Savages of Gor coc-17

by John Norman

"But you would have at least one nothing, wouldn't you? I asked.

  "Nothing is either nothing or one," said another. "If it is nothing, then it isnothing. If it is one, then it is one, and on is one," said another.

  "Thus, all is the same," said another.

  "You are spouting total gibberish," I said. "Are you aware of that?"

  "To the unenlightened profundity often appears gibberish, said another.

  "Indeed," said another, "and to some who have lost the enlightenment it canalso appear gibberish."

  "The more absurd something seems, the more likely it is to be true," saidanother.

  "That seems absurd," I said.

  "And, thus," said the fellow, "it, in itself, by the same proof, is shown mostlikely to be true."

  "Is that supposed to be self-evident?" I asked.

  "Yes," said another.

  "It is not self-evident to me," I said.

  "That is not the fault of its self-evidence," said another.

  "You cannot blame its self-evidence for that."

  "Something which is self-evident to one person may not be self-evident toanother," said another fellow.

  "How can it be self-evident to one and not to another?" asked.

  "One may be more talented in the detecting of self-evidence than another," saidanother.

  "How do you distinguish between what merely seems self evident and that which istruly self-evident?" I asked.

  "The Priest-Kings would not deceive us," said another.

  "How do you know?" I asked.

  "That is self-evident," said another.

  "Have you ever been mistaken about what is self-evident?"

  "Yes, frequently," said Pumpkin.

  "How do you explain that?" I asked.

  "We are weak, and frail," he said.

  "We are only Waniyanpi," said another.

  I regarded Pumpkin.

  "To be sure," he said, "There is a place for faith in all of this."

  "A rather large place, I conjecture," I said.

  "Large enough," he said.

  "How large is that?" I asked.

  "Large enough to protect the Teaching," he said. _,"I thought so," I said.

  "One must believe something," said Pumpkin.

  "Why not experiment with the truth?" I said.

  "We already believe the truth," said one of the fellows about.

  "How do you know?" I asked.

  "The Teaching tells us," said another.

  "You must understand," said another, "that we do not like putting people out todie. It makes us very sorry to do this. On the occasions of expulsion we ofteneat a meal in silence, and weep bitter tears into our gruel."

  "I am sure it is a touching sight," I said.

  Pumpkin looked down toward the girl. He did not look directly at her, but sheknew herself to be the object of his attention, indirect though that attentionmight have been.

  "Teach me your Teaching," she said. "I want to be a Same."

  "Wonderful," said Pumpkin. He almost reached out to touch her, so pleased hewas, but suddenly, fearfully, he drew back his hand. He blushed. There was sweaton his forehead.

  "Excellent," said more than one of the Waniyanpi "You will not regret it," said another.

  "You will love being a Same," said another. "It is the only thing to be," saidanother.

  "When we reach the vicinity of the compound," said Pumpkin, "and you are unboundand properly clothed, in suitable Waniyanpi garb, you will lead us all throughthe amRate preceding us, this thus attesting to your honor amongst us and the respectin which you are held."

  "I shall look forward eagerly to my reception into the compound, " said thegirl.

  "And so, too, shall we, welcome citizen," said Pumpkin.

  He then turned to the others. "We must now return to our work," he said. "Thereis refuse to be gathered and debris to be burned."

  When the Waniyanpi had filed away, taking their leave, I turned to regard thegirl.

  "They are mad," she said, "mad," squirming in the yoke.

  "Perhaps," I said. "I suppose it is a matter of definition."

  "Definition?" she said.

  "If the norms of sanity are social norms," I said, "by definition, the norm issane.

  "Even if the society is totally misrelated to reality?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Even if they think they are all urts, or lizards or clouds?"

  "I gather so," I said, "and in such a society the one who does not think that heis an urt, or, say, a lizard or a cloud, would be accounted insane."

  "And would be insane?" she asked.

  "On that definition," I said.

