Information on Torvaldsland
Below will be listed a lot of quotes on various topics relating to Torvaldsland. Some of these quotes will also be shown elsewhere under specific topics. This is just a listing of general quotes giving information about Torvaldsland.
Trading
The main business of Kassau is trade, lumber and fishing. The slender
striped parsit fish has vast plankton banks north of the town, and may
there, particularly in the spring and the fall, be taken in great numbers.
Marauders of Gor - page 27
The men of Torvaldsland are skilled with their hands. Trade to the
south, of course is largely in furs acquired from Torvaldsland, and in
barrels of smoked, dried parsit fish.
Marauders of Gor - page 28
Primary Food of the Men
Many of them were giants, huge men, inured to cold, accustomed to war
and the labor of the oar, raised from boyhood on steep, isolated farms
near the sea, grown strong and hard on work and meat and cereals. Such
men, from boyhood in harsh games had learned to run, to leap, to swim, to
throw the spear, to wield the sword, to wield the ax, to stand against
steel, even bloodied, unflinching. Such men, these, would be the hardest
of the hard, for only the largest, the swiftest and finest might win for
themselves a bench on the ship of a captain, and the man great enough to
command such as they must be first and mightiest among them, for the men
of Torvaldsland will obey no other.
Marauders of Gor - page 38
Fishing
Three other men of the Forkbeard attended to fishing, two with a net,
sweeping it along the side of the serpent, for parsit fish, and the third,
near the stem, with a hook and line, baited with vulo liver, for the
white-bellied grunt, a large game fish which haunts the plankton banks to
feed on parsit fish."
Marauders of Gor - page 58
The men with the net drew it up. In it, twisting and flopping,
silverfish, striped with brown, squirmed more than a stone of parsit fish.
They threw the net to the planking and, with knives, began to slice the
heads and tails from the fish.
Marauders of Gor - page 61
The men who had fished with the net had now cleaned the catch of parsit
fish, and chopped the cleaned, boned, silverfish bodies into pieces, a
quarter inch in width. Another of the bond-maids was then freed to mix the
bond-maid gruel, mixing fresh water with Sa-Tarna meal, and then stirring
in the raw fish.
Marauders of Gor - pages 63 - 64
Brands and Bondmaids
All over Gor, of course the slave girl is a familiar commodity, The
brand used by the Forkbeard, found rather frequently in the north,
consisted of a half circle, with, at it's right tip, adjoining it, a steep
diagonal line. The half circle is about an inch and a quarter in height.
The brand is, like many, symbolic. In the north, the bond-maid is
sometimes referred to as a woman whose belly lies beneath the sword.
Marauders of Gor - page 87
Torvaldsland Mead
I handed the horn to Thyri, who, in her collar, naked, between two of
the benches, knelt at my feet. "Yes, Jarl," said she, and ran to fill it,
from the great vat. How marvelously beautiful is a naked, collared woman.
"Your hall," said I to the Forkbeard, "is scarcely what I had expected."
"Here, Jarl," said Thyri, again handing me the horn. It was filled with
the mead of Torvaldsland, brewed from fermented honey, thick and sweet.
Marauders of Gor - pages 89 - 90
Threesomes - A Jarl does Use two bondmaids at once in the furs
I looked to the Forkbeard. He had one arm about the full, naked waist of
the daughter of the administrator of Kassau, Pudding, and the other about
the waist of marvelously breasted, collared Gunnhild.
"Taste your Pudding, my Jarl," begged Pudding.
He kissed her.
"Gunnhild! Gunnhild!" protested Gunnhild.
Her hand was inside his furred shirt. He turned and thrust his mouth
upon hers.
"Let Pudding please you," wept Pudding.
"Let Gunnhild please you!" cried Gunnhild.
"I will please you better," said Pudding.
"I will please you better!" cried Gunnhild.
Ivar Forkbeard stood up, both bond-maids looked up at him, touching him.
"Run to the furs," said Ivar Forkbeard, "both of you!"
Marauders of Gor - page 97
Bondmaids and Silk Girls
"Look!" cried Pudding. "a silk girl!" The expression "silk girl" is
used, often, among bond-maids of the north, to refer to their counterparts
in the south. the expression reflects their belief that such girls are
spoiled, excessively pampered, indulged and coddled, sleek pets, who have
little to do but adorn themselves with cosmetics and await their Masters,
cuddled cutely, on plush, scarlet coverlets, fringed with gold. there is
some envy in this charge, I think. more literally, the expression tends to
be based on the fact that the brief slave tunic of the south, the single
garment permitted the female slave, is often of silk. southern girls,
incidentally, in my opinion, though scarcely worked as their northern
sisters in bondage, a function of the economic distinction between the
farm and city, are often worked, and worked hard, particularly if they
have not pleased their Masters.
Marauders of Gor - page 144
Salt
Salt, incidentally, is obtained by the men of Torvaldsland, most
commonly, from sea water or the burning of seaweed. It is also, however, a
trade commodity, and is sometimes taken in raids. The red and yellow
salts of the south, some of which I saw on the tables, are not domestic to
Torvaldsland
Marauders of Gor - pages 186 - 187
Torvaldsland Free Woman, The Jarl's Woman and Power
Bera, his woman, rose to her feet. I could see that her mind was moving
with rapidity.
"Come tonight to our hall Champion," she said
The Blue Tooth did not gainsay her. The woman of the Jarl had spoken.
Free women of the north have much power. The Jarl's woman in the Kaissa
of the north is a more powerful piece than the Ubara in the Kaissa of
the south.
Marauders of Gor - page 191
Proof of Telling the Truth
One method for a man to prove he is telling the truth is to run with two bars of red hot metal about twenty feet. Unfortunately, it is not clear as to what the results are supposed to be. Maybe the simple act of being able to make it twenty feet is sufficient to prove you are telling the truth. It could also be if your flesh is able to tolerate the heat without being injured. This was a common method of ordeal on Earth.
We passed one fellow, whom we noted seized up two bars of red-hot metal
and ran for some twenty feet, and then threw them from him.
"What is he doing?" I asked.
"He is proving that he has told the truth," said the Forkbeard.
"Oh," I said.
Marauders of Gor - pages 150 - 151
Kurii
One threat north of Torvaldsland are the Kurii. In Torvaldsland, the term "kurii" means "beasts." Most of the kurii that live in the north are the degenerate remnants of the kurii, those who have gone native. They are not a part any longer of the Steel Worlds. Many of these Kurii are white furred. They seldom hunt too far south into Torvaldsland. The men of Torvaldsland respect and are cautious of their power and ferocity. Thus, they usually try to warn them off instead of kill them. They often try to send the kurii toward an enemy's lands.
In the doorway, silhouetted against flames behind them we saw great,
black, shaggy figures Then one leapt within the hall. In one hand it
carried a gigantic ax, whose handle was perhaps eight feet long, whose
blade, from tip to tip, might have been better than two feet in length;
on its other arm it carried a great, round, iron shield, double strapped;
it lifted it, and the ax; its arms were incredibly long, perhaps some
seven feet in length; about its left arm was a spiral band of gold; it
was the Kur which had addressed the assembly. It threw back its head and
opened its jaws, eyes blazing, and uttered the blood roar of the aroused
Kur; then it bent over, regarding us, shoulders hunched, its claws leaping
from its soft, furred sheaths; it then laid its ears back flat against the
sides of its great head. no one could move. then, other Kurii behind it,
crowding about it, past it, it shrieked, lips drawn back, with a hideous
sound, which, somehow, from its lips and mien, and mostly from its eyes,
I took to be a sign of pleasure, of anticipation; I would learn later
that this sound is instinctively uttered by Kurii when they are preparing
to take blood.
Marauders of Gor - page 203
Being named a Jarl- wearing the talmit
About my forehead I wore a Jarl's talmit. This morning Svein Blue
Tooth, before cheering men, had tied it about my head. "Tarl Red Hair"
had said he, "with this talmit accede to Jarlship in Torvaldsland!" I had
been lifted on the shields of shouting men. In the distance I had seen
the Torvaldsberg, and to the west, gleaming Thassa. "Never before," had
said Svein Blue Tooth, "has one not of the north been named Jarl amongst
us." There had been much shouting, much clashing of weapons. Conscious I
was indeed of the signal honor seen fit to be bestowed upon me. I had
lifted my hands to them, standing upon the shields, a Jarl of Torvaldsland,
one who might now, in his own name if need be, send forth the
arrow of war, summoning adherents; one who might, as it pleased him,
command ships and men; on who might now say to rough bold seamen of the
north, as it pleased him, "Follow me, there is work to be done," and whom
they would then follow, gathering weapons, opening the sheds, sliding
their ships on rollers to the sea, raising the mast, spreading the
striped sails to the wind saying, "Our Jarl has summoned us. Let us aid
him. There is work to be done."
