John Norman - Gor 09 - Marauders of Gor

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Marauders

GOR

Chapter 1 The Hall

I sat alone in the great hall, in the darkness, in the Captain's Chair.

The walls of stone, some five feet in thickness, formed of large blocks, loomed about me. Before

me, over the long, heavy table behind which I sat, I could see the large tiles of the hall floor.

The table was not dark, and bare. No longer was it set with festive yellow and scarlet cloths,

woven in distant Tor: no longer did it bear the freight of plates of silver from the mines of

Tharna, nor of cunningly wrought goblets of gold from the smithies of luxurious Turia, Ar of the

south. It was long since I had tasted the fiery paga of the Sa-Tarna fields north of the Vosk.

Now, even the wines from the vineyards of Ar seemed bitter to me.

I looked up, at the narrow apertures in the wall to my right. Through them I could see certain of

the stars of Gor, in the tarn-black sky.

The hall was dark. No longer did the several torches, bristling and tarred, burn in the iron rings

at the wall. The hall was silent. No musicians played; no cup companions laughed and drank,

lifting their goblets; on the broad, flat tiles before me, under the torches, barefoot, collared,

in scarlet silks, bells at their wrists and ankles, there danced no slave girls.

The hall was large, and empty and silent. I sat alone.

Seldom did I have my chair carried from the hall. I remained much in this place.

I heard footsteps approaching. I did not turn my head. It was caused me pain to do so.

"Captain," I heard.

It was Luma, the chief scribe of my house, in her blue robe and sandals. Her hair was blond and

straight, tied behind her head with a ribbon of blue wool, from the bounding Hurt, died in the

blood of the Vosk sorp. She was a scrawny girl, not attractive, but with deep eyes, blue; and she

was a superb scribe, in her accounting swift, incisive, accurate, brilliant; once she had been a

paga slave, though a poor one; I had slaved her from Surbus, a captain, who had purchased her to

slay her, she not having served him to his satisfaction in the alcoves of the tavern; he would

have cast her, bound, to the swift, silken urts in the canals. I had dealt Surbus his death blow,

but, before he had died I had, on the urging of the woman, she moved to pity, carried him to the

roof of the tavern, that he might, before his eyes closed, look once more upon the sea. He was a

pirate, and a cut-throat, but he was not unhappy in his death; he had died by the sword, which

would have been his choice, and before he had died he had looked again upon the gleaming Thassa;

it is called the death of blood and the sea; he died not unhappy; men of Port Kar do not care to

die in their beds, weak, lingering, at the mercy of tiny foes that cannot see; they live often by

violence and desire that they shall similarly perish; to die by the sword is regarded as the

right, and honour, of he who lives by it.

"Captain," said the woman, standing back, to one side of the chair.

After the death of Surbus, the woman had been mine. I had won her from him by sword right. I had,

of course, as she had expected, put her in my collar, and kept her slave. To my astonishment,

however, by the laws of Port Kar, the ships, properties and chattels of Surbus, he having been

vanquished in fair combat and permitted death of blood and sea, became mine; his men stood ready

to obey me; his ships became mine to command; his hall became my hall, his riches mine, his slaves

mine. It was thus that I had become a captain in Port Kar. Jewel of gleaming Thassa.

"I have the accounts for your inspection," said Luma.

Luma no longer wore a collar. After the victory of the 25th of Se'Kara, over the fleets of Tyros

and Cos, I had freed her. She had much increased my fortunes. Freed, she took payment, but not as

much as her services, I knew, warranted. Few scribes, I expected, were so skilled in the

supervision and management of complex affairs as this light, unattractive, brilliant girl. Other

captains, other merchants, seeing the waxing of my fortunes, and understanding the commercial

complexities involved, had offered this scribe considerable emoluments to join their service. She,

however, had refused to do so. I expect she was pleased at the authority, and trust and freedom,

which I had accorded her. Too, perhaps, she had grown fond of the house of Bosk.

"I do not wish to see the accounts," I told her.

"The Venna and Tela have arrived from Scagnar," she said, "with full cargoes of the fur of sea

sleen. My information indicates that highest prices currently for such products are being paid in

Asperiche."

