Marauders of Gor

Chapter 6 Ivar Forkbeard’s long hall

There was a great cheer from the men of Ivar Forkbeard. The serpent turned slowly between the high cliffs, and entered the inlet. Here and there, clinging to the rock, were lichens, and small bushes, and even stunted trees. The water below us was deep and cold.

I felt a breeze from inland, coming to meet the sea.

The oars lifted and fell. The sail fell slack, and rustled, stirred in the gentle wind from inland. Men of Torvaldsland reefed it high to the spar. The rowing song was strong and happy in the lusty throats of the crew of the Forkbeard. The serpent took its way between the cliffs, looming high on each side. Ivar Forkbeard, at the prow, lifted a great, curved bronze horn and blew a blast. I heard it echo among the cliffs. Amidships, crowded together, standing, facing the starboard side of the vessel, were the bond-maids and Aelgifu. She wore still her black velvet. They were in throat coffle; their wrists were fettered before their bodies. They looked upon the new country, harsh, forbidding, which was to be their home.

I heard, perhaps from a pasang away, up the inlet, between the cliffs, the winding of a horn.

Soon, I gathered, we would be at Forkbeard’s landfall.

“Put her,” said Forkbeard, indicating the slender, blond girl, “at the prow.”

She was quickly removed from the coffle and unfettered. Gorm put a rope on her neck and pulled her to the prow, She was held by another crewman, he fastened her at the prow. Her back was bent over it. Her wrists and ankles drawn back, were tied at its sides. She was roped to it, too, at the belly and throat.Again Ivar Forkbeard winded the great bronze horn. In several seconds an answering blast echoed between the cliffs. The oars lifted and dipped. The men sang.

“Hang gold about the ship!” he cried.

Candlesticks and cups were hung on strings from the prow. Plates, with iron nails, were pounded against the mast. Golden hangings were draped like banners at the gunwales. Then the ship turned a bend between the cliffs, and, to my astonishment I saw a dock, of rough logs, covered with adzed boards, and a wide, sloping area of land, of several acres, green, though strewn with boulders, with short grass. There was a log palisade some hundred yards from the dock. High on the cliff, I saw a lookout, a man with a horn. Doubtless it had been he whom we had heard. From his vantage, high on the cliff, on his belly, unseen, he would have been able to see far down the inlet. He stood now and waved the bronze horn in his hand. Forkbeard waved back to him.

I saw four small milk bosk grazing on the short grass. In the distance, above the acres, I could see mountains, snow capped. A flock of verr, herded by a maid with a stick, turned, bleating on the sloping hillside. She shaded her eyes. She was blond; she was barefoot; she wore an ankle-length white kirtle, of white wool, sleeveless, split to her belly. About her neck I could see a dark ring.

Men were now running from the palisade and the fields down to the dock. They were bare-headed, and wore shaggy jackets. Some wore trousers of skin, others tunics of dyed wool. I saw too, fields, fenced with rocks, in the sloping area. In them were growing, small at this season, shafts ol Sa-Tarna; too, there would be peas, and beans, cabbages and onions, and patches of the golden sul, capable of surviving at this latitude. I saw small fruit trees, and hives, where honey bees were raised; and there were small sheds, here and there, with sloping roofs of boards; in some such sheds might craftsmen work; in others fish might be dried or butter made. Against one wall of the cliffwas a long, low shed; in that the small bosk, and the verr, might be housed in the winter, and there, too, would be stored their feed; another shed, thick, with heavy logs, in the shadow of the cliff, would be the ice house, where ice from the mountains, brought down on sledges to the valley, would be kept, covered with chips of wood.

There were only a few bosk visible, and they were milk bosk. The sheds I saw would accomodate many more animals. I surmised, as is common in Torvaldsland, most of the cattle had been driven higher into the mountains, to graze wild during the summer, to be fetched back to the shed only in the fall, with the coming of winter.

Men in the fields wore short tunics of white wool; some carried hoes; their hair was close cropped; about their throats had been hammered bands of black iron, with a welded ring attached. They did not leave the fields; such a departure, without permission, might mean their death; they were thralls.

I saw people running down the sloping green land, toward the water. Several came from within the palisade. Among them, white kirtledcollared, excited, ran bond-maids. These, upon the arrival of their master, are perrnitted to greet him. The men of the north enjoy the bright eyes, the leaping bodies, the squealing, the greetings of their bond-maids. In the fields I saw an overseer, clad in scarlet, with a gesture of his hand, releasing the thralls. Then, they, too, ran down toward the water.

It would be holiday, I gathered, at the hall of Ivar Forkbeard.

The Forkbeard himself now, from a wooden keg, poured a great tankard of ale, which must have been of the measure of five gallons. Over this he then closed his fist. It was the sign of the hammer, the sign of Thor. The tankard then, with two great bronze handles, was passed from hands to hands among the rowers. The men threw back their heads and, the liquid spilling down their bodies, drank ale. It was the victory ale.