Marauders of Gor - page 228
What Tarl learned or gained in the Northlands of Torvaldsland
My delirium this time, interestingly to me, had been much different
than it had when, long ago, the poison had first raged in my body. At that
time I had been miserable, and weak, even calling out to a woman, who was
only a slave, to love me. But, somehow, in the North, in Torvaldsland, I
had changed. this I knew. There was a different Tarl Cabot than ever there
had been. Once there had been a boy by his name, one with simple dreams,
naive, vain, one shattered by betrayal of his codes, the discovery of a
weakness, where he thought there was only strength. That boy had died in
the delta of the Vosk; in his place had come Bosk of Port Kar, ruthless
and torn, but grown into his manhood: and now there was another, one whom
I might, if I wished, choose to call again Tarl Cabot. I had changed.
Here, with the Forkbeard, with the sea, the wind, in his hall and in
battle, I had become, somehow , much different. In the North my blood had
found itself, learning itself; in the north I had learned strength, and
how to stand alone. I thought of the Kurii. They were terrible foes.
Suddenly, incredibly, I felt love for them. I recollected the head of
the giant Kur, mounted on its stake, in the ruins of the hall of Svein
Blue Tooth. One cannot be weak who meets such beasts. I laughed at the
weakness instilled into the men of earth. Only men who are strong,
without weakness, can meet such Beasts. One must match them in strength,
in intellect, in terribleness, in ferocity. In the north I had grown
strong. I suddenly realized the supreme power of the united Gorean will,
not divided against itself, not weak, not crippled like the wills
of earth. I felt a surge of power, of unprecedented, unexpected joy.
I had discovered what it was to be Gorean. I had discovered what is was,
truly, to be male, to be a man. I was Gorean.
Marauders of Gor - page 290
Incredibly, perhaps, the values, wealth and power, which had driven me
in the forest, when I had sought Talena, no longer seemed of much interest
to me. the sky now seemed more important to me, and the sea, and the ship
beneath my feet. No longer did I dream of becoming an Ubar. In the north I
found I had changed. What had driven me in the forest now seemed paltry,
irrelevant to the true needs, the concerns, of man. I had been blinded by
the values of civilization. Everything I had been taught had been false.
I had suspected this when I had stood on the heights of Torvaldsberg, on
a windswept rock, looking upon the lands beneath, white and bleak, and
beautiful. Even the Kurii, on its height, stunned, had stopped to gaze.
I had learned much in the north.
Marauders of Gor - page 295
Entertaining Jarls - Skald
Those who tell the tales of Torvaldsland are known as skalds. A skald is a combination singer, poet and bard. They are highly respected and talented men. During the fest-season of Odin, a primary holiday, a good skald is difficult to find due to their popularity. The people must bid for them and the bidding gets quite high. Sometimes though, a skald may be kidnapped for the holidays. He will be released once the fest-season is over and will be compensated with great wealth for his efforts.
We had fed well in the hall of Svein Blue Tooth. During the meal, for
Svein was a rich man, there had been acrobats, and jugglers and minstrels.
There had been much laughter when one of the acrobats had fallen into the
long fire, to leap scrambling from it, rolling in the dirt. Two other men,
to settle a grievance, had a tug of war, a bosk hide stretched between
them, across the long fire. When one had been pulled into the fire the
other had thrown the hide over him and stomped upon him. Before the fellow
in the fire could free himself he had been much burned. This elicited
much laughter from the tables. The jugglers had a difficult time, too, for
their eyes on the cups and plates they were juggling, they were not
infrequently tripped, to the hilarity of the crowd. More than one
minstrel, too, was driven from the hall, the target of barrages of bones
and plates.
Marauders of Gor - pages 194 - 195
I suspected this might have accounted somewhat for the ugliness of the
men with the entertainers, not that the men of Torvaldsland, under any
circumstances, constitute an easily pleased audience. Generally only
Kaissa and the songs of skalds can hold their attentions for long hours,
that and stories told at the tables.
Marauders of Gor - page 196
Sleen used to herd bondmaids
"You did well earlier today, and now. You are free," At his feet lay
the bloodied Kur. He stood over it, a free man. "Wulfstan," cried Thyri.
She sprang to her feet and ran to him, burying her head, weeping, in her
hair against his chest. "I love you," she wept. "I love you."
"The wench is yours," laughed Ivar Forkbeard.
"I love you," wept Thyri.
"Kneel," said Wulfstan. Startled, Thyri did so. "You are mine now," said
Wulfstan.
"But surely you will free me, Wulfstan!" she cried.
Wulfstan lifted his head and uttered a long, shrill whistle, of the sort
with which Kurii summon herd sleen. One of the animals must have been
within a hundred yards for it came immediately. Wulfstan lifted Thyri by
one arm and threw her before the beast. "Take her to the pen," said
Wulfstan to the animal. "Wulfstan!" cried Thyri. Then the beast,
snarling, half-charged her, stopping short, hissing, eyes blazing.
"Wulfstan!" cried Thyri, backing away from the beast, shaking her head.
"No, Wulfstan!" "If I still wish you later," he said, "I will retrieve
you from the pen, with others which I might claim as my share of the
booty." "Wulfstan!" she cried, protesting. The sleen snapped at her,
and, weeping, she turned and fled to the pen, the beast hissing and
biting at her, driving her before it.
The three of us laughed. Ivar and I had little doubt that Wulfstan, upon
reflection, would indeed retrieve his pretty Thyri, vital and slim, from
the pen, and, indeed, perhaps others as well. Once the proud young lady of
Kassau had spurned his suit, regarding herself as being too good for him.
Now he would see that she served him completely, deliciously, helplessly,
as a bond-maid, an article of his property, his to do with as he wished,
and perhaps serve him as only one of several such lowly wenches. We
laughed. Thyri would wear her collar well for a master such as Wulfstan,
once of Kassau, now of Torvaldsland.
Marauders of Gor - pages 259 - 260
The High Seat
Behind this table, its back to the western wall, facing the length of
the hall, facing east, was the high seat, or the rightful seat, the seat
of the master of the house. It was wide enough for three or four men to
sit together on it, and, as a great honor, sometimes others were invited
to share the high seat. On each side of this high seat were two pillars,
about eight inches in diameter, and some eight feet high, the high-seat
pillars, or rightful seat pillars. They marked the seat, or bench, which
might be placed between them as the high seat, or rightful seat. These
pillars had been carved by craftsman in the time of Svein Blue Tooth's
great grandfather, and bore the luck signs of his house. On each side of
the high seat were long benches. Opposite, on the other side of the
table, too, were long benches. A seat of honor, incidentally, was that
opposite the high seat, where one might converse with the host. The high
seat, though spoken of as "high," was the same height as the other
benches. The men of Torvaldsland, thus, look across the table at one
another, not one down upon the other. The seat is "high" in the sense of
being a seat of great honor. There was, extending almost the length of
the hall, a pit for a "long fire" over which food was prepared for
retainers.
Marauders of Gor - page 186
Wergild
A wergild is compensation that must be paid when you unjustly kill another person. There is no wergild involved for a rightful duel. The relatives of the deceased person set the price of the wergild. There are certain customs that dictate the usual wergild amounts though a person is not legally bound to follow custom. A person that refuses to pay a wergild becomes an outlaw.
Sealing a friendship and Gift Giving and Welcoming Guests
When men seal a friendship, they commonly shake hands and then taste salt from the back of each other's wrist. Gift giving is important in Torvaldsland. By custom, the host is supposed to give the best gifts. It would be seen as an insult for a guest to give the host a better gift than he received.
Though the hall of Ivar Forkbeard was built only of turf and stone, and
though he himself was outlaw, he had met me at its door, after I had been
bidden wait outside, in his finest garments of scarlet and gold, and
carrying a bowl of water and a towel. "Welcome to the hall of Ivar
Forkbeard," he had said. I had washed my hands and face in the bowl, held
by the master of the house himself, and dried myself on the towel. Then
invited within I had been seated across from him in the place of honor.
