Homecoming
There are few things more impressive than the sight of a large Tuchuk encampment springing up out of the desolate prairies of Gor. Composed of thousands of wagons, each gaily painted, and some with roofs of gold brocade, the camp is an iridescent mass of colours. In addition, it is always teeming with movement and sound: the lowing of the bosk, the sharp voices of the free women, the bells of slaves and the hearty laughter of warriors. (Nomads of Gor)
On my way back to camp, my path crossed with that of the Singer's, and several times I steered my kaiila into criss-crossing zags before her until T'zuri was finally forced to stop. Either stop, or crash headlong into the ass of Necessity.
Much of that fire in my kaiila's spirit had been quenched after the long ride across the open Plains and back, neither of us stopping til the day turned to night, and finally into day again. And Necessity was now worn down enough for a woman to ride upon him.
I lowered my hand down. In a truce. Alright... you can ride him. It's what she'd said she wanted the day before. And yet, when I offered her my hand, T'zuri stood back and merely eyed me.
"Why do you want me to ride with you?"
Oh now.... ::skiddddd sound inserted here:: wait just a minute! Why do I want you to ride with me? How do they do that? How do they smoothly turn everything you say against you? Women!
"You said you wanted to ride him yesterday, T'zuri." And once again I offered down my hand. It's a rather big step up from the ground into Necessity's stirrups.
