by John Norman
"You are familiar, are you not," asked Kog, "with one known as Zarendargar?"
"Who is Zarendargar?" asked Samos.
"Let us not waste one another's time," said Kog.
Samos turned white.
I was pleased that, outside, on the platform of this anterior building of the tarn complex, there were several guards. They were armed with crossbows. The iron bolts of these devices, weighing about a pound apiece, were capable of sinking some four inches into solid wood at a range of some twenty yards. To be sure, by the time the guards might be summoned Samos and I might be half eaten.
Kog looked closely at Samos.
"Zarendargar," said Samos, "is a well-known commander of the steel worlds, a war general. He perished in the destruction of a supply complex in the arctic."
"Zarendargar is alive," said Kog.
I was startled by this pronouncement. This seemed to me impossible. The destruction of the complex had been complete. I had witnessed this from pasangs across the ice in the arctic night. The complex would have been transformed into a radioactive inferno. Even the icy seas about it, in moments, had churned and boiled.
"Zarendargar cannot be alive," I said. It was the first time I had spoken to the beasts. Perhaps I should not have spoken, but I had been in the vicinity of the event in question. I had seen the explosion. I had, even from afar, been half blinded by the light, and, moments later, half staggered by the sound, the blast and heat. The shape, height and awesomeness of that towering, expanding cloud was not something I would ever forget. "Nothing could have lived in that blast," I said, "nor in the seas about it."
Kog looked at me.
"I was there," I said.
"We know," said Kog.
"Zarendargar is dead," I said.
Kog then unrolled the hide on the table. He arranged it so that Samos and I could easily see it. The hair rose up on the back of my neck.
"Are you familiar with this sort of thing?" asked Kog of Samos.
"No," said Samos.
"I have seen things like it," I said, "but only far away, on another world. I have seen things like it in places called museums. Such things are no longer done."
"Does the skin seem to you old," asked Kog, "faded, brittle, cracked, worn, thin, fragile?"
"No," I said.
"Consider the colors," said Kog. "Do they seem old to you? Do they seem faded to you?"
"No," I said. "They are bright, and fresh."
"Analysis, in virtue of desiccation index and molecular disarrangement, suggests that this material, and its applied pigments, are less than two years old. This hypothesis is corroborated by correlation data, in which this skin was compared to samples whose dating is known and independent historical evidence, the nature of which should be readily apparent."
"Yes," I said. I knew that such beasts, on the steel worlds, possessed an advanced technology. I had little doubt but what their physical and chemical techniques were quite adequate to supply the dating in question to the skin and its paints. Too, of course, the nature of their historical evidence would be quite clear. To be sure, it would be historical data at their disposal, and not mine. I had no way of knowing the pertinent facts. That such beasts, on this world, carried primitive weapons was a tribute to their fear of Priest-Kings. Carrying such weapons they might be mistaken for beasts of their race who now, for all practical purposes, were native to Gor, beasts descended from individuals perhaps long ago marooned or stranded on the planet. Priest-Kings, on the whole, tend to ignore such beasts. They are permitted to live as they will, where they may, on Gor, following even their ancient laws and customs, providing these do not violate the Weapons Laws and Technology Restrictions. To be sure, such beasts usually, once separated from the discipline of the ships, in a generation or two, lapsed into barbarism. On the whole they tended to occupy portions of Gor not inhabited by human beings. The Priest-Kings care for their world, but their primary interest is in its subsurface, not its surface. For most practical purposes life goes on on Gor much as though they did not exist. To be sure, they are concerned to maintain the natural ecosystems of the planet. They are wise, but even they hesitate to tamper with precise and subtle systems which have taken over four billion years to develop. Who knows what course a dislodged molecule may take in a thousand years?
I looked at Kog and Sardak. Such creatures, perhaps thousands of years ago, had, it seemed, destroyed their own world. They now wanted another. The Priest-Kings, lofty and golden, remote, inoffensive and tolerant, were all, for most practical purposes, that stood between the Kogs and Sardaks, and the Earth and Gor.