Then from his chests, within the hall, he had given me a long, swirling
cloak of the fur of sea sleen; a bronze-headed spear; a shield of painted
wood, reinforced with bosses of iron; the shield was red in color, the
bosses enameled in yellow; a helmet, conical, of iron, with hanging
chain, and a steel nosepiece, that might be raised and lowered in its
bands; and, too, a shirt and trousers of skin; and, too, a broad ax,
formed in the fashion of Torvaldsland, large, curved, single-bladed; and
four rings of gold, that might be worn on the arm.
Marauders of Gor - page 96
Lighting the Hall
I brushed aside one of the hanging vessels of bronze, a tharlarion-oil
lamp which, on its chain, hung from the ceiling, some forty feet above. It
is such that it can be raised and lowered by a side chain.
Marauders of Gor - page 208
Many were the lamps, bowls on spears, which burned, and torches, too.
And brightly glowed the long fire in the hall, over which tarsk and bosk,
crackling and glistening with hot fat, roasted, turned heavily on spits by
eager, laughing bond-maids.
Marauders of Gor - page 279
The Thing
The "Thing-fair" in the north is an event held each spring that serves many purposes. The Jarls from all over Torvaldsland come to together. Here the men are inspected and hold council as well as entertain themselves. At the Thing there are competitions for such events as: grappling, swimming, singing, archery, mast climbing, poetry, and games of bat and ball. The prizes for such games are often a talmit, but even a slave may serve as a fitting reward. In addition duels may be held here and merchandise purchased and sold, this includes slaves. In addition there are such contests held between the slaves such as slave beauty.
The Thing is a peaceful gathering; no man shall strike another while being at the Thing. During such events there is to be called upon a "peace". No man can be captured, killed, or detained for any crime or outlawry although outlaws are commonly not welcomed at the Thing.
The Thing, or Thing-Fair, is also essentially a large tournament and fair in Torvaldsland. The men may participate in a wide variety of contests and can win talmits. A talmit is a headband and are not always just prizes. Talmits may also signify different districts, officers and Jarls. They may be made from a variety of materials such as the skin of a sea sleen. Men often bring their families and slaves to the Thing. Merchants and men of other castes from cities south of Torvaldsland may also attend the Thing. Combat is prohibited at the Thing but men can still carry their weapons. This prohibition does not extend to duels. It also enables outlaws to attend. Each free man of Torvaldsland must attend the Thing unless they are a farmer who works his farm alone. Each of the men who attend must present to the Jarl hosting the Thing a helmet, shield and either sword, ax or spear in good condition. Each man must maintain his own weapons. The only exception is mercenaries who are in the direct hire of the Jarl. In that case, the Jarl supplies their weapons. Even those who cannot attend the Thing must still maintain their own weapons and present them at least once a year to the Jarl.
"Greetings, Thorgeir of Ax Glacier," said I. "Greetings, Red Hair,"
said he. Ax Glacier was far to the north, a glacier spilling between two
mountains of stone, taking in its path to the sea, spreading, the form of
an ax. The men of the country of Ax Glacier fish for whales and hunt snow
sleen. They cannot farm that far to the north. Thorgeir, it so happened,
of course, was the only man of Ax Glacier country, which is usually taken
as the northern border of Torvaldsland, before the ice belts of Gor's
arctic north, who was at the thing-fair. "How went the swimming?" I asked
him. "The talmit of skin of sea sleen is mine!" he laughed. The talmit is
a headband. It is not unusual for the men of Torvaldsland to wear them,
though none of Forkbeard's men did. They followed an outlaw. Some talmits
have special significance. Special talmits sometimes distinguish officers,
and Jarls; or a district's lawmen, in the pay of the Jarl; different
districts, too, sometimes have different styles of talmit, varying in
their material and design; talmits, too, can be awarded as prizes. That
Thorgeir of Ax Glacier had won the swimming must seem strange indeed to
those of the thing-fair. Immersion in the waters of Ax Glacier country,
unprotected, will commonly bring about death by shock, within a matter of
Ihn. Sometimes I wondered if the Forkbeard might be mad. His sense of
humor, I thought, might cost us all our lives. There was probably not one
man at the thing-fair who took him truly to be of Ax Glacier; most
obviously he did not have the epigenetic fold, which helps to protect the
eyes of the men of Ax Glacier against extreme cold; further, he was much
too large to be taken easily as a man of Ax Glacier; their diet does not
produce, on the whole, large bodies; further, their climate tends to
select for short, fat bodies, for such, physiologically, are easiest to
maintain in thermostatic equilibrium in great cold; long, thin bodies, of
course, are easiest to maintain in thermostatic equilibrium in great heat,
providing more exposure for cooling. Lastly, his coloring, though his
hair was dark, was surely not that of the far north, but, though swarthy,
more akin to that of Torvaldsland, particularly western Torvaldsland.
Only a madman, or a fool, might have taken seriously his claim to be of
the Ax Glacier country. Much speculation had coursed among the contest
fields as to the true identity of the smooth-shaven Thorgeir.
Prior to his winning the swimming he had won talmits for climbing the
"mast," a tall pole of needle wood, some fifty feet high, smoothed and
peeled; for jumping the "crevice," actually a broad jump, on level land,
where marks are made with strings, to the point at which the back heel
strikes the earth; walking the "oar," actually, a long pole; and throwing
the spear, a real spear I am pleased to say, both for distance and
accuracy; counting the distance and the accuracy of the spear events as
two events, which they are, he had thus, prior to the swimming, won five
talmits.
He had done less well in the singing contest, though he had much prided
himself on his singing voice; he thought, in that one, the judges had been
against him; he did not score highly either in the composition of poetry
contest, nor in the rhyming games; "I am not a skald," he explained to me
later; he did much better, I might mention, in the riddle guessing; but
not well enough to win; he missed the following riddle; "What is black,
has eighty legs and eats gold?"; the answer, though it might not seem
obvious, was Black Sleen, the ship of Thorgard of Scagnar; the Forkbeard's
answer had been Black Shark, the legendary ship of Torvald, reputed
discoverer and first Jarl of Torvaldsland; he acknowledged his defeat in
this contest, however, gracefully; "I was a fool," he grumbled to me. "I
should have known!" Though I attempted to console him, he remained much
put out with himself, and for more than an Ahn afterward.
In spite of his various losses, he had, even in his own modest opinion,
done quite well in the contests. He was in excellent humor.
Perhaps the most serious incident of the contests had occurred in one of
the games of bat and ball; in this contest there are two men on each side,
and the object is to keep the ball out of the hands of the other team; no
one man may hold the ball for more than the referee's count of twenty; he
may, however, throw it into the air, provided it is thrown over his head,
and catch it again himself; the ball may be thrown to the partner, or
struck to him with the bat; the bat of course, drives the ball with
incredible force; the bats are of heavy wood, rather broad, and the ball,
about two inches in diameter, is also of wood, and extremely hard; this is
something like a game of "keep away" with two men in the middle. I was
pleased that I was not involved in the play. Shortly after the first
"knock off," in which the ball is served to the enemy, Gorm, who was
Ivar's partner, was struck cold with the ball, it driven from an
opponent's bat; this, I gathered, is a common trick; it is very difficult
to intercept or protect oneself from a ball struck at one with great speed
from a short distance; it looked quite bad for Ivar at this point, until
one of his opponents, fortunately, broke his leg, it coming into violent
contact with Ivar's bat. This contest was called a draw. Ivar then asked
me to be his partner. I declined. "It is all right," said Ivar, "even the
bravest of men may decline a contest of bat-and-ball." I acceded to his
judgment. There are various forms of ball games enjoyed by the men of
Torvaldsland; some use bats, or paddles; in the winter, one such game
quite popular, is played, men running and slipping about, on ice; whether
there is any remote connection between this game and ice hockey, I do not
know; it is, however, ancient in Torvaldsland; Torvald himself, in the
sagas, is said to have been skilled at it.
Marauders of Gor - pages 139 - 141
I carried my short sword. I carried, too, the great bow, unstrung, with
quiver of arrows.
