However, Lysar misses the point of this precept. While the second precept speaks to action, this seventh precept speaks to inaction, a subtle but important difference. The second precept assumes that one has already decided to strike, and it emphasizes that doing so quickly is the best path to honorable victory. This precept, on the other hand, concerns the warrior who does not strike at all, whose thoughts have not yet achieved their focus. The seventh teaches why action should be taken in the first place.
A good example of the injunction against inaction is that of the House of Koghima, a minor family. One day, Koghima was at the tavern at B’Alda’ar Base, traveling with his ghIntaq, Kazho. Koghima was drinking heavily, and got into an argument with another Klingon. The argument grew heated, as arguments in taverns tend to—nothing extends a fighter’s reach like a drained mug—and finally Koghima grew frustrated and walked away. The other Klingon, however, was still angry. He unsheathed his d’k tahg and plunged it into Koghima’s back.
In that moment, Kazho could have acted. The killer was without honor, for who attacks in shadow believes the cause unjust. Whose cause is unjust forfeits all claim to honor. He stared at the warrior who had so dishonorably killed the man to whom he’d pledged his life. But Kazho did not take action, which allowed the killer to run away. Kazho leapt to Koghima’s side, performing the death scream for him.
And then, rather than pursue the killer, he travelled back to the homeworld in order to inform Koghima’s mate, Gosek, what had happened. Gosek was furious. Koghima and she had not yet had children, and there was no heir to the House. Gosek’s heart cried out for vengeance, and she told Kazho that they needed to find the filthy petaQ who took her mate’s life in so cowardly a manner.
Kazho thought this action to be foolish, but he was not thinking clearly. He was in love with Gosek, and saw this as an opportunity at last to take what he wanted and become Gosek’s mate. But she refused, because Koghima—the head of the House, to whom both she and Kazho were sworn—had not been avenged. Gosek could do nothing until her husband’s killer was found.
For many turns, they traveled the Empire in search of Koghima’s killer. It was a fool’s errand, of course—the Empire is quite large, and Kazho had only a vague, bloodwine-soaked recollection of what the coward looked like. But Gosek’s honor demanded that she fulfill her right of vengeance against her mate’s killer. There was no greater cause for her, and she would continue to pursue it until the resources of House Koghima were drained, or until she died.
Bound both by his oath to the House and by his love for Gosek—not to mention his knowledge, however hazy, of the killer’s face—Kazho searched alongside Gosek. But they never found the coward. Had Kazho done his duty as ghIntaq, had he struck when the opportunity presented itself, Gosek’s honor would have been fulfilled and Kazho might well have succeeded in becoming her mate. Instead, he was condemned to an endless quest with a woman he loved but who hated him. He did not become the head of a House, nor did he have Gosek’s devotion.
Sometimes inaction seems necessary, but a warrior must look deeper. Most agree that the finest bloodwine comes from vintners who toil on the worlds in the Pheben system. But when the planet Zakorg was conquered by the Empire, several farmable tracts of land were discovered there. However, the noblest Houses had first rights to acquire that land. It would be many turns before all of them would have their opportunities to inspect the land and make their decisions.
There were other tracts that were not immediately arable, and so were being sold far more cheaply and to anyone who wished to buy, regardless of class. A former enlisted soldier in the Defense Force and a warrior with no House, Pelgren took the wages he earned as a warrior and purchased the cheaper land on Zakorg.
Experienced vintners laughed at him and mocked him. Even the arable land on Zakorg would take decades to produce good bloodwine. But Pelgren grabbed the opportunity that presented itself, and he worked the land hard, refusing to wait for a chance to purchase finer land and researching how to alter the soil to make it more suitable. The work was backbreaking, but no victory was ever won without toil.
His land became ready to produce wine as quickly as those of the others who had bought seemingly better land on Zakorg at the same time. Today, Pelgren produces some of the finest bloodwine in the Empire. Pelgren enriched the land with his blood and sweat. The result has benefitted the entire Empire—at least those who appreciate good bloodwine. The others not of noble birth were willing to wait until tomorrow, while Pelgren acted today. The Empire is a better place for his insistence on taking action.
