Magicians of Gor

10 The Sword is Thirsty

"I can remember when the men of Ar, those I saw of them in the north, walked proudly," said Marcus.

The city was subdued, save for some idealistic youth, who seemed to take pride in its downfall.

"Yes," I said.

It was now some months after the entry of Myron, polemarkos of Temos, into Ar. The systematic looting of Ar had proceeded apace. More levies of women, free and slave, had been conducted. Work on the destruction of the walls had continued. Marcus and I were on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder, the major thoroughfare in Ar.

"The major blow," said he, "was doubtless the movement of the Home Stone to Telnus."

This had been admitted on the public boards at last. Originally it had been rumored, which rumors had been denied, that only a surrogate for the stone had appeared in the Planting Feast. Later, however, when the ceremony of citizenship, in which the Home Stone figures, was postponed, speculation had become rampant. There had been demands by minor Initiates, of smaller temples, outside the pomerium of the city, first, for the ceremonies to be conducted, and, later, these ceremonies not taking place, for the Home Stone to be produced. In the furor of speculation over this matter the secular and ecclesiastical authorities in the city had remained silent. At last, in view of the distinct unrest in the city, and the possible danger of riots and demonstrations, a communication was received from the Central Cylinder, jointly presented by Talena, Ubara of Ar; Seremides, captain of the guard; Antonius, executive officers of the High Council; Tulbinius, Chief Initiate; and Myron, polemarkos of Temos, to the effect that Ar might now rejoice, as in these unsettled times Lurius of Jad, in his generosity and wisdom, at the request of the governance of Ar, and in the best interests of the people and councils of Ar, had permitted the Home Stone to be brought to Telnus for safekeeping. A surrogate stone was subsequently used for the ceremony of citizenship. Certain youth refused then to participate in the ceremony and certain others, refusing to touch the surrogate stone, uttered the responses and pledges while facing northwest, toward Cos, toward their Home Stone.

Marcus and I, with the armbands of auxiliary guardsmen, saluted a Cosian officer whom we passed.

"Tarsk," grumbled Marcus.

"He is probably a nice enough fellow," I said.

"Sometimes I regret that you are a dear friend," he said.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"It makes it improper to challenge you to mortal combat," he said.

"Folks have occasionally slain their dearest friends," I said.

"That is true," he said, brightening up.

"Just because someone is your mortal enemy," I said, "does not mean that you have to dislike him."

"I suppose not," said Marcus.

"Of course not," I said.

We walked on.

"You are just in a bad mood," I said. Such moods were not uncommon with Marcus. "Perhaps," he said.

"Does Phoebe have her period?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"You were out late last night," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Frequenting the taverns?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I was wandering about."

"It is now dangerous to walk the streets of Ar at night," I said.

"For whom?" he said.

"For anyone, I suppose," I said.

"Perhaps," he said.

"Where did you walk?" I asked.

"In the Anbar district," he said.

"That is a dangerous district," I said, "even formerly." It and the district of Trevelyan were two of the most dangerous districts in Ar, even before the fall of the city.

"Oh?" he said.

"Yes," I assured him. "It is frequented by brigands."

"It is now frequented by two less than yesterday," he said.

"Why do you do these things?" I asked.

"My sword," he said, "was thirsty."

"I am angry," I said.

"I made a profit on the transaction," he said.

"You robbed the brigands?" I asked.

"Their bodies," he said.

"We do not need the money," I said. Indeed, we had most of a hundred gold pieces left, a considerable fortune, which we had obtained last summer in the vicinity of Brundisium.

"Well, I did not really do it for the money," he said.

"I see," I said.

"Not all values are material," Marcus reminded me.

"You should not risk your life in such a way," I said, angrily.

"What else is there to do?" he asked.

"I am sure you could think of something," I said, "if you seriously put your mind to it."

"Not it is you who seem in an ill humor," he remarked.

"If you find yourself spitted in the Anbar district that will not much profit the Home Stone of Ar's Station," I said.

"You told me that the Home Stone of Ar's Station would be exhibited again," he said.

"I am sure it will be," I said.

"That was months ago," he said.

"Be patient," I said.

"I do not even know where it is," he said. "It may be in Telnus by now."

"I do not think so," I said.

"At least those of Ar know where their Home Stone is," he said.

"Do not be surly," I said.

"You do not think it is in Telnus?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I think it is still in Ar."

"Why?" he asked.

"I have an excellent reason," I said.