"This is," said Kog, to Samos, "a story skin."
"I understand," said Samos.
"It is an artifact of the red savages," said Kog, "from one of the tribes in the Barrens."
"Yes," said Samos.
The Red Savages, as they are commonly called on Gor, are racially and culturally distinct from the Red Hunters of the north. They tend to be a more slender, longer-limbed people; their daughters menstruate earlier; and their babies are not born with a blue spot at the base of the spine, as is the case with most of the red hunters. Their culture tends to be nomadic, and is based on the herbivorous, lofty kaiila, substantially the same animal as is found in the Tahari, save for the wider footpads of the Tahari beast, suitable for negotiating deep sand, and the lumbering, gregarious, short-tempered, trident-horned kailiauk. To be sure, some tribes do not have the kaiila, never having mastered it, and certain tribes have mastered the tarn, which tribes are the most dangerous of all.
Although there are numerous physical and cultural differences among these people they are usually collectively referred to as the red savages. This is presumably a function of so little being known about them, as a whole, and the cunning, ruthlessness and ferocity of so many of the tribes. They seem to live for hunting and internecine warfare, which seems to serve almost as a sport and a religion for them. Interestingly enough most of these tribes seem to be united only by a hatred of whites, which hatred, invariably, in a time of emergency or crisis, takes precedence over all customary conflicts and rivalries. To attack whites, intruding into their lands, once the war lance has been lifted, even long-term blood enemies will ride side by side. The gathering of tribes, friends and foes alike, for such a battle is said to be a splendid sight. These things are in virtue of what, among these peoples, is called the Memory.
"The story begins here," said Kog, indicating the center of the skin. From this point there was initiated, in a slow spiral, to be followed by turning the skin, a series of drawings and pictographs. As the skin is turned each marking on it is at the center of attention, first, of course, of the artist, and, later, as he follows the trail, of the viewer. The story, then, unanticipated, each event as real as any other, unfolds as it was lived.
"In many respects," said Kog, "this story is not untypical. These signs indicate a tribal camp. Because of the small number of lodges, this is a winter camp. We can also tell this from these dots, which represent snow."
I looked at the drawings. They were exactly, and colorfully done. They were, on the whole, small, and precise and delicate, like miniatures. The man who had applied the pigments to that hide canvas had been both patient and skillful. Too, he had been very careful. This care is often a feature of such works. To speak the truth is very important to the red savages.
"This jagged line," said Kog, "indicates that there is hunger in the camp, the sawing feeling in the stomach. This man, whom we take to be the artist, and whom we shall call Two Feathers, because of the two feathers drawn near him, puts on snowshoes and leaves the camp. He takes with him a bow and arrows."
I watched Kog slowly turn the skin. The drawings are first traced on the skin with a sharp stick. Many of them are then outlined in black. The interior areas, thusly blocked out, may then be colored in. The primary pigments used were yellows, reds, browns and blacks. These are primarily obtained from powdered earths, clays and boiled roots. Blues can be obtained
from blue mud, gant droppings and boiled rotten wood. Greens can be obtained from a variety of sources, including earths, boiled rotten wood, copper ores and pond algae. The pigments, commonly mixed with hot water or glue, are usually applied by a chewed stick or a small brush, or pen, of porous bone, usually cut from the edge of the kailiauk's shoulder blade or the end of its hip bone. Both of these bones contain honeycombed structures useful in the smooth application of paint.
"This man travels for two days," said Kog, pointing to two yellow suns in the sky of the hide. "On the third day he finds the track of a kailiauk. He follows this. He drinks melted snow, held in his mouth until it is warm. He eats dried meat. On the third day he builds no fire. We may gather from this he is now in the country of enemies. Toward the evening of the fourth day he sees more tracks. There are other hunters, mounted on kaiila, who, too, are following the kailiauk. It is difficult to determine their number, for they ride single file, that the prints of one beast may obscure and obliterate those of another. His heart is now heavy. Should he turn back? He does not know what to do. He must dream on the matter."