"Very well," I said, "give the men time for their pleasure, eight days, and have the cargoes

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transferred to one of my round ships, whichever can be most swiftly fitted, and embark them for

Asperiche, the Venna and Tela as convoy."

"Yes, Captain," said Luma.

"Go now," I said. "I do not wish to see the accounts."

"Yes, Captain," she said.

At the door, she stopped. "Does the captain wish food or drink?" she asked.

"No," I told her.

"Thurnock," she said, "would be pleased should you play with him a game of Kaissa."

I smiled. Huge, yellow-haired Thurnock, he of the peasants, master of the great bow, wished to

play Kaissa with me. He knew himself no match for me in this game.

"Thank Thurnock for me," said I, "but I do not wish to play."

I had not played Kaissa since my return from the northern forests.

Thurnock was a good man, a kind man. The yellow-haired giant meant well.

"The accounts," said Luma, "are excellent. Your enterprises are prospering. You are much richer."

"Go," said I, "Scribe. Go, Luma."

She left.

I sat alone in the darkness. I did not wish to be disturbed.

I looked about the hall, at the great walls of stone, the long table, the tiles, the narrow

apertures through which I could glimpse the far stars, burning in the scape of the night.

I was rich. So Luma said, so I knew. I smiled bitterly. There are few men as helpless, as

impoverished as I. It was true that the fortunes of the house of Bosk had waxed mightily. I

supposed there were few merchants in known Gor whose houses were as rich, as powerful, as mine.

Doubtless I was the envy of men who did not know me, Bosk, the recluse, who had returned crippled

from the northern forests.

I was rich. But I was poor, because I could not move the left side of my body.

Wounds had I at the shore of Thassa, high on the coast, at the edge of the forests, when one night

I had, in a stockade of enemies, commanded by Sarus of Tyros, chosen to recollect my honour.

Never could I regain my honour, but I had recollected it. And never had I forgotten it.

Once I had been Tarl Cabot, in the songs called Tarl of Bristol. I recalled that I, or what had

once been I, had fought at the siege of Ar. That young man with fiery hair, laughing, innocent,

seemed far from me now, this huddled mass, half paralysed, bitter, like a maimed larl, sitting

alone in a captain's chair, in a great darkened hall. My hair was no longer now the same. The sea,

the wind and the salt, and, I suppose, the changes in my body, as I had matured, and learned with

bitterness the nature of the world, and myself, and men, had changed it. It was now, I thought,

not much different from that of other men, as I had learned, too, that I was not much different,

either, from others. It had turned lighter now, and more straw coloured. Tarl Cabot was gone. He

had fought in the siege of Ar. One could still here the songs. He had restored Lara, Tatrix of

Tharna, to her throne. He had entered the Sardar, and was one of the few men who knew the true

nature of the Priest-Kings, those remote and extraordinary beings who controlled the world of Gor.

He had been instrumental in the Nest War, and had earned the friendship and gratitude of the

Priest-King, Misk, glorious, gentle Misk. "there is Nest Trust between us," Misk had told him. I

recalled that I , in the palms of my hands, had felt the delicate touch of the antennae of that

golden creature. "Yes. There is Nest Trust between us, " Tarl Cabot told him. And he had gone to

the Land of the Wagon Peoples, to the Plains of Turia, and had obtained there the last egg of the

Priest-Kings, and had returned it, safe, to the Sardar. He had well served Priest-Kings, had Tarl

Cabot, that young brave distant man, so fine, so proud, so much of the warriors. And he had gone,

too, to Ar. And there defeated the schemes of Cernus and the hideous aliens, the Others, intent on

the conquest of Gor, and then the Earth He had well served Priest-Kings, that young man. And then

he had ventured to The Delta of the Vosk, to make his way through it, to make contact with Samos

of Port Kar, agent of Priest-Kings, to continue in their service. But in the Delta of the Vosk, he

had lost his honour> He had betrayed his codes. There, merely to save his miserable life, he had

chosen ignominious slavery to the freedom of honourable death. He had sullied the sword the

honour, which he had pledged to Ko-ro-ba's Home Stone. By that act he had cut himself away from

his codes, his vows. For such an act, there was no atonement, even to the throwing of one's body

upon one's sword. It was in that moment of his surrender to his cowardice that Tarl Cabot was gone

and, in his place, knelt a slave contemptuously named Bosk, for a great shambling oxlike creature

of the plains of Gor.

