The Paga Diaries (13) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Jesop’

 

I woke up early in Trem’s apartment.  He had encouraged me to stay the night at his place after a long evening of eating and drinking at the Feasting Tavern.  It was dark when we left and he reiterated that my neighbourhood was not safe at night.  My place was also a good walk from here. 

 

I heard Trem getting ready for work and he was making something for breakfast. It didn’t smell or look good.  It was some sort of porridge, or oatmeal, or, well, I didn’t really know.  But I was hungry too and got up, thinking I would get something on the way to meet Penny.  I bid Trem farewell as he left for work and the long walk up the stairs to the tarncot.  

 

On the street I sniffed out a bakery.  I walked out with two little vulo egg and cheese pies.  Very delicious, they reminded me of quiche, and was just what I needed.  As I walked, noticing many Goreans walking briskly to work or other morning errands, I thought about yesterday.  My solo tarn flight was amazing and I was eager to fly again and again.  I had asked Trem if I could volunteer to work for him in the tarncot, so that I could learn everything about tarns.  He said yes, and I would have gone with him this morning, except I had made an appointment to see Penny.

 

Trem said that this morning he was going to make arrangements for me to be able to gain access to the tarncot on my own, without his presence.  If he was up in the top of the tower in the tarncot, I normally would not be granted access without him.  The tarncot, built into the wall of the stadium, was municipally owned and had security checkpoints in two places.  One was at the entrance to the tower and the other was the door with the slit, at the top of the staircase that led into the tarncot.  Trem had given me a bronze disk that had an image of a tarn stamped into it along with a number.  It was a pass or badge that I could use to get past the tower security.  Trem made it very clear that I was not to lose this pass.  He said he was going to register the number on the pass to my name.  The pass had a leather string or lanyard attached to it and I wore it around my neck, under my tunic.

 

I got to the pre-arranged meeting spot, where I had met Penny twice before.  She was not there.  Our meeting time was set for this morning at the sixth ahn.  I didn’t know what time it was now.  I was perhaps fifteen ehn late today.  I had heard the sixth ahn passage bell ring from a distant building while I was on my way over.  That had been about fifteen ehn ago.  She was always early, arriving before me in our previous meetings. Surely she would wait at least  fifteen ehn, before giving up on our meeting?

 

It was now four days since the last day that I had arranged to meet Penny and she hadn’t shown up.  I was fond of her and really wanted to continue my Gorean lessons with her as she was an excellent teacher.  If I didn’t see her today, I was worried that it might be several days before I could return.  My second age regression treatment was tomorrow and on the first one, I had spent the night, waking up sore and groggy.  I continued to wait for Penny until I heard the passage ring of the seventh ahn, from far away, many city blocks from this street.  I had been here for almost an ahn, I really wanted to see her and hoped that she would arrive late.  I finally acknowledged to myself that she was not coming today.

 

What to do with the rest of this day?  My mind was still very much on tarns and yesterday’s exhilarating solo tarn flight. I wondered if Trem had registered my tarncot pass yet.  I couldn’t think of anything more that I wanted to do, than learn more about tarns.  Trem had agreed that I could volunteer and help him at the tarncot.  Maybe I would get to ride again today if I returned to see him.  I walked back to the stadium.

 

When I got to the stadium and the tall cylinder tower built into it, I knocked on the large wooden entry door.  This door had a small window with an interior metal plate a few horts wide.  The metal window plate was slid to the side and I heard a man ask “Yes?”

 

“I have pass for tarncot,” I said.

 

“Name?”

 

“Rykart,” I replied.

 

“Just Rykart, no last name?”

 

“Rykart Hardy,” I said, retrieving the bronze pass hanging from my neck.

 

“Present your pass to the window.”  I held the pass up to the window.  “Where did you get this pass?” the man asked.

 

“This morning, Trem gave me pass.”  I didn’t know Trem’s last name.  Actually I didn’t know the last names of anyone I had met on Gor.  Trem had asked for mine this morning; I should have asked for his.

 

“You may enter,” he said and I heard a bolt move, unlocking the door.

 

As I walked up the stairs of the central staircase, I wondered what occupied all the floors that I was passing by, underneath the tarncot levels.  This was a municipal tower, so perhaps the floors contained administrative areas for the city?  I was the only one on the stairwell.  I got to the top and banged on the door.  Someone looked through the slit and this time I held up my badge.  A tarnkeeper I had seen before, opened the door for me and pointed to a room where I could find Trem.

 

The room he was in was small and windowless.  The door was open, so I knocked on the door frame as I stuck my head inside.  Trem was behind a desk that had piles of paper documents on it.  So Trem could read too, I noted.  He looked up at me.