"Surely," said Samos, "it could be only a coincidence."
"I do not think so," said Kog.
"This hide," said Samos, "could be nothing but the product of the crazed imagination of an ignorant savage. It might, too, be nothing more than the account of a strange dream."
"The organization and clarity of the account suggests rationality," said Kog.
"It is only the story of a dream," said Samos.
"Perhaps," said Kog.
"Such people do not distinguish clearly between dreams and reality," said Samos.
"They distinguish clearly between them," said Kog. "It is only that they regard both as real."
"Please, continue," I said.
"Here, in the dream," said Kog, indicating a series of pictographs which followed a small spiral line, "we see that the kailiauk invites the man to a feast. This is presumably a favorable sign. At the feast, however, in the lodge of the kailiauk, there is a dark guest. His lineaments are obscure, as you can see. The man is afraid. He senses great power in this dark guest. The kailiauk, however, tells the man not to be afraid. The man takes meat from the hands of the dark guest. It will be his ally and protector, the kailiauk tells him. He may take it for his medicine. The man awakens. He is very frightened. He is afraid of this strange medicine. The dream is strong, however, and he knows it cannot be repudiated. Henceforth he knows his medicine helper is the mysterious dark guest."
"From where," asked Samos, "does this man think he obtained this medicine helper?"
"Surely the man will think he obtained it from the medicine world," said Kog.
"It seems an interesting anticipatory dream," I said.
"Surely the dream is ambiguous," said Samos. "See? The lineaments of the dark guest are unclear."
"True," I said. "Yet something of its size, and of its awesomeness, and force, particularly within a lodge, seems evident."
"You will also notice," said Kog, "that it sits behind the fire. That is the place of honor."
"It could all be a coincidence," said Samos.
"That is quite true," I said. "Yet the matter is of interest."
"Other explanations, too, are possible," said Samos. "The man may once have seen such things, or heard of them, and forgotten them."
"That seems to me quite likely," I said.
"But why, in the dream, in this dream," asked Samos, "should the dark guest appear?"
"Possibly," I said, "because of the man's plight, and need. In such a situation a powerful helper might be desired. The dream, accordingly, might have produced one."
"Of course," said Samos.
"Considering the events of the next day," said Kog, "I think certain alternative explanations might be more likely. This is not, of course, to rule out that the man, in his quandary, and desperate straits, might not have welcomed a powerful ally."
"What do you suggest?" I asked.
"That he, earlier, during the day, saw sign of the medicine helper, but only in the dream interpreted it."
"I see," I said.
"Even more plausibly, and interestingly," said Kog, "I suspect that the dark guest, in that moonlit snow, actually appeared to the man. The man, hungry, exhausted, striving for the dream, betwixt sleeping and waking, not being fully aware of what was transpiring, saw it. He then incorporated it into his dream, comprehending it within his own conceptual framework."
"That is an interesting idea," I said.
"But it is surely improbable that the paths of the man and the helper should cross in the vast, trackless wastes of the snowbound Barrens," said Samos.
"Not if both were following the kailiauk," said Kog.
"Why would the helper not have eaten the man?" I asked.
"Perhaps," said Kog, "because it was hunting the kailiauk, not the man. Perhaps because if it killed a man, it was apprehensive that other men would follow it, to kill it in turn."
"I see," I said.
"Also," said Kog, "kailiauk is better than man. I know. I have eaten both."
"I see," I said.
"If the helper had visited the man," said Samos, "would there not have been prints in the snow?"
"Doubtless," said Kog.
"Were there prints?" asked Samos.
"No," said Kog.
"Then it was all a dream," said Samos.
"The absence of prints would be taken by the man as evidence that the helper came from the medicine world," said Kog.
"Naturally," said Samos.
"Accordingly the man would not look for them," said Kog.
"It is your hypothesis, however," conjectured Samos, "that such prints existed."