The Forkbeard, too, and his men, were armed. Blows are not to be struck at
the thing, but not even the law of the thing, with all its might, would
have the temerity to advise the man of Torvaldsland to arrive or move
about unarmed. The man of Torvaldsland never leaves his house unless he
is armed; and, within his house, his weapons are always near at hand,
usually hung on the wall behind his couch, at least a foot beyond the
reach of a bond-maid whose ankle is chained. Should she, lying on her
back, look back and up, she sees, on the wall, the shield, the helmet, the
spear and ax, the sword, in its sheath, of her master. They are visible
symbols of the force by which she is kept in bondage, by which she is kept
only a girl, whose belly is beneath his sword.
Most of the men at the thing were free farmers, blond-haired, blue-eyed
and proud, men with strong limbs and work-roughened hands; many wore
braided hair; many wore talmits of their district; for the thing their
holiday best had been donned; many wore heavy woolen jackets, scrubbed
with water and bosk urine, which contains ammonia as its cleaning agent;
all were armed, usually with an ax or sword; some wore their helmets;
others had them, with their shields, slung at their back. At the thing, to
which each free man must come, unless he work his farm alone and cannot
leave it, each man must present, for the inspection of his Jarl's officer,
a helmet, shield and either sword or ax or spear, in good condition. Each
man, generally, save he in the direct hire of the Jarl, is responsible for
the existence and condition of his own equipment and weapons. A man in
direct fee with the Jarl is, in effect, a mercenary; the Jarl himself,
from his gold, and stores, where necessary or desirable, arms the man;
this expense, of course, is seldom necessary in Torvaldsland; sometimes,
however, a man may break a sword or lose an ax in battle, perhaps in the
body of a foe, falling from a ship; in such a case the Jarl would make
good the loss; he is not responsible for similar losses, however, among
the free farmers. Those farmers who do not attend the thing, being the
sole workers on their farms, must, nonetheless, maintain the regulation
armament; once annually it is to be presented before a Jarl's officer,
who, for this purpose, visits various districts. When the war arrow is
carried, of course, all free men are to respond; in such a case the farm
may suffer, and his companion and children know great hardship; in leaving
his family, the farmer, weapons upon his shoulder, speaks simply to them.
"The war arrow has been carried to my house," he tells them.
We saw, too, may chieftains, and captains, and minor Jarls, in the crowd,
each with his retinue. These high men were sumptuously garbed, richly
cloaked and helmeted, often with great axes, inlaid with gold. Their
cloaks were usually scarlet or purple, long and swirling, and held with
golden clasps. They wore them, always, as is common in Torvaldsland, in
such a way that the right arm, the sword arm, is free.
Their men, too, often wore cloaks, and, about their arms, spiral rings of
gold and silver, and, on their wrists, jewel-studded bands.
In the crowd, too, much in evidence, were brazen bond-maids; they had been
brought to the thing, generally, by captains and Jarls; it is not unusual
for men to bring such slaves with them, though they are not permitted
near the law courts or the assemblies of deliberation; the voyages to the
thing were not, after all, ventures for raiding; they were not enterprises
of warfare; there were three reasons for bringing such girls; they were
for the pleasure of the men; they served, as display objects, to indicate
the wealth of their masters; and they could be bought and sold.
The Forkbeard had brought with him, too, some bond-maids. They followed
us. Their eyes were bright; their steps were eager; they had been long
isolated on the farm; rural slave girls, the Forkbeard's wenches, they
were fantastically stimulated to see the crowds; they looked upon the
thing-fields with pleasure and excitement; even had they been permitted,
some of them, to look upon certain of the contests. It is said that such
pleasures improve a female slave. Sometimes, in the south, female slaves
are dressed in the robes of free women, even veiled, and taken by their
masters to see tarn races, or games, or song-dramas; many assume that she,
sitting regally by his side, is a companion, or being courted for the
companionship; only he and she know that their true relation is that of
master and slave girl; but when they return home, and the door to his
compartment closes, their charade done, she immediately strips to brand
and collar, and kneels, head to his feet, once again only an article of
his property; how scandalized would have been the free woman, had they
known that, next to them perhaps, had been sitting a girl who was only
slave; but there were no disguises in Torvaldsland; there was no mistaking
that the girls who followed the Forkbeard, or "Thorgeir of Ax Glacier,"
were bond; to better display his pets, and excite the envy of others, the
Forkbeard had his girls drop their kirtles low upon their hips, and hitch
them high, that their beauty might be well exhibited, from their collars
to some inches below their navels, and, too, that the turns of their
calves and ankles might be similarly displayed; I would have thought that
they might have groaned with humiliation and attempted to hide themselves
among us, but, instead, even Pudding and Thyri, they walked as proud,
shameless bond-maids; the exposure of the female's navel, on Gor, is known
as the "slave belly;" only female slaves expose their navels; from a
vendor, the Forkbeard bought his girls honey cake; with their fingers
they ate it eagerly, crumbs at the side of their mouths.
"Look!" cried Pudding. "A silk girl!" The expression "silk girl" is used,
often, among bond-maids of the north, to refer to their counterparts in
the south. The expression reflects their belief that such girls are
spoiled, excessively pampered, indulged and coddled, sleek pets, who have
little to do but adorn themselves with cosmetics and await their masters,
cuddled cutely, on plush, scarlet coverlets, fringed with gold. There is
some envy in this charge, I think. More literally, the expression tends to
be based on the fact that the brief slave tunic of the south, the single
garment permitted the female slave, is often of silk. Southern girls,
incidentally, in my opinion, though scarcely as worked as their northern
sisters in bondage, a function of the economic distinction between the
farm and city, are often worked, and worked hard, particularly if they
have not pleased their masters. Yet, I think their labors are less than
those often performed by the wife of Earth. This is a consequence of
Gor's simpler culture, in which there is literally less to do, less to
clean, less to care for, and so on, and also of the fact that the Gorean
master, if pleased with the wench, takes care that she is fresh and ready
for the couch. An overworked, weary woman, despondent and tired, is less
responsive to her master's touch; she does not squirm as well. The Gorean
master, treating her as the animal she is, works and handles her in such a
way that the responses of his passionate, exciting, hot-eyed, slim-legged
pet are kept honed to perfection. Some men are better at this, of course,
than others. There are scrolls, books, on Gor, which may be purchased
inexpensively, on the feeding, care and training of female slaves. There
are others who claim, as would be expected, that the handling of a slave
girl, in order to get the most out of her, is an inborn gift. Incidentally, for what it is worth, though the southern girl is, I expect, worked less hard than the northern girl, who is commonly kept on an isolated farm, she is more often than her northern sister put to the switch or whip; I think she lives under a harsher discipline; southern masters are harder with their girls, expecting more from them and seeing that they get it; northern girls, for example, are seldom trained in the detailed, intricate sensuous arts of the female slave; the southern girl, to her misery, must often learn these to perfection; moreover, upon command, she must perform, joyfully and skillfully.
The silk girl was heeling her master, a captain of Torvaldsland. She wore,
indeed, a brief tunic of the south, of golden silk. She wore a collar of
gold, and, hanging in her ears, were loops of gold.
"High-farm girls!" she whispered, as she passed the bond-maids of Ivar
Forkbeard. In the south the southern slave girl commonly regards her
northern counterparts as bumpkins, dolts from the high farms on the slopes
of the mountains of Torvaldsland; she thinks of them as doing little but
swilling tarsk and dunging fields; she regards them as, essentially,
nothing more than a form of bosk cow, used to work, to give simple
pleasure to rude men, and to breed thralls.
"Cold fish!" cried out Pudding. "Stick!" cried out Pouting Lips.
The silk girl, passing them, did not appear to hear them. "Pierced-ear
girl!" screamed Pouting Lips.
The silk girl turned, stricken. She put her hands to her ears. There were
sudden tears in her eyes. Then, weeping, she turned away, her head in her
hands, and fled after her master.