"Would you be so kind as to share this reason with me?" asked Marcus.

"No," I said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"You are too noble to take it seriously," I said.

"Thank you," said her, "perhaps."

We paused to drink, from the upper basin of a fountain.

"Listen," I said.

"Yes," he said.

We turned about.

Some twenty men, stripped, in heavy metal collars, these linked by heavy chains, their hands behind their backs, presumably manacled, prodded now and then by the butts of guards' spears, were approaching. Behind the line came a flute girl, sometimes turning about, playing the instrument. It was this sound we had heard. Some folks stopped to watch.

"Political prisoners," said Marcus.

That could be told by the fact that the ears and noses of the prisoners had been painted yellow, to make them appear ridiculous.

"Interesting," said Marcus, "that they would parade them so publicly down the Avenue of the Central Cylinder."

"It is to be expected," I said. "If they were conducted out of the city in secret there would be much inquiry, much resentment, much clamor, much objection. It would be as though the Central Cylinder wished to conceal the fate imposed upon them, as though they were afraid of its becoming public, as though it might not be legitimately defensible. In this way, on the other hand, it performs its action openly, without special attention but, too, without stealth. It says, thusly, the action is in order, that it is acceptable, even trivial. Too, of course, it hopes to enlist public approbation by the painting of the ears and noses, thus suggesting that any who might disagree with its policies must be mad or dunces, at best objects of caricature and ridicule."

"Those in the Central Cylinder are clever," said Marcus.

"They may miscalculate," I said.

"Whence are these fellows bound?" asked Marcus.

"Probably the quarries of Tyros," I said.

"There must be many in Ar who will have scores to settle with the Ubara," he said.

"I suspect," I said, "that these arrests are more the work of Seremides, and Antonius, of the High Council."

"You would defend Talena of Ar?" he asked.

"I would not blame her for more than that for which she is responsible," I said. "Surely her complicity is clear," he said.

I was silent.

"She is an arch conspirator in the downfall of Ar," he said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"What does she mean to you?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

The men were now filing past, with their guards. Their hands, indeed, were manacled behind their backs.

"Some of those men may have been high in the city," said Marcus.

"Undoubtedly," I said.

"Some even have signs about their necks," said Marcus.

"I am not familiar with the politics of Ar," I said, "so I do not recognize the names."

"I know the name of the last fellow," said Marcus. "Mirus Torus."

The sign about his neck had that name on it, and also the word, "Traitor."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"I assume," said Marcus, "that he is the Mirus Torus who was the executive officer of the High Council before Gnieus Lelius, and later held the same office under the regency of Gnieus Lelius."

"I think I have heard of him," I said.

"For some months he was under house arrest," said Marcus.

"The Central Cylinder," I said, "seems now to be very sure of its power."

"Doubtless it was encouraged by its success in the matter of the Home Stone," said Marcus.

"Undoubtedly," I said.

"You seem troubled," he said.

"It is nothing," I said.

We watched the coffle of prisoners move away, south on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder. For a long time we could hear the music of the flute girl who brought up the rear.

"What is it?" asked Marcus.

"There seems nothing to arouse Ar," I said.

"Forget Ar," said Marcus. "The men of Ar have become spineless urts."

"These men," I said, "were once among the strongest and finest in the world."

"Ar dies in the delta," said Marcus.

"Perhaps," I said. There seemed much to the sobering suggestion of the young warrior.

"What is Ar to you?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"Cos loots with impunity," said Marcus, "tearing even the marbles from the walls. She disguises her depredations under absurd, meretricious rhetorics. It is as though the sleen pretended to be the friend of the verr. And what do the men of Ar do? They smile, they hasten to give up their riches, they beat their breasts, they lament their unworthiness, they cannot sufficiently praise those who despoil them, they rush to sacrifice at the great temples. They burn their gates, they dismantle their walls, they hide in their houses at night. They cheer while women who might be theirs are instead marched to Cosian ports. Do not concern yourself with them, my friend. They are unworthy of your concern."

I looked at Marcus.

He smiled. "You are angry," he said.

"Ho! One side, buffoons of Ar!" said a voice, that of a mercenary, one of two, with blue armbands.

We stepped to one side as they swaggered past.

"I am not of Ar," I said to Marcus.

"Nor am I," he said.

"Thus they could not have been speaking to us," I said.

"We could kill them," said Marcus.

"In broad daylight?" I asked.

"Perhaps they are nice fellows," said Marcus.

"Perhaps," I said.