  "That is a preposterous definition," she said.

  "Yes," I admitted.

  "I do not accept it," she said.

  "Nor do I," I admitted.

  "Surely there can be a better," she said.

  "I would hope so," I said, "one that was framed with a closer regard forempirical reality, the actual nature of human beings, and such."

  "Someone is insane," she said, "who believes false things."

  "But we all, doubtless, believe many false things," I said "Theoretically a society could believe numerous false propositions and still, innormal senses of the word, be regarded as sane, if, in many respects, a mistakensociety."

  "What if a society is mistaken, and takes pains to avoid rectifying its errors,what if it refuses, in the light of evidence, to correct its mistakes?"

  "Evidence can usually be explained away or reinterpreted to accord withtreasured beliefs," I said. "I think it is usually a matter of degree. Perhapswhen the belief simply becomes too archaic, obsolete and unwieldy to defend,when it becomes simply preposterous and blatantly irrational to seriouslycontinue to defend it, then, perhaps if one still compulsively, to defend it,one might speak of sanity.

  "I should think so," she said.

  "But even then," I said, "other concepts might be more fruitful, such as radicalobstinacy or institutionalized irrationality."

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Because of the vagueness of the concept of insanity' " I said, "and its oftenimplicit reference to statistical norms. For example, an individual who believedin, say, magic, assuming that sense could be made of that concept, in a society,which believed in magic, would not normally be accounted insane. Similarly, sucha society, though it might be regarded as being deluded, would not, in alllikelihood, be regarded as insane."

  "What if there were such a thing as magic?" she asked.

  "That society, then, would simply be correct," I said.

  "What of these people who were just here?" she asked. "Are they not insane?"

  "By carefully chosen definitions, I suppose we could define them into sanity orinto insanity, depending on whether we approved of them or not, but it isdifficult to derive satisfaction from victories which are achieved by the cheapdevice of surreptitiously altering a conceptual structure."

  "I think they are mad, insane," she said.

  "They are at least mistaken," I said, "and, in many respects are different fromus."

  She shuddered.

  "The most pernicious beliefs," I said, "are not actually beliefs at all, but,better put, pseudobeliefs. The pseudobelief is not assailable by evidence orreason, even theoretically. Its security from refutation is the result of itscognitive vacuity. It cannot be refuted for, saying nothing, nothing can beproduced, even in theory, which could count against it. Such a belief is notstrong, but empty. Ultimately it is little more, if anything, than aconcatenation of words, a verbal formula. Men often fear to inquire into theirnature. They tuck them away, and then content themselves with other concerns.

  Their anchors, they fear, are straw; their props, they fear, are reeds. Truth ispraised, and judiciously avoided. Is this not human cleverness. at it's mostremarkable? Who knows in what way the sword of truth will cut? Some men, itseems, would rather die for their beliefs than analyze them. I guess that itmust be a very frightening thing to inquire into one's
beliefs. So few people doit. Sometimes one grows weary of blood-stainedtwaddle. Battles of formulas, you see, as nothing can count against them, aretoo often decided by wounds and iron. Some men, we have noted, are willing todie for their beliefs. Even larger numbers, it seems, are willing to kill forthem."

  "It is not unknown for men to fight for false treasures," she said.

  "That is true," I said.

  "But, in the end," she said, "I do not think that the battles are fought for theformulas."

  I regarded her.

  "They are only standards and flags, carried into battle," she said, "stimulatoryto the rabble, useful to the elite."

  "Perhaps you are right," I said. I did not know. Human motivation is commonlycomplex. That she had responded as she had, however, whether she was right orwrong, reminded me that she was an agent of Kurii. Such folk commonly see thingsin terms of women, gold and power. I grinned down at her. This agent, strippedand in her yoke, was well neutralized before me. She was no longer a player inthe game; she was now only a prize in it.

  "Do not look at me like that," she said.

