Ode to SchendiNyoka river, turbulent path,Flows to the harbour of Schendi. Ebony people, dark knowing eyes, Follow its track from Ushindi. Pungent aromas of cinnamon, cloves, Welcome the traveller boldly, Boatyards with resins, bitumen tars, Figureheads standing, proudly. Kailiauk leather, steeping in vats, Keeping the tanners all busy. Sailors and merchants, plying their trade, Rushing round making you dizzy. Hoards of sapphires, exquisitely carved, In shades of pale blue to deep gold, Rival the slave flesh, standing in line, Awaiting their turn to be sold. Tapestries, sugar, perfume and salt, Paper, ink, stone, silk and lumber. Equatorial waters, brisk trade, A port that can never slumber. Keel underwater, cargo lashed down, Ready for storm, rain and thunder, Precious goods stowed in barrels of tem, Pirates the content to plunder. Shackle and scimitar are the sign, Borne by the Men of this place, League of Black Slavers, feared and strong, Wears an aba that hides His face. Rich golden tassels, sash round the waist, Coloured to signify standing, Easily recognised, just as slaves � Permanently marked by branding. Beyond the Jungles, verdant, lush growth, Filled with a unique aroma, Many pasang of Turian Plains, Capture the unwary roamer. Here live the Nomads, fiercest of Men, Herding the bosk on kaiila, If they don�t catch and enslave you fast, They�re just as likely to kill ya! Travelling Gor is hazardous, true, But the variety beckons. Schendi has beauty, in so many forms, Opulence, deadly but fecund. Cacophony of odours and sounds, Assaults the senses and lingers, Stealing your heart and claiming the prize, Like a thief with the nimblest of fingers. |