took to the mountain. It was sufficiently unwise to follow me. I chose, and cut,
a path which it might follow, to the last twenty feet; for the last twenty feet
I cut shallow holds in the surface, adequate for a man, climbing carefully, but
too shallow for the fingers of a Kur." Below us I heard a snarl of frustration.
"As a boy, thus," said Ivar, "I slew my first Kur." He rose to his feet. He went
to a corner of the ledge where, heaped, there were several large stones. "The
stones I then gathered are still here," he said. "I found several on the ledge,
some I found higher." I did not envy the Kur below. I looked over the edge. "It
is still climbing," I whispered. I drew my sword. It would not be difficult to
prevent the animal from reaching the ledge by any direct route. "It is stupid,"
said the Forkbeard. Behind the first Kur, some feet below, was a second. Two
others were far down the slope, where it was less sheer. The two closest to us
had left their weapons below, with the others. The first Kur was some eight or
ten feet below us when, suddenly, it slipped on the rock and, with a wild
shriek, scratching at the stone, slid some four feet downward and then plunged
backward, turning in the air, howling, and, some five Ihn later, struck the
rocks far below. "The hand holds," said Ivar, "were not cut to be deep enough to
support the weight of a Kur." The second Kur was some twenty-five feet below. It
looked up, snarling. The rock hurled by Ivar struck it from the almost vertical
wall of stone. It, like its confrere, fell to the rocks below. The trap, laid
for an enemy by a boy of Torvaldsland many years ago, was still effective. I
admired Ivar Forkbeard. Even in his youth he had been resourceful, cunning. Even
as a boy he had been a dangerous foe, in guile and wit the match even for an
adult Kur. The other two Kurii crouched below on the slopes, looking up. They
carried their shields, their axes, on their back They made no attempt to
approach us. Our position was not, now, a desirable one. We were isolated on a
ledge. Here there was not food nor water. We could, with some climbing, obtain
ice or snow, but there was no food. In time we would weaken, be unable to climb
well. As hunters Kurii were patient beasts. If these had fed well before taking
up our pursuit, they would not need food for days. I had little doubt they had
fed well. There had been much available meat. There was little possibility of
leaving the ledge undetected. Kurii have superb night vision. Furthermore, it
would be extremely dangerous to attempt to move on the Torvaldsberg in the
night; it was extremely dangerous even in full daylight. I rubbed my hands
together, and blew on them. My feet too, were cold. The sweat in my shirt, now
that I was not climbing, was frozen. The shirt was stiff, cold. In the night on
the Torvaldsberg, even in the middle of the summer, without warm garments, a man
might freeze. The wind then began to rise, sweeping the ledge. From where we
stood we could see the black ruins of Svein Blue Tooth's hall and holdings, the
desolated thing fields, the sea, Thassa, with the ships at the beach. I looked
at the Forkbeard. "Let us continue our journey," he said. "Let us descend and
meet the Kurii, while we still have strength," I said. "Let us continue our
journey," he said. Moving carefully, he began to climb. I followed him. After
perhaps half an Ahn, I looked back. The two Kurii, by a parallel route, were
following. That night on the Torvaldsberg we did not freeze. We huddled on a
ledge, between rocks, sheltered from the wind, shivering with cold, miserable,
listening for Kurii. But they did not approach. We had chosen our ledge well.
Twice rocks rained down to the ledge, but we were protected by an overhang.
"Would you like to hear me sing?" asked Ivar. "Yes," I said, "it might drive the
Kurii away." Undeterred by my sarcasm, brilliant though it was, Ivar broke into
song. He knew, it seemed, a great many songs. No more rocks rained down to the
ledge. "Song, you see," said Ivar, "soothes even Kurii." "More likely," I said,
"they have withdrawn from earshot." "You jest delightfully," acknowledged the
Forkbeard, "I had not thought it in you. "Yes," I admitted. "I will teach you a
song," he said, "and we shall sing lt together." The song dealt with the
problems of a man attempting to content one hundred bond-maids, one after the
other, it is rather repetitious, and the number of bondmaids decreases by one in
each round. Needless to say, it is a song which is not swiftly dispatched. I
have, incidentally, a very fine singing voice. In singing, we little noticed the
cold. Yet, toward dawn, we took turns napping. "We will need our strength," said
the Forkbeard. How marvelous in the morning seemed the sun. "If the Kurii are
above us," I said, recalling the rain of stones, "is this not out opportunity to
descend?" "Kurii corner their pray," said the Forkbeard. "In the light, they
will be below us. They will wish to keep between us and escape. Further, we
would have little opportunity to escape, even if they were above us. The descent
is difficult." I recalled the two Kurii, precariously clinging to the wall of
rock, one of which had fallen attempting to reach us, the other of which Ivar
had struck from the wall with a heavy stone. I shuddered. "There they are," said
Ivar, looking over the brink. He waved to them. Then he turned, cheerily, to me.
