Mariners of Gor

Chapter Seven

My ankles were in freezing water. My back and arms ached. Twelve of us, in this shift, manned the pumps.

Nine storms we had endured since I had been taken aboard.

Thassa grew more cruel each day. Few dared to go on deck. Some had been washed away. Men clung to ropes, crossing the deck, leaning into the wind. The tarns had not been flown in six days. Some had died. When the tarn cannot fly, it dies.

The unusual men, the Pani, spoke little, lest it be amongst themselves. But amongst ourselves, the others, there were murmurs of discontent, these subsiding in the presence of officers.

Occasionally, one heard the howling of a sleen, restless in its cage.

Too, off certain corridors, from behind heavy wooden doors, each with its tiny, sliding, rectangular viewing panel, one could hear the lamentations, the weepings, of female slaves. It had been clear to me, almost from the beginning, that there were female slaves on board. One, the slave girl, Alcinoe, once the high lady, Flavia of Ar, confidante even of the former Ubara, Talena, had been sent to me in my cell, barefoot and tunicked, to humbly serve me, to bring me, in her abject servitude, a free man, now unspeakably above her, she now less than the dust beneath his feet, a bowl of broth. Others, in groups, in good weather, had been exercised on the open deck, performing their movements in unison, to the cries of their keeper, sometimes, shuddering, to the snapping of his whip. From their reactions I gathered some had felt it. Certain slaves interestingly, were brought into public view only when hooded. I thought them to be perhaps high slaves, perhaps of such beauty that, should it be bared, men might be driven wild with the need to seize and possess them. Might they not have divided the crew into warring factions? Some slaves were private slaves, owned by one fellow or another. I envied them having such a soft, delicious object chained to their bunk, to be enjoyed as, and when, one pleased. One such was the lovely Cecily, girl of the commander, Cabot; another was called Jane, the slave of his friend, Pertinax. I did not understand the name ‘Jane’, a lovely but unusual name, which I took to be a barbarian name. Her accent was of Ar, and I did not inquire further. This Pertinax would often scrutinize the slaves being exercised, as though he might have an eye for one. But it seems he did not discern her. Perhaps she was one of the hooded slaves, or amongst those not brought to the open deck. The slaves, I gathered, had been, on the whole, purchased here and there by the Pani, over several months, perhaps for the contentment of themselves and others, perhaps as trading goods, perhaps as merchandise, to be eventually sold in one market or another. It is not unusual, on large ships, round ships, and longer voyages, for slave girls to be brought aboard. Gorean men relish slave meat and do not like to be long without it. By the time the women have learned their collar, of course, they, too, need men. It can be pleasant to torment a hot, begging slave. Free women, on the other hand, unless passengers on particular ships plying established routes, are seldom aboard Gorean vessels. Many Gorean mariners fear to travel with a free woman on board, regarding such as harbingers of ill fortune. Whereas this trepidation is often unwarranted, their reluctance cannot be dismissed as simple superstition. There have been many instances in which the presence of such a female, aloof and inaccessible, arrogant and troublesome, has produced dissension. Too many such women, too, on long voyages, perhaps in their boredom, are careless in their veiling, and enjoy exploiting the provocations, the tauntings, of their sex, casting an alluring eye here, dropping a piquant word there, amusing themselves with the igniting of fires they have no intention of extinguishing. Are they unaware of the turning of a hip, or the hithering sway manifested so subtly in their departure? Gorean men are no strangers to the secrets beneath those cumbersome robes, secrets which the free woman seems to be seeking to share. Is it so delightful, really, to encourage and then scorn, to invite and then rebuke, to tempt and then denounce? Is it in their best interest, really, to practice so petty a power? Surely they must understand the danger of proffering goods they have no intention of selling. Surely they must understand they tread a narrow bridge. Surely better to attend to the curfews and avoid the byways of darkness. What wise woman would let the door of a paga tavern close behind her, unless she wished to find herself within? Gorean men are not long-suffering, nor are they patient. It is not unusual for a lofty free woman, enrobed and veiled, to embark on a voyage, at the end of which she is led down the gangplank, stripped and shackled, on a chain, to be conducted to a convenient market. They now belong to the sex they professed to despise. They will now live to serve and satisfy men. But did they not court the collar? Do they not now find their fulfillment in the chains they wished to wear? But women, free or slave, are seldom allowed on the long ships, the ships of war. On such ships, such as the Metioche, duty is paramount and discipline is strict. On such a ship, women have no place; distraction is unacceptable; too, such women would be encumbrances, would be in the way, should an engagement ensue. Lastly, the female slave is property, and such ships seldom carry cargo. Too, such ships may enter battle, and the female slave, who surely has her value, such as it is, no more than other goods is to be put at risk. Needless to say, at the voyages’ end, such mariners, starved for the scent of perfume and the clasp of warm arms, are likely to lose little time in seeking the comforts of the taverns. Girls are often sent to the wharves, when ships are due, in camisks adorned with advertising, to solicit patronage for their masters’ establishments.

