Magicians of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "I would think so," said Marcus, more to himself than to anyone else.

  I looked at him sharply. I think he was serious.

  "Do you not think so?" he asked. He was serious.

  "Let us watch," I said. I smiled to myself. Marcus, I knew, was a highly intelligent fellow. On the other hand he did come from a culture which on the whole maintained a quite open mind on questions of this sort, and these illusions were, I take it, the first he had ever seen. To him they must have seemed awesome. Too, as a highly intelligent young man, from his particular background, he was prepared to accept what appeared to be the evidence of his senses. Would it not have seemed to him an even more grievous affront to rationality not to do so? I supposed that I, in his place, if I had had his background, and had known as little as he did about such things, might have been similarly impressed, if not convinced. Certainly many Goreans whom I regarded as much more intelligent than I took such things with great seriousness.

  "What have I done wrong? What have I done wrong?" moaned the ponderous fellow. He then put up the front panel and latched it to the side panel on the left. "What have I done wrong?" he moaned. He then hooked up the right side of the trunk. It attached to the front panel. "I do not understand it," he moaned. He went to the back and lifted up the back panel and latched it to the side panels. He then reached down and put the wicker lid back on the trunk. He then faced the audience with comic misery. "What have I done wrong?" he queried.

  "You did not call upon the magician!" cried a fellow.

  "What?" cried the ponderous fellow, startled.

  "No!" said the fellow in the audience. "Remember! You called out before, expressing a wish that you might be succored in your dilemma, that some magician might waft her away, if only for a moment, to teach her a little of what it was to be a slave girl!"

  "Yes!" said the ponderous fellow. "Yes! That is true!"

  "Perhaps the fellow from Anango, your friend," said the man, "who is perhaps a magician, heard you and did as you asked, as a favor."

  "Is it possible?" inquired the ponderous fellow.

  "It is possible!" averred the man.

  "What must I then do?" inquired the ponderous fellow.

  "Ask for her back!" said the man.

  "Certainly," said another fellow in the audience.

  "Do you think he would return her?" asked the ponderous fellow.

  "Certainly," said the fellow who had been attempting to be of help in this matter.

  "He is your friend," another reminded him.

  "I think he is my friend," said the ponderous fellow.

  "It is surely worth a try," said the first fellow.

  The ponderous fellow then looked upward and called out, "Oh, Saba Boroko Swaziloo, old chap, if you can hear me, and if it be you who has wafted away my little Litsia, perhaps for her instruction and improvement, please return her to me now!" Such names, of course, are nonsense, and are not really Anangoan names but they do have several of the vowel sounds of such names, and, accordingly, upon occasions such as these, by fellows who are somewhat careless in such matters, are often prevailed upon to serve as such. It was highly unlikely, of course, that there would be any Anangoans in the audience. I hoped not, at any rate, for the sake of the ponderous fellow.

  There was silence.

  "Nothing!" said the ponderous fellow, in disappointment. "Nothing!"

  There was suddenly a rocking and bumping from the wicker trunk. It shook on the trestles.

  "What is this?" cried the ponderous fellow, turning about.

  The trunk rocked back and forth.

  "Master!" came from within the trunk. "Master, oh, beloved Master, help me. I beg of you to help me, Master! Please, Master, if you can hear me, help me! Help me!"

  "Open it!" cried a man.

  "Open it!" called another.

  The ponderous fellow threw off the wicker, basketlike lid of the trunk and gazed within, then staggering back as though in astonishment.

  "Show us! Show us!" cried men.

  Swiftly, losing not a nonce, he undid the side latches and dropped the front panel of the trunk. There, in the trunk, framed by the sides and back, as men cried out in wonder and delight, was descried the slave, Litsia, now not only in the least of slave rags but in sirik.

  She was excitingly curvaceous, a dream of pleasure, such a sight as might induce a strong man to howl with joy, to dance with triumph.

  Those on the tiers rose to their feet, applauding.

  Yes, the woman was well turned. No longer now could there be the least doubt as to the promises of her lineaments. Almost might she have been on the block so little did her brief, twisted, scanty rags leave to the imagination of lustful brutes. And well did she move upon that wicker surface, in helpless desirability, in the grasp of the sirik, the metal on her neck, and on her wrists and ankles, the whole impeccably joined by its linkage of gleaming chain.

  "The magician has returned her!" said a man.

  "And she is in better condition than when he received her," laughed a man.

  The ponderous fellow then, with a tug, tore away the bit of cloth which had provided its mockery of a shielding for her beauty and cast it aside.

  Men cheered.

  "It seems I have a new master," said the girl, squirming a little, naked, to the audience.

  There was laughter.

  She was then pulled from the trunk and flung to her knees on the stage.

  She, kneeling, in sirik, turned to the audience. "I now know I have a new master!" she said.

  There was more laughter.

  "Where have you been?" demanded the ponderous fellow.

  "I was in my palanquin," she said. "Then, in the blinking of an eye, I was in a castle somewhere, stripped and in chains!"

  "In Anango, I wager," said the ponderous fellow.

  "And at the feet of a magician!" she cried.