Then the Forkbeard himself drained the remains of the tankard, threw it to the foot of the mast, and then, to my astonishment, leapt from the ship, onto the moving oars. The men sang. The Forkbeard then, to the delight of those on the bank, who cheered him, as the serpent edged into the dock, addressed himself delightedly to the oar-dance of the rover of Torvaldsland. It is not actually a dance, of course, but it is an athletic feat of no little stature requiring a superb eye, fantastic balance and incredible coordination. Ivar Forkbeard, crying out, leaped from moving oar to moving oar, proceeding from the oars nearest the stem on the port side to the stern, then leaping back onto the deck at the stern quarter and leaping again on the oars this time on the starboard side, and proceeding from the oar nearest the stern to that nearest the stem, and then, lifting his arms, he leaped again into the ship, almost thrown into it as the oar lifted. He then stood on the prow, near me, sweating and grinning. I saw cups of ale, on the bank, being lifted to him. Men cheered. I heard the cries of bond-maids.

The serpent of Ivar Forkbeard, gently, slid against the rolls of leather hung at the side of the dock. Eager hands vied on the dock to grasp the mooring ropes. The oars slid inboard; the men hung their shields at the serpent’s flanks.

Men on the dock cried out with pleasure, looking on the harshly roped beauty of the slender, blondish girl, so cruelly fastened, back bent, at the prow of the Forkbeard’s serpent.

“I have eighteen others!” called Ivar Forkbeard. His men, laughing, thrust the other girls forward, to the rail, forcing them to stand on the rowing benches.

“Heat the irons!” called the Forkbeard.

“They are hot!” laughed a brawny man, in leather apron, standing on the dock.

The girls shuddered. They would be branded.

“Bring the anvil to the branding log!” said the Forkbeard.

They knew then they would wear collars.

“It is there!” laughed the brawny fellow, doubtless a smith.

Gorm had now unbound the slender, blond girl from the prow. He put her at the head of the coffle. Aelgifu, in her black velvet, it creased and stained, discolored, the fabric stiff and separated here and there, brought up the rear.Gorm did not refetter the slender, blond girl, though he tie her by the neck in the coffle. Further, he removed the fetterl from the other girls, too, including Aelgifu. All remained however, coffled.

The gangplank was then thrust over the rail of the ser pent and struck on the heavy, adzed boards of the dock.

The slender, blond girl, the hand of Ivar Forkbeard or her arm, was thrust to the head of the gangplank. She looked down at the cheering men.

Gorm then stood beside Ivar Forkbeard. He carried, on a strap over his shoulder, a tall, dark vessel, filled with liquid. The men on the shore laughed. Attached to the vessel, by a light chain, was a golden cup. It had two handles. From a spout on the vessel, grinning, Gorm filled the golden cup. The liquid swirling in the cup was black.

Drink,” said Ivar Forkbeard, thrusting the cup into the hands of the slender, blond girl, she who had, so long ago, in the temple of Kassau, worn the snood of scarlet yarn, with twisted golden wire, the red vest and skirt, the white blouse.

She held the cup. It was decorated; about its sides, cunningly wrought, was a design, bond-maids, chained. A chain design also decorated the rim, and, at five places on the cup, was the image of a slave whip, five-strapped. She looked at the black liquid.

“Drink,” said the Forkbeard.

She lifted it to her lips, and tasted it. She closed her eyes, and twisted her face.

“It is too bitter,” she wept.

She felt the knife of the Forkbeard at her belly. “Drink,” said he.

She threw back her head and drank down the foul brew. She began to cough and weep. The coffle rope was untied from her throat. “Send her to the branding log,” said the Forkbeard. He thrust the girl down the gangplank, into the arms of the waiting men, who hurried her from the dock.One by one, the prizes of Ivar Forkbeard, even the rich, proud Aelgifu, were forced to down the slave wine. Then they were, one by one, freed from the coffle, and hurried to the branding log.

Ivar Forkbeard then, followed by Gorm, and myself, and his men, descended the gangplank. He was much greeted. Many clasped him, and struck him on the back. And he, too, clasped many of them to himself, and shook the heads of many in his great hands.

“Was the luck good?” asked one man, with a spiral silver ring on his arm.

“Fair,” admitted the Forkbeard.

“Who is this?” asked another man, indicating me. “I see his hair has not been cropped, and he does not wear the chains of a thrall.”

“This is Tarl Red Hair,” said the Forkbeard.

“Whose man is he?” asked the man.

“My own,” I said.

“Have you no Jarl?” asked the man.

“I am my own Jarl,” I said.

“Can you play with the ax?” he asked.

“Teach me the ax,” I said to him.

“Your sword is too tiny,” said he. “Is it used for peeling suls?”