The story of Kahless and Lukara at Qam-Chee is one of our greatest, though documents found by an archeological survey conducted by the Federation on Krios revealed something that many scholars had long believed: Kahless and Lukara did not fight off Molor’s forces by themselves. So wise is Kahless that all stories about him are instructive, even those that are embellished or altered in the retelling. The historical truth, however, illustrates this precept every bit as well as the philosophical truth of the legend.
The city garrison was led by a warrior named Keeba, who saw Molor’s forces coming over the Ni’Dan ridge and thought it would be wise to retreat and regroup at the Valley of the Wild. The story as it was told over the centuries was that Keeba’s forces retreated, yes, but the warrior’s intent was to let Molor’s forces take Qam-Chee and then, under cover of darkness, cross the river again and attack in surprise.
Kahless thought this a poor strategy. He and Lukara argued with Keeba that they needed to face Molor directly, to show themselves as befitted the stature of their opponent. Besides, they maintained, to let Molor take Qam-Chee granted him a victory without a fight. It gave Molor’s forces a city to entrench in, which would make the second part of Keeba’s plan all the harder to execute. A complicated strategy is like running uphill. Kahless believed the only way to stop Molor’s armies was to keep them from crossing the Ni’Dan ridge. Keeba disagreed and ordered his warriors to regroup at the Valley of the Wild, but not all his warriors followed the order. They believed in Kahless and so they stayed to fight by his side—as did Lukara.
But in the end, very few of those warriors survived. Victory belonged to Kahless, but it came at the cost of dozens of lives. Kahless and Lukara both survived, of course, and they owed it all to those members of Keeba’s garrison who saw the wisdom in this precept.
It must be marked that the warriors who aided Kahless and Lukara followed their instincts—a worthy impetus—but at the expense of their oaths as soldiers. In so doing, they incurred dishonor. For while a soldier’s first allegiance is to honor, and the second to Empire, the third is to commander. It is not a warrior’s portion to choose which orders to obey, which tactics to support. Of course, Keeba’s order was also tainted. To abandon the city, to attack it in darkness, to practice the subtle art of camouflage, as his scheme entailed—these are not the tactics of a warrior overly concerned with honor. Were the soldiers right to disobey? Would their allegiance to Keeba have been dishonorable?
It is difficult to say. But however they arrived at the field of battle, they fought and died alongside the greatest warrior who ever lived. Whether their actions were foolish, their lives were more than honorable at their ending, and they no doubt rode the River of Blood to Sto-Vo-Kor.
Keeba also realized his mistake, and he committed Mauk-to’Vor. The records found on Krios were those of his descendants. The documents included a scroll containing Keeba’s own final words, written on the day he took his own life with the aid of his lieutenant. What he wrote is worth reprinting here, for it shows insight into not only the way Kahless’s contemporaries viewed him, but also this precept.
“My interest in Kahless was always less in who he was than in who was his enemy. I cared little for his philosophy or for his cause. All I knew was I had spent most of my adult life fighting against Molor, and Kahless was a fellow rebel against the tyrant, one who had more success than anyone else in striking worth
while blows against Molor.
“But I never paid much attention to Kahless himself. My alliance with him was one of convenience. The enemy of my enemy is my comrade, and so I allowed him to meet with emissaries of other warlords he hoped would join us in our battle against Molor.
“When Molor’s forces were sighted coming toward the Ni’Dan ridge, I believed that we had a poorer chance of defeating him through normal means. I suggested retreating, regrouping, and surprising Molor once he took the city and became complacent. I wished to put off the conflict until I could find an opportunity to attack that would have a better chance of victory.
“So arrogant was I in believing my strategy to be sound that I refused to heed Kahless when he suggested meeting Molor’s forces at the ridge. Who was this rebel to tell me what to do?
“I heard his words, but I did not listen. My own troops, though, had listened, not just to Kahless’s strategy for facing Molor, but to his words regarding honor and the other principles he championed. I had allied myself with Kahless, it is true, but many of my troops believed in him. I did not. At least not yet.
“Later, after I made my foolish retreat, Kahless stayed behind to fight off Molor’s forces, alongside Blaq the Indestructible’s emissary and many of my own troops who disobeyed me.