  "I am not of the Waniyanpi," I said, "Female."

  "Female!" she said.

  "You had best begin to think of yourself in such terms," I said.

  She twisted, angrily, in the yoke. Then she looked up at me. "Free me," shedemanded.

  "No," I said.

  "I will pay you much," she said.

  "No," I said.

  "You could take me from these fools," she said.

  "I suspect so," I said.

  "Then carry me off with you," she said.

  "Do you beg to be carried off?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  "If I did so," I said, "it would be as a slave."

  "Oh," she said.

  "Do you still beg to be carried off?" I inquired.

  "Yes," she said.

  "As a surrendered slave," I asked, "a total and abject slave?"

  "Yes!" she said.

  "No," I said.

  "No?" she said.

  "No," I said.

  "Take me with you," she begged.

  "I am going to leave you precisely where you are," I said, "my lovely mercenary."

  "Mercenary?" she said. "I am not a mercenary! I am the Lady Mira of Venna, ofthe Merchants!

  I smiled.

  She shrank back on her heels. "What do you know of me she asked. "What are youdoing in the Barrens? Who are you?"

  "You look well in the yoke," I said.

  "Who are you?" she said.

  "A traveler," I said.

  "You are going to leave me here, like this?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I do not want to go to a compound of these people," she said. "They are insane,all of them."

  "But you begged to be taken to their compound," I said "to be taught theirTeaching."

  "I did not want to die," she said. "I did not want to be put out to die."

  "You had best pretend well to believe their teaching," said. "They would not,most likely, look lightly on being deceived in this respect."

  "I do not want to live a life of hypocrisy," she said.

  "Doubtless many live such a life in the compound of the Waniyanpi," I said.

  "Should I try to believe their absurdities?" she asked.

  "It might be easier on you, if you could," I said.

  "But I am not a fool," she said.

  "To be sure," I said, "it is easiest to subscribe to odd beliefs when they havebeen inculcated in childhood. The trenchment of eccentric beliefs is commonlyperpetrated most successfully on the innocent and defenseless, even moresuccessfully than on the ignorant and desperate."

  "I am afraid of them," she said.

  "They will treat you with dignity and respect," I said, "as a Same."

  "Better a collar in the cities," she said, "better to be abused and sold from apublic platform, better to be a slave girl fearful and obedient at the feet ofher master."

  "Perhaps," I said.

  "I am afraid of them," she.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Did you not see how they would not look at me? I am afraid they will make meashamed of my own body."

  "In all things," I said, "remember that you are beautiful."

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  To be sure, the danger of which she spoke was quite real. It was difficult forone's values not to be affected by the values of those about them. Even themarvelous beauties and profundities of human sexuality, I knew, incrediblyenough, in some environments tended to trigger bizarre reactions of anxiety,embarrassment and shame. To the average Gorean such reactions would seemincomprehensible. Perhaps such environments, apart from semantic might simply beregarded, if any, as insane. How tragic, in particular, it is, to see suchreactions being absorbed by children.

  "Do you truly think I am beautiful?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Then take me with you," she begged.

  "No," I said.

  "You would leave me with them?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "It amuses me," I said.

  "Tarsk!" she cried.

  I held the quirt before her face. "You may kiss it," I told her, "or be beatenwith it."

  She kissed the quirt, the supple, slim leather.

  "Again," I told her, "lingeringly."

  She complied. Then she looked up at me. "You called me a mercenary, ' she said.

  "I was wrong," I said. "You are only a former mercenary."

  "And what am I now?" she asked.

  "Surely you can guess," I said.

  "No!" she said.

  "Yes," I assured her.

  She struggled in the yoke, unavailingly. "I am helpless'" she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  She straightened her body. She tossed her head. "If you took me with you," shesaid, "I would doubtless be your slave."

  "Totally," I told her.

  "It is fortunate for me, then," she said, "that I will accompany the Waniyanpito their camp. There I will be free."