“It moves swiftly,” I said. “It bites like the serpent.”

He reached out his hand to me and then, suddenly, gripped me about the waist. Clearly it was his intention, as a joke, to hurl me into the water. He did not move me. He grunted in surprise. I took him, too, about the waist. We swayed on the adzed boards. The men moved back, to give us room.

“Ottar enjoys sport,” said Ivar Forkbeard.

With a sudden wrench I threw him from his feet and hurled him from the dock into the water.

He crawled, drenched and sputtering; back to the dock. Tomorrow,” he laughed, “I will teach you the ax.” We clasped hands. Ottar, in the absence of Ivar Forkbeard, kept hls cattle, his properties, his farm and accounts.

“He plays excellent Kaissa,” said the Forkbeard.

“I shall beat him,” said Ottar.

“We shall see,” I said.

A bond-maid thrust through the crowd. “Does my Jarl not remember Gunnhild?” she asked. She whimpered, and slipped to his side, holding him, lifting her lips to kiss him on the throat, beneath the beard. About her neck, riveted, was a collar of black iron, with a welded ring, to which a chain might be attached. “What of Pouting Lips?” said another girl, kneeling before him, lifting her eyes to his. Sometimes bond-maids are given descriptive names. The girl had full, sensuous lips, she was blond; she also smelled of verr; it had doubtless been she whom I had seen on the slope herding verr. “Pouting Lips has been in agony awaiting the return of her Jarl,” she whimpered. The Forkbeard shook her head with his great hand. “What of Olga?” whined another wench, sweet and strapping, black-haired; “Do not forget Pretty Ankles, myJarl,” said anotherwench, a delicious little thing, perhaps not more than sixteen. She thrust her lips greedily to the back of his left hand, biting at the hair there.

“Away you wenches!” laughed Ottar. “The Forkbeard has new prizes, fresher meat to chew!”

Gunnhild, angrily, with two hands, jerked her kirtle to her waist, and stood straight, proudly before the Forkbeard, her breasts, which were marvelous, thrust forward. How magnificent she seemed, the heavy black iron at her throat riveted. “None of them can please you,” she said, “as well as Gunnhild!”

He seized her in his arms and raped her lips with a kiss, his hand at her body, then threw her from him to the boards of the dock.

“Prepare a feastl” he said. “Let a feast be prepared!”

“Yes, my Jarl!” she cried, and leaped to her feet, running toward the palisade. “Yes, my Jarl!” cried the other girls, hurrying behind her, to begin the preparations for the feast.

Then the Forkbeard turned his attention to the serpent, and the disembarkment of its riches, which, on the shoulders of his men, and others, were carried, amid shouts of joy and wonder from those gathered about, to the palisade.

When this was done, I accompanied the Forkbeard to a place behind, and to one side, of a forge shed. There was a great log there, from a fallen tree. The bark had been removed from the log. It was something in the neighborhood of a yard in thickness. Against the log, kneeling, one behind the other, their right shoulders in contact with it, knelt the new bond-maids, and Aelgifu. Some men stood about, as well, and the brawny fellow, the smith. Nearby, on a large, flat stone, to keep it from sinking into the ground, was the anvil. A few feet away, glowing with heat, stood two canister braziers. In these, among the white coats, were irons. Air, by means of a small bellows, pumped by a thrall boy, in white wool, collared, haircropped, was forced through a tube in the bottom of each. The air above the canisters shook with heat.

To one side, tall, broad-shouldered, stood a young male thrall, in the thrall tunic of white wool, his hair cropped short, an iron collar on his throat.

“She first,” said the Forkbeard, indicating the slender, blond girl.

She, moaning, was seized by a fellow and thrown on her belly over the peeled log. Two men held her upper arms; two others her upper legs. A fifth man, with a heavy, leather glove, drew forth one of the irons from the fire; the air ab~ut its tip shuddered with heat.

“Please, my Jarl,” she cried, “do not mark your girI!”

At a sign from the Forkbeard, the iron was pressed deeply into her flesh, and held there, smoking for five Ihn. It was only when it was pulled away that she screamed. Her eyes had been shut, her teeth gritted. She had tried not to scream. She had dared to pit her will against the iron. But, when the iron had been pulled back, from deep within her flesh, smoking, she, her pride gone, her will shattered, had screamed with pain, long and miserably, revealing herself as only another branded girl. She, by the arm, was dragged from the log. She threw back her head, tears streaming down her face, and again screamed in pain. She looked down at her body. She was marked for identification. A hand on her arm, she was thrust, sobbing, to the anvil, beside which she was thrust to her knees.

The brand used by Forkbeard is not uncommon in the north, though there is less uniformity in Torvaldsland on these matters than in the southi, where the mercnant caste, with its recommendations for standardisation, is more powerful. 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 its right tip, adjoining it, a steep, diagonal line. The half circle is about an inch and a quarter in width, and the diagonal line about an inch and a quarterin 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.

