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.
Nomads of Gor, page 1

...carried a large wooden cage, made of sticks lashed together, which contained perhaps a dozen white vulos, domesticated pigeons.
Nomads of Gor, page 172
I smelled roast bosk cooking, and fried vulo. It would be delicious. I thought no more of the girls.
Hunters of Gor, page 34

In the cafes I had feasted well. I had had verr meat, cut in chunks and threaded on a metal rod, with slices of peppers and larma, and roasted; vulo stew with raisins, nuts, onions and honey; a kort with melted cheese and nutmeg; hot Bazi tea, sugared, and, later, Turian wine.
Tribesmen of Gor, pages 47-48

"Pamela, Bonnie," called the Lady Florence, "we are now ready for the second course of our supper."
"Yes, Mistress," they said, and hurried to fetch the second course.
"It is a small dish," said the Lady Florence, "the white meat of roast vulos, prepared in a sauce of spiced Sa-Tarna and Ta wine."
The guests expressed a murmur of pleasure and anticipation. "It will be wonderful," said the Lady Leta.
Fighting Slave of Gor, page 286

Three other men of the Forkbeard attended to fishing, two with a net, sweeping it along the side of the serpent, for parsit fish, and the third, near the stem, with a hook and line, baited with vulo liver, for the white-bellied grunt, a large game fish which haunts the plankton banks to feed on parsit fish.
Marauders of Gor, page 59

There was little doubt that I, in the worn, red tunic of a warrior, and Kamchak, in the black leather of the Tuchuks, seemed somewhat out of place at the banquet of Saphrar, merchant of Turia.
"It is the spiced brain of the Torian vulo," Saphrar was explaining.
It was somewhat surprising to me that Kamchak and I, being in our way ambassadors of the Wagon Peoples, were entertained in the house of Saphrar, the merchant, rather than in the palace of Phanius Turmus, Administrator of Turia. Kamchak's explanation was reasonably satisfying. There were apparently two reasons, the official reason and the real reason. The official reason, proclaimed by Phanius Turmus, the Administrator, and others high in the government, was that those of the Wagon Peoples were unworthy to be entertained in the administrative palace; the real reason, apparently seldom proclaimed by anyone, was that the true power in Turia lay actually with the Caste of Merchants, chief of whom was Saphrar, as it does in many cities. The Administrator, however, would not be uninformed. His presence at the banquet was felt in the person of his plenipotentiary, Kamras, of the Caste of Warriors, a captain, said to be Champion of Turia.
I shot the spiced vulo brain into my mouth on the tip of a golden eating prong, a utensil, as far as I knew, unique to Turia. I took a large swallow of fierce Paga, washing it down as rapidly as possible. I did not much care for the sweet, syrupy wines of Turia, flavored and sugared to the point where one could almost leave one's fingerprint on their surface.
Nomads of Gor, pages 83-84

Kamchak and I dismounted and, from outside the circle, watched the four chief haruspexes of the Wagon Peoples approach the huge altar in the center of the field. Behind them another four haruspexes, one from each People, carried a large wooden cage, made of sticks lashed together, which contained perhaps a dozen white vulos, domesticated pigeons. This cage they placed on the altar. I then noted that each of the four chief haruspexes carried, about his shoulder, a white linen sack, somewhat like a peasant's rep-cloth seed bag.
"This is the first Omen," said Kamchak, "-the Omen to see if the Omens are propitious to take the Omens."
"Oh," I said.
Each of the four haruspexes then, after intoning an involved entreaty of some sort to the sky, which at the time was shining beneficently, suddenly cast a handful of something-doubtless grain-to the pigeons in the stick cage.
Even from where I stood I could see the pigeons pecking at the grain in reassuring frenzy.
The four haruspexes turned then, each one facing his own minor haruspexes and anyone else who might be about, and called out, "It is propitious!"
There was a pleased cry at this announcement from the throng.
"This part of the Omen Taking always goes well," I was informed by Kamchak.
"Why is that?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said. Then he looked at me. "Perhaps," he proposed, "it is because the vulos are not fed for three days prior to the taking of the Omen."
"Perhaps," I admitted.
"I," said Kamchak, "would like a bottle of Paga."
"I, too," I admitted.
"Who will buy?" he asked.
I refused to speak.
"We could wager," he suggested.
"I'll buy it," I said.
I could now see the other haruspexes of the peoples pouring with their animals toward the altars. The Omen Taking as a whole lasts several days and consumes hundreds of animals. A tally is kept, from day to day. One haruspex, as we left, I heard cry out that he had found a favorable liver. Another, from an adjoining altar had rushed to his side. They were engaged in dispute. I gathered that reading the signs was a subtle business, calling for sophisticated interpretation and the utmost delicacy and judgment. Even as we made our way back to the kaiila I could hear two more haruspexes crying out that they had found livers that were clearly unfavorable. Clerks, with parchment scrolls, were circulating among the altars, presumably, I would guess, noting the names of haruspexes, their peoples, and their findings. The four chief haruspexes of the peoples remained at the huge central altar, to which a white bosk was being slowly led.
Nomads of Gor, pages 171-173

"So," she said, "I have not had anything to eat since yesterday morning and if I am not at the trough in the quarters for female staff slaves by the small bar after the eighth bar I will miss breakfast. I cannot simply go down to the kitchen like you and demand five vulo eggs!"
Assassin of Gor, page 103

"And put bread over the fire," I said, "and honey, and the eggs of vulos, and fried tarsk meat and a Torian larma fruit."
The girl nodded and, rising gracefully, backing away a step or two, head down, turned and went to the kitchen.
Assassin of Gor, page 106

"Well," said Samos, chewing on a vulo wing, "I am glad there are still some women slave in Port Kar."
Raiders of Gor, page 304

He sat, cross-legged, behind the low table. On It were hot bread, yellow and fresh, hot black wine, steaming, with its sugars, slices of roast bosk, the scrambled eggs of vulos, pastries with creams and custards.
Beasts of Gor, page 20

"The collar is locked on my neck!" said the girl to the audience, struggling with the collar. "It is truly on me. I cannot remove it!"
"A pretty vulo," said Chino, scrutinizing the girl.
"A juicy pudding," said Lecchio.
"I am now only a slave!" cried the girl to the audience.
Players of Gor, page 157

I slowly, carefully, piled a plate high with rolls, eggs and fried vulo strips.
Players of Gor, page 213

I went to the side and removed a bowl from its padded, insulating wrap. Its contents were still warm. It was a mash of cooked vulo and rice. Earlier I had taken Yanina to the kitchen. There, under my supervision, on her chain, kneeling, she had cooked it. It was perhaps the first thing she had ever cooked. I had, too, once, later in the afternoon, taken her into a couple of rooms, where I had her tidy them up. It pleased me to see her, once the proud Lady Yanina, helplessly performing these small, domestic tasks. Being a slave is a whole way of life, involving a total modality of existence. There is a great deal more to it than simply serving a master in the furs.
Players of Gor, pages 379-380 [~back to search page~]

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