But this Bosk, forcing his mistress, the beautiful Telima, to grant him his freedom, had come to

Port Kar, bringing her with him as his slave, and had there, after many adventures, earned riches

and fame, and the title even of Admiral of Port Kar. He stood high in the Council of Captains. And

was it no he who had been victor on the 25th of Se'kara, in the great engagement of the fleets of

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Port Kar and Cos and Tyros? He had come to love Telima, and had freed her, but when he had learned

the location of his former Free Companion, Talena, once daughter of Marlenus of Ar, and vowed to

free her from slavery, Telima had left him, in the fury of a Gorean female, and returned to the

rence marshes, her home in the Vosk's vast delta.

A true Gorean, he knew, would have gone after her, and brought her back in slave bracelets and a

collar. But he, in his weakness, had wept, and let her go.

Doubtless she despised him now in the marshes

And so, Tarl Cabot gone, Bosk, Merchant of Port Kar, had gone to the northern forests, to free

Talena, once his Free Companion.

There he had encountered Marlenus of Ar, Urbar of Ar, Urbar of Urbars. He, though only of the

Merchants, had saved Marlenus of Ar from the degradation of slavery. That one such as he, had been

of service to the great Marlenus of Ar, doubtless was tantamount to insult. But Marlenus had been

freed. Earlier he had disowned his daughter, Talena, for she had sued for her freedom, a slave's

act. His honour had been kept. That of Tarl Cabot could not be recovered

But I recalled that I had, in the stockade of Tyros, recollected the matter of honour. I had

entered the stockade alone, not expecting to survive. It was not that I was the friend of Marlenus

of Ar, or his ally. It was rather that I had, as a warrior, or one once of such as caste, set

myself the task of his liberation.

I had accomplished this task. And, in the night, under the stars, I had recollected a never-

forgotten honour.

But wounds had I to show for this act, and a body heavy with pain, whose left side I could not

move.

I had recollected my honour, but it had won for me only the chair of a cripple. To be sure, carved

in wood, high on the chair, was the helmet with crest of sleen-fur, the mark of the captain, but I

could not rise from the chair.

My own body, and its weakness, held me, as chains could not.

Proud and mighty as the chair might be, it was the throne only of the maimed remains of a man

I was rich!

I gazed into the darkness of the hall.

Samos of Port Kar had purchased Talena, as a mere slave, from two panther girls, obtaining her

with ease in this manner while I had risked my life in the forest.

I laughed.

But I had recollected my honour. But little good had it done me. Was honour not a sham, a fraud,

an invention of clever men to manipulate their less wily brethren? Why had I not returned to Port

Kar and left Marlenus to his fate, to slavery and doubtless, eventually, to a slave's death,

broken and helpless, under the lashes of overseers in the quarries of Tyros?

I sat in the darkness and wondered on honour, and courage. If they were shams, I thought them

most precious shams. How else could we tell ourselves from urts and sleens? What distinguishes us

from such beasts? The ability to multiply and subtract, to tell lies, to make knives? No, I think

particularly it is the sense of honour, and the will to hold one's ground.

But I had no right to such thoughts, for I had surrendered my honour, my courage, in the delta of

the Vosk, I had behaved as might have any animal, not a man.

I could not recover my honour, but I could, and did upon one occasion, recollect it, in a stockade

at the shore of Thassa, at the edge of the northern forests.

I grew cold in the blankets. I had become petulant, bitter, petty, as an invalid, frustrated and

furious at his own weakness, does.

But when I, half paralysed and crippled, had left the shores of Thassa I had left behind me a

beacon, a mighty beacon formed from the logs of the stockade of Sarus, and it blazed behind me,

visible for more than fifty pasangs at sea.

I did not know why I had set the beacon, but I had done so.

