Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

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 (pg. 174) 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.

  (pg. 175) “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.

  11 The Delka

  “Stop babbling, man!” ordered the guardsman, an officer in the scarlet of Ar,

  though his accent proclaimed him Cosian.

  “It was so quick!” wept the merchant. “My shop, my wares, ruined!”

  “Aii,” said another of the guardsmen with the officer. There were four such men

  with him. They were, I think, of Ar. They were looking about the shop, one of

  ceramics. There were many shards about. Shelves had been pulled down. Among the

  shards and wreckage, by count, there were seven bodies, all Cosian merchants.

  “Who are you?” asked the officer, looking up.

  “Auxiliaries, Captain,” said I, “in the vicinity.”

  “See what carnage has been wrought here,” said the officer, angrily.

  “Looters?” I asked.

  “Explain now,” said the captain to the merchant, “what occurred. Control

  yourself. Be calm.”

  “I am sick!” wept the merchant.

  “I am not of the physicians,” said the officer. “I must have an account of this.

  There must be a report made.”

  “It was at the ninth Ahn,” said the merchant, sitting on a stool.

  “Yes?” said the officer.

  “These fellows entered the shop,” he said. “They claimed to be tax collectors.”

  “These fellows presented their credentials?” asked the captain.

  “They are not tax collectors” said one of the guardsmen. “They are fellows come

  in from the camp, on passes. They are well known on the avenue. They pose as tax

  collectors, and then, in that guise, take what they wish.”

  “What did they want?” asked the captain of the merchant.

  “Money,” he said.

  “You gave it to them?” asked the officer.

  (pg. 176) “I gave them what I had,” he said, “but it was little enough. The

  collectors had come only five days earlier. They leave us destitute!”

  “You murdered these men?” inquired the captain, skeptically.

  “I did nothing,” said the merchant. “They grew angry at not receiving more

  money. To be sure, had I any, I would have given it to them readily. Glory to

  Cos!”

  “Glory to Cos,” growled the officer. “Continue.”

  “Angry at the pittance they obtained they began to wreck the shop.”

  “Yes?” inquired the officer.

  “My shop! My beautiful wares!” he moaned.

  “Continue!” said the officer.

  “It was then that two fellows entered the
shop, in silence, like darkness and

  wind, behind them,” he said.

  “And?” inquired the officer.

  “And this was done!” said the merchant, gesturing to the floor.

  “There were only two who entered behind them?” asked the officer.

  “Yes,” said the merchant.

  “I do not believe you,” said the officer. “These fallen fellows are swordsmen,

  known in the camp.”

  “I swear it!” said the merchant.

  “There appears to be only one mark on the body of each of these fellows,” said

  one of the guardsmen, who had been examining the bodies.

  “Warriors,” said another of the guardsmen.

  “I do not even know if they realized what was among them,” said the merchant.

  “It seems to have been professionally done,” said the captain.

  “Yes, Captain,” said one of the men.

  “Whose work could it be?” asked the captain.

  “Surely there is little doubt about the matter,” said another of the guardsmen.

  The captain regarded the guardsmen.

  “See, Captain?” asked the guardsmen. He rolled one of the bodies to its back. On

  the chest was a bloody triangle, the “delka.” That is the fourth letter in the

  Gorean alphabet, and formed identically to the fourth letter of the Greek

  alphabet, the ‘delta’, to which letter it doubtless owes its origin. In Gorean,

  the delta of a river is referred to as its, “delka.” The reasoning here is the

  same as in Greek, and, derivatively, in English, namely the resemblance of a

  delta region to a cartographical triangle.

  (pg. 177) “It was the same five days ago,” said one of the men, “with the five

  brigands found slain in the Trevelyan district, and the two mercenaries cut down

  on Wagon Street, at the second Ahn, only the bloody delka left behind, scrawled

  on the wall.”

  “In the blood of the brigands, and of the mercenaries,” said one of the men.

  “Ar takes vengeance,” said one of the guardsmen.

  “Sooner could a verr snarl!” snapped the officer.

  “We are not all urts,” said one of the men.

  “Your swords are pledged to Ar,” said the officer, “Ar under the hegemony of

  Cos!”

  “Is that other than to Cos herself?” asked a man.

  “We obey our Ubara,” said another.

  “And whom does she obey?” asked the fellow.

  “Silence,” said the officer.

  “Glory to Cos,” I said.

  “Let an auxiliary teach you your manners, your duties to the alliance,” said the

  officer.

  The guardsman shrugged.

  “Good fellow,” said the officer.

  “Thank you, Captain,” I said.

  The officer turned to the tradesman. “Those assailants who slew these poor lads

  and wrecked your shop, surely several of them, not two, could you recognize

  them?”

  “There were but two, as I said,” said the tradesman, “and it was not they but

  those who now lie about, drenched in their own blood, who disturbed my wares.”

  “I see,” said the officer, angrily.

  “I would follow Marlenus,” said a guardsman.

  “Follow his daughter,” said the officer.

  “One whom he himself repudiated?” asked the man.