"Of course," said Kog, "which then, in the vicinity of the camp, were dusted away."
"From the point of view of the man, then," said Samos, "the dark guest would have come and gone with all the silence and mystery of a guest from the medicine world."
"Yes," said Kog.
"Interesting," said Samos.
"What is perfectly clear," said Kog, "is how the man viewed the situation, whether he was correct or not. Similarly clear, and undeniably so, are the events of the next day. These are unmistakably and unambiguously delineated." Kog then, with his dexterous, six-jointed, long digits, rotated the skin a quarter of a turn, continuing the story.
"In the morning," said Kog, "the man, inspired by his dream, resumed his hunt. A snow began to fall." I noted the dots between the flat plane of the earth and the semicircle of the sky. "The tracks, with the snow, and the wind, became obscured. Still the man pressed on, knowing the direction of the kailiauk and following the natural geodesics of the land, such as might be followed by a slow-moving beast, pawing under the snow for roots or grass. He did not fear to lose the trail. Because of his dream he was undaunted. On snowshoes, of course, he could move faster through drifted snow than the kailiauk. Indeed, over long distances, in such snow, he could match the speed of the wading kaiila. Too, as you know, the kailiauk seldom moves at night."
The kailiauk in question, incidentally, is the kailiauk of the Barrens. It is a gigantic, dangerous beast, often standing from twenty to twenty-five hands at the shoulder and weighing as much as four thousand pounds. It is almost never hunted on foot except in deep snow, in which it is almost helpless. From kaiilaback, riding beside the stampeded animal, however, the skilled hunter can kill one with a single arrow. He rides close to the animal, not a yard from its side, just outside the hooking range of the trident, to supplement the striking power of his small bow. At this range the arrow can sink in to the feathers. Ideally it strikes into the intestinal cavity behind the last rib, producing large-scale internal hemorrhaging, or closely behind the left shoulder blade, thence piercing the eight-valved heart.
The hunting arrow, incidentally, has a long, tapering point, and this point is firmly fastened to the shaft. This makes it easier to withdraw the arrow from its target. The war arrow, on the other ha
nd, uses an arrowhead whose base is either angled backwards, forming barbs, or cut straight across, the result in both cases being to make the arrow difficult to extract from a wound. The head of the war arrow, too, is fastened less securely to the shaft than is that of the hunting arrow. The point thus, by intent, if the shaft is pulled out, is likely to linger in the wound. Sometimes it is possible to thrust the arrow through the body, break off the point and then withdraw the shaft backwards. At other times, if the point becomes dislodged in the body, it is common to seek it with a bone or greenwood probe, and then, when one has found it, attempt to work it free with a knife. There are cases where men have survived this. Much depends, of course, on the location of the point.
The heads of certain war arrows and hunting arrows differ, too, at least in the case of certain warriors, in an interesting way, with respect to the orientation of the plane of the point to the plane of the nock. In these war arrows, the plane of the point is perpendicular to the plane of the nock. In level shooting, then, the plane of the point is roughly parallel to the ground. In these hunting arrows, on the other hand, the plane of the point is parallel to the plane of the nock. In level shooting, then, the plane of the point is roughly perpendicular to the ground. The reason for these different orientations is particularly telling at close range, before the arrow begins to turn in the air. The ribs of the kailiauk are vertical to the ground; the ribs of the human are horizontal to the ground.
The differing orientations may be done, of course, as much for reasons of felt propriety, or for medicine purposes, as for reasons of improving the efficiency of the missile. They may have some effect, of course, as I have suggested, at extremely close range. In this respect, however, it should be noted that most warriors use the parallel orientation with respect to both their war and hunting points. It is felt that this orientation improves sighting. This seems to me, too, to be the case. The parallel orientation, of course, would be more effective with kailiauk, which are usually shot at extremely close range, indeed, from so close that one might almost reach out and touch the beast. Also, of course, in close combat with humans, if one wishes, the perpendicular alignment may be simply produced; one need only turn the small bow.