It had burned long and fiery in the Gorean night, on the stones of the beach, and then, in the

morning it would have been ashes, and the winds and rains would have scattered them, and there

would have been little left, save the stones, the sand and the prints of the feet of sea birds,

tiny, like the thief's brand, in the sand. But it would once have burned, and that was fixed,

undeniable, a part of what had been, that it had burned; nothing could change that, not the

eternities of time, not the will of Priest-Kings, the machinations of others, the wilfulness and

hatred of men; nothing could change that it had been, that once on the beach, there, a beacon had

burned.

I wondered how men should live. In my chair, I had thought long on such matters.

I knew only that I did not know the answer to this question. Yet it is an important question, is

it not? Many wise men give wise answers to this question, and yet they do not agree among

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themselves.

Only the simple, the fools, the unreflective, the ignorant, know the answer to this question.

Perhaps to a question this profound, the answer cannot be known. Perhaps it is a question too deep

to be answered. Yet we do know there are false answers to such a question. This suggests that

there may be a true answer, for how can there be falsity without truth?

One thing seems clear to me, that a morality which produces guilt and self-torture, which results

in anxiety and agony, which shortens lifespans, cannot be the answer.

But what is not mistaken?

The Goreans have very different notions of morality from those of Earth.

Yet who is to say who is the more correct?

I envy sometimes the simplicities of those of Earth, and those of Gor, who, creatures of their

conditioning, are untroubled by such matters, but I would not be s either of them. If either

should be correct, it is for them no more than a lucky coincidence. They would have fallen into

truth, but to take truth for granted, is not to know it. Truth not won is not possessed. We are

not entitled to truths for which we have not fought.

Do we not know learn by living, as we learn to speak by speaking, to paint by painting, to build

by building?

Those who best know how to live, sometimes it seems to me, are those least likely to be articulate

in such skills. It is not that they have not learned, but, having learned, they find they cannot

tell what they know, for only words can be told, and what is learned in living is more than words,

other than words beyond words. We can say, "This building is beautiful," but we do not learn the

beauty of the building from the words; the building it is which teaches us its beauty; and how can

one speak the beauty of the building, as it is? Does one say it has so many pillars, that it has a

roof of a certain type, and such? Can one simply say. "The building is beautiful?" Yes, one can

say that but what one learns when one sees the beauty of the building cannot be spoken; it is not

words; it is the buildings beauty.

The morality of Earth, from the Gorean point of view, is a morality which would be viewed as more

appropriate to slaves than free men. It would be seen in terms of the envy and resentment of

inferiors for their superiors. It lays great stress on equalities and being humble and being

pleasant and avoiding friction and being ingratiating and small. It is a morality in the best

interest of slaves, who would be only too eager to be regarded as the equals of others. We are

all the same. That is the hope of slaves; that is what it is in their best interests to convince

others of. The Gorean morality on the other hand is more one of inequalities, based on the

assumption that individuals are not the same, but quite different in many ways. It might be said

to be, though this is oversimple, a morality of masters. Guilt is almost unknown in Gorean

morality, though shame and anger are not. Many Earth moralities encourage resignation and

accommodation: Gorean morality is bent more towards conquest and defiance; many Earth moralities

encourage tenderness, pity and gentleness, sweetness; Gorean morality encourages honor, courage,

hardness and strength. To Gorean morality, many Earth moralities might ask." Why so hard?'. To

these Earth moralities, the Gorean ethos might ask, "Why so soft?'

I have sometimes thought that the Goreans might do well to learn something of tenderness, and,

perhaps, that those of Earth might do well to learn something of hardness. But I do not know how

to live. I have sought the answers, but I have not found them. The morality of slaves says. "You

are equal to me; we are both the same"; the morality of masters says. " We are not equal; we are

not the same; become equal to me; then we will be the same." The morality of slaves reduces all to

bondage; the morality of masters encourages all to attain, if they can, the heights of freedom. I

know of no prouder, more self-reliant, more magnificent creature than the free Gorean, male or

female: they are often touchy, and viciously tempered, but they are seldom petty or small:

moreover they do not hate and fear their bodies or their instincts; when they restrain themselves

it is a victory over titanic forces; not the consequence of a slow metabolism; but sometimes they

do not restrain themselves; they do not assume that their instincts and blood are enemies and

spies, saboteurs in the house of themselves; they know them and welcome them as part of their

persons; they are as little suspicious of them as the cat of its cruelty, or the lion of its

hunger; their desire for vengeance, their will to speak out and defend themselves, their lust,

they regard as intrinsically and gloriously a portion of themselves as their thinking or their

hearing. Many Earth moralities make people little; the object of Gorean morality, for all its

faults, is to make people free and great. These objectives are quiet different it is clear to see.