 

“Rykart, I am surprised to see you.  I am glad your pass is working.  I thought you were spending the day with the street slut?”

 

“She did not come.  I want to learn tarns.  What can I help with?” I said. 

 

“Good, there is a lot to do today.  Later, a dung run needs to go out.  You can help with that,” he said.

 

“What is dung run?” I asked.

 

A dung run is the removal of tarn droppings from the cart and is usually done daily, depending on the number of tarns in the cot.  The dung is collected from cages and placed into a large tarn basket to be flown away from the tarncot.  Trem led me from his office to the flight pad or launch ramp.  There was a large bin or container on the ramp.  It was a giant oval shaped basket.  The walls of the basket were made from thick wooden wicker, laced together horizontally, and had a narrow wooden rail on top.  At the back of the basket, was an opening that could be closed with a wicker gate.  The bottom of the basket had supporting wooden runners, covered in leather. The basket was half full of tarn droppings, dung.  The dung had some feathers mixed in, here and there.  

 

As we stood there, a young teen boy came to the ramp pushing a wheelbarrow full of dung.  He pushed the wheelbarrow through the opening in the back and then dumped it into the tarn basket. “Jesop, come over here. I want you to meet my friend Rykart,” Trem said. 

 

The teen let go of the wheelbarrow and walked over to us.  He was muscular for a young teen, making his age hard to judge. I guessed he was sixteen.  He had light brown hair, freckles on his face, and wore a grey tunic, fairly clean considering what was in the wheelbarrow. There was a black metal collar around his neck. 

 

“Tal, Rykart.  I am Jesop,” he said with a smile. 

 

Jesop had very expressive grey eyes, that looked me over.  His eyes had a youthful quality that was a mix of curiosity, humour, intelligence, and happiness.  His eyes were captivating.

 

“Tal, Jesop,” I said. 

 

“Rykart will be helping us in the tarncot from time to time. He will be going on the dung run,” Trem said.

 

“Do you fly tarns?” Jesop asked me.

 

“I have flown tarn,” I said.

 

“Are you a tarnsman or a tarnkeeper?” he asked.  

 

“I am neither. I want to learn tarns.”

 

“Why do you talk funny?” he asked.

 

“Get back to the wheelbarrow and let me know when the basket is full,” Trem said to him.

 

Jesop gave a slight frown and turned to go back to the wheelbarrow.

 

When Jesop left, I asked Trem, “He is a slave? You own him?”

 

 “Yes, he is a slave. He is owned by the tarncot, by the city. He works here as an attendant. He should not have addressed you by your first name. He is not the best slave, but he is a good worker.”

 

“He was born slave?” I asked.

 

“No, he has been a slave for almost two years and has worked up here the whole time.”

 

“How old is he?” I asked.

 

“I think he is fifteen.”

 

“How did he become slave?” I asked.

 

“It doesn’t matter. Let me know if he doesn’t obey you or show you proper respect.”

 

Trem led me away from the flight deck and began to give me an extensive tour of the tarncot. While on this tour, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jesop, and the concept of child slavery.  It was wrong and I was really struggling with it.  A boy like that shouldn’t be a slave.  I know that Goreans did not feel that way.  Even on Earth, people had only recently, say in the last 150 years, felt that slavery was wrong.  99 percent of human history, across the globe, contains some form of slave culture.  It was hard for me to argue against this history and convince myself that I was right about slavery being wrong.  Had humans on Earth regressed, versus evolved, with their attitude towards slavery?  When it came to women and their natural submissive traits, I would agree that Earth values had regressed, going in the wrong direction, leaving both sexes very confused and frustrated.  But children were different.  Or so I thought.  I don’t know, but it was a hurdle I would have to cross in becoming Gorean.

 

Trem showed me the different types of tarns, war tarns, racing tarns and draft tarns.  My first flight with Trem and my first solo flight had been on a war tarn, the most common type.  Trem had modified the war tarn saddle with two safety straps which would be uncommon for a warrior tarnsmen to use, preferring the ease of one safety strap.  

 

The racing tarns were smaller, had smaller saddles that lacked the utility features like securing rings, weapon sheaths, saddle bag attachments, etc. These birds were faster and more manoeuvrable than other tarns and took more finesse with the flight straps to control.  They were not generally for beginner tarn riders like me.  They also did not have the carrying capacity or endurance, of the larger tarns. They were not meant for long distance flights. 