Marauders of Gor - pages 141 - 145
"Let us watch duels," said the Forkbeard. The duel is a device by which
many disputes, legal and personal, are settled in Torvaldsland. There are
two general sorts, the formal duel and the free duel. The free duel
permits all weapons; there are no restrictions on tactics or field. At the
thing, or course, adjoining squares were lined out for these duels. If the
combatants wished, however, they might choose another field. Such duels,
commonly, are held on wave-struck skerries in Thassa. Two men are left
alone; later, at nightfall, a skiff returns, to pick up the survivor. The
formal duel is quite complex, and I shall not describe it in detail. Two
men meet, but each is permitted a shield bearer; the combatants strike at
one another, and the blows, hopefully, are fended by each's shield bearer;
three shields are permitted to each combatant; when these are hacked to
pieces or otherwise rendered useless, his shield bearer retires, and he
must defend himself with his own weapon alone; swords not over a given
length, too, are prescribed. The duel takes place, substantially, on a
large, square cloak, ten feet on each side, which is pegged down on the
turf; outside this cloak there are two squares, each a foot from the
cloak, drawn in the turf. The outer corners of the second of the two drawn
squares are marked with hazel wands; there is thus a twelve-foot-square
fighting area; no ropes are stretched between the hazel wands. When the
first blood touched the cloak the match may, at the agreement of the
combatants, or in the direction of one of the two referees, be terminated;
a price of three silver tarn disks is then paid to the victor by the
loser; the winner commonly then performs a sacrifice; if the winner is
rich, and the match of great importance, he may slay a bosk; if he is
poor, or the match is not considered a great victory, his sacrifice may be
less. These duels, particularly of the formal variety, are sometimes used
disreputably for gain by unscrupulous swordsmen. A man, incredibly enough,
may be challenged by such a fellow for his farm, or his companion, or
daughter; if the challenge is not accepted, the stake is forfeit; if the
challenge is accepted, of course, he who is challenged risks his life
among the hazel wands; he may be slain; then, too, of course, the stake,
the farm, the companion, the daughter, is surrendered by law to the
challenger. The motivation of this custom, I gather, is to enable strong,
powerful men to obtain land and attractive women; and to encourage those
who possess such to keep themselves in fighting condition. All in all I
did not much approve of the custom. Commonly, of course, the formal duel
is used for more reputable purposes, such as settling grievances over
boundaries or permitting an opportunity where, in a case of insult,
satisfaction might be obtained.
One case interested us in particular. A young man, not more than sixteen,
was preparing to defend himself against a large, burly fellow, bearded and
richly helmeted.
"He is a famous champion," said Ivar, whispering to me, nodding to the
large, burly fellow. "He is Bjarni of Thorstein Camp." Thorstein Camp,
well to the south, but yet north of Einar's Skerry, was a camp of fighting
men, which controlled the countryside about it, for some fifty pasangs,
taking tribute from farms. Thorstein of Thorstein's Camp was their Jarl.
The camp was of wood, surrounded by a palisade, built on an island in an
inlet, called the inlet of Thorstein Camp, formerly known as the inlet of
Parsit, because of the rich fishing there.
The stake in this challenge was the young man's sister, a comely, blond
lass of fourteen, with braided hair. She was dressed in the full regalia
of a free woman of the north. The clothes were not rich, but they were
clean, and her best. She wore two brooches; and black shoes. The knife
had been removed from the sheath at her belt; she stood straight, but her
head was down, her eyes closed; about her neck, knotted, was a rope, it
fastened to a stake in the ground near the dueling square. She was not
otherwise secured.
"Forfeit the girl," said Bjarni of Thorstein Camp, addressing the boy,
"and I will not kill you."
"I do not care much for the making of women of Torvaldsland bond," said
Ivar. "It seems improper," he whispered to me. "They are of
Torvaldsland!"
"Where is the boy's father?" I asked one who stood next to me.
"He was slain in an avalanche," said the man.
I gathered then the boy was then owner of the farm. He had become, then,
the head of his household. It was, accordingly, up to him to defend, as
best he could, against such a challenge.
"Why do you not challenge a baby?" asked Ivar Forkbeard.
Bjarni looked upon him, not pleasantly. "I want the girl for Thorstein
Camp," he said. "I have no quarrel with children."
"Will she be branded there, and collared?" asked Ivar.
"Thorstein Camp," said Bjarni, "needs no free women."
"She is of Torvaldsland," said Ivar.
"She can be taught to squirm and carry mead as well as my other wench,"
said Bjarni.
I had no doubt that this was true. Yet the girl was young. I doubted that
a girl should be put in a collar before she was fifteen.
Ivar looked at me. "Would you like to carry my shield?" he asked.
I smiled. I went to the young man, who was preparing to step into the area
of hazel wands. He was quite a brave lad.
Another youngster, about his own age, probably from an adjoining farm,
would carry his shield for him.
"What is your name, Lad?" I asked the young man preparing to enter the
square marked off with the hazel wands.
"Hrolf," said he, "of the Inlet of Green Cliffs."
I then took both of the boys, by the scruff, and threw them, stumbling,
more than twenty feet away to the grass.
I stepped on the leather of the cloak. "I'm the champion," said I, "of
Hrolf of the Inlet of Green Cliffs." I unsheathed the sword I wore at my
belt.
"He is mad," said Bjarni.
"Who is your shield bearer?" asked one of the two white-robed referees.
"I am!" called the Forkbeard, striding into the area of hazel wands.
"I appreciate the mad bravery," said I, "of the good fellow Thorgeir of Ax
Glacier, but, as we all know, the men of Ax Glacier, being of a hospitable
and peaceful sort, are unskilled in weapons." I looked at the Forkbeard.
"We are not hunting whales now," I told him, "Thorgeir."
The Forkbeard sputtered.
I turned to the referee. "I cannot accept his aid," I told him. "It would
too much handicap me," I explained, "being forced, doubtless, to
constantly look out for, and protect, one of his presumed ineptness."
"Ineptness!" thundered the Forkbeard.
"You are of Ax Glacier, are you not?" I asked him, innocently. I smiled to
myself. I had, I thought, hoisted the Forkbeard by his own petard.
He laughed, and turned about, taking his place on the side.
"Who will bear your shield?" asked one of the referees.
"My weapon is my shield," I told him, lifting the sword. "He will not
strike me."
"What do you expect to do with that paring knife?" asked Bjarni of
Thorstein Camp, looking at me, puzzled. He thought me mad.
"Your long sword," I told him, "is doubtless quite useful in thrusting
over the bulwarks of ships, fastened together by grappling irons, as mine
would not be, but we are not now, my dear Bjarni, engaging in combat over
the bulwarks of ships."
"I have reach on you!" he cried.
"But my blade will protect me," I said. "Moreover, the arc of your stroke
is wider than mine, and your blade heavier. You shall shortly discover
that I shall be behind your guard."
"Lying Sleen!" cried out the man of Thorstein Camp.
The girl, the rope on her throat, looked wildly at me. The two boys,
white-faced, stood behind the hazel wands. They understood no more of what
was transpiring than most others of those present.
The chief referee looked at me. His office was indicated by a golden ring
on his arm. To his credit, he had, obviously, not much approved of the
former match.
"Approve me," I said.
He grinned. "I approve you," said he, "as the champion of Hrolf of the
Inlet of Green Cliffs." Then he said to me, "As you are the champion of
the challenged, it is your right to strike the first blow."
I tapped the shield of Bjarni of Thorstein Camp, it held by another
ruffian from his camp, with the point of my sword.
"It is struck," I said.
With a cry of rage the shield bearer of Bjarni of Thorstein Camp rushed at
me, to thrust me back, stumbling, hopefully to put me off my balance, for
the following stroke of his swordsman.
I stepped to one side. The shield bearer's charge carried him almost to
the hazel wands. Bjarni, sword high, had followed him. I now stood beside
Bjarni, the small sword at the side of his neck. He turned white. "Let us
try again," I said. Quickly he fled back, and was joined by his shield
bearer. In the second charge, though I do not know if it were elegant or
not, given the properties of the formal duel, I tripped the shield bearer.
One is not supposed to slay the shield bearer but, as far as I knew,
tripping, though perhaps not in the best form, was acceptable. I had, at
any rate, seen it done in an earlier match. And, as I expected, neither of
the referees warned me of an infraction. I gathered, from the swift looks
on their faces, that they thought it rather neatly done, though they are
supposed to be objective in such matters. The fellow went sprawling.
Bjarni, quite wisely, he obviously brighter than his shield bearer, had
not followed him so closely this time, but had hung back. Our swords met
twice, and then I was under his guard, the point of my sword under his
chin. "Shall we try again?" I asked.
The shield bearer leaped to his feet. "Let us fight!" he cried.
