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