"But then one cannot always permit oneself to be deterred by such considerations," he said.

"True," I said.

"They think they own the street," he said.

"Doubtless an impression they have gathered from those of Ar," I said.

"Surely," he said.

"There is nothing to arouse Ar," I said.

"No," he said.

"If Marlenus were alive, and might return," I said, "that might bring Ar to her feet, angry and mighty, like an awakened larl."

"If Marlenus were alive," said Marcus, "he would have returned to Ar long ago."

"Then there is no hope," I said.

"No," said Marcus. "There is no hope."

I regarded him.

"Ar died last summer," he said, " in the delta."

I did not respond to him. I feared he was right.

We walked on then, not speaking, with rage, a helpless warrior's fury irrepressibly welling up within me.

A passer-by regarded me, startled, and hurried quickly past.

"You are angry," said Marcus.

"Are you not angry?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he said.

We heard then, behind us, running feet, laughter, a tearing of cloth, and a woman's cry. A group of young fellows was running past. We, too, were buffeted but I seized one of the lads by the wrist and, drawing him quickly across and about my body, and over my extended right leg, flung him to the stones, where I held him, my grip shifted now to the palm of his hand, his wrist bent, far back. He screamed with pain. Another fraction of a hort, the least additional pressure, and his wrist would be broken. Almost at the same instant I heard Marcus' sword leave its sheath, warning back the other lads, some six of them. Marcus, I noted, was suddenly, relievedly, in an eager, elated mood. He hoped for their advance. He was quite ready, even eager, for the release of shedding blood. I felt my own nostrils flare as I suddenly, excitedly, drank in the air of Ar, exhilarated, fiercely alive. The six lads backed away. I had little doubt he would have cut them down had they come with the compass of his blade. One of the lads, the leader it seemed, clutched the woman's pouch, torn from her belt, and another held her veil. I looked back tot he woman, who had been struck to her knees. She had drawn her hood about her face, that her features not be exposed publicly. Her eyes were wild in the opening within the hood.

"Do not hurt me!" screamed the lad on his knees.

I paid him little attention. He was going nowhere. At least two of the other lads had knives.

"You are "Cosians"?" I said to them.

They looked at one another.

Certain gangs of youths, young ruffians, roamed the streets, affecting Cosian garments and haircuts. These were called "Cosians." Such things are common where an enemy is feared. They ape the feared enemy, and hope thereby, as though by some alchemy, to obtain his strength and success. Such charades serve, too, as a form of cowardly camouflage. Knowing they have nothing to fear from their own people, they pretend they are like the enemy, perhaps in the hope that then they will have nothing to fear from him, as well. Too, such postures, costumes and mannerisms provide an easy way to attract attention to oneself, a welcome feature to one who may otherwise be unworthy of attention. Similarly, such charades provide, in more serious cases, a way of expressing one's alienation from one's own society, one's repudiation of it, and one's contempt of it. From this point of view then, such things may constitute a comprehensible, if somewhat silly, or ineffectual, from of protest. Too, of course, such costumes can intimidate weaklings, which some would undoubtedly rate as an additional advantage.

"Do not hurt him!" said the leader.

"You are "Cosians"?" I asked.

"No," said their leader, "we are of Ar."

"I can probably reach at least two of them," said Marcus.

The six stepped back further, preparing to take to their heels.

"We are only lads!" said the leader, keeping his distance.

I gestured with my head back toward the woman behind us. She had risen to her feet. She still clutched the folds of her hood about her face, to conceal her features.

"Do you think she is some slave girl," I asked, "that you may strip her on the street, for your sport?"

"No," said one of the lads.

"She is a free woman, of your own city," I said.

"There is no Home Stone in Ar," he said.

"That is true," said Marcus.

"Do you make war on boys?" asked the leader.

"Now you are "boys," I said.

They were silent.

"Sheath your knives," I said.

They did so. I was now pleased that they did this. I was not certain, really, of the responses of Marcus. He was not a fellow of Earth, but a Gorean. Too, he was of the Warriors, and his codes, in a situation of this sort, their weapons drawn, entitled him, even encouraged him, to attack, and kill. Moreover I thought he could really reach at least three of them, the first with a thrust, and the second too, each with a slash to the neck, first to the right, the blade withdrawn, and then to the left, before they could adequately break and scatter. Marcus was very fast, and trained. In this way I was encouraging them to protect themselves. They were, after all, as their leader had pointed out, a bit plaintively, and somewhat belatedly, only lads. To be sure this would not mean much to Marcus, who was probably not more than three or four years older than they were.

