Marauders of Gor

Chapter 12 lvar Forkbeard introduces himself to Svein Blue Tooth

About my forehead were bound two talmits, one which I had won in wrestling, the other in archery.

The men of the Forkbeard, and many others, clapped me on the back. I was much pleased. On the other hand I was not certain that I had much longer to live. Soon it would come the time to award the talmits to the mysterious Thorgeir of Ax Glacier.

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 ofthing is done moreeffectively, in my opinion, in the south by means of flags, run commonly from the prow cleats to the height of the stern 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 fnery. 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.

Svein Blue Tooth rose to his feet, standing before the heavy, carved wooden chair. Bera remained sitting. About his neck, on its golden chain, hung the tooth of the Hunjer whale, dyed blue.

“Never in the history ofthe thing,” called Svein, “has therebeen so high a winner in the contests as he whom we nowproceed to honor.”

I was not surprised that this was true.

Ivar Forkbeard had won six talmits.

He had won a talmit for climbing the “mast,” a tall pole of needle wood; it was some fifty feet high, and was peeled and smoothed; he had won one for “leaping the crevice,” which was actually a broadjump, performed on level ground; one for walking the “oar,” which was actually a long pole; two in contests of the spear, one for distance and one for accuracy; and one in swimming. He had done less well in singing, poetry composition, rhyming and riddle guessing. He had come in, however, in second place in riddle guessing.

“This man,” called out Svein Blue Tooth, obviously impressed, “has earned in these contests six talmits. Never in the history of the thing has there been so high a winner.” Svein Blue Tooth was of Torvaldsland himself. He well understood the mightiness of the winner’s exploits. It was rare for one man to win even two talmits. Thousands entered the contests. Only one, in each contest, could achieve the winner’s talmit. “I distinguish myself, and enter into the history of our land,” said the Blue Tooth, “in being the high Jarl to award these talmits in the games. As we honor this man we, in doing this, similarly do honor unto ourselves.” This was cultural in Torvaldsland. One is regarded as being honored when one rightly bestows honor. It is not like one man taking some thing from another, so much as it is like an exchanging of gifts. To a somewhat lesser extent, it might be mentioned, this is also cultural in the south.

Svein Blue Tooth was obviously pleased that it had been in hisJarlship that six talrnits had been won at the thing by a single, redoubtable champion.

Ivar Forkbeard, large, robed in gray, hooded in gray, stood beside me. His features could not be well seen.

From a leather box, proffered to him by a high officer, who, too, had been the presiding official at the contests, Svein Blue Tooth lifted a fistful of talmits.

There was much cheering, much shouting, much lifting of weapons. Spear blades struck the surfaces of the round, painted, wooden shields.

There were steps leading to the dais.

“He who calls himself Thorgeir of Ax Glacier,” proclaimed Svein Blue Tooth, “let him approach!”

Ivar Forkbeard eagerly bounded up the stairs toward the dais. There was not one of his men who did not tense, and reach to his weapons, reassuring himself as to their readiness, I looked about, considering the most opportune paths of flight.

If one is immersed in boiling tharlarion oil one dies quickly. On the other hand, if it is heated slowly, over a tiny fire, this same process consumes several hours. I studied the face of Svein Blue Tooth. I had little doubt that he was a patient man.

I shuddered.

Ivar Forkbeard, Thorgeir of Ax Glacier, now stood, hooded, on the top stair of the dais, before his enemy. I hoped that Svein Blue Tooth would simply hand him the talmits and he might rapidly back down, and we might run for the ship.

My heart sank.

It was obviously the intent of Svein Blue Tooth, himself, to honor this great winner, to bind on his forehead, with his own hands, the talmits.

The Blue Tooth reached to brush back the hood. Ivar drew back his head.

Svein Blue Tooth laughed. “Do not fear, Champion,” said he. “There is none here who believes your name, truly, to be Thorgeir of Ax Glacier.”

Ivar Forkbeard shrugged and spread his hands, as though he had been found out, as though his ruse had failed.

I felt like beating his head in with the handle of an ax.

“What is your name, Champion?” asked Bera, the woman of Jarl Svein Blue Tooth.

Ivar was silent.

“That you have disguised yourself tells us,” said the Blue Tooth, “that you are outlaw.”

Ivar looked at him, as though startled at his perception.

“But the peace of the thing is upon you,” said Svein Blue Tooth. “You are safe among us. Do not fear, great Champion. We meet here not to threaten you, but to do you honor. Be not afraid, for the peace of the thing is upon you, as on all men here.”

“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 sald.

“And, too,” begged the Forkbeard, “by the fires of your llearth, by the timbers ofthe hall and the pillars of yourhigh seat.”

“Come now!” said Svein Blue Tooth.

“MyJarl-“ 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 pansl”

“That will not be necessary,” said the Forkbeard, generously.

“What is your name, Champion?” asked Svein Blue Tooth.

Ivar Forkbeard threw back his hood. “My name is Ivar Forkbeard,” he said.