  "The Waniyanpi are all slaves," I told her, "slaves of the red savages."

  "Do the savages live in the compounds?" she asked.

  "Not normally," I said. "They normally leave the Waniyanpi much alone. They donot much care, I think, to be around them."

  "Then, for most practical purposes," she said, "They are slaves withoutmasters."

  "Perhaps," I said.

  "Then I, too, would be a slave without a master," she said.

  "For most practical purposes, for most of the time, I suppose," I said. TheWaniyanpi, incidentally, are owned by tribes, not individuals. Their slavery,thus, is somewhat remote and impersonal. That one is owned by a collectivity, ofcourse, may obscure one's slavery but, in the final analysis, it does not alterit. Some slaves believe they are notcause their masters tell them so.

  "That is the best sort of slave to be," she said, "one without a master."

  "Is it?" I asked. Lonely and unfulfilled is the slave without a master.

  "When I was taken prisoner," she said, "I feared I would be made a slave, a trueslave. I feared a tether would be-put on my neck and I would be ran to the campof a master, sweating at the lathered flank of his kaiila, that there I would behis, to be dressed, and worked and used as he pleased. I feared that hard laborsand degradation would be mine. I feared that a beaded collar would be tied on myneck. I feared that I would be subject to ropes and whips, unsparingly appliedif I were in the least bit unpleasing. Mostly I feared being alone with him inhis lodge, where I must, at his smallest indication, serve him intimately, andabjectly and lengthily, as his least whim might dictate, with the fullattentiveness and services of the female slave. You can imagine my terrors atthe mere thought of finding myself so helplessly belonging to a man, sohelplessly in his power, so helplessly subject to his mastery and domination."

  "Of course," I said.

  "And so it is," she said, "that I rejoice
that I am to be spared all that. I amastonished at my good fortune. How foolish were the red savages to be so lenientwith me! ' "They am not fools," I said. I "They took other girls, ' she said, "I heard, to their camps."

  "Yes," I said.

  "That was not done with me," she said.

  "No," I said.

  "They spared me," she said.

  "Did they?" I asked.

  "I do not understand," she said.

  "You were found with the soldiers," I said. I then turned from her and mountedthe kaiila.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  "The other girls were simply made slaves," I said. "They will now have the honorof serving worthy masters."

  "And I? she asked.

  "You, being found with the soldiers," I said, "and obviously a personage of someimportance, were singled out for punishment."

  "Punishment?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. Indeed, I thought to myself, how much the red savages must hatethe soldiers, and those with them, and how subtle and insidious they had been.

  "But I am to be respected and accorded dignity," she said, kneeling below me inthe grass, in her yoke. "I am to be sent to live with Waniyanpi!"

  "That is your punishment," I said. I then turned the kaiila about, and left herbehind me, in the grass, in her yoke.

  18 Cuwignaka; Sleen, Yellow Knives and Kaiila

  "This is the lad of whom the Waniyanpi spoke," said Grunt. I joined my party onthe crest of a small rise, at the eastern edge of the field of battle. He wassome twenty years of age, naked, and staked out in the grass. Near him, on alance thrust butt down in the turf, there was wound a white cloth. This markedthe place in the grass where he had been secured. I did not understand, at thattime, the significance of this form of marker, nor of. the cloth.

  "Is this the fellow you thought it might be?" asked Grunt.

  "Yes," I said, looking down at the young man. "He is the one who was with thecolumn." He was not now chained. His chains had been removed. He was now securedin a fashion more familiar to the Barrens.

  "He is Dust Leg," said Grunt.

  "I do not think so," I said. "Do you speak Gorean?" I asked him.

  The young man opened his eyes, and then closed them.

  "I have spoken Dust Leg to him, and Kaiila, and some Fleer," said Grunt. "Hedoes not respond."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "We are white," said Grunt.

  "He is not in good condition," I said.