Plunder of Gor (54 page)

Chapter Forty-Nine

“And that, dear Grendel, my friend,” said Kurik of Victoria, “is what transpired in the House of a Hundred Corridors.”

The strokes on the great bar, signaling the tenth Ahn, were still ringing when Kurik of Victoria and I, I heeling him, were ushered into an audience chamber in the House of a Hundred Corridors.

The building was large, but I doubted that it contained one hundred corridors.

“Welcome!” called a large, coarse-featured man in white and gold, rising from his curule chair on its dais, and hurrying down to embrace Kurik of Victoria, warmly. “Welcome, welcome, Lord Grendel,” he said. He then drew back, smiling, and gestured to a lacquered table below the dais, which was round, and circled by six curule chairs, of identical fashioning. Accordingly there would be no obvious distinction of rank amongst those who might sit about the table. I took this personage, affable and pleasant, to be Decius Albus himself. But surely he knew that Kurik of Victoria was not Lord Grendel. Might not the presence of the actual Lord Grendel have startled, perhaps even horrified, those present?

I attended to my surroundings.

The room was large, and it was occupied by several individuals, differing much amongst themselves. There must have been between forty or fifty present. Most were in the colors of the Merchants as might be expected. I supposed they represented various interests, or perhaps various facets, of the economy and administration. I was sure that more individuals were present than might be directly concerned in trade. I saw two of the individuals present were in the green of the Physicians, and one was in the yellow of the Builders. Some four or five present were clearly of the scarlet caste. I supposed them guards. Clearly they were armed, their scabbarding presumably hosting that short, wicked blade known as the gladius. Whereas most of those present were clad in variations of the Merchant colors, the next group most prominent, or abundant, was the Scribes. I recognized them from their blue robing. Some were standing, their scribe kits slung over their shoulders. These kits were rectangular, shallow boxes snapped shut or tied closed with blue ribbon. They contained pens, ink, and sheets of rence paper. When opened and turned, the lid provided a writing surface. I had seen occasional scribes on the streets, at given corners, where they, for their fee, usually in tarsk-bits, would read or transcribe letters. Many Goreans of the lower castes could not read and write. Interestingly, some Goreans of the upper castes, notably the Warriors, prided themselves on their lack of “letters,” regarding reading and writing as scribes' work and beneath their dignity. I think few of them would have regarded the “pen” as “mightier than the sword.” Their pen, so to speak, was the sword, and their ink, blood. Certainly in any contest of the pen against the sword, one supposes it might be judicious to wager on the sword. It tends to be longer and sharper, and often dictates what the pen will write. Four members of the scribes were seated at a table to the side, their papers before them. I saw no members of the lower castes present. Commonly, popularly, there are five high castes, the Warriors, which claims sword right to the status, and who would deny that right to armed men, the Physicians, Builders, Scribes, and Initiates. Of the five “high castes,” I saw no representative of the Initiates. They regard themselves as the highest of the high castes, presumably in virtue of their claimed relationship, a very privileged relationship, apparently, to the Priest-Kings, the “gods” of Gor. I do not know whether Priest-Kings exist or not, or, if they do, if they are aware of the existence of the Initiates. Initiates are easily recognized by their shaven heads and white robes. They maintain temples and conduct services. They bravely stand between the power, mystery, and formidableness of Priest-Kings and ordinary people, on whose behalf they will intercede, for a fee, with the Priest-Kings themselves. If one wishes good fortune and success for oneself or one's enterprises, or woe, even disaster, to one's enemies and their projects, or such, one need only contact Initiates, whose fees are, I gather, commensurate with the amount of good fortune, or woe, or such, desired. The projects need not be mighty, of course. Whether one is interested in the success of a supper, a happy outcome at the tarn races, or merely wishes to melt the heart of some aloof free woman, or such, the Initiates, humble in their holiness and concern, earnest and sympathetic, stand ready to take action, notifying the Priest-Kings of the matter and, if all goes well, securing a favorable result for the petitioner. If all does not go well, perhaps there might be some flaw or fault in the petitioner. Too, even in the best of cases, it must be admitted that the will of the Priest-Kings is sometimes inscrutable, even to Initiates. The awesomeness of the caste of Initiates is further enhanced by the fact that they refrain from sex, devote themselves to mathematical studies, and eschew meat and beans. Some Initiates dabble in signs, omens, and such, the formations of clouds, the flights of birds, the eating habits of sacred fowl, the livers of sacrificial animals, and so on, but that work, which commonly pays less well, is usually surrendered to augurs, haruspices, and such. In any event, there were no Initiates present. Perhaps this was because only relatively unimportant matters, mundane matters, were at hand. Initiates do sometimes have, however, a certain political power in various municipalities, largely in virtue of their influence on the lower castes, in virtue of their hints, warnings, demands, exhortations, denunciations, and so on. It seems they have occasionally toppled Ubars. In any event, whatever one thinks of Initiates, many of them, particularly in the larger, urban temples, make a good living at their business. Many individuals, particularly in the lower castes, need, or think they need, their Initiates, which view, it seems, is encouraged by the Initiates.