“And they were right to! Kahless won, and all across the land, people are talking of his great victory at Qam-Chee. I took the cautious route and was denied a part in that victory. I have shamed myself, and I have shamed a great man whose greatness I was too arrogant and closed-minded to appreciate.”
Keeba realized too late the truth of this precept: inaction breeds complacency, and complacency breeds dishonorable defeat. It is only through action that one can hope to stake a claim to an honorable victory.
* * *
1. The Qingheb is an ancient weapon similar to a ghIntaq spear, but with a longer haft, a much larger and wider blade atop it, and a downward-curved horn protruding from the bottom of the blade. The Qingheb is rarely used anymore.
EIGHTH PRECEPT
CHOOSE DEATH OVER CHAINS.
“A prisoner can only be a victim or a traitor—never a hero.”
—KAHLESS
Victory is triumph, and death is honorable. But the warrior who is captured is denied these prizes and achieves neither glory nor honor. Capture brings only deathless defeat.
DICTUM: THE BROKEN CAGE
WARRIORS MUST HATE ABOVE ALL THE CAGES THAT CONSTRAIN THEM. IMPRISONED, A WARRIOR FINDS EVERYTHING PRECIOUS TAKEN FROM HIM, HIS WILL THWARTED. AND WITHOUT THE POWER TO DO ONE’S WILL, ONE CANNOT BE FREE. CAPTIVITY IS A SHAMEFUL STATE THAT MUST BE RESISTED, FOR IMPRISONMENT IS A TWILIGHT EXISTENCE WHEREIN ALL NEEDS GO UNMET, ALL DESIRES UNFULFILLED. THE CAPTIVE LIVES AT ANOTHER’S PLEASURE AND NEVER HIS OWN. A PRISONER DOES NOT HOLD THE DEED TO HIS OWN LIFE. THOUGH SOME CAGES ARE CONSTRUCTED BY CIRCUMSTANCE AND NOT BY MASONS AND SMITHS, AND THOUGH THEY EXIST ONLY WITHIN THE MIND, THESE TOO MUST BE BROKEN. ANYTHING THAT WOULD CONFINE YOUR WILL MUST NOT REMAIN.
THE WARRIOR’S CALLING
A warrior, by definition, is someone who makes war. It is not possible to engage in battle when one is restrained.
When warriors battle, they bring honor to themselves, to their families, to their commanders, to their Empire. In victory, they achieve glory. In death, they achieve greatness.
A warrior who fights and wins stands over a defeated foe as proof that glory has been achieved, that virtue has been upheld, that warfare is still the highest art. That honor still matters.
A warrior who fights and loses can take solace in an honorable death and expect to sail across the River of Blood to Sto-Vo-Kor.
But a warrior who neither wins nor loses, who fails even to fight? What of this warrior, who earns no honor and acquires no legacy? That warrior’s name is banished to the vast halls of the obscure, the unremembered ranks of the failed, the crew of dishonored sailors on the Barge of the Dead.
Victory is triumph, and death is honorable. But the warrior who is captured is denied these prizes and achieves neither glory nor honor. Capture brings only deathless defeat. Your end comes not in glorious combat, but in ignominy.
GENDHET AND THE CAPTIVES
Following Kahless’s defeat of Molor, many soldiers loyal to the tyrant fled. Molor’s military leader, Warlord Gendhet, gathered those soldiers to fight against Kahless in Molor’s name.
Kahless sent General Tygrak, fresh from his victory at Goqlath Mountain, to battle Gendhet. Tygrak believed Gendhet to have only a few hundred warriors at his command. But Molor had not become a tyrant by accident. Many swore loyalty to him, and they did not change their allegiance after Kahless slew their leader.
Tygrak was overwhelmed by superior numbers. Worse, he saw that Gendhet’s soldiers had obviously been instructed to maim but not kill—and to take prisoners.
When Tygrak saw this, he was incensed. Bad enough that he was badly overmatched. That was merely a circumstance of warfare. Advantages come and go. Tactics succeed and fail.