Bjarni of Thorstein Camp looked at me. "No," he said. "Let us not try
again." He took the point of his sword and made a cut in his own forearm,
and held it out, over the leather. Drops fell to the leather. "My blood,"
said Bjarni of Thorstein Camp, "is on the leather." He sheathed his
sword.
Marauders of Gor - pages 145 - 150
We saw thralls, too, in the crowd, and rune-priests, with long hair, in
white robes, a spiral ring of gold on their left arms, about their waist a
bag of omen chips, pieces of wood soaked in the blood of the sacrificial
bosk, slain to open the thing; these chips are thrown like dice, sometimes
several times, and are then read by the priests; the thing-temple, in
which the ring of the temple is kept, is made of wood; nearby, in a grove,
hung from poles, were the bodies of six bosk, one of them the ceremonial
bosk, six tarsk, and six verr; in past days, it is my understanding, there
might have been hung there, in place of the six verr, six thralls; it had
been decided, however, a generation ago, by one of the rare meetings of
the high council of rune-priests, attended by the high rune-priest of each
district, that thralls should no longer be sacrificed; this was not
defended, however, on grounds of the advance of civilization, or such, but
rather on the grounds that thralls, like urts and tiny, six-toed
tharlarion, were not objects worthy of sacrifice; there had been a famine
and many thralls had been sacrificed; in spite of this the famine had not
abated for more than four growing seasons; this period, too, incidentally,
was noted for the large number of raids to the south, often involving
whole fleets from Torvaldsland; it had been further speculated that the
gods had no need for thralls, or, if they did, they might supply this
need themselves, or make this need known through suitable signs; no signs,
however, luckily for thralls, were forthcoming; this was taken as a
vindication of the judgment of the high council of rune-priests; after
the council, the status of rune-priests had risen in Torvaldsland; this
may also have had something to do with the fact the famine, finally, after
four seasons, abated; the status of the thrall, correspondingly, however,
such as it was, declined; he was now regarded as much in the same category
with the urts that one clubs in the Sa-Tarna sheds, or are pursued by
small pet sleen, kept there for that purpose, or with the tiny, six-toed
rock tharlarion of southern Torvaldsland, favored for their legs and
tails, which are speared by children. If the thrall had been nothing in
Torvaldsland before, he was now less than nothing; his status was not, in
effect, that of the southern, male work slaves, found often in the
quarries and mines, and, chained, on the great farms. He, a despised
animal, must obey instantly and perfectly, or be subject to immediate
slaughter. The Forkbeard had brought one thrall with him, the young man,
Tarsk, who, even now, followed in the retinue of the Forkbeard; it was
thought that if the Forkbeard should purchase a crate of sleen fur or a
chest of bog iron the young man, on his shoulders, might then bear it back
to our tent, pitched among other tents, at the thing; bog iron,
incidentally, is inferior to the iron of the south; the steel and iron of
the weapons of the men of Torvaldsland, interestingly, is almost uniformly
of southern origin; the iron extracted from bog ore is extensively used,
however, for agricultural implements.
In the crowd, too, I saw some merchants, though few of them, in their
white and gold. I saw, too, four slavers, perfumed, in their robes of blue
and yellow silk, come north to buy women. I saw, by the cut of their
robes, they were from distant Turia. Forkbeard's girls shrank away from
them. They feared the perfumed, silken slavery of the south; in the south
the yoke of slavery is much heavier on a girl's neck; her bondage is much
more abject; she is often little more than the pleasure plaything of her
master; it is common for a southern master to care more for his pet sleen
than his girls. In the north, of course, it is common for a master to care
more for his ship than his girls. I saw, too, in the crowd, a physician,
in green robes, from Ar and a scribe from Cos. These cities are not on
good terms but they, civilized men, both in the far north, conversed
affably.
Marauders of Gor - pages 152 - 153
"Send that one to the platform!" cried out a farmer, indicating
Gunnhild.
"To the platform!" roared Ivar Forkbeard.
He tore away her kirtle. Soon she, barefoot, was climbing the wooden
steps to the platform.
This is a wooden walkway, about five feet wide and one hundred yards
long. On the walkway, back and forth, smiling, looking one way and then
the other, turning about, parade stripped bond-maids. They are not for
sale, though many are sold from the platform. The platform is instituted
for the pleasure of the free men. It is not unanalogous to the talmit
competitions, though no talmit is awarded. There are judges, usually
minor Jarls and slavers. No judge, incidentally, is female. No female
is regarded as competent to judge a female's beauty; only a man, it is
said, can do that.
"Smile, you she-sleen!" roared the Forkbeard.
Gunnhild smiled, and walked.
No free woman, of course, would even think of entering such a contest. All
who walk on such a platform are slave girls.
At last only Gunnhild and the "silk girl," she who had worn the earrings,
walked on the platform.
And it was Gunnhild who was thrown the pastry, to the delight of the
crowds, shouting, pounding their spear blades on their wooden shields.
"Who owns her?" called the chief judge.
"I do!" called the Forkbeard.
He was given a silver tarn disk as a prize.
Many were the bids on Gunnhild, shouted from the crowd, but the Forkbeard
waved such offers aside. The man laughed. Clearly he wanted the wench for
his own furs. Gunnhild was very proud.
"Kirtle yourself, wench," said the Forkbeard to Gunnhild, throwing her
kirtle. She fixed it as it had been before, low on her hips, hitched above
her calves.
At the foot of the steps leading down from the platform, the Forkbeard
stopped and bowed low. I, too, bowed. The slave girls fell to their knees,
heads down, Gunnhild with them.
"How shameful!" said the free woman, sternly.
The slave girls groveled at her feet. Slave girls fear free women muchly.
It is almost as if there were some unspoken war between them, almost as if
they might be mortal enemies. In such a war, or such an enmity, or course,
the slave girl is completely at the mercy of the free person; she is only
slave. One of the great fears of a slave girl is that she will be sold to
a woman. Free women treat their female slaves with incredible hatred and
cruelty. Why this is I do not know. Some say it is because they, the free
women, envy the girls their collars and wish that they, too, were
collared, and at the complete mercy of masters.
Free women view the platform with stern disapproval; on it, female beauty
is displayed for the inspection of men; this, for some reason, outrages
them; perhaps they are furious because they cannot display their own
beauty, or that they are not themselves as beautiful as women found fit,
by lusty men with discerning eyes, for slavery; it is difficult to know
what the truth is in such matters; these matters are further complicated,
particularly in the north, by the conviction among free women that free
women are above such things as sex, and that only low and loose girls,
and slaves, are interested in such matters; free women of the north regard
themselves as superior to sex; many are frigid, at least until carried off
and collared; they often insist that, even when they have faces and
figures that drive men wild, that it is their mind on which he must
concentrate his attentions; some free men, to their misery, and the
perhaps surprising irritation of the female, attempt to comply with this
imperative; they are fools enough to believe what such women claim is the
truth about themselves; they should listen instead to the dreams and
fantasies of women, and recall, for their instruction, the responses of a
free woman, once collared squirming in the chains of a bond-maid. These
teach us truths which many woman dare not speak and which, by others, are
denied, interestingly, with a most psychologically revealing hysteria
and vehemence. "No woman," it is said, "knows truly what she is until
she has worn the collar." Some free women apparently fear sex because they
feel it lowers the woman. This is quite correct. In few, if any, human
relationships is there perfect equality. The subtle tensions of dominance
and submission, universal in the animal world, remain ineradicably in
our blood; they may be thwarted and frustrated but, thwarted and
frustrated they will remain. It is the nature of the male, among the
mammals, to dominate, that of the female to submit. The fact that humans
have minds does not cancel the truths of the blood, but permits their
enrichment and enhancement, their expression in physical and psychological
ecstasies far beyond the reach of simpler organisms; the female slave
submits to her master in a thousand dimensions, in each of which she is
his slave, in each of which he dominates her.
"Shameful!" cried the free woman.
