She was peasant, barefoot, her garment little more than coarse sacking

She was peasant, barefoot, her garment little more than coarse sacking. She had been carrying a wicker basket containing vulos, domesticated pigeons raised for eggs and meat.

Her man, carrying a mattock, was not far behind. Over his left shoulder hung a bulging sack filled with what must have been the paraphernalia of his hut.

He circled me, widely. “Beware,” he said, “I carry a Home Stone.”
I stood back and made no move to draw my weapon. Though I was of the caste of warriors and he of peasants, and I armed and he carrying naught but a crude tool, I would not dispute his passage.

One does not lightly dispute the passage of one who carries his Home Stone.

Nomads of Gor, p.1

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