarsks, their tusks sheathed; cages of flapping vulos, some sleen, some kaiila, even some bosk. By the Paravaci haruspexes I saw manacled male slaves, if such were to be permitted. Commonly, I understood from Kamchak, the Tuchuks, Kassars and Kataii rule out the sacrifice of slaves because their hearts and livers are thought to be, fortunately for the slaves, untrustworthy in registering portents. After all, as Kamchak pointed out, who would trust a Turian slave in the kes with a matter so important as the election of a Ubar San? It seemed to me good logic and, of course, I am sure the slaves, too, were taken with the cogency of the argument." (Nomads of Gor)
The evening grew past the usual prattle of folks gathered round the campfires, as most had already slipped off to their own wagons for the night, I offered the Singer a story of a particular year I had in mind. Oh not just any year, but one of the Omen Years that only comes around once in every two hands of years.
T'zuri left and returned later with her lyre in hand as we moved from the fire to the back of my flatbed wagon, still stained with the blood of a fresh kill. We both perched ourselves on the tailgate as I began the recitation of a particularly amusing year.
"You may not have heard of the Year Of the Pavaraci's Tooth," I told her. "Because it happened much before you were even alive."
Despite the fact she is one of the Singers, she is young and undoubtedly has not yet spent a great deal of time around the campfires with any of the camp's Year Keepers. The story was an amusing one, at best. And oddly... I noticed for the first time that she was prettier than I had originally suspected. Truth be told, I try not to really look too closely at women. They tend to think you like them if you look too close. And next you know, they want your wagon and your bed... and everything else you've worked so hard your whole life for.
At the tale's end, T'zuri laughed. Which is good, since the humor in the story would translate well into chorus... should she decide to engage others in the camp with a musical history lesson. If she does, I am certain to attend. She sings quite well... even if I chide her often and tell her that her singing is fit for the bosk.