“Look up at me,” said the smith.

The slender, blond girl, tears in her eyes, looked up at him.

He opened the hinged collar of black iron, about a half inch in height. He put it about her throat. It also contained a welded ring, suitable for the attachment of a chain.

“Put your head beside the anvil,” he said.

He took her hair and threw it forward, and thrust herneck against the left side of the anvil. Over the anvil lay the joining ends of the two pieces of the collar. The inside of the collar was separated by a quarter of an inch from her neck. I saw the fine hairs on the back of her neck. On one part of the collar are two, small, flat, thick rings. On the other is a slngle such ring. These rings, when the wings of the collar are joined, are aligned, those on one wing on top and bottom, that on the other in the center. They fit closely together, one on top of the other. The holes in each, about three-eighths of an inch in diameter, too, of course, are perfectly aligned. The smith, with his thumb, forcibly, pushed a metal rivet through the three holes. The rivet fits snugly.

“Do not move your head, Bond-maid,” said the smith.

Then, with great blows of the iron hammer, he riveted the iron collar about her throat. A man then pulled her by the hair from the anvil and threw her to one side. She lay there weeping, a naked bondmaid, marked and collared.

“Next,” called out the Forkbeard.

Weeping, another girl was flung over the branding log.

In the end only Aelgifu was left.

The Forkbeard, with the heel of his boot on theground, drew a bond-maid circle. She looked at it. Then, to the laughter of the men, her head high, lifting her skirt, she stepped to the circle, and stood, facing him, within it.

“Remove your clothing, my pretty one,” said Ivar Forkbeard. She reached behind the back of her neck and unbuttoned the dress of black velvet, and then drew it over her head. She stood then before us in a chemise of fine silk. This, too, she drew over her head, and threw to the ground. She then stood there, statuesque, proudly.

Ivar licked his lips. Several of his men cried out with pleasure, others struck their left shoulders with the palms of their right hand. Two, who were armed with shield and spear, smote the spear blade on the wooden shield.

“Will she not be a tasty morsel indeed?” Ivar asked his men.

The men cheered, and struck their shoulders, and again, the spear blades smote upon the shields. Fear entered the eyes of the proud Aelgifu.

“Run to the iron, wench,” suddenly commanded Ivar Forkbeard, harshly. Moaning, Aelgifu ran from the circle to the branding log, and was thrown over it, belly down. In a moment the iron had bitten her. Her scream broughtlaughter from some of the other bond-maids. She was then thrust to the anvil and thrown to her knees beside it:.

I saw the young, broad-shouldered thrall, who had been standing to one side, go to the slender blond girl. He lifted her to her feet.

“I see, Thyri,” said he, “that you are now a woman whose belly lies beneath the sword.”

“Wulfstan,” she said.

“I am called Tarsk here,” he said.

He fingered the collar on her throat. “The proud Thyri,” he said, “a bond-maid!” He smiled. “You refused my suit,” said he. “Do you recall?”

She said nothing.

“You were too good for me,” he said. He laughed. “Now,” said he, “doubtless you would crawl on your belly to any man who would free you.”

She looked at him angrily.

“Would you not?” he asked.

“Yes, Wulfstan,” she said. “I would!”

He held her by the collar. “But you will not be freed Thyri,” he said. “You will continue to wear this. You are a bond-maid.”

She looked down.

“It pleases me,” said he, “to see you here.” He stepped back from her. She lifted her eyes, angrily, to look upon him. “A brand,” said he, “improves a woman. It improves you Thyri. Your collar, too, the iron on your neck, it against the softness of your body, is quite becoming.”

“Thank you, Wulfstan,” said she.

“Women,” said he, “belong in collars.”

Her eyes flashed.

“Sometimes,” said he, “to discipline a bond-maid, she is hurled naked among the thralls.” He smiled. “Do not fear. Should this be done to you I, in my turn, shall use you well Bond-maid. Quite well.”

She shrank back from him.

The last blows of the smith’s hamrner rang out and Aelgifu, by the hair, was pulled from the anvil, wearing a collar of black iron.

“Hurry, bond-maids!” cried Ivar Forkbeard. “Hurry, lazy girls! There is a feast to be prepared!”

The bond-maids, Thyri and Aelgifu among them, fled, like a frightened herd of tabuk, across the short, turflike green grass, to the gate of the palisade, to be put to work.

Ivar Forkbeard roared with laughter, his head back. On his lap, naked, cuddling, sat she who had been Aelgifu, her arrns about his neck, her lips to the side of his head; her name had now been changed; the new name of the daughter of Gurt, Administrator of Kassau, was Pudding. On his other side, stripped, her collar of black iron at her throat, her arms about his waist, rubbing herself against his belt, was the bond-maid Gunnhild.