I heard, again, the howling of a sleen. I had not seen it, but, from the sound, I supposed it must be a large brute. It carried from deck to deck.

I did not understand how such a beast might be on board.

There were two major keeping areas, for female slaves, off two long corridors, one on the Venna deck, and one lower, on the Kasra deck, these two corridors, as others, apart from them, leading fore and aft, the length of the vessel. Lately, given the miseries of the weather, the constant rolling and pitching motion of the ship, the distance from shore, the uncertainty of the voyage, their terror at realizing themselves now being taken beyond the farther islands, and fearing perhaps to plunge any moment from the edge of the world, one might hear, as mentioned, from behind the thick doors, the lamentations, the weepings, of female slaves. One could listen, too, for the rustle of chains, as they might move about, or thrash on the straw in their misery. One may silence slaves by going amongst them with a whip, but, compassionately, it had not been done. They were not, after all, males, sturdy quarry slaves, hardened oar slaves, and such, but females, mere females, miserable and pathetic, soft and small, helpless in their collars and shackles, only frightened slave-block goods, so desirably and wonderfully different from men. How inordinately precious and desirable they are!

How inevitable it is to relish them, and strive to possess them!

How comprehensible that they should be sought and secured, roped and chained, that they should be bought and sold, that they should be branded and collared, that there be no mistaking them; how natural and perfect that they should be owned and mastered.

It is what they are for.

Nature has designed their soft lips to be pressed to the feet of men.

Tersites, master of the ship, and master shipwright, to whose specifications the great ship had been built, had refused to pour oil, and wine, and salt into the sea. A mariner had attempted to do so, in the wind and rain, in darkness, after the twentieth Ahn, but was apprehended by the deck patrol, and, by order of Tersites himself, was put under the lash, the snake, twelve strokes. The fellow was strong, and survived.

As I worked at the pump, my thoughts strayed to the slave, Alcinoe. I had not seen her since she had served me. I recalled she had claimed to have been raped by me, which allegation was demonstrably false, as proven by her body. I had learned she had been lashed for that indiscretion. A whipping would do her good. She must learn that a slave girl is not permitted to lie. A free woman may lie, but not the female slave. I wondered why she had made her allegation. Perhaps she, still incognizant of the nature of her condition, that of slave, had thought that I would be slain upon her assertion, and thus that she would have nothing to fear from me, that I might reveal her identity, as the former Lady Flavia. Whereas one speaks commonly of “slave rape,” that usually means little more than using them as one wishes, unilaterally, peremptorily, forcibly, and such. Technically, it is not clear that one can rape a slave, any more than one could rape a verr or tarsk. In a legal sense, a slave cannot be raped, no more than any other domestic animal. On the other hand, there might well be social, legal, and economic consequences if, say, A was to use the slave of B without B’s authorization. To be sure, unless honor is thought to be involved, which may lead to blood and death, such matters are usually resolved amicably, perhaps by an apology and the payment of a use coin, A’s putting one of his slaves, B’s choice, at the disposal of B, or such. The rape of a free woman with whom one shares a Home Stone, on the other hand, is a very serious offense. Fellows have been tortured, and publicly impaled, for that sort of thing. I wondered if Alcinoe had wanted me to put her to use, but was angered, even insulted, that I had not done so, and so pretended, perhaps in her vanity, that she had been put to use, as would have befitted the branded, female occupant of a slave collar. Perhaps she merely wished to have me beaten, as a presumptuous prisoner, availing himself of a cell slave, but had misjudged the matter, and found that it was she herself who was fastened in place for the lash’s kiss. I would not have minded, of course, putting her to my purposes, and had mulled over the thought often enough in Ar, and since Ar, after she had, more than once, lowered her veil before me, almost as though insolently daring me to take her in my arms, which might have been a serious and dangerous business in that time and place. Why had she lowered her veil before me? Merely to torment me? Probably. But it was hard to say. I did not doubt, incidentally, that she had been similarly careless with higher officers, and certainly with Seremides. It was clear that he would be able to recognize her. Might that not instill terror in that now-collared, lovely thing? Why had she behaved in so perilously compromising a fashion? Was she perhaps so vain of her beauty that she could not resist its display? After all, what beautiful woman does not wish to be recognized as beautiful? But it seems she was bold, or unwise, indeed, unless, perhaps, she longed to feel on her small limbs the weight of chains, and on her neck the clasp of the proprietary collar.

