side, to increase cargo space. The ship. Of course, is open. To protect goods or
men from the rain or sun a large rectangle of boskhide, on stakes, tentlike
stretched to cleats on the gunwales, is sometime used. This same rectangle of
boskhide may be used, dropped between the gunwales, to collect rainwater. At
night the men sleep on the deck, in waterproof bags, sewn from the skins of the
sea sleen; in such a bag, also, they store their gear, generally beneath their
bench. In some such ships, the men sit not on benches, but on their own large,
locked sea chests, fixed in place, using them as benches. When, in the harbour,
the ship rested on its moorings, the shields, overlapping, of its men were hung
on the sides; this was another indication of peaceful intent. The shields were
round, and of wood, variously painted, some reinforced with iron bands, others
with leather, some with small bronze plates. In battle, of course, such shields
are not hung on the side of the ship; they would obstruct the thole ports; but
even if oars were not used they would be within the hull, at hand; why should a
crewman expose himself to missile fire to retrieve a shield so fastened? Also,
of course, when the ship is under sail they are not carried on the side, for the
waves, always a menace in a ship with a low freeboard, would strike against
them, and perhaps even tear them from the ship. But now they hung at the ship's
side, tied by their straps to the wooden bars inside the gunwales. The men did
not carry their shields. They came in peace. I had turned away and walked to the
temple, for I wished to have a place to stand. Another feature of the northern
ships is that they have, in effect, a prow on each end. This permits them to be
beached, on rollers, more easily. They can be brought to land in either
direction, a valuable property in the rocky, swift northern waters. Furthermore
this permits the rowers, in reversing positions on the benches, to reverse the
direction of the ship. This adds considerably to the manoeuvrability of the
craft. It is almost impossible to ram one of the swift ships of the north. The
procession, I knew, must now be on its way to the temple. Within the temple the
incense hung thick about the rafters. It smarted my eyes, it sickened me. The
litany and responses of the congregation were now completed and the initiates,
some twenty within the rail, began to sing in archaic Gorean. I could make out
little of the wording. There was an accompaniment by sistrums. Portions of the
hymn were taken up by four delicate boys standing outside the white rail on a
raised platform. Their heads were shaved and they wore robes resembling those of
the initiates. Choirs of such boys often sang in the great temples. They were
young male slaves, purchased by initiates, castrated by civil authorities and,
in the monasteries, trained in song. I supposed, to one versed in music, their
soprano voices were very beautiful, Here in the far north, of course, in Kassau,
to have any such boys, properly trained in the archaic hymns, indicated some
wealth. I did not think such singers existed even in Lydius. The High Initiate
of Kassau obviously was a man of expensive tastes. I looked about myself. Most
of the people seemed poor, fishermen, sawyers, porters, peasants. Most wore
simple garments of plain wool, or even rep-cloth. The feet of many were bound in
skins. Their backs were often bowed, their eyes vacant. The furnishings of the
temple were quite splendid, gold hangings, and chains of gold, and lamps of
gold, burning the finest of imported tharlarion oils. I looked into the hungry
eyes of a child, clinging in a sack to its mother's back. She kept nodding her
head in prayer. The temple itself is quite large. It is some one hundred and
twenty feet in length, and forty feet in width and height. Its roof,
wooden-shingled, is supported on the walls, and two rows of squared pillars. On
these pillars, and at places on the walls, were nailed sheets of gold. On these
were inscribed prayers and invocations to the Priest-Kings. There were many
candles in the sanctuary. They made the air even closer, burning the oxygen. The
high altar, of marble, setting on a platform, also marble, of three broad steps,
was surmounted by a great rounded circle of gold, which is often taken as a
symbol of Priest-Kings. It is without beginning or end. It stands, I suppose,
for eternity. At the foot of the altar beasts were sometimes sacrificed, their
horns held, their heads twisted, the blood from their opened throats caught in
shallow golden bowls, to be poured upon the altar; too, choice portions of their
flesh would be burnt upon the altar, the smoke escaping through a small hole in
the roof. The temple, incidentally, is orientated to the Sardar. When the High
Initiate stands facing the altar, before the circle of gold, he faces the
distant Sardar, the abode of Priest-Kings. He bows and prays to the distant
Sardar and lifts the burned meat to the remote denizens of those mysterious
mountains. There are no pictures or representations of Priest-Kings within the
temple, incidentally, or, as far as I know, elsewhere on Gor. It is regarded as
blasphemy to attempt to picture a Priest-King. I suppose it is just as well. The
Initiates claim they have no size or shape or form. This is incorrect but the
Initiates are just as well off, I expect, in their conjectures. I speculated
what a great picture of Misk might look like, hanging at the side of the table.