I held the large drinking horn of the north. “There is no way for this to stand upright,” I said to him, puzzled.

He threw back his head again, and roared once more with laughter.

“If you cannot drain it,” he said, “give it to another!”

I threw back my head and drained the horn.

“Splendid!” cried the Forkbeard.

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 beauhful is a naked, collared woman.

“Your hall,” said I to the Forkbeard, “is scarcely what had expected.”

I had learned, much to my instruction, that my conception of the northern halls left much to be desired. Indeed the true hall, lofty, high-beamed, built of logs and boards, with its benches and high-seat pillars, its carvings and hangings, its long fires, its suspended kettles, was actually quite rare, and, generally, only the richest of the Jarls possessed such. The hall of Ivar Forkbeard, I learned, to my surprise, was of a type much more common. Upon reflection, however, it seemed to me not so strange that this should be so, in a bleak country, one in which many of the trees, too would be stunted and wind-twisted. In Torvaldsland, fine tlmberis at a premium. Too, what fine lumber there is, is oftenmarked and hoarded for the use of shipwrights If a man of Torvaldsland must choose between his hall and his ship, it is the ship which, invariably, wins his choice. Furthermore, of course, were it not for goods won by his ship or ships, it would be unlikely that he would have the means to build a hall and house within it his men.

“Here, Jarl,” said Thyri, again handing me the horn. It was filled with the mead of Torvaldsland, brewed from fermented honey, thick and sweet.

The hall of IvarForkbeard was a longhouse. It was about one hundred and twenty feet Gorean in length. Its walls formed of turf and stone, were curved and thick, some eight feet or more in thickness. It is oriented north and south. Thls reduces its exposure to the north wind, which is partlcularly important in the Torvaldsland winter. A fire, in a rounded pit, was in its center. It consisted, for the most part, of a single, long room, which served for living, and eating and sleeping. At one end was a cooking compartment, separated from the rest of the house by a partition of wood. The roof was about six feet in height, which meant that most of those within, if male, were forced to bend over as they moved about. The long room, besides being low, is dark. Too, there is usually lingering smoke in it. Ventilation is supplied, as it is generally in Torvaldsland, by narrow holes in the roof. The center of the hall, down its length, is dug out about a foot below the ground level. In the long center are set the tables and benches. Also, in the center, down its length are two long rows of posts, each post separated from the next by about seven feet, which support the roof. At the edges of the hall, at ground level, is a dirt floor, on which furs are spread. Stones mark sections off into sleeping quarters. Thus, in a sense, the hall proper is about a foot below ground level, and the sleeping level, on each side, is at the ground level, where the walls begin. The sleeping levels, which also can accommodate a man’sgear, though some keep it at the foot of the level, are about eight feet in length. The hall proper, the center of the hall, is about twelve feet in width.

The two bond-maids, stripped, too, like the others, for the feast, Pretty Ankles and Pouting Lips, struggled down the length of the smoky, dark hall, a spitted, roasted tarsk on their shoulders. They were slapped by the men, hurrying them along. They laughed with pleasure. Their shoulders were protected from the heat of the metal spit by rolls of leather. The roasted tarsk was flung before us on the table. With his belt knife, thrusting Pudding and Gunnhild back, Ivar Forkbeard addressed himself to the cutting of the meat. He threw pieces down the length of the table.I heard men laughing. Too, from the darkness behind me, and more than forty feet away, on the raised level, I heard the screams of a raped bond-maid. She was one of the new girls. I had seen her being dragged by the hair to the raised platform. Her screams were screams of pleasure.

“Well,” said Ivar Forkbeard to me, “I am an outlaw.”

“I did not know that,” I said.

“That is one reason,” said he, “that my hall is not of wood.”

“I see,” I said. “But you have at least a palisade,” I said.

He threw me a piece of meat.He cut two small pieces, and thrust them in the mouths of Pudding and Gunnhild.They ate obediently, his pets.

“The palisade,” he said, “is low, and the cracks are filled with daub.”

I tore a piece of meat from what Ivar had thrown me and held it to Thyri. She smiled at me. She was trying to learn how to please a man. “Thank you, my Jarl,” she said. She took the meat, delicately, in her teeth. I grinned, and she looked down, frightened. She knew that soon she might be taught, truly, how to please men.

“You are rich,” I said, “and have many men. Surely you could have a hall of wood, if you wished.”

“Why did you come to Torvaldsland?” suddenly asked Ivar Forkbeard.

“On a work of vengeance,” I told him. “I hunt one of the Kurii.”

“They are dangerous,” said Ivar Forkbeard.

I shrugged.

“One has struck here,” said Ottar, suddenly.

Ivar looked at him.

“Last month,” said Ottar, “a verrwas taken.”

I knew then that it could not be the one of the Kurii I sought.

“We hunted him, but failed to find him,” said Ottar.