On the Kasra deck, the rectangular viewing plate was easily slid back. I had occasionally, as had others, slipped it to the side, and gazed within, examining the occupants of the keeping chamber. Each girl was stripped, but had been given a heavy blanket, which most, in the straw and cold, shivering and shuddering, held about themselves. Many were the shallow pans about, and buckets, utilized by the frightened, miserable, retching slaves. Even seasoned mariners could scarcely walk the corridors without reeling, without bracing themselves against the walls. When the panel slid back, though the noise was tiny, many of the girls would cry out, piteously, kneeling, holding out their small hands toward the door, some rising and running to the end of their ankle chain, begging to be taken elsewhere, anywhere, to be released from the stale air, the confinement, and stench. There must have been better than a hundred slaves crowded in that small, cramped area. In my various observations, I did not see Alcinoe. If she were there, it seemed she might be placed toward the back of the area, or to the side, where it would be difficult to see her. Accordingly, I surmised that she might be in the keeping area above, that on the Venna deck. I did not know. It would turn out she was indeed housed in the Kasra area, but it was difficult to make determinations, given the paucity of light, from some two lamps, in that area. The rectangular, sliding panel on the Venna keeping area, above, which opened from the narrow, third port corridor, was fastened shut. It could be opened only by forcing it, and I speculated that that would be dangerous to do. The contents of the keeping area on the Venna deck were apparently not to be looked upon with impunity. I did not know why that would be, unless they were unusually beautiful, or some of them, at least, were in some way special, perhaps being reserved for particular masters at the voyage’s end. Perhaps she for whom it seemed that the commander’s friend, Pertinax, might be alert was confined within, on her chain. Too, I suspected that, for whatever reason, Alcinoe might now be amongst the Kasra area’s occupants. Did someone realize her possible political importance? Seremides, perhaps? Or was she confined this deeply within the ship because she had incurred the displeasure of masters, having been apprehended in a lie? She had, it seems, been discovered to be lash-worthy, and had been put under the lash. Perhaps her wearing her chain here, then, was an additional punishment. Surely she was learning what it was to be a slave, and be at the mercy of men. Having seen many women exhibited, on the public shelves, in the exposition cages, on the block itself, it did not seem likely to me that the women of the Venna keeping area would be more beautiful, or really that much more beautiful, than those I had seen in the Kasra holding area, those heeling private masters about, those exercising on the deck, and such. I thought the Pani, whom I took it were responsible for the purchases, had shown excellent judgment. Although many of the slaves were now filthy, and ill, and frightened, I had no doubt that, scrubbed and groomed, they would prove to be excellent merchandise. Certainly I had seen worse sold even in the Curulean, in Ar.

Some of the women, from the Kasra area, had, in former weeks, been put in the public pleasure chambers, chained beside their mats, for the use of the crew, but this availability had, at least for the time, been discontinued. This had much to do with the discontentments of Thassa, with the wind and weather, the towering waves, the plunging about of the ship, and the water she was taking in, some from opening seams, at different levels, forced inside, some draining down to the lower decks, when a hatch must need be opened, and then forced shut. One hatch had been snapped away, and washed overboard, the upper deck awash. That accident alone had brought water to a dozen companionways. When I had slid back the plate on the observation panel of the Kasra keeping area, particularly of late, a number of its occupants, those who could stand, and not merely roll miserably about in the soiled straw, had not only flung aside their blankets and hurried forward, until stopped by their ankle chains, holding out their hands to me, begging to be freed of their chains and their wretched housing, but writhed and exhibited their charms, and bucked and swayed before me, hopefully, desperately, piteously, that I might be moved to call for them, and take them from their chains and current keeping area. I did not blame them for wishing to be relieved of the miseries of their chain and housing, and at almost any price, but, too, I had seen such behavior even in calmer weather, when Thassa was pleased to be serene, or seemingly so, perhaps meanwhile planning her next onslaught on men so foolish as to breast her waves in seasons unwise, if not forbidden. Several of the slaves, you see, could not but help, now, to belong in their collars. In their bellies the slave fires, so resisted by, and so scorned by, free women, had been callously and mercilessly ignited by heartless masters. They now belonged to men, and needed men. The victim of such fires will crawl naked to the feet of even a hated master, begging him piteously and desperately for his least caress.