"Let us continue our journey," he said. "You speak," I said, "as though you had
some objective." "I do," said the Forkbeard. Again we began climbing. Not long
after we had again taken to the rocks, we heard and saw the Kurii, some two
hundred feet below and to one side, following us. It was shortly after the tenth
hour, the Gorean noon, that we reached the peak of the Torvaldsberg. Although
there is much snow on the heights of the Torvaldsberg, there were also, on the
peak, many areas of bare rock, swept by the wind which, on the peak, seems
almost constant. I crossed a patch of snow, ankle deep, crusted, to ascend a
snow-free, rounded rock. I cannot express the beauty of the view from the
Torvaldsberg. I have climbed it, I thought. And I am here. There had been
danger, there had been the struggle, the challenge, and then, here, suddenly,
torturously purchased, humbling me, exalting me, was a victory which I felt was
not mine so much as that of a world, that of vision, that of beauty. I had not
conquered a mountain; the mountain when I had paid its price, that I might
understand the value of the gift, had lifted me to where I might see how
insignificant I was and how beautiful and precious was reality and life, and the
sun on a bleak, cold land. Ivar stood beside me, not speaking. "You were here
once," I said, "as a boy." "Yes," said Ivar. "I have never forgotten it." "Did
you come here to die?" I asked. "No," he said. "But I have been unable to find
it." I looked at him, puzzled. "I could not find it before,"he said. "I cannot
find it now." "What?" I asked. "It does not matter now,"he said. He turned
about. Approaching were the two Kurii. We watched them. They, too,
interestingly, stopped. They stood together, in the snow, looking out, over the
world. Then they regarded us.
We loosened our weapons. The Kurii unslung their
shields, their axes. We drew our swords. The Kurii fixed on their left arms the
heavy, rounded iron shields, took the great axes, seven feet in length, grasped
some two feet from the bottom of the handle, in their massive right fists. I had
never thought much of it before, but Kurii, like men, were dominantly right
handed. I conjectured then, that like men, the left hemisphere of their brains
were dominant. Ivar and I leaped from the rock; the two Kurii, one to each of
us, approached. Their ears were laid back; they we-re cautious; they leaned
slightly forward, shambling, crouching. Priest-Kings, I recalled, regarded Kurii
and men as rather equivalent species, similar products of similar processes of
evolution, similar products of similarly cruel selections, though on worlds
remote from one another. "Kur," I wondered, "are you my brother?" The great ax
swept toward me. I rolled over it, hitting the snow, slipping. I tried to drive
in to thrust with my blade. I slipped again. The ax fell where I had been. A
piece of granite, shattered from the rock, stung me. I stumbled backward. The
Kur, not hurrying, ax ready, stalked me. I saw its eyes over the shield, the ax
light in its great fist. "Hah!" I cried, feinting as though to charge. The ax
tensed, but did not swing. Then it snarled and drew back the ax, to the full
length of its long arm. I knew the blade could not reach me in time. I charged.
It was what the Kur desired. I had been outwitted. The heavy shield, with
fantastic force, with a sidelong motion, a sweep, struck me, fending me away,
hurtling me for forty feet through the air. I struck snow rolling, half-blinded.
The ax fell again, shattering granite. I was on my feet. Again the shield struck
me, like a hammer, the striking surface of which is more than a yard across
Again I was hurled to one side. I stumbled to my feet. I could not move my left
arm. I thought it broken. The shoulder was like wood. The ax swung again. I
stumbled back. Crying out I lost my balance, turning, and plunged from the peak.
I fell to a ledge twenty feet below. The ax, like a pendulum, swept down. I
hugged the surface of the ledge. The ax swept past me. I saw, to my right, a
small, dark opening, irregular, jagged, about a foot in width and height I
leaped to my feet and ran to the brink of the edge. There was no descent. The
lips of the Kur drew back, revealing the fangs. I saw Ivar, on the flat above,
wild-eyed. "Ivarl" I cried. "Ivar!" I heard the blood shriek of an unseen Kur.
Ivar turned and leaped to the ledge below, joining me. The two Kurii stood on
the flat above, snarling. "Look!" I cried to him, indicating the opening. His
eyes saw the opening. They glinted. I moved the fingers of my left hand. There
was feeling. I did not know if the arm were broken or not. I thrust the sword
into its scabbard. Ivar nodded. One of the Kurii, snarling, leaped to the ledge
with us. I hurled a rock at it. The rock struck the shield, bounding with a
clang away, down into the abyss. I thrust the Forkbeard toward the hole. He
leaped to it, and squirmed through. The second Kur dropped to the ledge. I threw
another rock, weightier than the first. It, too, with a sound of granite on
metal, was fended away, this time by the shield of the second Kur. I leaped to
the hole and forced my body through the opening. The Forkbeard caught my hand
and dragged me inside. One of the long arms of a Kur thrust inside, reaching for
us. The Forkbeard thrust at it with his sword but the blade was diverted, his
arm striking against stone. The Kur withdrew its arm. We crawled back further in
the tiny opening. Outside, we could see the heads of the two Kurii, peering
within. Their tentacled paws felt the width of the opening. One of them thrust
his head within and half a shoulder. The Forkbeard, sword poised, crawled to
thrust at it. The Kur withdrew. Then, both of them squatted down, some feet out
on the ledge. Kurii are patient hunters. They would wait. I rubbed my left arm
and shoulder. I lifted the arm, and moved it. It was not broken. I had learned
that the Kur shield could be as devastating a weapon as the war hammer of
Hunjer. I wondered how many who had learned that had lived. I looked outside.