 

Trem showed me some draft tarns.  They are larger than war tarns and bred primarily for strength and the transportation of goods. They also have gentler dispositions, making them easier to handle.  Standing near them, in cages, I was having a hard time accepting the possibility of a tarn with a ‘gentler’ disposition. The draft tarns are usually used by attaching large tarn baskets to them, which hang below in flight.  Sometimes there may be hundreds of such draft tarns with baskets, creating a tarn caravan.

 

After the tour we went back to Trem’s small office and continued to talk about tarncot operations.  Jesop came to the office and said all the dung was loaded into the basket. Trem asked if I would help Jesop rig the basket for flight.  Jesop and I went to a tack room that was filled with rope, harnesses, and other equipment.  We grabbed some stout ropes that were going to be used to attach the tarn basket to the tarn harness.  He showed me how the attachments were to be made and the ropes should be laid out so as not to tangle during take-off.  We talked while we worked and Jesop was very curious, asking me numerous questions.

 

“Why do you talk funny Rykart?” he asked again.  I knew he shouldn’t call me by name, but he was a curious boy and I didn’t want to admonish him.

 

“I am barbarian. Not from here,”  I said. 

 

“Where are you from?”  Before I was transported to Gor, I had received just minimal orientation about the planet and its inhabitants.  One of the things that was taught to me was the difference in the levels of knowledge amongst Gorean people.  This knowledge was about technology, science and the solar system.  First Knowledge was very basic and was limited to knowing only about Gor.  Many people with First Knowledge thought that Gor was flat.  They did not know about interplanetary travel. They also believed in something called the Priest Kings, benevolent protectors of the planet.  The Second Knowledge was the awareness of advanced technologies and the capability of interplanetary travel.  This included the awareness of other planets such as Earth, also known as the Slave World, and the presence of a hostile alien race, intent on conquest. The Priest Kings conducted Voyages of Acquisition from Earth to Gor, bringing people and other things. The Priest Kings also kept constant watch over Gor and meted out mortal punishments to anyone who violated their bans on the use of certain technologies, firearms for example.  The Third Knowledge was reserved for the Priest Kings themselves.  One can only imagine what that knowledge is.  I’m sure it included very advanced medicine, physics, spaceship propulsion, etc. 

 

I was told to assume that everyone on Gor had only First Knowledge.  I should say that I was from a distant land, making it easier than explaining that I was actually from a different planet, delving into Second Knowledge. In First Knowledge, a barbarian could be from a distant land.  More like a different region, or “a world away” from here.  Even the discovery of America was called the New World, so saying that I was from another world didn’t necessarily mean that I was from a different planet.

 

So, for these people, where was I from?  Did I have a Home Stone?  On Earth, I hadn’t felt connected to a city for a long time.  Nowhere that felt like home, or a place that I would defend with my life.  As a soldier I had felt loyalty to my country, but that feeling faded with time.  America had grown so weak, the radical left dictating to people that they should make extreme efforts to ensure that no one ever gets offended.  I don’t ever see that happening on Gor, and for that, I will pray to a Priest King to keep it this way.  I didn’t really feel connected to America anymore.  I didn’t know what it meant to be an American.

 

The last few years before I came here, there had been a subtle change in American culture with the rise of what was called New Feminism.  It seemed a promising attempt at possibly restoring the natural order between the sexes.  But this new idea seemed like a long way from making real change, to where women would submit to men.  I had no regrets leaving my country behind and coming to Gor. 

 

Perhaps I should acknowledge some form of Home Stone, when asked.  Even if my Home Stone wasn’t real, it would avoid confusion about me and the possible perception that I had no honour or loyalty.  These things are very important to Goreans and I did not want anyone to think less of me.  I felt I did have honour, even though some of the things I had done to gain transport to Gor were not honourable. Having honour is important to me and someday I might find a place on Gor that I would genuinely feel loyal to.  

 

“I am from Arizona,” I said to Jesop.

 

“I have never heard of Arizona. Where is it?”

 

“It is world away,” I answered. “How old are you?”

 

“I am fourteen,” he said.  I wanted to ask how he became a slave, but this had to be a sad story and I didn’t want to have him relate it now.  Perhaps another time.  In my pondering pause, he asked another question.

 

“Are you free?”

 

“Yes, I am free,” I said.

 

“The only barbarians I know are women, and all of them are enslaved.  Are you getting paid to work here?”

 

“No, I help and want to learn tarns,” I said. 

 

“Free men get paid for their work, so why would you work for free?”

 

“To learn tarns,” I said again.  He was having a hard time understanding this, and I didn’t know the word for ‘volunteer’.

 

“How did you get here?”

 

Before I could answer, Trem came onto the deck and asked, “Jesop, is the rigging ready?”