I wondered what might become of the religion of Priest-Kings if Priest-Kings
should ever choose to make themselves known to men. I would not prophesy for it
a bright future. I looked again upon the slender, blondish girl, bored in the
crowd. Again she looked at me, and looked away. She was richly dressed. The cape
of white fur was a splendid fur. The scarlet vest, the blouse of white wool, the
long woollen skirt, red, were fine goods. The buckle from Cos was expensive.
Even the shoes of black leather were finely tooled. I supposed her the daughter
of a rich merchant. There were other good looking wenches, too, in the crowd,
generally blond girls, as are most of the northern girls, many with braided
hair. They were in festival finery. This was holiday in Kassau. Ivar Forkbeard,
in death, if not in life, was making pilgrimage to the temple, that his bones
might be anointed at the hands of the High Initiate, would he sop graciously
deign to do so. This word had been brought from the wharves to the High
Initiate. He had, in his mercy, granted this request. The hollow bars on their
great chains, hanging from timber frames outside the temple, had been struck.
Word had been spread. Ivar Forkbeard, the unregenerate, the raider, the pirate,
he who had dared to make the fist of the hammer over his ale, would come at
last, in death if not in life, humbly to the temple of Priest-Kings. There was
much rejoicing in Kassau. In the crowd, with the poor, were many burghers of
Kassau, stout men of means, the pillars of the town, with their families.
Several of these stood on raised platforms, on the right, near the front of the
temple. I understood these places to be reserved for dignitaries, men of
substance and their
families. I examined the younger women on the platform.
None, it seemed to me, was as excellent as the slender blond girl in the cape of
white sea-sleen fur and scarlet vest. One was, however, not without interest.
She was a tall, statuesque girl, lofty and proud, grey-eyed. She wore black and
silver, a full, ankle-length gown of rich, black velvet, with silver belts, or
straps, that crossed over her breasts, and tied about her waist. From it, by
strings, hung a silver purse, that seemed weighty. Her blond hair was lifted
from the sides and back of her head by a comb of bone and leather, like an
inverted isosceles triangle, the comb fastened by a tiny black ribbon about her
neck and another such ribbon about her forehead. Her cloak, of black fur, , from
the black sea sleen, glossy and deep, swirled to her ankles. It was fastened by
a large circular brooch of silver, probably from Tharna. She was doubtless the
daughter of a very rich man. She would have many suitors. I looked again to the
High Initiate, a cold, stern, dour man, hard faced, who sat in his high, white
hat in hie robes upon the throne within the white rail. Within that rail, above
the altar, some in chests, others displayed on shelvings, was much rich plate,
and vessels of gold and silver. There were the golden bowls used to gather the
blood of the sacrificed animals; cups to pour libations top the Priest-Kings;
vessels containing oils; lavers in which the celebrants of the rites might
cleanse their hands from their work; there were even the small bowls of coins,
brought as offerings by the poor, to solicit the favour of initiates that they
might intercede with Priest-Kings on their behalf, that the food rots would not
fail, the suls not rot, the fish come to the plankton, the verr yield her kid
with health to both, the vulos lay many eggs. How hard to me, and cruel, seemed
the face of the High Initiate. How rich they were, the initiates, and how little
they did. The peasant tilled his fields, the fisherman went out in his boat, the
merchant risked his capital. But the initiate did none of these things. Rather
he lived by exploiting the superstitions and fears of simpler men. I had little
doubt but that the High Initiate had long seen through his way of life, if he
had not at first. Surely now he was no simple novice. But he had not changed his
way of life. He had not gone to the fields, nor to the fishing banks, nor to the
market. He had remained in the temple. I studied his face. It was not that of a
simple man, or that of a fool. I had little doubt that the initiate knew full
well what he was doing I had little doubt but what he knew that he knew as
little as others of Priest-Kings, ands was as ignorant as others. And yet still
he sat upon his throne, in the gilded temple, amid the incense, the ringing of
the sistrum, the singing of boys. The child in the sack on the mother's back
whimpered. "Be silent,'" she whispered to it. "Be silent!" Then, from outside,
rang once the great hollow bar, hanging on its chain. Inside the initiates, and
the boys, at a sign from the High Initiate, a lifted, clawlike hand, were
silent. Then the initiate rose from his throne, and went slowly to the altar and
climbed the steps. He bowed thrice to the Sardar and then turned to face the
congregation. "Let them enter the palace of Priest-Kings," he said I now heard
the singing, the chanting, of initiates from outside the door. Twelve of them
had gone down to the ship, with candles, to escort the body of Ivar Forkbeard to
the temple. Two now entered, holding candles. All eyes craned to see the
procession which now, slowly, the initiates singing, entered the incense-filled
temple. Four huge men of Torvaldsland, in long cloaks, clasped about their
necks, heads down, bearded, with braided hair, entered, bearing on their
shoulders a platform of crossed spears. On this platform, covered with a white
shroud, lay a body, a large body. Ivar Forkbeard, I thought to myself, must have
been a large man. "I want to see him," whispered the blond girl to the woman
with whom she stood. "Be silent," hushed the woman. I am tall, and found it not
difficult to look over the heads of many in the crowd. So this is the end, I
thought to myself, of the great Ivar Forkbeard. He comes in death to the temple
of Priest-Kings, that his bones may be anointed with the grease of Priest-Kings.