“Doubtless he has left the district,” said Ivar.

“Do the beasts often bother you?” I asked.

“No,” said Ivar. “They seldom hunt this far to the south.” “They are rational,” I told him. “They have a language.” “That is known to me,” said Ivar.

I did not tell Ivar that those he knew as Kurii, or the beasts, were actually specimens of an alien race, that they, or those in their ships, were locked in war with PriestKings for the domination of two worlds, Gor and the Earth. In these battles, unknown to most men, even of Gor, from time to time, ships of the Kurii had been shattered and fallen to the surface. It was the practice of Priest-Kings to destroy the wrecks of such ships but, usually, at least, they did not attempt to hunt and exterminate survivors. If the marooned Kurii abided by the weapon and technology laws of Priest-Kings, they, like men, another life form, were perrmitted to survive. The Kurii I knew were beasts of fierce, terrible instincts, who regarded humans, and other beasts, as food. Blood, as to the shark, was an agitant to their systems. They were extremely powerful, and highly intelligent, though their intellectual capacities, like those of humans, were far below those of Priest-Kings. Fond of killing, and technologically advanced, they were, in their way, worthy adversaries of Priest-Kings. Most lived in ships, the steel wolves of space, their instincts bridled, to some extent, by Ship Loyalty, Ship Law. It was thought that their own world had been destroyed. This seemed plausible, when one considered their ferocity and greed, and what might be its implementation in virtue of an advanced technology. Their own world destroyed, the Kurii now wished another.

The Kurii, of course, with which the men of Torvaldsland might have had dealings, might have been removed by as much as generations from the Kurii of the ships. It was regarded as one of the great dangers of the war, however, that the Kurii of the ships might make contact with, and utilize, the Kurii of Gor in their schemes.

Men and the Kurii, where they met, which was usually only in the north, regarded one another as mortal enemies. The Kurii not unoften fed on men, and men, of course, in consequence, attempted to hunt and slay, when they could, the beasts. Usually, however, because of the power and ferocity of the beasts, men would hunt them only to the borders of their own districts, particularly if only the loss of a bosk or thrall was involved. It was usually regarded as quite sufficient, even by the men of Torvaldsland, to drive one of the beasts out of their own district. They were especially pleased when they had managed to harry one into the district of an enemy.

“How will you know the one of the Kurii whom you seek?” asked Ivar.

“I think,” I said, “he will know me.”

“You are a brave, or foolish, man,” said Ivar.

I drank more of the mead. I ate, too, of the roast tarsk.

“You are of the south,” said Ivar. “I have a proposition, a scheme.”

“What is that?” I asked.

The bond-maid, Olga, laughing and kicking, thrown helplessly over the shoulder of an oarsman, was carried past.

I saw several of the bond-maids in the arms of Ivar’s men. Among them, too, some trying to resist, were the new girls. One, who had irritated an oarsman, her hands held, was beaten, crying out, with his belt. Released, she began to kiss him, weeping, trying to please him. Men laughed. Another of the new girls was thrown over one of the benches; she lay on her back; her head was down, her dark hair, lon wild, was in the dirt and reeds, strewn on the floor of the hall; her head twisted from side to side; her eyes were close her lips were parted; I saw her teeth.

“Do not stop, ~ Jarl,” she begged. “Your bond-maid begs you not to stop!

“I am an outlaw,” said Ivar. ‘In a duel I killed Fin BroadbeIt.”

“It was in a duel,” I said.

“Finn Broadbelt was the cousin of Jarl Svein Blue Tooth.

“Ah,” I said. Svein Blue Tooth was the high jarl of Torvaldsland, in the sense that he was generally regarded as th e most powerful. In his hall, it was said he fed a thousand men. Beyond this his heralds could carry the war arrow, it was said, to ten thousand farms. Ten ships he had at his own wharves, and, it was said, he could sumrnon a hundred more “He is your Jarl?” I asked.

“He was my Jarl,” said Ivar Forkbeard.

“The wergild must be high,” I speculated.

The Forkbeard looked at me, and grinned. “It was set so high,” said he, “out of the reach of custom and law, against the protests of the rune-priests and his own men, that none, in his belief, could pay it.”

“And thus,” said I, “that your outlawry would remain in effect until you were apprehended or slain?”

“He hoped to drive me from Torvaldsland,” said Ivar.

“He has not succeeded in doing so,” I said.

Ivar grinned. “He does not know where I am,” said he. “If he did, a hundred ships might enter the inlet.”

“How much,” asked I, “is the wergild?”

“A hundred stone of gold,” said Ivar.

“You have taken that much, or more,” said I, “in the sack of Kassau’s temple.”

“And the weight of a full-grown man in the sapphires of Schendi,” said the Forkbeard.

I said nothing.

“Are you not surprised?” asked Ivar.