The Kurii were waiting. "Come with me," said Ivar. His voice was excited. I
turned to face him. I wondered how deep might be this little cave. I expected
not more than twenty or thirty feet at most. On my hands and knees I crawled to
join him. "Here," said Ivar. "On the wall!" He took my fingers and pressed them
to the wall. I felt marks, rather vertical, with angular extensions. "You have
found it!" he cried. "You have found it, Tarl Red Hair!" "I do not understand,"
I said. "Follow me!" whispered Ivar Forkbeard. "Follow me!" Chapter 16 The war
arrow Following the Forkbeard, on hands and knees, I crawled down the narrow
passage, at one point turning to my left side to slide through a narrow
aperture. Within this aperture, I extended my hands and then, carefully, hands
held up feeling, I stood up. To one side I heard the Forkbeard fumbling about in
the darkness. I heard the strike of two small pieces of iron pyrite on one
another, taken from the Forkbeard's belt wallet, and saw a scattering of sparks.
Then it was dark again. "There is cut moss against the edge," said the
Forkbeard. There was another scattering of sparks . This time the sparks fell
into a heap, one of several, each about five inches high and four inches wide,
of miniscule, lacelike moss twigs. This tinder flared immediately into flame. In
that instant I saw we were in a large, squared passage. I saw a torch in a ring,
one of others. There was carving in the passage, rune letterings and
pictographs, in linear borders Before the bit of flaring moss turned to a
million red pin points the Forkbeard took one of the torches and thrust it to
the moss. I saw that, near some of the patches of moss, were pieces of flint and
steel, near others tiny piles of iron pyrites. I shivered. The Forkbeard lifted
the torch. I, too, took a torch Neither of us spoke. The passage extended beyond
us, disappearing in the darkness beyond the light of our torches. It was about
eight feet in height and width. It was carved from the living rock. Along its
edges, spaced some twelve feet from one another, on both sides, were torch
rings, with unlit torches, which might be lit. The piles of tinder and flint and
steel, or iron pyrites, lay now behind us, or to one side. I lifted the torch to
the borders, running linearly down the chamber, disappearing into the darkness
before us. The lettering was in the high, angular script of the north; the
pictographs seemed primitive. "These are old runes," said Ivar. "Can you read
them?" I asked. "No," said Ivar. My hair rose on the back of my neck. I looked
at one of the pictographs. It was a man astride a quadruped. "Look," said I to
the Forkbeard. "Interesting," said the Forkbeard. "It is a representation of a
man riding a mythological beast, doubtless an illustration based upon some saga
with which I am unfamiliar." He continued on. I lingered by the pictograph. I
had seen nothing like it on Gor. "Follow me," said the Forkbeard. I left the
old, perhaps ancient. It was drawn by one who had been familiar with a world
unknown to Ivar Forkbeard. There was no mistaking the quadruped on which the
rider was mounted. It was a horse. The passage now enlarged. We felt lost in it.
It was still squarish, some twenty feet in height and width. It was now much
more decorated and carved than it had been, and, in the light of the torches, we
could see that much color had been used in its decoration. Pictographs were much
more numerous now, and, instead of being linearly bordered the walls were now
decorated in columns of runes and designs, and pictographs. Torches, unlit, in
wall rings, were still illuminated as we passed near them. Many of the columns
carved, with painted surfaces, on the walls, reminded me of rune stones. These
stones, incidentally, are normally quite colorful, and can often be seen at
great distances. Each year their paint is freshened, commonly on the vigil of
the vernal equinox, which, in the north, as commonly in the south marks the new
year. Religious rune stones are repainted by rune-priests on the vigil of the
fest-season of Odin, which on Gor, takes place in the fall. If the stones were
not tended either by farmers on whose lands they lie, or by villagers in whose
locales they lie, or by rune-priests, in a few years, the paint would be gone,
leaving only the plain stone. The most famous rune stone in the north is that on
Einar's Skerry, which marks the northland's southern border. "Can you not read
these runes?" I asked Ivar, again "I am not a rune-priest," he said. Ivar's
reply was not a little belligerent. I knew him able to read some rune markings.
I gathered that these, perhaps because of antiquity or dialect, were beyond him.
Ivar's attitude toward reading was not unlike that of many of the north. He had
been taught some rune signs as a boy, that he could understand important stones,
for in these stones were the names of mighty men and songs of their deeds, but
it had not been expected of him that he would be in any sense a fluent reader.
Ivar, like many of those in the north, was a passable reader, but took care to
conceal this fact. He belonged to the class of men who could hire their reading
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