"And bring forward the pouch and veil."

"Release Decius," said the leader.

"I am not bargaining," I said.

The leader brought forward the pouch and put it down on the stones. He then signaled to the lad with the veil. That fellow then brought the veil forward, too, and put it on the stones. Both of them then backed away. I then released the hand of the other lad, Decius, it seemed, and he scrambled away, holding his wrist.

"Give me my veil!" demanded the woman, coming forward.

I handed it to her.

She turned about, adjusting it.

"Pick up my pouch," she said, her back to us. "Give it to me."

I picked up the pouch. The lads had now withdrawn some forty yards or so away. They were gathered about the fellow whom I had had down on his knees, his arm behind him, the wrist bent. He was still undoubtedly in pain.

"Give me my pouch!" she demanded.

I looked at the group of youths.

The fellow's wrist had not been broken. I had not chosen to do that.

One or another of the lads, from time to time, looked back at us. I did not think they would return, however. To be sure, Marcus might have welcomed that. His sword was still unsheathed. Too, I did not think they would be interested in causing the lady further inconvenience.

I felt the woman's hand snatch at the pouch and my own hand, almost reflexively, closed on the pouch.

Her eyes flashed angrily over the veil, an opaque street veil, now readjusted. "Give it to me!" she said.

"It was our mistake to interfere," said Marcus, dryly. He resheathed his blade. "Give it to me!" said the woman.

"You are rude," I said.

She tugged at the pouch.

"Are you not grateful?" I asked.

"It demeans a free woman to express gratitude," she said.

"I do not think so," I said.

"Are you not paid for your work?" she asked.

"Are you not grateful? I asked.

"I am not a slave!" she asked.

"Are you not grateful?" I asked, again.

"Yes," she said. "I am grateful! Now, give it to me!"

"Ah," I said. "Perhaps you are a slave."

"No!" she said.

"What do you think of this free woman?" I asked Marcus.

She reacted angrily, but did not release the pouch.

"Do you think she might be more civil," I asked, "if she were stripped?"

"Yes," he said, "particularly if she were also branded and collared."

"She would then learn softness, as opposed to hardness," I said.

"It would be in her best interest to do so," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

She released the pouch and stepped back a little.

Her eyes were now wide, over the veil.

"Perhaps she is the sort of woman who is best kept in a kennel," I said, "to be brought forth when one wishes, for various labors."

"Such women are all haughty wenches," he said. "But they quickly lose their haughtiness in bondage."

"Please," she said. "Give me the coins."

I did not release them.

"Give them to me!" she said, angrily.

"Would you not like to learn softness, as opposed to hardness? I asked. She looked at me, angrily.

"Women learn it quickly in bondage," I said.

"It is in their best interest to do so," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

"Surely you have wondered what it would be, to be a slave?" inquired Marcus. She gasped. Only too obviously had she considered such matters.

"But then," I said, "you may not be attractive enough to be a slave."

She did not speak.

I put the pouch inside my tunic.

"Oh!" she said, for I had then reached up and taken her hood in my hands. "We shall see," I said.

"Oh!" she said, startled.

Marcus held her from behind, by the arms.

I pushed back her hood and thrust it down. I then jerked away the veil, and surveyed her features.

"I think you, like most women, would make an adequate slave," I said.

She squirmed.

"Hold her wrists together," I said. I then tied them together, behind her back, with her veil.

She moaned.

She could not now readjust the veil.

"Please," she begged. "Let me veil myself. Slavers might see me!"

"You were not pleasing," I said.

I then took the pouch of coins in my hands and lofted it to the group of lads some forty yards away. Their leader caught it. They then turned about, and ran. The woman looked at me, astonished, aghast.

"Your lips are pretty," I said. "They could possibly be trained to kiss well." Tears sprang to her eyes.

"And lest you return home too quickly," I said, "we shall do this." I then crouched down and tore off a bit of the hem of her robes, but not enough to offend her modesty, for example, revealing her ankles, and, using the cloth as a bond, fastened her ankles together, leaving her some four or five inches of slack, rather like a slave girl's hobble chains.

"She might even bring a good price in a market," said Marcus.

"I am sure of it," I said.

"Sleen!" said a free woman, bundled in the robes of concealment, heavily veiled, hurrying by. Doubtless she had witnessed, from a distance, the fate of her compatriot.