“It seems a preposterous demand,” I admitted, smiling.

“You know, however, what I did in the south?” asked Ivar.

“It is well known,” I said, “that you freed Chenbar, the Sea Sleen, Ubar of Tyros, from the chains of a dungeon of Port Kar, your fee being his weight in the sapphires of Schendi.”

I did not mention to the Forkbeard that it had been I, as Bosk of Port Kar, admiral of the city, who had been responsible for the incarceration of Chenbar.

Yet I admired the audacity of the man of Torvaldsland, though his act, in freeing Chenbar to act against me, had almost cost me my life last year in the northern forests. Sarus of Tyros, acting under his orders, had struck to capture both Marlenus of Ar and myself. He had failed to capture me, and I had, eventually, managed to free Marlenus, his men and mine, and defeat Sarus.

“Now,” laughed Ivar Forkbeard, “I expect that these nights Svein Blue Tooth rests less well in his furs.”

“You have already,” I said, “accumulated one hundred stone of gold and the weight of Chenbar of Tyros, the Sea Sleen, in the sapphires of Schendi.”

“But there is one thing more which the Blue Tooth demanded of me,” said Ivar.

“The moons of Gor?” I asked.

“No,” said he, “the moon of Scagnar.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“The daughter,” said he, “of Thorgard of Scagnar, Hilda the Haughty.”

I laughed. “Thorgard of Scagnar,” I said, “has power comparable to that of the Blue Tooth himself.”

“You are of Port Kar,” said Ivar.

“My house is in that city,” said I.

“Is Thorgard of Scagnar not an enemy of those of Port Kar?” he asked.

“We of Port Kar,” I said, “have little quarrel generally with those oi Scagnar, but it is true that the ships of this Thorgard have preyed with devastation upon our shipping. Many men of Port Kar has he given to the bosom of Thassa.”

“Wou!d you say,” asked Ivar, “that he is your enemy?”

Yes, I said, “I would say that he is my enemy.”

‘You hunt one of the Kurii,” said Ivar.

“Yes,” I said.

“It may be dangerous and difflcult,” he said.

“It is quite possible,” I admitted.

“It might be good sport,” said he, “to engage in such a hunt.’

“You are welcome to accompany me,” I said.

Is it of concern to you whether or not the daughter oi Thorgard of Scagnar wears a collar?”

“It does not matter to me,” said I, “whether she wears a collar or not.”

“I think, soon,” said he, “his daughter might be fetched to the hal1 of Ivar Forkbeard.”

“It will be difficult and dangerous,” I said.

“It is quite possible,” said he.

“Am I welcome to accompany you?” I asked.

He grinned. “Gunnhild,” said he, “run for a horn of mead.

“Yes, my Jarl,” said she, and sped from his side.

In a moment, through the dark, smoky hall, returned Gurmhild, bearing a great horn of mead.

“My Jarls,” said she.

The Forkbeard took from her the horn of mead and, together, we drained it.

We then clasped hands.

“You are welcome to accompany me,” said he. Then he rose to his feet behind the table. “Drink!” called he to his men. ‘Drink mead to Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!”

His men roared with laughter. Bond-maids, collared and naked, fled about, filling horns with mead.

“Feast!” called Ivar Forkbeard. “Feast!”

Muchmeat was eaten; many horns were drained.

Though the hall of Ivar Forkbeard was built only of turf and stone, and though he himself was outlaw,he had met me at lts 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 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 ofTorvaldsland, large, curved, single-bladed; and four rings of gold, that might be worn on the arm.

“My gratitude,” said I.

“You play excellent Kaissa,” had said he.

I surmised to myself that the help of the Forkbeard might, in the bleak realities of Torvaldsland, be of incalculable value. He might know the haunts of Kurii; he might know dialects of the north, some of which are quite divergent from standard Gorean, as it is spoken, say, in ArorKo-ro-ba, or even in distant Turia; the habits and customs of the northern halls and villages might be familiar to him; I had no wish to be thrown bound beneath the hoes of thralls because I had inadvertently insulted a free man-at-arms or breached a custom, perhaps as simple as using the butter before someone who sat closer to the high-seat pillars than myself. Most importantly, the Forkbeard was a mighty fighter, a brave man, a cunning mind; in my work in the north I was grateful that I might have so formidable an ally. To put a collar on the throat of the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar seemed small enough price to pay for the assistance of so mighty a comrade. Thorgard of Scagnar, vicious and cruel, one of the most powerfill of the northern Jarls, was my enemy.

Too, he had, in his ship, Black Sleen, hunted us at sea.

I smiled. Let his daughter, Hilda the Haughty, beware.

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 youl”

Both girls quicklyfled to his furs.

