I noted some of the workmen still affixing small retaining rings to some of the stakes, bolting them one on a side, usually about five feet to five and a half feet from the ground. A workman sprang a pair shut, and then opened them with a key, which he subsequently hung from a tiny hook near the top of the stake.

I heard some musicians, come out early from Turia, playing a light tune behind the Turian stakes, about fifty yards or so away.

In the space between the two lines of stakes, for each pair of facing stakes, there was a circle of roughly eight yards in diameter. This circle, the grass having been removed, was sanded and raked.

Moving boldly now among the Wagon Peoples were ven- dors from Turia, selling their cakes, their wines and meats, even chains and collars.

Kamchak looked at the sun, which was now about a quarter of the way up the sky.

"Turians are always late," he said.

From the back of the kaiila I could now see dust from Turia. "They are coming," I said.

Among the Tuchuks, though dismounted, I saw the young man Harold, he whom Hereena of the First Wagon had so sorely insulted at the time of the wagering with Conrad and Albrecht. I did not, however, see the girl. The young man seemed to me a strong, fine fellow, though of course un- scarred. He had, as I mentioned, blond hair and blue eyes, not unknown among the Tuchuks, but unusual. He carried weapons. He could not, of course, compete in these contests, for there is status involved in these matters and only warriors of repute are permitted to participate. Indeed, without the Courage Scar one could not even think of proposing oneself for the competition. It might be mentioned, incidentally, that without the Courage Scar one may not, among the Tuchuks, pay court to a free woman, own a wagon, or own more than five bosk and three kaiila. The Courage Scar thus has its social and economic, as well as its martial, import. "You're right," said Kamchak, rising in the stirrups. "First the warriors."

On long lines of tharlarion I could see warriors of Turia approaching in procession the Plains of a Thousand Stakes. The morning sun flashed from their helmets, their long thar- larion lances, the metal embossments on their oval shields, unlike the rounded shields of most Gorean cities. I could hear, like the throbbing of a heart, the beating of the two tharlarion drums that set the cadence of the march. Beside the tharlarion walked other men-at-arms, and even citizens of Turia, and more vendors and musicians, come to see the games.

On the heights of distant Turia itself I could see the flutter of flags and pensions. The walls were crowded, and I sup- posed many upon them used the long glasses of the Caste of Builders to observe the field of the stakes.

The warriors of Turia extended their formation about two hundred yards from the stakes until in ranks of four or five deep they were strung out in a line as long as the line of stakes itself. Then they halted. As soon as the hundreds of ponderous tharlarion had been marshaled into an order, a lance, carrying a fluttering pennon, dipped and there was a sudden signal on the tharlarion drums. Immediately the lances of the lines lowered and the hundreds of tharlarion, hissing and grunting, their riders shouting, the drums beating, began to bound rapidly towards us.

"Treachery!" I cried.

There was nothing living on Gor I knew that could take the impact of a tharlarion charge.

Elizabeth Cardwell screamed, throwing her hands before her face.

To my astonishment the warriors of the Wagon Peoples seemed to be paying very little attention to the bestial ava- lanche that was even then hurtling down upon them. Some were haggling with the vendors, others were talking among themselves.

I wheeled the Kaiila, looking for Elizabeth Cardwell, who, afoot, would be slain almost before the tharlarion had crossed the lines of the stakes. She was standing facing the charging tharlarion, as though rooted to the earth, her hands before her face. I bent down in the saddle and tensed to kick the kaiila forward to sweep her to the saddle, turn and race for our lives.

"Really," said Kamchak.

I straightened up and saw that the lines of the tharlarion lancers had, with much pounding and trampling of the earth, with shouting, with the hissing of the great beasts, stopped short, abruptly, some fifteen yards or so behind their line of stakes.

"It is a Turian joke," said Kamchak. "They are as fond of the games as we, and do not wish to spoil them."

I reddened. Elizabeth Cardwell's knees seemed suddenly weak but she staggered back to us.

Kamchak smiled at me. "She is a pretty little barbarian, isn't she, he said.

"Yes," I said, and looked away, confused.

Kamchak laughed.

Elizabeth looked up at us, puzzled.

I heard a cry from the Turians across the way. "The wenches!" he cried, and this shout was taken up by many of the others. There was much laughing and pounding of lances on shields.

In a moment, to a thunder of kaiila paws on the turf, racing between the lines of stakes, scattering sand, there came a great number of riders, their black hair swirling behind them, who pulled up on their mounts, rearing and squealing, between the stakes, and leaped from the saddle to the sand, relinquishing the reins of their mounts to men among the Wagon Peoples.

They were marvelous, the many wild girls of the Wagons, and I saw that chief among them was the proud, beauteous Hereena, of the First Wagon. They were enormously excited, laughing. Their eyes shone. A few spit and shook their small fists at the Turians across the way, who reciprocated with good-natured shouts and laughter.

I saw Hereena notice the young man Harold among the warriors and she pointed her finger imperiously at him, gestur- ing him to her.

He approached her. "Take the reins of my kaiila, Slave," she said to him, insolently throwing him the reins. He took them angrily and, to the laughter of many of the Tuchuks present, withdrew with the animal.

The girls then went to mingle with the warriors. There were between a hundred and a hundred and fifty girls there from each of the four Wagon Peoples.

"Hah!" said Kamchak, seeing now — the lines of thar- larion part for a space of perhaps forty yards, through which could be seen the screened palanquins of Turian damsels, borne on the shoulders of chained slaves, among them un- doubtedly men of the Wagon Peoples.

Now the excitement of the throng seemed mostly to course among the warriors of the Wagon Peoples as they rose in their stirrups to see better the swaying, approaching palan- quins, each reputedly bearing a gem of great beauty, a fit prize in the savage contests of Love War.

The institution of Love War is an ancient one among the Turians and the Wagon Peoples, according to the Year Keepers antedating even the Omen Year. The games of Love War, of course, are celebrated every spring between, 80 to speak, the city and the plains, whereas the Omen Year occurs only every tenth year. The games of Love War, in them- selves, do not constitute a gathering of the Wagon Peoples, for normally the herds and the free women of the peoples do not approach one another at these times; only certain dele- gations of warriors, usually about two hundred from a peo- ple, are sent in the spring to the Plains of a Thousand Stakes. The theoretical justification of the games of Love War, from the Turian point of view, is that they provide an excellent arena in which to demonstrate the fierceness and prowess of Turian warriors, thus perhaps intimidating or, at the very least, encouraging the often overbold warriors of the Wagon Peoples to be wary of Turian steel. The secret justifi- cation, I suspect, however, is that the Turian warrior is fond of meeting the enemy and acquiring his women, particularly should they be striking little beasts, like Hereena of the First Wagon, as untamed and savage as they are beautiful; it is regarded as a great sport among Turian warriors to collar such a wench and force her to exchange riding leather for the bells and silks of a perfumed slave girl. It might also be mentioned that the Turian warrior, in his opinion, too seldom encounters the warrior of the Wagon Peoples, who tends to be a frustrating, swift and elusive foe, striking with great rapidity and withdrawing with goods and captives almost before it is understood what has occurred. I once asked Kamchak if the Wagon Peoples had a justification for the games of Love War. "Yes," he had said. And he had then pointed to Dina and Tenchika, clad Kajir, who were at that time busy in the wagon. "That is the justification," said Kamchak. And he had then laughed and pounded his knee. It was only then that it had occurred to me that both girls might have been acquired in the games; as a matter of fact, I however, I later learned that only Tenchika had been so wenches!" he cried, and this sand The wagon girls, watching this, some of them chewing on fruit or stalks of grass, jeered.