In the lowering of the woman, of course, a common consequence of her
helplessness in the arms of a powerful male, her surrendering, her being
forced to submit, she finds, incredibly to some perhaps, her freedom, her
ecstasy, her fulfillment, her exaltation, her joy; in the Gorean mind this
matter is simple; it is the nature of the female to submit; accordingly,
it is natural that, when she is forced to acknowledge, accept, express and
reveal this nature, that she should be almost deliriously joyful, and
thankful, to her master; she has been taught her womanhood; no longer is
she a sexless, competitive pseudoman; she is then, as she was not before,
female; she then finds herself, perhaps for the first time, clearly
differentiated from the male, and vulnerably, joyfully, complementary to
him; she has, of course, no choice in this matter; it is not permitted
her; collared, she submits; I know of no group of women as joyful, as
spontaneous, as loving and vital, as healthy and beautiful, as excited,
as free in their delights and emotions, as Gorean slave girls; it is true
they must live under the will of men, and must fear them, and the lash of
their whips, but, in spite of these things, they walk with a sensuous
beauty and pride; they know themselves owned; but they wear their collars
with a shameless audacity, a joy, an insolent pride that would scandalize
and frighten the bored, depressed, frustrated woman of Earth.
"I do not approve of the platform," said the free woman, coldly.
Forkbeard did not respond to her, but regarded her with great deference.
"These females," she said, indicating the Forkbeard's girls, who knelt
her feet, their heads to the turf, "could be better employed on your farm,
dunging fields and making butter.
The free woman was a tall woman, large. She wore a great cape of fur, of
white sea-sleen, thrown back to reveal the whiteness of her arms. Her
kirtle was of the finest wool of Ar, dyed scarlet, with black trimmings.
She wore two brooches, both carved of the horn of kailiauk, mounted in
gold. At her waist she wore a jeweled scabbard, protruding from which I
saw the ornamented, twisted blade of a Turian dagger; free women in
Torvaldsland commonly carry a knife; at her belt, too, hung her scissors,
and a ring of many keys, indicating that her hall contained many chests or
doors; her hair was worn high, wrapped about a comb, matching the
brooches, of the horn of kailiauk; the fact that her hair was worn dressed
indicated that she stood in companionship; the number of keys, together
with the scissors, indicated that she was mistress of a great house. She
had gray eyes; her hair was dark; her face was cold and harsh.
"But I am of Ax Glacier," said the Forkbeard. In the Ax Glacier country,
of course, there were no farms, and there were no verr or bosk, there
being insufficient grazing. Accordingly there would be little field
dunging to be done, there being no fields in the first place and no dung
in the second; too, due to the absence of verr or bosk, butter would be in
scarce supply.
The free woman, I could see, was not much pleased with the Forkbeard's
response.
"Thorgeir, is it not?" she asked.
"Thorgeir of Ax Glacier," said the Forkbeard, bowing.
"And what," asked she, "would one of Ax Glacier need with all these
miserable slaves?" She indicated the kneeling girls of Forkbeard.
"In Ax Glacier country," said the Forkbeard, with great seriousness, "the
night is six months long."
Marauders of Gor - pages 153 - 157
Light filtered into the shed from windows cut high in the wall on our
right. The girls sat, or knelt or laid on straw along the wall at our left.
The shed is some two hundred feet long, about ten feet wide, and eight
feet in height.
An officer of Svein Blue Tooth, assisted by two thralls, quickly assessed
Dagmar, stripping her, feeling her body, the firmness of her breasts,
looking in her mouth.
"A tarn disk of silver," he said.
Dagmar had, two months ago, stolen a piece of cheese from Pretty Ankles;
she had been beaten for that, at the post, fastened there by Ottar and
switched by Pretty Ankles, until Pretty Ankles had tired of switching her;
too, she had not been found sufficiently pleasing by several of the
Forkbeard's oarsmen; she was, accordingly, to be sold off, as an inferior
girl.
"Done," said the Forkbeard.
Dagmar was sold.
There were some one hundred bond-maids for sale in the shed. They all wore
the collars of the north, with the projecting iron ring. They were
fastened by a single chain, but it was not itself run through the
projecting loop on their collars; rather, a heavy padlock, passing through
a link of the chain and the projecting loop, secured them; in this way the
chain, when a girl is taken from the chain, or added to it, need not be
drawn through any of the loops; the girls may thus with convenience, be
spaced on the chain, removed from it, added to it.
The Forkbeard was given the tarn disk, which he placed in his wallet. It
had been taken from a sack slung about the shoulder of Blue Tooth's
officer.
The officer then, pulling Dagmar by the arm, went to the right wall.
There, from one of several small wooden boxes projecting at intervals
from the wall, he took an opened padlock. He then walked across the shed,
still holding Dagmar by the arm, and threw her to her knees. He then
lifted the chain and, by means of the padlock, passing it through the loop
on her collar and a link in the chain, secured her.
The Forkbeard, meanwhile, was looking at the bond-maids.
They were, of course, stripped for the view of buyers.
Marauders of Gor - page 158
I was at the archery range when the announcement was made.
I had not intended to participate in the competition. Rather, it had been my plan to buy some small gift for the Forkbeard. Long had I enjoyed his hospitality, and he had given me many things. I did not wish, incidentally, even if I could, to give him a gift commensurate with what he had, in his hospitality, bestowed upon me; the host, in Torvaldsland, should make the greatest gifts; it is, after all, his house or hall; if his guest should make him greater gifts then he makes the guest this is regarded as something in the nature of an insult, a betrayal of hospitality; after all, the host is not running an inn, extending hospitality like a merchant, for profit; and the host must not appear more stingy than the guest who, theoretically, is the one being welcomed and sheltered; in Torvaldsland, thus, the greater generosity is the host's prerogative; should the Forkbeard, however, have come to Port Kar then, of course, it would have been my prerogative to make him greater gifts than he did me. This is, it seems to me, an intelligent custom; the host, giving first, and knowing what he can afford to give, sets the limit to the giving; the guest then makes certain that his gifts are less than those of the host; the host, in giving more, wins honor as a host; the guest, in giving less, does the host honor. Accordingly, I was concerned to find a gift for the Forkbeard; it must not be too valuable, but yet, of course, I wanted it to be something that he would appreciate.
I was on my way to the shopping booths, those near the wharves, where the best merchandise is found, when I stopped to observe the shooting.
"Win Leah! Win Leah, Master!" I heard.
I looked upon her, and she looked upon me.
She stood on a thick, rounded block; it was about a yard high, and five feet in diameter; she was dark-haired, long-haired; she had a short, luscious body, thick ankles; her hands were on her hips. "Win Leah, Master!" she challenged. She was naked, except for the Torvaldsland collar of black iron on her neck, with its projecting ring, and the heavy chain padlocked about her right ankle; the chain was about a yard long; it secured her, by means of a heavy ring, to the block. She laughed. "Win Leah, Master!" she challenged. She, with the archery talmit, was the prize in the shooting.
I noted her brand. It was a southern brand, the first letter, in cursive script, of Kajira, the most common expression for a Gorean female slave. It was entered deeply in her left thigh. Further, I noted she had addressed me as "Master," rather than "my Jarl." I took it, from these indications, she had learned her collar in the south; probably originally it had been a lock collar, snugly fitting, of steel; now, of course, it had been replaced with the riveted collar of black iron, with the projecting ring, so useful for running a chain through, or for padlocking, or linking on an anvil, with a chain. The southern collar, commonly, lacks such a ring; the southern ankle ring, however, has one, and sometimes two, one in the front and one in the back.
"Will you not try to win Leah, Master?" she taunted.
"Are you trained?" I asked.
She seemed startled. "In Ar," she whispered. "But surely you would not
make me use my training in the north."
I looked upon her. She seemed the perfect solution to my problem. The gift
of a female is sufficiently trivial that the honor of the Forkbeard as my
host would not be in the least threatened; further, this was a desirable
wench, whose cuddly slave body would be much relished by the Forkbeard and
his crew; further, being trained, she would be a rare and exquisite treat
for the rude giants of Torvaldsland; beyond this, of course, commanded,
she would impart her skills to the best of her abilities to his other
girls.
"You will do," I told her.
"I do not understand," she said, stepping back. The chain slid on the
wood.
"Your name, and accent," I said, "bespeak an Earth origin."
"Yes," she whispered.
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"Canada," she whispered.
"You were once a woman of Earth," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"But now you are only a Gorean slave girl," I told her.
"I am well aware of that, Master," she said.
I turned away from her. The target in the shooting was about six inches in
width, at a range of about one hundred yards. With the great bow, the
peasant bow, this is not difficult work. Many marksmen, warriors,
peasants, rencers, could have matched my shooting. It was, of course,
quite unusual in Torvaldsland. I put twenty sheaf arrows into the target,
until it bristled with wood and the feathers of the Vosk gull.