It was his last will, now loyally, doggedly, carried out by his saddened men.
Somehow I regretted that Ivar Forkbeard was dead. The initiates, chanting, now
filed into the temple with their candles. The chant was taken up by the
initiates, too, within the sanctuary. Behind the platform of crossed spears,
heads down, filed the crew of Forkbeard. They wore long cloaks; they carried no
weapons; no shields; they wore no helmets. Weapons, I knew were not to be
carried within the temple of Priest-Kings. They seemed beaten, saddened dogs.
They were not as I had expected the men of Torvaldsland to be. "Are those truly
men of Torvaldsland?" asked the blonde girl, of the older woman, obviously
disappointed. "Hush," said the older woman. "Show reverence for this place, for
Priest-Kings." "I thought they would be other than that," sniffed the girl.
"Hush," said the older woman. "Very well," said the girl; irritably. "What
weaklings they seem." To the amazement of the crowd, at a sign from the High
Initiate of Kassau, two lesser initiates opened the gate to the white rail.
Another initiate, sleek, fat, his shaved head oiled, shining in the light of the
candles, carrying a small golden vessel of thickened chrism went to each of the
four men of Torvaldsland, making on their foreheads the sign of the
Priest-Kings, the circle of eternity. The crowd gasped. It was incredible honour
that was being shown to these men, that they might, themselves, on the platform
of crossed spears, carry the body of Ivar Forkbeard, in death penitent, to the
high steps of the great altar. It was the chrism of temporary permission, which,
in the teachings of initiates, allows one not consecrated to the service of
Priest-Kings to enter the sanctuary. In a sense it is counted an anointing,
though an inferior one, and of temporary efficacy. It was first used at roadside
shrines, to permit civil authorities to enter and slay fugitives who had taken
sanctuary at the altars. It is also used for workmen and artists, who may be
employed to practice their craft within the rail, to the enhancement of the
temple and the Priest-king's glory. Ivar Forkbeard's body was not anointed as it
was carried through the gate in the rail. The dead need no anointing. Only the
living, it is held, can profane the sacred. The four men of Torvaldsland carried
the huge body of Ivar Forkbeard up the steps to the altar, on the crossed
spears. Then, still beneath the white shroud, they laid it gently on the highest
step of the altar. Then the four men fell back, two to each side, heads down.
The High Initiate then began to intone a complex prayer in archaic Gorean to
which, at intervals, responses were made by the assembled initiates, those
within the railing initially and now, too, the twelve, still carrying candles,
who had accompanied the body from the ship through the dirt streets of
Kassau,
among the wooden buildings, to the temple. When the initiate finished his
prayer, the other initiates began to sing a solemn hymn, while the chief
initiate, at the altar, his back turned to the congregation, began to prepare,
with words and signs, the grease of Priest-Kings, for the anointing of the bones
of Ivar Forkbeard. Toward the front of the temple, behind the rail, and even at
the two doors of the temple, by the great beams which close them, stood the mean
of Forkbeard. Many of them were giants, huge men, inured to the cold, accustomed
to war and the labor of the oar, raised from boyhood on steep, isolated farms
near the sea, grown strong and hard on work, and meat and cereals. Such men,
from boyhood, in harsh games had learned to run, to leap, to throw the spear, to
wield the sword, to wield the axe, to stand against steel, even bloodied,
unflinching. Such men, these, would be the hardest of the hard, for only the
largest, the swiftest and finest might win for themselves a bench on the ship of
a captain, and the man great enough to command such as they must be first and
mightiest among them, for the men of Torvaldsland will obey no other, and that
man had been Ivar Forksbeard. But Ivar Forksbeard had come in death, if not in
life, to the temple of Priest-Kings, betraying the old gods, to have his bones
anointed with the grease of Priest-Kings. No more would he make over his ale,
with his closed fist, the sign of the hammer. I noted one of the men of
Torvaldsland. He was of incredible stature, perhaps eight feet in height and
broad as a bosk. His hair was shaggy. His skin seemed grayish. His eyes were
vacant and staring, his lips parted. He seemed to me in a stupor, as though he
heard or saw nothing. The High Initiate now turned to face the congregation. In
his hands he held the tiny, golden, rounded box in which lay the grease of
Priest-Kings. At his feet lay the body of the Forkbeard. The congregation tensed
and, scarcely breathing, lifting their heads, intent, observed the High Initiate
of Kassau. I saw the blond girl standing on her toes, in the black shoes,
looking over the shoulders of the woman in front of her. On the platform the men
of importance, and their families, observed the High Initiate, among them,
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