by John Norman
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 Cabot, or Bosk of Port Kar, was torn between worlds.
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 does 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 chair 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.
"Do 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 marvelous 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."
"When I awakened, you were gone," she said. "I was abandoned."
"Not of my own free will did I leave you," said I. "That was not of my will."
I saw in the eyes of Samos that I must not speak of Priest-Kings. It had been them who had returned me then to Earth.
"I do not believe you," she said.
"Watch your tongue, Girl," said Samos.
"If you command me to believe you," she said, "I shall, of course, for I am slave."
I smiled. "No," I said, "I do not command you."
"I was kept in great honor in Ko-ro-ba," she said, "respected and free, for I had been your companion even after the year of companionship had gone, and it had not been renewed."
At that point, in Gorean law, the companionship had been dissolved. The companionship had not been renewed by the twentieth hour, the Gorean Midnight, of its anniversary.
"When Priest-kings, by fire signs, made it clear Ko-ro-ba was to be destroyed, I left the city."
No stone would be allowed to stand upon another stone, no man of Ko-ro-ba to stand by another.
The population had been scattered, the city razed by the power of the Priest-Kings.
"You fell slave," I said.
"Within five days," she said, "as I tried to return to Ar, I was sheltered by an itinerant leather worker, who did not believe, of course, that I was the daughter of Marlenus of Ar. He treated me well the first evening, with gentleness and honor. I was grateful. In the morning, to his laughter, I awakened. His collar was on my throat."
She looked at me, angrily. "He then used me well. Do you understand? He forced me to yield to him, I, the daughter of Marlenus of Ar, he only a leather worker. Afterwards he whipped me. He taught me to obey. At night he chained me. He sold me to a salt merchant." She regarded me. "I have had many masters," she said.
"Among them," I said, "Rask of Treve."
She stiffened. "I served him well," she said. "I was given no choice. It was he who branded me." She tossed her head. "Until then, many masters
had regarded me as too beautiful to brand."
"They were fools," said Samos. "A brand improves a slave."
She put her head in the air. I had no doubt that this was one of the most beautiful women in Gor.
"It is because of you, I gather," said she to me, "that I have been permitted clothing for this interview. Further, I have you to thank, I gather, that I have been given the opportunity to wash the stink of the pens from my body."
I said nothing.
"The cages are not pleasant," she said. "My cage measures four paces by four paces. In it are twenty girls. Food is thrown to us from above. We drink from a trough."
"Shall I have her whipped?" asked Samos.
She paled.
"No," I said.
"Rask of Treve gave me to a panther girl in his camp, one named Verna. I was taken to the northern forests. My present master, noble Samos of Port Kar, purchased me at the shore of Thassa. I was brought to Port Kar chained to a ring in the hold of his ship. Here, in spite of my birth, I was placed in a pen with common girls."
"You are only another slave," said Samos.
"I am the daughter of Marlenus of Ar," she said proudly.
"In the forest," I said, "it is my understanding that you sued for freedom, begging in a missive that your father purchase you."
"Yes," she said. "I did."
"Are you aware," I asked, "that against you, on his sword and on the medallion of Ar, Marlenus swore the oath of disownment?"
"I do not believe it," she said.
"You are no longer his daughter," I said. "You are now without caste, without Home Stone, without family."
"You lie!" she screamed.
"Kneel to the whip!" said Samos.
Piteously she knelt, a slave girl. Her wrists were crossed under her, as though bound, her head was to the floor, the bow of her back was exposed.
She shuddered. I had little doubt but what this slave knew well, and much feared, the disciplining kiss of the Gorean slave lash.
Samos' sword was in his hand, thrust under the collar of her garment, ready to thrust in and lift, parting the garment, causing the robes to fall to either side, about her then naked body.
"Do not punish her," I told Samos.
Samos looked at me, irritably. The slave had not been pleasing.
"To his sandal, Slave," said Samos.
I felt Talena's lips press to my sandal. "Forgive me, Master," she whispered.
"Rise," I said.
She rose to her feet, and stepped back. I could see that she feared Samos.
"You were disowned," I told her. "Your status now, whether you know this or not, is less than that of the meanest peasant wench, secure in her caste rights."
"I do not believe you," she said.
"Do you not care for me," I asked, "Talena?"
She pulled the robes down from her throat. "I wear a collar," she said. I saw the simple, circular, gray collar, the collar of the house of Samos, locked around her throat.
"What is her price?" I asked Samos.
"I paid ten pieces of gold for her," said Samos.
She seemed startled that she had sold for so small a sum. Yet, for a girl, late in the season, high on the coast of Thassa, it was a marvelous price. Doubtless she had obtained it only because she was so beautiful. Yet, to be sure, it was less than she would have brought if expertly displayed on the block in Turia or Ar, or Ko-ro-ba, or Tharna, or Port Kar.
"I will give you fifteen," I said.
"Very well," said Samos.
With my right hand I reached into the pouch at my belt and drew out the coins.
I handed them to Samos.
"Free her," I said.
Samos, with a general key, one used for many of the gray collars, unlocked the band of steel which encircled her lovely throat.
"Am I truly free?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I should have brought a thousand of gold," she said. "As daughter of Marlenus of Ar my companion price might be a thousand tarns, five thousand tharlarion!"
"You are no longer the daughter of Marlenus of Ar," I told her.
"You are a liar," she said. She looked at me contemptuously.
"With you permission," said Samos, "I shall withdraw.