When I retrieved my arrows, to the shouting of the men, the pounding of
their bows on their shields, the girl had been already unchained from the
block.
I gave my name to the presiding official. Talmits would be officially
awarded tomorrow. I accepted his congratulations.
My girl prize knelt at my feet. I looked down upon her. "What are you?"
I asked.
"Only a Gorean slave girl, Master," she said.
"Do not forget it," I told her.
"I shall not, Master," she whispered.
"Stand," I told her.
She stood and I lashed her wrists tightly together behind her back.
Marauders of Gor - page 165 - 167
Signal Horns
Two men of Svein Blue Tooth rose to their feet and silenced the crowd
with two blasts on curved, bronze signal horns, of a sort often used for
communication between ships. The men of Torvaldsland have in common a code
of sound signals, given by the horns, consisting of some forty messages.
Messages such as "Attack," "Heave to," "Regroup," and "Communication
desired" have each their special combination of sounds. This sort of thing
is done more effectively, in my opinion, in the south by means of flags,
run commonly from the prow cleats to the height of the stem castle. Flags,
of course, are useless at night. At night ship's lanterns may be used, but
there is no standardization in their use, even among the ships of a given
port. There are shield signals, too, however, it might be mentioned, in
Torvaldsland, though these are quite limited. Two that are universal in
Torvaldsland are the red shield for war, the white for peace. The men of
Torvaldsland, hearing the blasts on the bronze horns, were silent.
The blasts had been the signal for attention.
On the wooden dais, draped in purple, set on the contest fields, in heavy,
carved chairs, sat Svein Blue Tooth and his woman, Bera. Both wore their
finery. About them, some on the dais, and some below it, stood his high
officers, and his men of law, his counselors, his captains, and the chief
men from his scattered farms and holdings; too, much in evidence, were
more than four hundred of his men-at-arms. In the crowd, too, in their
white robes, were rune-priests.
Marauders of Gor - pages 181 - 182
Guiding the Serpents
Torvaldsland sailors guide their vessels by a myriad of indicators. They note the direction of the waves correlated with the prevailing winds, the angles of the shadows of the gunwales falling across the thwarts, and the location of the sun and stars. Even fog banks, feeding grounds of whales and ice floes, in certain seasons, may be used to determine location. It is a matter of tradition and pride that they do not use a needle compass. They sometimes use a sextant but only in strange waters.
Each ship has a helmsman who seeks the best wind for the ship. He examines the waters ahead and also the sky. There is usually wind beneath clouds. He also tries to avoid areas of little wave activity. There is in addition a lookout whose function is to watch for other ships and any dangers. The lookout stands on a broad, flat wooden ring, bound in leather and covered with sea sleen fur. This ring fits over the mast at the top so he can see over the sail. The mast is about thirty-five feet Gorean high. He can thus see out to about ten pasangs. The ring has a diameter of about thirty inches. The lookout does fasten himself to the mast. He reaches the ring by climbing a knotted rope.
One common ship is known as a "twenty bencher" or a "serpent" ship. This means there are twenty benches to each side. These benches are for the rowers and there are two men to each oar. Their oars are longer and narrower than oars on southern ships, allowing the oars to sweep the water faster making the ship move faster. The keel to beam ratio is one to eight and is also designed for swiftness. With a good wind, their ships can cover 200-250 pasangs in a day. Most northern ships do not have a rowing frame. Instead, the rowers sit in the hull, facing aft. Raiding ships are often painted with red and black in irregular lines. At night, such ships moving inland on a river would harder to detect. These ships have two anchor hooks, one fore and one aft. They resemble grappling hooks and are attached to the ship by tarred ropes. They each weight about one hundred pounds. Some of these ships may have a small longboat tied up on the decking of the after quarter.
Mints and Coins
The only mint within one thousand pasangs of Torvaldsland is in the city of Lydius. Thus, some jarls coin their own money. They stamp small rectangles of iron or gold with their seal. Ring money is also used but it is not stamped by a jarl. Many transactions in this area are done with pieces of gold or silver, broken off from any item. They do not care about the artistic beauty of such items. To them, they care only for its monetary value based on the type of metal of an item. Trading is done with the southlands to obtain certain items as well. Salt is an important trade commodity. It is often obtained from seawater and the burning of seaweed. Raiding is their primary means though of acquiring wealth, traveling up and down the coast in their serpent ships.
Runes
Runes are considered a form of magic for them. Rune stones are placed around the area and are generally colorful and able to be seen from a distance. They are freshly painted each year, usually on the vigil of the vernal equinox. Religious rune stones will be repainted on the vigil of the fest-season of Odin, which is in the fall. The most famous rune stone is the Torvaldsmark on Einar's Skerry. Runes may also be carved into wood or leather to be luck signs or grant other magical benefits
Religion
This origin story does not appear to be based on Norse mythology. The books do not detail how similar the Torvaldsland religion is to Norse mythology. It is unknown if they worship all of the Norse gods such as Heimdall, Loki, and Freya. It is unknown if they believe in such Norse mythical creatures as elves, dwarves and giants. (Elves and dwarves on Gor?!!!!!) It is unknown if they believe in the multiplicity of worlds such as Midgard, Muspellheim and Utgard. All we truly know is that they worship Odin and Thor. And we do not even know what tales they tell of these two gods.
Standing on the broken fragments of the circle, Ivar Forkbeard cried
out, his ax lifted, and his left hand, too, "Praise be to Odin!" And then,
throwing his ax to his left shoulder, holding it there by his left hand
he turned and faced the Sardar, and lifted his fist, clenched. It was not
only a sign of defiance to Priest-Kings, but the fist, the sign of the
hammer. It was the sign of Thor.
Marauders of Gor -48
Torvaldsland New Year - Rune Priest
The Spring Equinox, incidentally, is also used for the New Year by the
Rune-Priests of the North, who keep the calendars of Torvaldsland. They
number years from the time of Thor's gift of the stream of Torvald to
Torvald, legendary hero and founder of the northern fatherlands. In the
calendars of the Rune-Priests the year was 1,006.
Marauders of Gor - page 58
The Sign of the Hammer - Recognition of the god Thor
No more would he make over his ale, with his closed fist, the sign of
the hammer.
Marauders of Gor - page 38
Oath Swearing
"Great Jarl," said Ivar Forkbeard, "will you swear upon me the oath of
peace, for the time of the thing, your personal oath, sworn upon the ring
of the temple of Thor?"
"It is not necessary," said the Blue Tooth, "but, if you wish, this oath I
will swear."
The Forkbeard bowed his head in humble petition.
The great ring of the temple of Thor, stained in the blood of the
sacrificial ox, was brought. It was held in the hands of the high
rune-priest of the thing. Svein Blue Tooth grasped it in both hands. "I
swear upon you the peace of the thing," said he, "and I make this oath of
peace, for the time of the thing, mine own as well."
I breathed more easily. I saw the Forkbeard's men about me visibly relax.
Only the Forkbeard did not seem satisfied.
"Swear, too," he suggested, "by the side of the ship, by the shield's rim,
by the sword's edge."
Svein Blue Tooth looked at him, puzzled. "I so swear," he said.
"And, too," begged the Forkbeard, "by the fires of your hearth, by the
timbers of the hall and the pillars of your high seat."
"Come now!" said Svein Blue Tooth.
"My Jarl--" begged the Forkbeard.
"Very well," said the Blue Tooth, "I swear by the ship's side, the
shield's rim, the sword's edge, the fires of my hearth, the timbers of my
hall and the pillars of the high seat in my house."
He then made ready to brush back the hood, but the Forkbeard drew back
once more.
"Will you swear too," he asked, "by the grains of your fields, the
boundary stones of your holdings, the locks on your chests and the salt on
your table?"
"Yes, yes!" said Svein Blue Tooth, irritatedly. "I so swear."
The Forkbeard seemed lost in thought. I assumed he was trying to think of
ways to strengthen the Blue Tooth's oath. It seemed to me a mighty oath
already. I thought it quite sufficient.
"And, too, I swear," said Svein Blue Tooth, "by the bronze of my ladles
and the bottoms of my butter pans!"
Marauders of Gor - page 184
Links to Specialized Information
Home | Free Men | Free Women | Bondmaids | Geography
Ceremonies | Legends | Games | Ships | Weapons | Funerals