  "That would be my old friend, Swaziloo," said the ponderous fellow.

  "Yes," she said. "I think that is what he said his name was."

  I was pleased that they had managed to get the name right the second time. I had known the ponderous fellow to slip up in such matters. The girl was not likely to make a mistake, of course. If she did so, she would probably be whipped.

  "And for what purpose were you transported to that castle, probably his," said the ponderous fellow, "as he has several?"

  "To be taught, Master!" she said.

  "And were you taught?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" she said.

  "And what were you taught?" he asked.

  "To be a slave girl, Master!" she said.

  Then, to the delight of the audience, she reached forth and, holding the fellow's leg, and pressing herself against it, kissed him humbly, timidly, lovingly, about the thigh.

  "And I," said the ponderous fellow, "may have learned something, too, about how to be a master."

  There was then applause and cheering, and bows were taken by the troupe, the assistants and the ponderous fellow, and the girl, for her part, performing obeisance to the audience, and then, to the delight of the audience, being conducted off, in her chains, with tiny, short steps, no more permitted her by the linkage on her ankle rings, in a common slave girl leading position, bent over at the waist, drawn along at the master's side by the hair.

  Marcus had been shaken by the performance.

  Afterward we were walking outside. We would not attend any more performances that evening, as the shows, and the street, would be soon closed, due to the curfew. Also, I had discovered what I had been searching for, the fellow I wished to contact.

  "I am puzzled by what I have seen," he said.

  "In what way?" I asked.

  "Is he truly a magician, or in league with magicians?" asked Marcus.

  "Much depends on what you mean by 'magician'," I said.

  "You know what I mean," said Marcus.

  "I do not think so," I said.

  "One who can do magic," said Marcus, irritably.

&n
bsp; "Oh," I said.

  "I do not know if it is wise to use magic in such a way," said Marcus, "for pay, as a show, for an audience."

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "Magic seems too strange and wonderful," he said.

  "Why don't they just make gold pieces appear instead?" I asked.

  "Yes, why not?" he asked.

  "Indeed, why not?" I said.

  "I do not understand the audience," he said. "Some men laughed much, and did not seem to understand the momentousness of what was occurring. Some seemed to take it almost for granted. Others were more sensitive to the wonders they beheld."

  "Dear Marcus," I said, "such things are tricks. They are done to give pleasure, and amusement."

  "The magician, or the magician, or magicians, the showman was in league with," said Marcus, "obviously possess extraordinary powers."

  "In a sense, yes," I said, "and I would be the last to underestimate or belittle them. They have unusual powers. But you, too, have unusual powers. For example, you have unusual powers with tempered blades, with the steels of war."

  "Such things," said he, quickly, "are mere matters of blood, of instinct, of aptitude, of strength, of reflexes, of training, of practice. They are skills, skills."

  "The magician, too," I said, "has his skills. Let them be remarked and celebrated. Life is the richer for us that he has them. Let us rejoice in his achievements."

  "I do not think I understand you," said Marcus.

  "Would you like to know how the tricks were done?" I asked.

  "'Tricks'?" he said.

  "Yes," I said. "If I tell you, will you then value them less?"

  "'Done'?" he said.

  "Surely you do not believe that a slave disappeared into thin air and then reappeared out of thin air in a wicker trunk, do you?"

  "Certainly it is difficult to believe," said Marcus, "but surely I must believe it, as it happened."

  "Nonsense," I said.

  "Did you not see what I saw?" he asked.

  "I suppose that in one sense I saw what you saw," I said, "but in another sense I think it would be fair to say that I didn't. At the very least, we surely interpreted what we saw very differently."

  "I know what I saw," said Marcus.

  "You know what you think you saw," I said.

  "There could be no tricks," said Marcus, angrily. "Not this time. Do not think I am naive! I have heard of such things as trapdoors and secret panels! I have even heard of illusions done with mirrors! But those are not done by true magic. They are only tricks. I might even be able to do them. But this was different. Here, obviously, there could have been only true magic."

  "Why do you say that?" I asked.

  "I do know that there is false magic, or only apparent magic, and false magicians, or only apparent magicians, but this was different."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "If there are so many false magicians," said Marcus, "then there must be at least one true magician."

  "Have you reflected upon the logic of that?" I asked.

  "Not carefully," he said.

  "It might be well to do so," I said.

  "Perhaps," he said, irritatedly.

  "From the fact that most larls eat meat it does not follow that some larls do not," I said. "Rather, if one were to hazard an inference in such a matter, it would seem rational to suppose that they all eat meat."

  "And from the fact that most magicians may not do real magic one should not infer that therefore some do?"

  "That is it," I said.

  "But some might!" he said, triumphantly.

  "Perhaps," I said.

  "I grant you the logic of matter," he said, "but in this case I must be granted the fact of the matter."

  "What fact?" I asked.

  "That there is real magic!"

  "Why do you say that?" I asked.

  "Because tonight," he said, "we witnessed not tricks, but genuine magic."

  "What makes you think so?" I asked.