I snapped shut the observation panel, and heard cries of misery.

The free woman has much to bargain with, her wealth, her position, her caste, her possessions, but once enslaved what has she but her beauty, and that does not even belong to her. She is helpless, and cannot bargain. Even to suggest such a thing is to invite the lash. Her beauty, like the whole of her, is the property of her master. And it, like the whole of her, may be easily ignored, or scorned.

Is not the most helpless of women the slave girl?

Slave girls often find themselves confined, or chained or roped, bound in one fashion or another. Such things, of course, are not necessary, but are imposed upon them, that they may better understand themselves as slaves. The total and irrevocable bond, of course, is that they are slave, only slave. This is clear in a hundred ways, from their brand, their collar, their clothing, if permitted clothing, their behaviors, their demeanors, their diction, their deference, their expressions, their place in society, and, once they are broken to the collar, their softness, their radical femininity, their insistent and irresistible feminine needs, their piteous and helpless need to surrender to a master, their desire to serve and love, and so on, but, still, all in all, there is a role for the bracelet, the shackle, the chain, the thong, the lace, the rope, and such, which not only impresses upon them their bondage, but arouses them, bringing them to slave heat. It is a rare slave who does not sometimes kneel before her master, and whimper, “Your slave, my Master, would be chained. Please, my Master, chain your slave.”

It is a common belief amongst Goreans, though seldom voiced in the presence of free women, that men are masters and women slaves. As it is said, all women are slaves, only some are in collars, and some are not. Thus, it is thought that women are the properties of men, that women are property, even free women. They have yet, of course, to be claimed, and meet their master. It is a rare Gorean who does not speculate what even a free woman, bundled in her stiff, ornate robes, concealed within her layers of veils, would look like, stripped, collared, and at his feet, perhaps on all fours, looking up at him, frightened, the whip or switch between her teeth, hoping it will not be used upon her. It is only in the mastery that the male achieves his full manhood, and it is only at his feet that the female finds the fulfillment of her womanhood, in surrender, in submission, in service, in love. The answer to an unhappy, dissatisfied woman is a master, whom she must hope to please, lest she be lashed.

Many were the murmurs against Tersites. Why had he not performed, or had performed, the simple ceremony of pacifying Thassa, of seeking to smooth her waves with a bit of oil, of mingling man’s salt with hers, to plead kinship, friendship, even alliance, of giving her some wine, that she might be warmed, and pleased? Would it not have been acceptable to mollify Thassa? Why not? Would it have cost so much? Might she not be insulted at such an omission, such an oversight, even such an insolence? Would she not remember such a slight, and bide her time, gathering her clouds and winds, waiting until one was far at sea, far from shore, alone? Had not hundreds of ships and thousands of men departed from one port or another, never to be seen again? It was not for no reason that most Gorean mariners seldom ventured from the sight of shore, even beaching their ships at night.

“Let Thassa rage,” had cried Tersites. “Let her do what she can, and be mocked by my work. Let lesser men grovel to her might, crave her indulgence, beg her favors! I fear her not! No oil, no salt, no wine for her! Let cowards proffer such gifts, such petitionary offerings! I do not! The stoutness of my timbers defies her. Let her seethe and hiss, unflattered, and uncourted, and whistle and roar, snarl and growl, and lift and fall, and pitch, and howl and tower, and squirm and buck as she will, she will not say no to my will, nor stay the passage of my ship. Fierce, green Thassa has met her match in my ship, met her master! Tersites teaches men how to sail in all seasons and weathers! Tersites goes where he wills; he asks no permissions, solicits no favors, dreads no threats, and fears no rebuke. Let Thassa shrink and tremble before Tersites and his mighty ship! He subdues her! He humbles her! He breaks her to the yoke of his will! Yea, I, Tersites, whom men scorned, whom men ridiculed and banished, whom men despised and mocked for years, now, first of all men, at last, mighty and glorious, conquer dreaded Thassa. I dare you, violent Thassa, to do your worst. Tersites and his ship invites your enmity, that men may marvel that so mighty a foe he has reduced to such futility. My ship cleaves your waves, braves your winds, and scorns your storms! We tread upon you, mighty Thassa, passing as we will and please! Do your worst, mighty Thassa! You are mocked! You are scorned!”

