Singing & Songs on Gor

Drinking songs in Koroba
I could remember something of the night before, but not much. The Older Tarl and I had made a round of taverns in the various cylinders, and I recall toddling precariously, singing obscene camp lyrics along different narrow bridges, about a yard wide without rails, and the earth somewhere below - how far I had no idea at the time.
Tarnsman

Drinking songs in Ar
'May your tarn lose its feathers,' he roared, 'slapping his thigh, bringing his tarn to rest on the perch. He leaned over and tossed me a skin bag of Paga, from which I took a long swig, then hurled it contemptuously back into his arms. In a moment he had taken flight again, bawling out some semblance of a song about the woes of a camp girl, the bag of Paga flying behind him, dangling from its long straps.
Tarnsman

Drinking songs of Warriors & Men of a Merchant Caravan
Mintar's caravan, like most, was harnessed long before dawn and travelled until the heat of the day. Camp would be made early in the afternoon. The beasts would be watered and fed, the guards set, the wagons secured, and the members of the caravan would turn to their cooking fires. In the evening the strap-masters and warriors would amuse themselves with stories and songs, recounting their exploits, fictitious and otherwise, and bawling out their raucous harmonies under the influence of Paga.
Tarnsman

Drinking songs in Tharna
I was leading a raucous round of songs, mostly wild drinking songs, warrior songs, songs of the encampment and march, but too I taught them songs I had learned in the caravan of Mintar the Merchant, so long ago, when I had first loved Talena, songs of love, of loneliness, of the beauties of one's cities, and of the fields of Gor.
Outlaw

Drinking songs of the Tuchuk
For all his uproarious stomping about the wagon last night, Paga bottle in hand, singing gusty Tuchuk songs, half frightening Miss Cardwell to death, he seemed in good spir- its, looking about, whistling, occasionally pounding a little rhythm on the side of his saddle
Nomads

Drinking Songs at the Sardar Fair
I swilled down the last of the kal-da. I had not had it since Tharna.
In the restaurant where I had eaten there were some two hundred tables, under tenting.
I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and rose to my feet.
There were many at the tables who were singing the songs of Ar.
Beasts

Warrior songs
I became aware that I was singing as I walked through the grass, a warrior song.
Outlaw

I was leading a raucous round of songs, mostly wild drinking songs, warrior songs, songs of the encampment and march,...
Outlaw

Tuchuk Warrior Songs
Then the Tuchuk drove his own lance into the dirt and hung on the lance his glossy shield. I saw him draw one of the quivas from a saddle sheath, loosen the long, triple-weighted bole from his side. Slowly, singing in a guttural chant, a Tuchuk warrior song, he began to swing the bole.
Nomads

Plowing song of the peasants
Wondering, he watched us, for one of the men, of the Caste of Peasants, had begun to hum a plowing song, and, one by one, the others joined him.
Outlaw

We marched through the city, the streets behind us filled like grey rivers with the rebels, each man with his own weapon, yet the sound of those rivers, converging on the palace of the Tatrix was anything but grey. It was the sound of the ploughing song, as slow and irresistible as the breaking of ice in frozen rivers, a simple, melodic paean to the soil, celebrating the first breaking of the ground.
Outlaw

Polishing song of the slaves of the mines
I recognized the tune. It was a polishing song I had first heard from the peasant in the mines.
Outlaw

Rowing song in Torvaldsland
The oars lifted and fell. The sail fell slack, and rustled, stirred in the gentle wind from inland. Men of Torvaldsland reefed it high to the spar. The rowing song was strong and happy in the lusty throats of the crew of the Forkbeard.
Marauders

Ship song
Ulafi, merchant and captain, stood upon the deck of the stern castle.
I stood at the rail. Canvas snapped in the wind over my head. The masts and timbers of the ship creaked. I smelled the sharp freshness of gleaming Thassa, the sea. I heard her waters lick at the strakes. A sailor began to sing a song of Schendi, and it was taken up by others.
I watched Port Kar drop behind.
Explorers

We stepped over broken axes, shattered poles, torn leather, from the lodges of the Kurii. We passed a dozen men emptying kegs of ale. It had become cloudy. We heard a ship’s song from two hundred yards to our right. We passed a group of men who had captured a Kur.
Marauders

Rowing song of river pirates
On the Tuka the rowers were singing, lustily. They wore an odd assortment of garbs. Insignia had been torn from clothing. Crests had been ripped from helmets, identificatory devices pried from the convex surfaces of shields. It was not a song of Ar they sang, but a river song, a song of pirates and brawlers, "The Ten Maids of Hammerfest," in which is recounted the fates which befell these lovely lasses.
Guardsmen

