several men already asleep on blankets and furs along the right-hand wall, beneath the colorful tapestries of Valorian's adventures. The storerooms were closed and the heavy curtain was drawn over the entrance to Savaric's private quarters. Four other men were sitting on the opposite side of the fire at a trestle table. Two were playing chess, one was watching, and the fourth was slumped over a wine flask.
Every clansman was entitled to a tent of his own once he reached manhood. The huge, black felt tents were made by the man's family and presented to him at the initiation of his warrior status.
However, the tents were difficult to maintain, and it was usual y the women who kept the fires burning, patched the holes, and kept the tents neat and pleasant. Most bachelors, therefore, chose to sleep in the hal . It was warm, relatively comfortable, and did not have to be packed every time they moved.
They could eat there and entertain themselves long into the night without disturbing the treld.
Yet, despite the freedom and convenience of the hall, most men did not stay there long. Marriage and the tents, even with their numerous problems, were preferable to the conditions of bachelorhood.
A man needed a woman, his own hearth, and the privacy of the felt walls. The clans survived because of unity and cooperation, but they retained their identity because each man valued his own individuality and the strength drawn from his home, even one that was packed into a cart every summer.
Gabria certainly did not feel at home in the strange, pillared hal . She was nervous being with these men in such close and intimate quarters. She could see at least one of the sleeping men was wearing nothing beneath his blankets. With her own family that would not have bothered her, for she was used to seeing men in various stages of undress. But here she had no brothers to defend her, no chieftain's quarters for security, and no protection as the chief’s daughter. She had nothing but a disguise--and a flimsy one at that.
Quietly, she slipped along to the right-hand wall to the gloomiest corner, away from the sleeping men. Gabria fervently hoped no one would notice her. If she could curl up in the blanket Piers had given her, perhaps they would not realize she was there.
"We have a new member in our illustrious ranks," a voice called out in a raucous tone. "Take note of him, men, a boy who has barely left his mother's breast and already he has lost his clan and killed our mares."
Gabria cringed at the words. Slowly she turned and stared at the speaker. It was Cor. He was sitting at the table, waving a wine cup in her direction. The other three men had previously ignored him, but now they watched in anticipation of some entertainment. Gabria turned her back on them and tried to disregard Cor's sniggers. Cor was swaying gently, but his voice was not broken or slurred.
"He sits on his great black horse and spits on us while he deafens the lords with his whining and pleas of innocence." Cor staggered toward the girl as the others watched in interest. Gabria listened apprehensively.
"But I know you. I can see what you keep hidden beneath your bold face,"
Gabria stiffened and her eyes widened.
"You are a coward!" he hissed. He was so close to Gabria, his breath brushed her neck. "A spineless pile of sheep dung who fled his clan instead of standing and fighting. Or did you lead the attackers to the camp? You are so brave when you are sitting on that black horse, but how brave are you, worm, when you are low to the ground on two puny legs?" Viciously, Cor grabbed Gabria's shoulder and spun her around.
The girl stepped back against the wall, too terrified by the drunken rage that distorted Cor's features to run. The other warriors cheered them both and taunted Cor with bets and jibes. No one moved to help Gabria. Disgruntled yells came from the men who had been awakened. The shouts, jeers, and insults crashed together into an unnerving cacophony.
Every clansman was entitled to a tent of his own once he reached manhood. The huge, black felt tents were made by the man's family and presented to him at the initiation of his warrior status.
However, the tents were difficult to maintain, and it was usual y the women who kept the fires burning, patched the holes, and kept the tents neat and pleasant. Most bachelors, therefore, chose to sleep in the hal . It was warm, relatively comfortable, and did not have to be packed every time they moved.
They could eat there and entertain themselves long into the night without disturbing the treld.
Yet, despite the freedom and convenience of the hall, most men did not stay there long. Marriage and the tents, even with their numerous problems, were preferable to the conditions of bachelorhood.
A man needed a woman, his own hearth, and the privacy of the felt walls. The clans survived because of unity and cooperation, but they retained their identity because each man valued his own individuality and the strength drawn from his home, even one that was packed into a cart every summer.
Gabria certainly did not feel at home in the strange, pillared hal . She was nervous being with these men in such close and intimate quarters. She could see at least one of the sleeping men was wearing nothing beneath his blankets. With her own family that would not have bothered her, for she was used to seeing men in various stages of undress. But here she had no brothers to defend her, no chieftain's quarters for security, and no protection as the chief’s daughter. She had nothing but a disguise--and a flimsy one at that.
Quietly, she slipped along to the right-hand wall to the gloomiest corner, away from the sleeping men. Gabria fervently hoped no one would notice her. If she could curl up in the blanket Piers had given her, perhaps they would not realize she was there.
"We have a new member in our illustrious ranks," a voice called out in a raucous tone. "Take note of him, men, a boy who has barely left his mother's breast and already he has lost his clan and killed our mares."
Gabria cringed at the words. Slowly she turned and stared at the speaker. It was Cor. He was sitting at the table, waving a wine cup in her direction. The other three men had previously ignored him, but now they watched in anticipation of some entertainment. Gabria turned her back on them and tried to disregard Cor's sniggers. Cor was swaying gently, but his voice was not broken or slurred.
"He sits on his great black horse and spits on us while he deafens the lords with his whining and pleas of innocence." Cor staggered toward the girl as the others watched in interest. Gabria listened apprehensively.
"But I know you. I can see what you keep hidden beneath your bold face,"
Gabria stiffened and her eyes widened.
"You are a coward!" he hissed. He was so close to Gabria, his breath brushed her neck. "A spineless pile of sheep dung who fled his clan instead of standing and fighting. Or did you lead the attackers to the camp? You are so brave when you are sitting on that black horse, but how brave are you, worm, when you are low to the ground on two puny legs?" Viciously, Cor grabbed Gabria's shoulder and spun her around.
The girl stepped back against the wall, too terrified by the drunken rage that distorted Cor's features to run. The other warriors cheered them both and taunted Cor with bets and jibes. No one moved to help Gabria. Disgruntled yells came from the men who had been awakened. The shouts, jeers, and insults crashed together into an unnerving cacophony.
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