Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt

  “Why?” I asked.

  “To counteract the Delta Brigade,” he said. “To lessen its influence!”

  “Cos does not even know we exist,” I said.

  “The Ubara knows,” he said, “and Seremides, and the Polemarkos.”

  “I think you are mad,” I said.

  “This time,” he said, “I think my Kaissa is more subtle than yours.”

  “I should like to think so,” I said.

  “What of the new art center?” he said.

  “What of it?” I asked.

  “That is the same thing,” he said.

  I laughed.

  “No,” he said. “I am serious! That is the same thing, but for the intellectuals,

  the scribes, the high castes!”

  “And will they bring back the marbles from Cos for the art center?” I asked.

  “I am serious, Tarl,” he said.

  “Perhaps you are right,” I said. “I hope so.”

  “I tell you things are changing in Ar now,” he said. “They are becoming

  different.”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “The Initiates do not seem as welcome in the streets now,” he said. “Men avoid

  them. Even some women avoid them. Some even demand they remain in their temples

  where they belong, away from honest, healthy folk.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Now they often ring their bells and swing their censers to deserted streets,”

  said Marcus. “In vain they chant their litanies to indifferent walls.”

  “I am sure it is not so bad as all that,” I said.

  “Are you so fond of the unproductive, parasitic caste?” he asked.

  “I do not think much about them,” I said.

  (pg. 208) “Surely you regret the minds they have stunted and spoiled,” he said.

  “If there are any such, of course,” I said.

  “They prey on credulity, they exploit fear, they purvey superstition,” he said.

  “It is their way of making a living,” I said.

  Marcus grunted angrily.

  “And doubtless many of them, or at least the simpler ones, do not even

  understand what they are doing. Thus it is hard to blame them, unless, say, for

  stupidity, or a failure to undertake inquiries or, if undertaking them, a

  failure to pursue them in an objective manner.”

  Again Marcus made an angry noise. He was one of those fellows who had not yet

  wearied of denouncing hypocrisy and fraud. He did not yet see the roll which

  such things served in the complex tapestry of life. What is some folks required

  lies, as the price of mental security? Should they be nonetheless denied their

  comforts, robbed of their illusions? Is their happiness worth less than that of

  others? Is it not better to tell them, if they are capable of no more, that the

  illusions are reality, that the lies are truth? If many desired such things, and

  cried out for them, is it any wonder that fellows would be found, perhaps even

  from noble motives, to sell them such wares, keeping the truth to themselves, as

  their burden and secret? I pondered the mater. I knew, as Marcus did not, of

  many civilizations which were unnatural, which had taken wrong paths, which were

  founded on myths and lies. Perhaps that is why Marcus disproved so sternly of

  the Initiates. To him, they seemed anomalous in the world he knew, pointless,

  dangerous and pathological. In the end few things are real, perhaps the weight

  and glitter of gold, the movement and nature of weapons, a slave at one’s feet,

  and, too, perhaps in spite of all, if we will have it so, defiant, honor,

  responsibility, courage, discipline, such things, such baubles, such treasures.

  “Do you believe in Priest-Kings?” asked Marcus.

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “I do not,” he said.

  “As you will,” I said.

  “But how are we to explain the Weapons Laws, the Flame Death?” he asked.

  “That would seem to be your problem, not mine,” I said, “as I accept their

  existence.”

  “Something exists,” he said, “but they are not Priest-Kings.”

  “That is an interesting thought,” I said.

  (pg. 209) “It is only that they possess the power of Priest-Kings!” he said.

  “That is a second interesting thought,” I said. “But if they possess the power

  of Priest-Kings, why not call them Priest-Kings?”

  “Do you think they would mind, if I did not?” he asked, somewhat apprehensively.

  “Probably not,” I said. Indeed, provided men kept their laws the Priest-Kings

  were content to let them do much what they wished. The major concerns of

  Priest-Kings with men, it seemed, was to have as little to do with them as

  possible. That had always seemed to me understandable.

  “But what is the relation of the Initiates to the Priest-Kings, if there are

  such?” he asked.

  “One which is rather remote, I suspect,” I said, “if it exists at all.”

  “You do not think the Priest-Kings are on intimate terms with the Initiates, do

  you?”

  “Would you wish to be on intimate terms with an Initiate?” I asked.

  “Certainly not,” he said.

  “There you are,” I said.

  “Look at that fellow,” said Marcus, indicating a baker striding by. The fellow

  fixed a fearless gaze upon us.