...; but on the Vernal Equinox which marks the first day of the New Year in most Gorean cities, there is great rejoicing; the doorways are painted green, and there is song on the bridges, games, contests, visitings of friends and much feasting, which lasts for the first ten days of the first month, thereby doubling the period taken in the Waiting Hand.
Assassin

There are processions in the city that day, and songfests, and tournaments of the game, and recitations by poets, and contests and exhibitions. When the lanterns on the bridges must be lit the people return home, singing, carrying small lamps, and give the night over to feasting and love.
Assassin

. It is seldom, even in Se'Kara, that so many rence islands would gather for festival. Usually it would be two or three. At such times there is drinking of rence beer, steeped, boiled and fremented from crushed seeds and the whitish pith of the plant; singing; games; contests and courtship, for the young people of the rence islands too seldom meet those of the other communities.
Raiders

When I returned to Ko-ro-ba with Talena, a great feast was held and we celebrated our Free Companionship. A holiday was declared, and the city was ablaze with light and song.
Tarnsman

"Those are Vosk gulls," said Kamchak, "In the spring, when the ice breaks in the Vosk, they fly north."
I fished some coins out of my pouch for the Paga.
"The first southern migrations of meadow kites," he said, "have already taken place. The migrations of the forest herlit and the horned aim do not take place until later in the spring. This is the time that the Vosk gulls fly."
"Oh," I said.
Singing Tuchuk songs, we managed to make it back to the wagon.
Nomads

"Tonight," she begged, "please, Master, tonight!"
With a roar of triumph Kamchak swept her up and slung her, hobbled as she was, over his shoulder and she cried out and he, singing a Tuchuk song, was stomping away with her from the curtained enclosure.
Nomads

From a distance it might appear they were merely sitting about the fire, celebrating, two Kajirae at their feet.
I could see other fires, other wagon clusters about the meadow. From one of them came the sound of singing.
Captive

He carried a spear over his left shoulder, balanced by his left hand; from the spear depended a shield, behind the left shoulder, and a helmet; about his right shoulder was slung a pouch, which I gathered must have contained supplies; a bota of liquid, water I assumed, was fastened at his belt, on the left, behind the point at which the scabbard depended from the shoulder belt. He strode singing, smiling, through the tall grass.
Slave Girl

We were within a stick-sided, palm-thatched hut in the fishing village. A small fire in a clay bowl dimly illuminated the interior of the hut. There were shelves in the hut, of sticks, on which were vessels and masks.
Individual tethers ran from the bound wrists of each girl to a low, stout, sunken slave post at one side of the hut.
There had been much singing and dancing. It was now late. Kiss and I sat opposite one another, across the clay bowl with its small fire.
Explorers

“That is what the chieftain, Hendix, did,” he said, “in Alar legend, when captured by his enemies and put in oil. He shouted at them, and laughed at them, insulting them all the while. And then while boiling he sang merry Alar songs. In that way he showed his contempt for his enemies.”
“Perhaps toward the end he lost the tempo or was a bit off key,” I speculated.
“Perhaps,” said Hurtha. “I was not there.”
Mercenaries

I passed two fellows wrestling in a circle, others watching.
Another group, gathered about a fire, were singing and passing about a bota, I presume, of paga.
Magicians

In the distance I heard singing, a song of Ar's glory; in the stands the song was picked up. Men began to stand in the tiers, singing.
"Stop!" cried Cernus. "Stop!"
But the song became louder and louder.
There was an anger in the song, and a triumph, a defiance and a pride, a pride of men in their city, Glorious Ar. One citizen tore down the banners of green which draped the box of the Ubar and of the High Initiate. Complicius Serenus, unsteadily, withdrew from his box. Another citizen, rushing forward, oblivious of the crossbows of Taurentians, hurled a banner of yellow across the box of the Ubar; another such banner was thrown over the railing of the box which had been occupied by Complicius Serenus, High Initiate of Ar.
Cernus did not dare have his men fire on those citizens who so acted.
He stood raging in the box of the Ubar. "Stop!" he cried. "Stop singing!"
But the song continued, growing stronger as more and more men took it up, and soon the tiers themselves rang with the sound.
One after another of the tarns of the race, those who could complete the race, struck the finishing perches but no one paid them heed.
There was only the song, and more and more voices, and more men standing in the tiers.
Then gates leading onto the sand burst open and thousands of citizens, come from the Stadium of Blades, marching and singing, entered the Stadium of Tarns, at their head, helmeted and mighty, sword in hand, the magnificent Murmillius, hero of the Stadium of Blades.
Assassin

I could hear the sounds of approaching men in the corridors. It was the soldiers and rebels, and the halls of the palace echoed the anthem of the ploughing song.
Outlaw

The men of Ar, led by Marlenus, begin to sing in the coffle, a song of glorious Ar. They now marched, at their own pace, their heads high, with pride.
Angry the men of Tyros demanded that they stop, but they did not do so.
Hunters