"The woman of Ar should be slaves," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said. I could think of one in particular.

"It would much improve them," he said.

"Yes," I said. Slavery, of course, much improves any woman. this is because of the psychological dimorphism of the human species, that the female's fulfillment lies in her subjection to, and subjugation by, a strong male.

"But do not confuse the men of Ar with the women of Ar," I said.

"I do not feel sorry for them," he said.

"I do," I said. "They have been confused, misled and robbed."

"And not only of their goods," said Marcus.

"No," I said, "but of their pride, as well."

"And their manhood," said Marcus, bitterly.

"I do not know," I said. "I do not know."

"Their women belong at the feet of men," said Marcus.

"So, too, do all women," I said.

"True," said Marcus.

Women taken in a given city, incidentally, are usually sold out of the city, to wear their collars elsewhere. In this fashion the transition from their former to their subsequent condition is made particularly clear to them. They must begin anew, as a new form of being, that of a lovely animal, the female slave. Also, given the xenophobia common on Gor, often obtaining among cities, the distrust of a stranger, the contempt for the outsider, and such, there is a special ease in a master's relating to a foreign slave, one with whom he has never shared a Home Stone. Similarly, of course, there is a special urgency and terror on the part of the slave, in finding that she now belongs helplessly to one of a different polity. She understands that it may be difficult to please such a master, one likely to be harsh and demanding, who may despise her, who may think nothing of subjecting her to cruel punishments, and that she must accordingly, if she would even live, strive desperately to be pleasing to him. They can thus, the girl's antecedents, like her name and clothing, stripped away, and his unknown to her, begin as pure master and slave. What, if anything, will then, from this basic fiat of their relationship, develop between them? Will she, in and of herself, alone, aside from the trivia of her now-irrelevant history, become his special, unique slave? Will he, on his part, in and of himself, alone, aside from his antecedents, his station, caste, and such, become to her a very special, very individual master, perhaps even her master of masters?

We then continued on.

"You are still troubled," said Marcus.

"It is like seeing a larl tricked into destroying himself," I said, "as though he were told that the only good larl is a sick, apologetic, self-suspecting, guilt-ridden larl. It is like vulos legislating for tarns, the end of which legislation is the death of the tarn, or is transformation into something new, something reduced, pathological and sick, celebrated then as the true tarn."

"I do not even understand what you are saying," said Marcus.

"That is because you are Gorean," I said.

"Perhaps," he shrugged.

"But you see such things occurring in Ar," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"The larl makes a poor verr," I said. "The tarn makes a pathetic vulo. Cannot you imagine it hunching down, and pretending to be little and weak? Is the image not revolting? Why it is not soaring among the cliffs, uttering its challenge scream to the skies?"

Marcus looked at me, puzzled.

"The beast who was born to live on flesh is not to be nourished on the nibblings of urts," I said.

"It is hard to understand you," he said.

"It is long since I have heard the roar of the larl, the cry of the tarn," I said.

"In Ar," he said, "there are no larls, there are no tarns."

"I do not know if that is true or not," I said.

"There are only women there," he said, "and men pretending to be like women."

"Each should be true to himself," I said.

"Perhaps neither should be true to himself, or to the other," said Marcus. "Perhaps each should try to be true to those who can be true to neither."

"Perhaps," said Marcus.

I drove my fist into the palm of my hand.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"Ar must be roused!" I said.

"It cannot be done," he said.

"Ar lacks leadership, will, a resistance!" I said.

"Lead Ar," suggested Marcus.

"I cannot do that," I said. "I am not even of Ar."

Marcus shrugged.

"There must be another!" I said.

"Marlenus is dead," he said.

"There must be another!" I wept.

"There is no other," said Marcus.

"There must be a way," I said.

"There is no way," said Marcus.

"There must be!" I said.

"Do not concern yourself," said Marcus. "Ar is dead. She died in the delta."

"In the delta?" I said.

"In the delta," said Marcus. "Indeed, we were there."

"That is possibly it," I whispered. "The delta!"

Marcus looked at me, a little wildly. Perhaps he suspected that I had gone mad. Indeed, perhaps I had.

"That may be the key," I said. "The delta!"

"I do not understand," he said.

"Are you with me?" I asked.

"Has this anything to do with the recovery of the Home Stone of Ar's Station?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," I said. "Yes, indeed!"

"Then I am surely with you," he said.

"Is your sword still thirsty?" I asked.

"Parched," he said, smiling.

"Good," I said.