He stepped over the bench, and followed them. At the foot of the ground level, which is the sleeping level, which lies about a foot above the dug-out floor, the long center of the hall, on the floor, against the raised dirt, here and there were rounded logs, laid lengthwise. Each log is ten to fifteen feet long, and commonly about eight inches to a foot thick. If one thinks of the sleeping level, on each side, as constituting, in effect, a couch, almost the length of the hall, except for the cooking area, the logs lie at the foot of these two couches, and parallel to their foot. About each log fitting snugly into deep, wide, circular grooves in the wood, were several iron bands. These each contained a welded ring, to which w.as attached a length of chain, termmating in a black-iron fetter.

Gunnhild thrust out her left ankle; the Forkbeard fettered her; a moment later Pudding, too, had thrust, forth her ankle, and her ankle, too, was locked in a fetter of the north. The Forkbeard threw off his jacket. There was a rustle of chain as the two bond-maids turned, Puddingon her left side, Gunnhild on her right, waiting for the Forkbeard to lie between rhem.

I heard men, down the table laughing. One of the new girls, from Kassau, had been thrown on her back, on the table. She lay in meat, and spilled mead. She was kickingand laughing, trying to push back from her body the pressing jackets of fur of the men of Torvaldsland. Another girl, I saw, was seized and thrown to the darkness of the sleeping platform. I saw her white body, briefly, trying to crawl away, but he who had thrown her upon the furs, seized her ankle and drew her to him. She was thrown mercilesslyunderhim, her shoulders pressed back, her beauty his prize. I saw her head lift, thrusting her lips to his, but it was then thrust back, and she whimpered, her body squirming, held helpless, loot, his to be done with as he pleased. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she put her arrns about his neck, and thrust up her head again, lips parted. “My Jarl!” she wept. “My Jarl!” Then he again thrust her back to the furs, with such force that she cried out, and then he, with rudeness and incredible force, used her for his pleasure. I saw her body struck again and again, she clinging to him, helplessly. He gave her no quarter. Bond-maids are treated without mercy. “I love you, my Jarl!” she screamed. Men at the tables, mead spilling, chewing on meat, laughed at her. She wept, and cried out with pleasure.

When the oarsman had finished with her and would return to the table, she tried to hold him. He struck her back on the furs. Weeping she held out her arms to him. He returned to his mead.

I saw another oarsman then crawl to her and, by the hair, pull her into his arms. In a moment I saw her collared body, desperately pressing and rubbing against hirn, he in her small, white arms, her belly thrust against the great buckle of the master belt. Then he, too, threw her to her back. “I love you, my Jarls,” she wept. “I love you, my Jarls!”

There was much laughter. I looked to one side; there, at a bench, lethargic, somnolent, like a great stone, or a sleeping larl, sat Rollo, he of such great stature, with grayish skin. He was bare-chested. About his neck, looped, was a cord of woven, golden wire, with a golden pendant, in the shape of an ax. He was shaggy haired. He seemed not to be aware of the wildness of thefeast, he seemed not to hear the laughter, the screams of the yielding bond-maids; he sat with his hands on his knees; hls eyes were closed. A bondmaid, passing him, carrying mead, brushed him. Frightened, she hurried past him. His eyes did not open. Rollo rested.

“Oh, no!” I heard Pudding say.

I turned to look to the Forkbeard’s couch. From about his neck he had taken the silver chain which had been the symbol of office of Gurt, Administrator of Kassau. He had forcibly drawn Pudding’s hands behind her, and, cunninglytwisting the chain, had fastened her wrists behind her with it. She sat on the furs, her left ankle clasped in the iron fetter which chained her to the log at the foot of the Forkbeard’s couch, her wrists fastened behind her with her father’s chain of office.

She looked at the Forkbeard with fear. He then threw her to her back. “Do not forget Gunnhild,” whined Gunnhild pressing her lips to the Forkbeard’s shoulder. I heard the movement of her own chain on the log.

Male thralls are chained for the night in the bosk sheds. Bondmaids are kept in the hall, for the pleasure of the free men. They are often handed from one to the other. It is the responsibility of he who last sports with them to secure them.

I heard screams of pleasure.

I looked down at Thyri, kneeling beside my bench. She looked up at me, frightened. She was a beautiful girl,with a beautifill face. She was delicate, sensitive. Her eyes were highly intelligent, beautiful and deep. A collar of black iron was riveted on her throat.

“Run to the furs, Bondmaid,” I said, harshly.

Thyri leaped to her feet and fled to my furs, weeping. I finished a horn of mead, rose to my feet, and went to my sleeping area.

She lay there, her legs drawn up.

“Ankle,” I said to her.

I looked upon her. Her eyes were onmine, frightened.Her body, small, white, curved, luscious, contrasted with the shadowed redness and blackness o~ the soft, deep furs on which she lay. She trembled.

“Ankle,” I told her.

She extended her shapely limb.

I took her ankle and, about it, closed the fetter of black iron. I then joined her upon the furs.