Dusk came early, and it seemed the cold never left.

Sometimes the waves struck the hull like hammers, and we feared, within those ribs of wood, that the sea might burst in upon us.

It was now the fifth week following the Eighth Passage Hand. Tomorrow would be the first day of the Ninth Passage Hand, at the end of which is the winter solstice, and the first day of Se’var-Lar-Torvis, the month of the Second Turning of Tor-tu-Gor, Light-upon-the-Home-Stone.

“Do not slacken!” called a fellow, Torgus, from the steps of the companionway, behind us, and to our right.

He was of the tarn cavalry.

He had his marked pole, testing the water. He seemed satisfied, the water had not inched higher in the last Ahn.

“Good fellows!” he called.

The ship was six-masted, square-rigged, seven decked, carvel-built, and single-ruddered, not guided by a steering board, or the double rudders of the typical Gorean ship. The nested galleys, on the other hand, were typical of most Gorean vessels, long or round ships, oar-banked, double ruddered, single-masted, and lateen-rigged. The long ships are commonly open to the weather, like the dragons of Torvaldsland, and the round ships, larger and slower, are commonly decked, this to shelter passengers, if there be passengers, and protect cargo.

The fellow, Torgus, turned about and, with his pole, ascended the steps.

We were not the only pumping crew at work, as there were several others, I knew not how many, these engaged elsewhere.

We had three pumps, in the forward port hold, and four men were at the handles of each, two men to a side.

One fellow, Tyrtaios, lean and hard, a snake I thought in a warrior’s body, left his pump and waded to where I worked. “Take my place,” said he to Durbar, who worked beside me. Durbar did as he was told. I had observed this fellow Tyrtaios in the hold, under the single swinging lamp, on its chains, which supplied the feeble light within which we worked, which cast wild shadows about, which seemed like the flutterings of frightened jards. Tyrtaios had worked at the other two pumps, as well. Several days ago, an altercation had taken place between this Tyrtaios and a man named Decius, with respect to a bench-place in the mess. A day later Decius was gone. We supposed he had been washed overboard whilst making his way to the helm deck. Durbar, not speaking, took the place at the second pump, that place vacated by Tyrtaios.

For several Ehn we continued to man the pump, in silence, and then Tyrtaios spoke to us, the other three at the pump.

“We are moving north,” he said.

“West,” said Andronicus, once of Tabor, once of the Scribes. Andronicus was no stranger to the Second Knowledge. He could read.

“No longer, for days, even before the storm,” said Tyrtaios.

“Our course is west,” said Andronicus.

“We are not on course,” said Tyrtaios. “I was to the helm deck. Half blinded by water I saw briefly, clouds apart in the wind, the star of Hesius. It was at the bow. Four times later, too, on different days, the star of Hesius lay before us. Two helmsmen confirmed this.”

“We have been blown off course,” I said, levering the pump.

“Tersites is taking us north,” he said. “The wind is his ally.”

“Why so?” I asked.

“If we are going north,” said Andronicus, “and by intent, Tersites plans to shorten the voyage, by the northern circle.”

“I do not understand,” said Thoas, across from Tyrtaios.

“Gor,” said Andronicus, “is like a ball, and one may shorten distances by curving to the north and then curving back to the south.

“He has gone too far north,” said Tyrtaios.

“Perhaps,” said Andronicus.

“The wind,” I said. “We fly before it.”

“Ice has been seen in the water,” said Tyrtaios, “ice the size of galleys.”

“Then we are too far north,” said Andronicus.

“The wind,” I said.

“Tersites,” said Tyrtaios, “is mad. That is well-known. He will kill us all.”

“What is to be done?” asked Thoas.