“Behold Lord Grendel,” said Decius Albus to the gathered assembly, indicating Kurik of Victoria, “ambassador and plenipotentiary of the great Ubar, Lord Arcesilaus, of rich Mytilene, amongst the Farther Islands, well beyond Cos and Tyros, come to establish ties of friendship and commerce between that great ubarate and our own glorious Ar.”

Those present smiled, and, lightly, struck their left shoulders, softly, repeatedly, in Gorean applause.

As far as I knew, there was no ubarate, Mytilene, amongst the Farther Islands, or elsewhere. On the other hand, much of Gor was terra incognita, and who would be likely, I gathered, to challenge the confident assertion of an individual as prominent and powerful, and as presumably well informed, as Decius Albus.

Kurik, who must have been somewhat puzzled by this attention, and its nature, smiled, and raised his hand, briefly, acknowledging this introduction.

At that point, the throng in the room gathered about Kurik and Decius Albus, and Decius Albus began to introduce them, or most of them, one after the other, to Kurik, and all were exchanging hand clasps, hand to wrist, in the Gorean fashion, which grip is more secure than the hand-to-hand clasp, with which I was familiar from my former world. On my former world, as I later learned, however, that grip is also known, the hand-to-wrist grip, but primarily amongst mariners.

I was the only woman in the room, and I knelt to the side, unnoticed. Indeed, who notices a slave when the business of men is afoot? Lord Grendel had wished me to accompany my master to the meeting, presumably to have an additional and independent witness to the proceedings, for the sake of a fuller account, as one person might notice or remember things not noticed, or remembered, by another person. Too, a slave might notice things that might escape the notice of a free person. Slaves are commonly perceptive, and aware. They tend to be muchly aware of their environment, small movements, subtle tones of voice, shades of expressions, and such. That is much in the interests of a girl. It goes with the collar. I suppose, too, it was appropriate that Kurik, my master, in such a situation, be attended by at least one slave.

I have spoken of the five high castes, as they are usually understood, the Warriors, Physicians, Builders, Scribes, and Initiates. On the other hand, obviously the Merchants is an extremely important caste. It controls much of the wealth on this world. Merchants, with their connections amongst houses in diverse cities, sometimes at war with one another, with their vouchers, notes, seals, stamps, letters of credit, and such, have created a subtle, almost invisible, but very real, commercial world. Merchant routes link cities. Merchant Law, instituted at, and revised in, the Sardar Fairs, is the only common body of law on Gor. Accordingly, many amongst the Merchants regard their caste as a high caste, and, it seems, with good reason. Surely gold is no more to be ignored than humbler metals, even if they be of edged steel. One might also note, in passing, that controversy may attend such things. For example, some regard the caste of Slavers as a subcaste of the Merchants, and others regard it as an independent caste. My master, Kurik of Victoria, thinks of it as an independent caste, judiciously or not. He seems to prize autonomy and independence. My own view is that it is a form of merchantry, and that its difference from other forms of merchantry is merely in the nature of the goods with which the merchants deal. Ubars wisely refrain from making rulings upon such things. As I may have indicated before, considerable differences may exist within a given caste. For example, a given merchant, such as Mintar, of Ar, may be the master of a thousand enterprises and another may be an itinerant peddler; and one scribe may be a city's most esteemed jurist, selling his advice for gold, while another ekes out a living on some street in the Metellan district, reading and writing letters for tarsk-bits at the behest of the illiterate. One of the most interesting castes is that of the Players, who live by means of a board game called ‘Kaissa'. In most cases, they will sell a game for a tarsk-bit, but, in certain cases, certain Players, such as Scormus, of Ar, or Centius, of Cos, may receive as much as a golden tarn for a single game. The best players are entitled to set their boards on the highest bridges. Membership in the caste is not determined by birth, but, as with the Warriors, by skill. Most Players do not make much of a living, but they have seen, I gather, as many have not, the beauty of the game. Important matches are often wagered on, and, sometimes, take place at the Sardar Fairs. The Sardar Fairs, so to speak, are treaty grounds, where lethal enemies may sit side by side, observing the great boards, where the match movements are posted. At the times of important matches, even the roads to the Fairs, within a circuit of a hundred pasangs, are deemed treaty grounds.