Accordingly, one would expect that the implementing moralities would, also be considerably

different.

I sat in the darkness and thought on these things. There were no maps for me.

I, Tarl Talbot, or Bosk of Port Kar, was torn between worlds.

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I did not know how to live.

I was bitter.

But the Goreans have a saying, which came to me in the darkness, in the hall, "Do not ask the

stones or the trees how to live; they cannot tell you; they do not have tongues; do not ask the

wise man how to live, for, if he knows, he will know he cannot tell you; if you would learn how to

live, do not ask the question; its answer is not in the question but in the answer, which is not

in words; do not ask how to live, but, instead, proceed to do so."

I do not fully understand this saying. How, for example, can one proceed to do what one doers not

know how to do? The answer, I suspect, is that the Gorean belief is that one does, truly, in

some way, know how to live, though one may not know that one knows. The knowledge is regarded as

being somehow within one. Perhaps it is regarded as being somehow innate, or a function of

instincts. I do not know. The saying may also be interpreted as encouraging one to act, to

behave, to do and then, in the acting, the doing, the behaving, to learn. These two

interpretations, of course, are not incompatible. The child, one supposes, has the innate

disposition, when a certain maturation level is attained, to struggle to its feet and walk, as it

did to crawl, when an earlier level was attained, and yet it truly learns to crawl and to walk and

then to run, only in the crawling, in the walking and running.

The refrain ran through my mind. "Do not ask how to live, but, instead, proceed to do so"

But how could I live, I, a cripple, huddled in the chair of a captain, in a darkened hall?

I was rich, but I envied the meanest herder of verr, the lowest peasant scattering dung in his

furrows, for they could move as they pleased.

I tried to clench my left fist. But the hand did not move.

How should one live?

In the codes of the warriors, there is a saying, "Be strong, and do as you will. The swords of

others will set your limits."

I had been one of the finest swordsmen on Gor. But now I could not move the left side of my body.

But I could still command steel, that of my men, who, for no reason I understood, they Goreans,

remained true to me, loyal to a cripple, confined to a captain's chair in a darkened hall.

I was grateful to them, but I would show them nothing of this, for I was a captain.

They must not be demeaned.

"Within the circle of each man's sword," say the codes of the warrior, "therein is each man a

Ubar"

"Steel is the coinage of the warrior," say the codes, "With it he purchases what pleases him"

When I had returned from the northern forests I had resolved not to look upon Talena, once

daughter of Marlenus of Ar, whom Samos had purchased from panther girls.

But I had had my hair carried to his hall.

"Shall I present her to you" asked Samos, " naked and in bracelets?"

"No," I had said." Present her in the most resplendent robes you can find, as befits a high-born

woman of the city of Ar."

"But she is a slave," he said. " Her thigh bears the brand of Treve. Her throat is encircled in

the collar of my house"

"As befits," said I, " a high-born woman of the city of glorious Ar."

And so it was that she, Talena, once daughter of Marlenus of Ar, then disowned, once my companion,

was ushered into my presence.

"The slave," said Samos.

"Don not kneel," I said to her.

"strip your face, Slave," said Samos.

Gracefully the girl, the property of Samos, first slaver of Port Kar, removed her veil,

unfastening it, dropping it about her shoulders.

We looked once more upon each other.

I saw again those marvellous green eyes, those lips, luscious, perfect for crushing beneath a

warrior's mouth and teeth, the subtle complexion, olive. She removed a pin from her hair, and,

with a small movement of her head, shook loose the wealth of her sable hair.

We regarded one another.

"Is master pleased?" she asked.

"It has been a long time, Talena," said I.

"Yes," she said, "it has been long,"

"He is free," said Samos.

"It has been long, Master," she said.

"Many years," said I. " Many years." I smiled at her. " I last saw you on the night of our

companionship."

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John Norman - Gor 09 - Marauders of Gor

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