“We must turn back,” said Tyrtaios.

“It is true,” said Andronicus, “that the ship may break apart.”

“There may be little time,” said Tyrtaios.

“There is, too, the brink, the falling away place, where the world ends,” said Thoas.

“And before the next watch,” whispered Tyrtaios, “we may fall from the world, to fall forever.”

I did not think Tyrtaios believed what he said, but many amongst the crew might.

“No,” said Andronicus. “Gor is like a ball. There is no edge.”

“You do not know that, wise one,” said Thoas. “You have not been there. Perhaps your scrolls, what you read, are false.”

“There is much evidence,” said Andronicus.

“Use your eyes,” said Thoas. “The world is flat, as may be easily seen, and, if so, it must end somewhere.”

Andronicus was silent, which silence Thoas apparently took as having had his point conceded.

“But Thassa must have an edge,” said Tyrtaios.

“Of course,” said Andronicus.

“None have returned from beyond the farther islands,” said a fellow at the nearest pump.

“And we are beyond the farthest islands,” said the fellow beside him.

“Lower your voices,” whispered Tyrtaios, looking about.

The two returned to their work.

“We must be the first,” said Tyrtaios to us, in a whisper.

“And how may that be done?” asked Thoas, apprehensively.

“We must urge Tersites to turn back,” said Tyrtaios.

“He will never do so,” said Andronicus. “He is at war with Thassa.”

“We must force him to turn back,” said Tyrtaios. “He cannot man the ship without us.”

“There are the Pani,” I said, “the soldiers of Lords Nishida and Okimoto.”

“They must join us,” said Tyrtaios.

“I think that is unlikely,” said Andronicus.

“We outnumber them,” said Tyrtaios.

“Tersites will never turn back,” said Andronicus.

“Then,” said Tyrtaios, “it may be necessary to seize the ship.”

“I signed articles, long ago,” said Andronicus.

“Not to go to our deaths,” said Tyrtaios.

We continued to work the pump.

“Many are of my mind,” whispered Tyrtaios.

“Some are not,” said Andronicus.

“What if I told you, if we return to the continent,” whispered Tyrtaios, “that riches would await us all?”

“We have nothing but our fee,” said Thoas. “Of what do you speak?”

“I speak no further,” smiled Tyrtaios. “But there would be wealth enough for all, great wealth.”

I did not understand his words.

I knew there was a pretty price on the pretty head of the slave, Alcinoe, once the Lady Flavia of Ar, once confidante of the former Ubara, Talena, but it was scarcely enough to enrich several hundred men, mariners and soldiers, Pani, and others.

“Division at sea,” said Andronicus, “as fire at sea, is a hazard no rational man will countenance.”

“Surely,” said Tyrtaios, “the rational man weighs risk against gain, and recognizes that even considerable risk is more than outweighed by the prospect of prodigious gain.”

“I signed articles,” said Andronicus.

“I hear steps on the companionway,” I said.

We fell silent.

It was the fellow, Torgus, come again, with his pole.

He stood on the first step of the companionway, and carefully lowered the butt of the stick to the deck, under the water. “Good fellows!” he called. “Good fellows! The water is down. A hort! Your relief is at hand. Go to the mess, and get paga.”

As we ascended the companionway others passed us, on the way down, to tend to the pumps. I saw again, amongst them, as I had on former days, Tarl Cabot, himself, commander of the tarn cavalry, and his friend, Pertinax. “Well done, fellows,” said Tarl Cabot to us, as we passed. How odd, I thought, that officers, these two, would take their turn at the pumps. Did they not understand their station? Had they so little dignity? How could they expect to keep the respect of their men, if they so lowered themselves, if they so demeaned themselves, if they so compromised their position? But, too, I thought, would men not die for such officers?

I saw Tyrtaios wait on the steps, for Andronicus to pass him, and he would then be behind him.

This clearly made Andronicus uneasy, but he continued on.

At the next level, when we reached it, Tyrtaios, then waiting, spoke to me. “Do not forget what I have said,” he said.

“I will not,” I assured him.

I heard a passing mariner say to his fellow, “The weather is clearing.”

I took the blanket handed me at the door to the mess. I dried my feet and legs, and shivered, and stepped inside. I could smell fresh Sa-Tarna bread, roast bosk. My body ached, I was weary. I was looking forward to food, and hot paga.