  "You saw the slave in the palanquin," he said. "It was moved about, it was lifted up in the air! Do you think the girl could have slipped through a trapdoor or something? There is no way that could have happened. Similarly the palanquin was moved about. Accordingly there could have been no mirrors."

  "There could have been some," I said.

  "Do you think it was done with mirrors?" he asked.

  "No," I said. "It was not done with mirrors."

  "It was done by magic," he said.

  "Not by what you seem to mean by 'real magic'," I said, "whatever that might be."

  "How then do you think it was done?" he asked, angrily.

  "There were two illusions," I said, "the first in which the girl disappeared from the palanquin and the second in which she reappeared in the trunk."

  "Or two wonders,' said Marcus, "the one of the palanquin and the other of the trunk."

  "Very well," I said. "You noted, of course, that the palanquin was roofed, or canopied, and that the roof or canopy was supported by four poles."

  "Of course," he said, warily.

  "Those poles are hollow," I said, "and within them there are cords and weights."

  "Continue," said he.

  "The cords," I said, "are attached at one end to the weights within the poles and, at the other end, to the corners of a flat pallet at the bottom of palanquin, on which the girl reclines. When the curtains of the palanquin are drawn, as they were, you remember, the weights are disengaged by the bearers. These weights, the four of them, collectively, are much heavier than the pallet and the girl, whom, you will remember was slim and light. As the weights descend within the poles the cords move and draw the pallet up under the canopy."

  "The girl was then being held at the top, concealed by the canopy?"

  "Precisely," I said.

  "I did not think of her as going up," said Marcus.

  "Nor would most folks," I said. "After all, people do not normally fly upwards. Presumably most folks would think, if at all about these matters, in terms of a false bottom, or back, or something, but, as you saw, such considerations would have been immediately dismissed as the construction of the palanquin made them impractical, for example, its openness, and its bottom being too shallow to effect any efficacious concealment for the girl."

  "It was not magic?" he said.

  "Once the girl is offstage," I said, "there is no difficulty in changing her clothes and getting her in sirik."

  "The trunk was real magic," he said, "as we saw it carried on, kept off the floor, and opened, and shown empty!"

  "In the case of the trunk," I said, "you will recall that it was carried on, and opened in a certain way, in a certain order, and then that it was closed in a certain order, as well."

  "Remind me," he said.

  "Most significantly," I said, "after it was on the trestles, the back was lowered first, and then the sides and front."

  "Yes," he said, "that is correct."

  "When it was closed, however," I said, "it was the front which was first lifted and put in place, and then the sides, and then the back."

  "Yes," he said.

  "In short," I said, "in the opening of the trunk, the back was lowered first, and in its closing, it was lifted last."

  "True," said Marcus.

  "You remember?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "The interior of the back was thus not seen by the audience in the beginning," I said, "because it was either concealed by the front panel as the trunk was carried onto the stage or was facing the back of the stage when it was hanging down in back. Similarly, later, the interior of the back was not seen by the audience because it was either facing away from them, when it hung down in back, or was concealed by the front panel and sides, which were first lifted, to keep it concealed."

  "The slave was then carried onto the stage in the closed trunk, her body fastened somehow to the inside of the back panel."

  "In a sling of straps," I said.

  "She was the
n hanging down, fastened to the side of the back panel away from the audience, when the trunk was opened?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "And was returned to the interior of the trunk with the shielded lifting of the back panel?"

  "Yes," I said. "And once within the trunk, it then closed again, she could, of course, her hands being free enough in the sirik to accomplish this, undo the straps, and conceal them in the flooring of the trunk, in a slot prepared for the purpose."

  "Then it was not magic?" he said.

  "That depends on what you mean by 'magic'," I said.

  "You know what I mean," he said, somewhat disagreeably.

  "No," I said. "It was not magic."

  "But it could have been magic," he said.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Even though these wonders could have been accomplished so easily by mere trickery, that does not prove they were!"

  "No," I said. "I suppose not."

  "The same effect might have quite different causes," he said, "for example, in these cases, having been achieved either by mere charlatanry or by genuine magic."

  "I have seen the equipment," I said. I had, in one of the wagons of the ponderous fellow several months ago. I had even diddled about with it, for my own amusement.

  "But that does not prove it was used!" said Marcus.

  "I suppose not," I said. "I suppose that these effects, so easily wrought by a skillful fellow, who knows how to bring them about, might actually, in these cases, have been produced not by familiar trickery but by the application of uncanny and marvelous powers."

  "Certainly," said Marcus.

  "Would you believe the fellow if he showed you how he did it?" I asked.

  "He might show me how it could be done, but not how he actually did it," said Marcus. "He might lie to me, to conceal from me his possession of mysterious powers."

  "Well," I said, "I never thought about that." I never had. "I guess you are right," I said.

  Marcus walked on beside me for a way. Then suddenly he burst out, angrily, "The charlatan, the fraud!"

  "Are you angry?" I asked.

  "They are only tricks!" he said.

  "Good tricks," I said.

  "But only tricks!"

  "I don't think he ever claimed they were not," I said.

  "He should be boiled in oil!" cried Marcus.