But Tygrak would not allow his people to be made Gendhet’s prisoners. The warlord had a well-deserved reputation as an interrogator. Tygrak feared that his warriors would become living corpses, soldiers prevented from performing the simplest of duties, objects of no honor. In addition, if they succumbed to Gendhet’s techniques, as some surely would, they might reveal valuable intelligence about Kahless’s forces and strategies.
Rather than face that possibility, Tygrak commanded his warriors to fight to the death no matter what. The soldiers who were injured continued to fight even as their blood poured onto the battlefield.
Gendhet ordered Tygrak taken alive at all costs. He sent Kela, his finest warrior, after Tygrak. Kela slashed Tygrak’s sword arm, destroying his shoulder. Even as Tygrak stumbled on the ground, even as his blood spilled out, he continued to fight. To surrender would lead to his capture, and his capture would lead to dishonor. That he could not allow.
He fought on with his other arm, until Kela severed that arm at the elbow. Undeterred, Tygrak fought still, kicking his opponent, even using his very bulk as a bludgeon.
Only dead warriors have no weapons. He lived and so he fought, unwilling to have his enemy dictate the terms of his fighting.
Kela was forced to kill Tygrak. It was the only way to stop him. Tygrak’s warriors fought likewise, and Gendhet gained no prisoners that day.
Gendhet thought Kahless’s forces weak, based on how few were sent against him. He therefore sent all his soldiers against Kahless. They were routed at T’Ong Pass. Had Tygrak or any of his warriors been captured, they might well have revealed the true strength of Kahless’s forces, whether in the throes of torture or unwittingly in their exhaustion. By choosing honorable death over dishonorable capture, Tygrak lost a battle but aided in winning the war.
No one ever won a victory from a dungeon.
Not all prisons are physical. Circumstances can create intangible prisons every bit as stout as those made of stone and metal. Intangible prisons we must escape from or die.
LUKARA AND QUMWI
When the Lady Lukara battled alongside Kahless against Molor’s forces at Qam-Chee, she was mated to QumwI. Both were of noble families in the service of Blaq the Indestructible, and their union helped strengthen Blaq’s court. Lukara had no love for QumwI. She accepted the role of emissary to Kahless as much to get away from her mate as anything.
Her love for Kahless was timeless. Her mating with QumwI was a prison of its own kind.
When she returned to Blaq after Qam-Chee, word of her and Kahless’s mighty battle had already reached the Indestructible One. Upon seeing Blaq, Lukara explained to him that she would not be a prisoner of her mating with QumwI. Blaq would grant her a divorce and allow her to be with Kahless or he would grant her Mauk-to’Vor.
Blaq saw what they accomplished together. He saw the love that Kahless had for Lukara and she for him. And so he spoke to QumwI, who did not hesitate. “These are two who fought off hundreds
of Molor’s troops. Their victory speaks of the truth of their hearts. I am not so much a fool that I will stand in their way.” In recognizing Lukara’s and Kahless’s honor, QumwI showed his own that day.
Allowing yourself to be captured dishonors everything around you. A warrior must be free or die. To be shackled makes you not a warrior, but simply a fool who chooses mere existence over full, honorable life.
No warrior defeats death. Far better to face it in a manner that brings glory and honor than to shun its domain, earning only shame and regret.
K’RATAK’S COMMENTARY
Klingons must not allow themselves to be taken prisoner. It’s difficult to imagine now, but when qeS’a’ was written, that philosophy hadn’t yet become ingrained into our society. Now, of course, it is a cornerstone, at least in part due to the story of Tygrak’s battle against Gendhet. Tygrak’s refusal to be taken prisoner led to Gendhet’s defeat, and it was that victory of Kahless’s that cemented his position as the leader of the Klingon people. Gendhet was the last of Molor’s allies to fall, and it was his defeat that truly marked the end of the tyrant and the beginning of Kahless’s leadership of the Klingon people.
I remember a speaking engagement I had in the Federation a few years ago. A young Trill mentioned that both Klingons and Romulans refuse to be taken prisoner and asked what the difference was. It was a question of genuine curiosity, not the base insinuation that Klingons and Romulans are alike. Because this woman was not uttering that timeworn slur, I answered her with this anecdote:
The Klingon Art of War Page 9