  “He is only one man,” I said.

  “There is something different in Ar these days,” he said.

  “He is only one man,” I said.

  “Who walks proudly,” said Marcus.

  “He will not walk so proudly if he is beaten by a Cosian patrol,” I said.

  “In any event,” said Marcus, “ the power of the Initiates is certainly less now

  than before in the city.”

  “At least for the time,” I said.

  “For the time?” he asked.

  “If men should become again confused, and fearful, and lose confidence in

  themselves, if they should again begin to whine, and to beg for authority and

  reassurance,” I said, “the white robes will again appear in the streets.”

  “Initiates are not needed for such a purpose,” he said.

  “True,” I said. It could be a caste, the state, a leader, many things.

  “The Initiates might have provided a core of resistance to Cos,” he said.

  “Cos saw to it, with offerings, and hetacombs, and such, that they would not do

  so.”

  (pg. 210) “So they preached their passivity, their resignation?”

  “Of course,” I said. “But to reduce their offerings, threaten their coffers,

  imperil their power, and it will not be long before they locate their

  patriotism.”

  “Cos is very clever,” said Marcus.

  “Clearly,” I said.

  “I hate Initiates,” he said.

  “I had gathered that,” I admitted.

  “I despise them,” he said.

  “Perhaps it is merely t
hat you find yourself reluctant to rejoice in dishonesty,

  and to celebrate blatant fraud and hypocrisy,” I said.

  “Do you think it could be so easily explained?” he asked.

  “Possibly,” I said.

  “I do have my limitations,” he said.

  “We all do,” I said.

  “And yet,” he said, “the world is very mysterious.”

  “True,” I said.

  “What is its nature?” he asked.

  “I am sure I do not know,” I said.

  He suddenly struck his fist into the palm of his hand. It must of stung. A

  fellow turned about, looking at him, and then continued on his way. “But it is

  here I am,” he exclaimed, looking about himself, at the street, the avenue, the

  buildings, the trees, the fountains, the sky. “And it is here I will live!”

  “That seems to me wise,” I said.

  “I have enjoyed this conversation, Tarl,” he said. “It has meant a great deal to

  me.”

  “I haven’t understood it in the least,” I said.

  “Some folks are so shallow,” he said.

  “But perhaps you are right, I said. “Perhaps, things are different in Ar.”

  “Certainly!” he said, observing her.

  “Hold, female!” said I.

  The slave stopped, apprehensively.

  “And surely she is not the first such you have seen of late,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “Do not kneel,” I told her. I wished the better to consider her

  legs.

  Marcus and I walked about her.

  “Consider the brevity of her tunic,” he said, “its cleavage, its sleevelessness,

  the slashes at the hem of her skirt.

  “Yes,” I said.

  The girl blushed crimson.

  (pg. 211) “This is a sign,” he said, “that the virility of the men of Ar is

  reviving.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And surely you have not failed to notice that in the last few days many slaves,

  many, indeed, are scantier garmented than before,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I think it is clear that the men of Ar are beginning to recollect their

  manhood,” he said. “They are becoming more dangerous.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Several weeks ago in Ar there had been some hints of an attempt on the part of

  the Ubarate, as a social-control procedure, to facilitate its goverance, a

  venture doubtless emanating from Cos, which had reason to fear an alert, healthy

  foe, to reduce the vitality and virility of the men of Ar, to further crush and

  depress them. This was to be done under the initial guise of sumptuary laws,

  ostensibly to limit the adornment and display of slaves, as though there could

  be much of that sort of thing in the defeated city. This was to be followed by

  legislation encouraging, and then apparently to later require, more modest

  garmenture for slaves. There were even suggestions of attempting to regulate the

  relationships obtaining between masters and slaves. There was some talk of

  greater “respect” for slaves, that they might be permitted to drink from the

  higher bowls at the public fountains, even the insanity that one might not be

  able to make use of them without their permission, thus turning the master into

  a slave’s slave. Naturally the motivation of this, putting aside the standard

  camouflage of moralistic prose which may be conveniently invoked for any purpose

  whatsoever, even those most antithetical to nature, health, reason, truth and

  life, was no concern for slaves but rather a desire to diminish the men of Ar,

  to make them easier to manage and exploit. Naturally they were expected to

  accept their own castration, so to speak, as a cause for rejoicing, as a long

  overdue improvement of their condition. How glorious things were to be, once men

  had succeeded in achieving their own destruction. On the other hand the first

  straws testing the winds of Ar, cast in the streets, in the baths, in the

  taverns and markets, had been blown back with such fierceness that these

  castrative proposals had been almost immediately withdrawn. Indeed, a small

  announcement had even appeared on the boards, in the name of Ubara herself, that

  slave girls should obey their masters and try to be pleasing to them.