  “False,” said the officer.

  “She was disowned,” said the man.

  “False!” said the officer.

  “As you say, Captain,” said one of the guardsmen.

  “In following his daughter, you follow him,” said the officer.

  “Never would his footsteps have led to Cos unless there were an army at his

  back,” said another.

  “Hail Talena, Ubara of Ar,” I said.

  “Well said,” said the Captain.

  “Glory to Ar,” said on the men.

  This sentiment was echoed by those present with the exception, I think, of the

  captain, myself and, if I am not mistaken, Marcus.

  “Search the shop,” said the officer.

  (pg. 178) Three guardsmen then went into the back of the shop, and one climbed

  the ladder to the second floor.

  “Two many things of this sort have occurred,” said the captain to me, looking

  about himself.

  “Captain?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “More than the men know of.”

  There was at that moment a girl’s scream, coming from the back room.

  The shopkeeper cried out in misery.

  “Captain!” called a man.

  The captain then strode to the rear room. The shopkeeper, Marcus and myself

  followed him.

  In the back there were many ceramic articles about, vessels of numerous sorts,

  on tiers, and stacks of shallow bowls. The ruffians who had assaulted the shop

  had not reached the rear room. Further it seemed likely the merchant was not as

  poorly off as might have been supposed.

  “See, Captain?” said one of the men, lifting up the lid of a narrow, oblong

  chest. Within it, huddled there, looking up, over her right shoulder, terrified,

  there crouched a girl. Her veil had become somewhat disarranged, and in such a

  way that one could see her lips and mouth.

  “Cover yourself, immodest girl!” scolded the shopkeeper. She pulled the veil

  more closely about her features. “She is my daughter,” said the shopkeeper. She

  was probably not more than sixteen or seventeen years old.

  “Do you always keep her in a chest?” asked the captain, angrily. Keeping female

  slaves in small confines, of course, in properly ventilated chests, in slave

  boxes, and such, is not that unusual, but this girl, as far as we knew, was

  free. Apparently the chest had not been locked, and, too, of course, she was

  clothed, rather than naked, as slaves are usually kept in such places. To be

  sure, they are sometimes granted a sheet or blanket for comfort or warmth.

  “Of course not,” said the shopkeeper, frightened. “But when the ruffians came to

  the shop she was in the back and I told her to hide in the chest.”

  “Ruffians?” asked the officer.

  “Yes, Captain,” said the man.

  “And yet you did not have her emerge from the chest when the danger was past,”

  observed the officer.

  “It slipped my mind,” said the shopkeeper.

  “Of course,” said the captain, ironically.

  The shopkeeper was silent.

  (pg. 179) “You feared us, your defenders, your neighbors and allies,” said the

  captain.

  “Forgive me, Captain,” said the shopkeeper, “but there are the levies, and

  such.”

  “And have you concealed your daughter from the authorities, in such matters?”

  asked the captain.

  “Of course not, Captain,” he said. “I am a law-abiding man. She is on the

  registries.”

  “There is nothing upstairs,” said the man who had come down the ladder from the
>
  second floor.

  The girl made no attempt to leave the chest. I did not know if this was because

  she was mature enough, and female enough, to understand that she had not yet

  been given permission to do so, or if there were a deeper reason.

  “Turus, Banius,” said the captain, addressing two of the men, “clear the front

  of the shop, remove the bodies, put them on the street.”

  “May I submit, Captain,” I said, “that it might be preferable to leave the

  bodies in the shop until they can be properly disposed of. If they are displayed

  on the street, the power of those of the delta might be too manifestly

  displayed.”

  “Excellent,” said the officer. “Desist,” he said to the men.

  “I am considering my report,” said the officer to the merchant. “It seems that

  some good fellows of Cos, esteemed mercenaries, in the service of her Ubar, with

  all good will and innocence, entered this shop, to purchase wares for loved

  ones, and were treacherously set upon by assailants, some twenty in number.”

  “They came pretending to be collectors,” said the merchant, “to rob me under

  this pretense, and dissatisfied with my inability to fill their purses, set out

  to destroy the shop and goods, and then two fellows whom I did not know, their

  features concealed in wind scarves, entered and did what you see in the front of

  the shop.”

  “I like my version better,” said the captain.

  “As you will,” said the merchant.

  “I do not care for what occurred here,” said the captain, “and I find you

  uncooperative.”

  “I will cooperate in any way I can,” said the merchant.

  The captain then went to the sides of the back room and suddenly, angrily,

  kicked and struck goods about, shattering countless articles.

  “Stop!” cried the merchant.

  The captain swept kraters from a shelf.

  In futility did the merchant wring his hands.

  “I suspect,” said the captain, overturning a stack of bowls, (pg. 180) treading

  upon several of them, “you are in league with the brigands, that your shop

  served as a trap!”

  “No!” cried the shopkeeper, anguished. “Would I have myself ruined. Stop! I beg

  you, stop!”

  “Impalement would be too good for you, traitor of Ar!” said the officer.