"Stay," said I, "Samos."
"Very well," said he.
"Long ago," said I, "Talena, we cared for each other. We were companions."
"I was a foolish girl, who cared for you," said Talena. "I am now a woman."
"You no longer care for me?" I asked.
She looked at me. "I am free," she said. "I can speak what I wish. Look at yourself! You cannot even walk. You cannot even move your left arm! You are a cripple, a cripple! You make me ill! Do you think that one such as I, the daughter of Marlenus of Ar, could care for such a thing? Look upon me. I am beautiful. Look upon yourself. You are a cripple. Care for you? You are a fool, a fool!"
"Yes," I said bitterly, "I am a fool."
She turned away from me, robes swirling. Then she turned and faced me. Slave!" she sneered.
"I do not understand," I said.
"I took the liberty," said Samos, "though at the time I did not know of your injuries, your paralysis, to inform her of what occurred in the delta of the Vosk."
My right hand clenched. I was furious.
"I am sorry," said Samos.
"It is no secret," I said. "It is known to many."
"It is a wonder that any man will follow you!" cried Talena. "You betrayed your codes! You are a coward! A fool! You are not worthy of me! That you dare ask me if I could care for such as you, is to me, a free woman an insult! You chose slavery to death!"
"Why did you tell her of the delta of the Vosk?" I asked Samos.
"So that if there might have been love between you, it would no longer exist," said Samos.
"You are cruel," I said.
"Truth is cruel," said Samos. "She would have to know sooner or later."
"Why did you tell her?" I asked.
"That she might not care for you and lure you from the service of those whose names we shall not now speak."
"I could never care for a cripple," said Talena.
"It remained yet my hope," said Samos, "to recall you to a lofty service, one dignified and of desperate importance."
I laughed.
Samos shrugged. "I did know until too late the consequences of your wounds. I am sorry."
"Now," said I, "Samos, I cannot even serve myself."
"I am sorry," said Samos.
"Coward! Traitor to your codes! Sleen!" cried Talena.
"All that you say is true," I told her.
"You did well, I understand," said Samos, "in the stockade of Sarus of Tyros."
"I wish to be returned to my father," said Talena.
I drew forth five pieces of gold. "This money," said I to Samos, "is for safe passage for Ar, by guard and tarn, for this woman."
Talena drew about her face her veil, refastening it. "I shall have the monies returned to you," she said.
"No," I said, "take it rather as a gift, as a token of a former affection, once borne to you by one who was honored to be your companion."
"She is a she-sleen," said Samos, "vicious and ignoble."
"My father would avenge that insult," she said, coldly, "with the tarn cavalries of Ar."
"You have been disowned," said Samos, and turned and left. I still held the five coins in my hand.
"Give me the coins," said Talena. I held them in my hand, in the palm. She came to me and snatched them away, as if loath to touch me. Then she stood and faced me, the coins in her hand. "How ugly you are," she said. "How hideous in your chair!"
I did not speak.
She turned and strode toward the door of the hall. At the portal she stopped, and turned. "In my veins," she said, "flows the blood of Marlenus of Ar. How revolting and incredible that one such as you, a coward and betrayer of codes, should have aspired to touch me." She lifted the coins in her hand. It was glo
ved. "My gratitude," said she, "Sir," and turned away.
"Talena!" I cried.
She turned to face me once more.
"It is nothing," I said.
"And you will let me go," she said. She smiled contemptuously. "You were never a man," she said. "Always you were a boy, a weakling." She lifted the coins again in her hand. "Farewell, Weakling," said she, and left the room.
I now sat in my own hall, in the darkness, thinking on many things.
I wondered how to live.
"Within the circle of each man's sword," says the codes of the warrior, "therein is each man a Ubar."
"Steel is the coinage of the warrior," says the codes. "With it he purchases what pleases him."
Once I had been among the finest swordsmen on the planet Gor. Now I was a cripple.
Talena would now be in Ar. How startled, how crushed would she have been, to learn at last, incontrovertibly, that her disownment was true. She had begged to be purchased, a slave's act. Marlenus protecting his honor, on his sword and upon the medallion of Ar, had sworn her from him. No longer had she caste, no longer a Home Stone. The meanest peasant wench, secure in her caste right, would be more than Talena. Even a slave girl had her collar. I knew that Marlenus would keep her sequestered in the central cylinder, that her shame not reflect upon his glory. She would be in Ar, in effect, a prisoner. She was no longer entitled even to call its Home Stone her own. Such an act, by one such as she, was subject to public discipline. For it, she might be suspended naked, on a forty foot rope from one of the high bridges, to be lashed by tarnsmen, sweeping past her in flight.
I had watched her go.
I had not attempted to stop her.
And when Telima had fled my house, when I had determined to seek Talena in the northern forests, I had, too, let her go. I smiled. A true Gorean, I knew, would have followed her, and brought her back in bracelets and collar.
I thought then of Vella, once Elizabeth Cardwell, whom I had encountered in the city of Lydius, at the mouth of the Laurius River, below the borders of the forest. I had once loved her, and had wanted to return her safe to earth. But she had not honored my will, but, that night, had saddled my tarn, great Ubar of the Skies, and fled the Sardar. When the bird had returned, I, in fury, had driven it away. Then I encountered the girl in a paga tavern in Lydius; she had fallen slave. Her flight had been a brave act. I admired her, but it was an act not without its consequences. She had gambled; she had lost.