 

“Yes Master,” he said while Trem inspected the  basket attachments. 

 

“Good. Let’s harness the draft tarn.”

 

The tarn was positioned in front of the basket and the ropes were attached to its harness.  I followed Trem up the saddle ladder and secured my safety strap, sitting behind him.  Trem told me that we would begin the flight with a slight pull on the one-strap, instead of yanking on it as we had done on the other flights.  This was so the tarn would jump into the air and hover, instead of flying.  Sometimes, a slight pull on the six-strap was required to keep the tarn from rising too high.  He said that teaching a tarn to hover was not easy.  

 

He motioned for Jesop to release the hobble from the tarn’s legs.  He then made the tarn jump up into a hovering flight.  We bounced around in this hover with each beating of the mighty wings.  The bouncing was unnerving and uncomfortable and even with the safety strap, I held onto the saddle.  We hovered until Jesop gave the signal that the basket ropes were not tangled and ready for flight. 

 

Trem made the tarn climb away from the flight deck and the basket was soon hanging below us.  We began to fly towards the city walls and soon circled over a large estate, with rich green fields of farms and pastures.  I saw people working in the fields, men and women.  I also saw two tarn baskets on the ground.  We flew towards these baskets and Trem made the draft tarn hover again, slowly lowering us until the basket was on the ground and then made the bird land to the side of the basket.  A man in a brown tunic walked over to us.  He was very tan, wore a large brimmed hat and had a whip attached to a belt. 

 

“Tal Trem,” he said, and then looked at me. 

 

“Tal Therin. This is Rykart, he works at the tarncot and may do dung runs in the future,” Trem said. 

 

 “Tal, Rykart,” Therin said.

 

“Tal Therin,”  I said.  We unrolled the saddle ladder and climbed down off of the tarn.  Three men and a woman, all dressed in dirty tunics, walked toward the basket.  They all wore collars on their necks.  The woman was stocky and had muscular legs but I could see no fat on her.  She had full hips and nice breasts.  

 

Trem and I detached the ropes from the tarn, me working the rope while he held a tarn goad.  Therin then directed the field slaves to detach the ropes from the basket and attach them to one of the empty baskets.  I enjoyed watching the woman bend over and release the rope.  When the ropes had been reattached to the empty basket, Trem inspected them.  We then guided the draft tarn to the basket and reattached the ropes to its harness.  Trem said that oftentimes, the basket would not be empty, and would contain fresh produce and farm goods that would be delivered to the top of the Feasting Tarn tavern.

 

“Paga?” Therin asked.

 

“Perhaps one,” Trem replied. 

 

“Olsi, fetch paga for us,” Therin said to the woman.

 

“Yes Master,” she said and walked away. 

 

We walked over to a low table on some grass in the shade of a tree.  We sat on the grass around the table.  The female field slave walked over to us with three cups and a small tankard.  She placed the cups and tankard on the table and then began to pour paga from the tankard.  She knelt before Trem and offered him a cup, lowering her head between her extended arms.  She repeated the offering with me and Therin and then knelt beside him not looking at any of us. Her serve was nice but lacked the grace and refinement of motion that I had seen in all of the tavern paga slaves who had served me. 

 

I didn’t think the paga was very good, but I drank anyway. The three male field slaves began to unload the dung from the tarn basket.  Therin began to talk of the war and how it would soon be over.  Trem was polite and had conversation with him, but I could tell that he did not like to talk about the war.  He changed the subject by saying that he hoped the tarn race at the stadium next week would not be cancelled again.  I said nothing, embarrassed by my speech, but I was very interested in a tarn race!  We finished our paga, thanked Therin and returned to the waiting tarn.

 

The flight back to the tarncot with the empty basket was very brief, but I enjoyed every ihn of it.  I think I could be happy finding a career as a tarn delivery driver.  What better job could there be on Gor than that of flying on the back of a tarn?

 

We hovered over the flight deck and lowered the basket down.  Trem showed me how to get the tarn to land in front of the basket.  Jesop came out and began to detach the ropes.  The draft tarn was put in a cage with other tarns.

 

Trem said that we had done enough for the day and that he was tired.  

 

“Rykart, would you care for another paga at the Feasting Tarn,” he asked.

 

“Not tonight, I have treatment tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, I forgot. Another time then. I am going to have paga, tabuk, and then find Ria,” he said.

 

“Can I come, Master? Please!” Jesop pleaded.

 

“Not this time Jesop.”

 

“Are you coming back tomorrow?” Jesop turned and asked me.

 

“Not tomorrow, another day,” I replied.

 

“I wish you well,” he said.

 

“I wish you well too Jesop.”