I am not sure I understand Goreans.

Some things in their thinking seem to me paradoxical, though not all Goreans, of course, are the same. Goreans, on the whole, seem to care for nature, for trees and green grass, for flowing brooks, and the blue sky, and, at the same time, seem to think little of the harsh selections of war, of long marches, of the clash of arms, of besieging, sacking, and burning cities. Men, being beasts, can be zestful for such things. Doubtless they are different from us. Yet I would not wish them otherwise. Who would wish a man other than a master, one to whom one must succumb? It is in the arms of such that we belong. Such activities, while admittedly hazardous, may, when successful, have their rewards, gold, for example, and women. I was told of an incident along these lines, the seeming paradoxicality of matters, that took place in a winter campaign, unusual for Goreans, as the favored time of war, as that of most sports, is the warmer weather. Indeed, most campaigns begin in the spring, and may continue through the summer and early fall. One advantage of extending a campaign to the early fall is that, at that time, the enemy's sa-tarna is ready for harvest. In any event, the winter, in the year in question, apparently set in early, and unexpectedly, and with ferocity. A blizzard, with its bitter cold, fierce winds, and blinding snow enveloped the two armies, not only postponing hostilities, but rendering the most tentative efforts at reconnaissance impractical. Dispatched scouts might be disoriented and lost in the storm, and freeze, or even, under the conditions, might wander, distraught and aimless, into the enemy camp itself. In any event, as the account goes, these warring armies were not the only creatures discomfited by the sudden, unexpected cruelty of the weather. Thousands of tiny defts, a small, flocking, gray, migratory bird, undistinguished in its plumage and not noted for its song, on their way to the shores of the Cartius, had been caught in the storm, as well, and, paralyzed with cold, with wings coated with ice, unable to continue their journey, had fallen to the snow-covered ground, littering the no-man's-land between the two armies, the projected field of battle. This became clear on the morning after the third day of the storm when the weather suddenly cleared, and, to the surprise of the potential combatants, a dreadful landscape was revealed, dark with the tiny bodies of stricken, half-frozen birds, partly buried in the snow. In short, the truce standards were raised, and hundreds of men, from each army, came onto the field, gathered up the birds in their helmets and the basins of their shields, and returned to their respective camps, where the birds were nursed, being warmed and fed, and, two days later, on a common signal, between the two armies, were lofted into the air, where they rose above the field, circled it three times, and then resumed their journey. After that, the truce standards were returned to their racks, and, the next day, the battle was joined, one that was fought with unusual ferocity.

“Ho!” cried Decius Albus, jovially, lifting his hand, and separating himself from the group about Kurik. “We have welcomed noble Grendel, of far Mytilene. We have introduced him to colleagues and compatriots, to representatives of diverse castes, herein publicizing his presence and the nature of his charge. His appearance here, as his purpose, is now well accounted for, as the lists will show. An official invitation was authorized and issued; it has been acknowledged, and, obviously, accepted. The records will show this. Now, dear colleagues, and friends, it is time for the subtler aspects of our meeting to begin, in which we must attempt to establish how fair Mytilene and glorious Ar may prove to be mutually beneficial to one another. Clearly the nature of these discussions, as you all recognize, must, for the present, remain confidential. Accordingly, I wish you all well, and thank you for your attendance.”