  Revolution, I do not doubt, would have occurred in the city. The men of Ar would

  have died rather (pg. 212) than give up at least the retained semblance of their

  manhood. They had experienced the dominance, the mastery. This, once tasted, is

  never relinquished. The mistake of the Central Cylinder in this case, of course,

  was in attempting to impose such reductionism on adult males, even defeated

  ones, who actually understood what was involved. The best prospects for the

  success of such policies are to implement them among men who have never tasted

  the mastery or, ideally, on innocent children who, if the programs are

  successful, will lead the child to suspect and fear himself, to experience shame

  and guilt at the very promptings of his own body and nature. It is a question,

  of course, as to the feasibility of these distortions, and the long-range

  consequences of them, if they prove feasible. Irreparable damage would result to

  the gene pool and the human race might actually, interestingly, eventually, for

  lack of will and joy, cease to thrive, as well, for if the human being cannot be

  a human being, why should it be anything else? Indeed, there is more than one

  way for a race to become extinct. The prehistoric wolf hunts now only in the

  corridors of the past. The poodle survives. Does the poodle remember? Does the

  wolf live in the poodle yet? I do not know. Would it not be interesting if the

  wolf were not dead but sleeping, and returned. Does this fear disturb the sleep

  of sheep?

  “Kneel,” I said to the female, “now.”

  Swiftly she knelt.

  “You are pretty,” I said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said, frightened.

  “Head to the pavement,” I said, “palms on it.”

  She compiled, losing no time. She looked well, in this position of obeisance.

  “You seem fulfilled,” I said.

  “My master handles me well,” she said.

  “What would occur if you were not pleasing?” I asked.

  “I would be beaten,” she said.

  “Stand,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Put your head back, your hands clasped behind it,” I said.

  “Oh!” she said.

  “She is in the iron belt,” I said to Marcus.

  “Excellent!” he said. This, too, in its way, was a sign that manhood, or the

  suspicion of it, might be reasserting itself in (pg. 213) the streets of Ar,

  that masters, or some of them at least, would no longer take for granted the

  safety of their girls in the streets. Naturally self-pride and health stimulates

  sexual vitality. Contrariwise, of course, as sexual vitality is stunted and

  crippled, so, too, will be masculine pride and health. One cannot poison
a part

  of an animal without poisoning the whole animal.

  “Speed off!” I said.

  The girl sped away.

  “I envy the fellow his slave,” said Marcus.

  “And he would probably envy you yours,” I said.

  “I would not trade Phoebe for her,” he said.

  “And he might not trade her for Phoebe,” I smiled.

  “Perhaps not,” he said.

  I wondered if a man could be a man without a slave. I supposed that he might be

  a strong fellow, and a good fighter, and such, without a slave. Similarly, one

  might have lived I supposed, without having eaten meat, without having heard

  music. I wondered if a woman knew what it was to be a woman without ever having

  had a master. It did not seem to me likely.

  “Surely Cos will take note of these changes in Ar,” I said.

  “I have heard that there are fights among youths in Ar,” he said, “that the

  gangs of youths called “Cosians” are now set upon by others, who speak of

  themselves in eccentric names, such as “The Ubars,” “The Larls,” and such.”

  “I have heard that,” I said.

  “And, too, interestingly,” he said, “it seems that some of those lads who were

  “Cosians” now wander about under quite different colors, not affecting beards

  and hair styles reminiscent of those once associated with veterans, hirsute and

  shabby, returned from the delta.”

  “I have heard that, too,” I said.

  I could recall when I had first come to Ar months ago that these veterans had

  not been welcome in the city. In spite of the hardships they had endured and the

  risks they had taken on behalf of Ar, both for the Home Stone and city, they had

  been held in contempt. They had been insulted, spat upon, ridiculed, and

  despised. Emotions which might better have been spent on the enemy were

  ventilated on one’s own brothers. Some had scorned them as embarrassments and

  failures, as defeated men and fools, tricked, humiliated and decimated in the

  north, me who had dared to return to Glorious Ar without the crown of victory.

  Better, said some, that they should have died in the marshes or remained in the

  north then return home in defeat and disgrace. But those who said that had

  perhaps not themselves been in the delta, or even held weapons. Others, adopting