Tal Goreans,

Greetings visitors,

Welcome once again to the Booknotes column. Yet again we are turning the cover of another new volume in the series, and although this is a device I have perhaps resorted to slightly more often than a self-respecting Scribe ought, I shall begin by describing the splendid cover art on my (Star edition) copy of this book. This depicts a warrior in horned helm and a corselet of scale armour (again, somewhat in defiance of the Priest-Kings’ law) with his back to us, wreathed in mist as he faces down a shaggy nine-foot colossus of thoroughly bestial aspect. The inhuman giant has its lips drawn back in a snarl revealing fangs that would not disgrace a lion, and in its left hand it brandishes a double-bitted axe that must surely measure four feet from edge to edge. Our natural inclination must be to fear for the welfare of the hero over whose broad and ample shoulder we are viewing the scene.

But - assuming that this same hero is Bosk (previously known as Tarl Cabot) - the reader will recall that he was in a bad way when last seen taking ship from the northern forests following his fruitless search for Talena; and we will be keenly interested to know what state he is in now. We had better lose no time finding out.

Chapter One

The story opens with Bosk enthroned in the darkness and silence of his own hall in Port Kar. The whole atmosphere is of gloom and despondency, and the first hint we are given as to Bosk’s physical state is to learn that it causes him pain to turn his head. He has a visitor: Luma, the chief Scribe of his house, whom he rescued from Surbus the pirate three books ago, thereby coincidentally gaining possession of Surbus’s former property, ships and pirate crews. Luma tries to make encouraging noises, presenting him with a favourable balance sheet and some light affairs of business that make it clear how much his fortunes are advancing; but he finds little in this to cheer him, and does not intend to lighten his gloom even by playing Kaissa with his loyal sidekick Thurnock.

Bosk reflects on how much he has changed over time. To his way of thinking, everything about the young red-haired hero he was a few short years ago is gone for good; even his trademark red hair is faded and bleached, and he thinks it is now of an unremarkable colour. He quickly recapitulates his previous career - for which I shall immodestly direct the reader to the archives of this column - and seizes the opportunity to beat himself over the head once again with the enormity of his disgraceful act in pleading for his life in the rence marshes. (It is little to him that Ho-Hak the Rencer, and Samos himself, have both urged him to take a more pragmatic view of himself.)

He philosophises over the large question of how men should live, and compares Earthen and Gorean ethics and moralities without coming to any clear conclusion, though it is plain that he holds the larger contempt for the belief-systems of his former world. This musing includes a couple of oft-repeated quotes that will bear reiterating: “Truth not won is not possessed. We are not entitled to truths for which we have not fought” and “Do not ask how to live, but instead, proceed to do so.”

Having thus mused, Bosk brings us up to date on the long-awaited reunion between himself and Talena. He was abducted from her side on their wedding night many years ago, and he has spent much time on much other business since then - which was necessarily delayed by his seven years’ absence from Gor - yet never lost sight of his hope of one day finding his lost love. Samos delivers her into his presence, robed as a Free Woman though yet a slave, and of course as soon as Bosk buys her and frees her, she flings herself into his arms with declarations of love everlasting and a hope that never failed, and the joyful pair live happily ever after.

Fat chance.

What actually happens, as soon as Bosk has freed her, is that she takes advantage of a Free Woman’s leave to speak as she wishes to blame Bosk for leaving her side (for Samos tacitly drops the hint that he is not to mention the eist-pray ings-kay), to revile him for his cowardice (Samos again, for telling her about the business in the marshes - though, as Bosk fairly observes, it is no secret in Port Kar) and to scorn him for being a cripple. Bosk mutely bows his head to her scorn, still considering himself beneath contempt (though Samos remarks that he has heard of Bosk’s courageous deeds in the stockade, for which see the last instalment), and lets her go with no more than an anguished exclamation. She takes one final opportunity to scorn him for his weakness in letting her go, and tells him that he was never a man.

All this has happened some indefinite time before the present, and Bosk has been attended by the finest physicians that money can buy, and also one who will take no payment: Iskander of Turia, once known to Kamchak the Tuchuk, later on the staff of Sullius Maximus. This last was one of the five Ubars of Port Kar when Bosk first arrived, and he is now in exile in the court of Chenbar of Tyros. Bosk doubts that a Warrior of the prowess of Sarus of Tyros would endorse the use of poisoned blades, but Iskander, knowing Sullius Maximus quite well, advances the hypothesis that such is the cause of Bosk’s paralysis. If so, Iskander informs Bosk, there is no antidote.

So it is that Bosk, wealthy but crippled and bitter, is sitting in his darkened throne-hall when he receives a visitor in great haste: Ho-Hak, the Rencer chieftain. He has bad news concerning Telima, Bosk’s ex-companion who fled in jealous rage when he announced his intent to go and search for Talena. She has been either abducted or killed - probably the latter - by a mysterious “beast” in the marshes. For the first time we hear the name “Kurii”, which Samos says is a Gorean corruption for their own name for themselves and which Captain Tab remarks is also a Torvaldslander word for “beast”. From this Bosk logically concludes that such beasts are known of in Torvaldsland (in which direction this particular specimen was seen making for aboard a tarn); but logic is not his primary consideration at this moment.

As a wave of fury sweeps over him, Bosk finds to his astonishment that he can move his arms and legs again; evidently the paralysis has been driven into remission by a flood of adrenalin. He calls for meat, drink and his sword, and declares his intention to head for Torvaldsland, though Samos urges Bosk to let him go instead; and he orders Luma to his couch, and when she protests that she is free, he reduces both her and Sandra the dancer to slavery. This is a poor reward for Luma’s loyalty, I am inclined to think.

Chapter Two

We rejoin Bosk in Kassau, which is close to where civilization ends and the land of the barbaric Northmen begins; and he is attending a church service, unusually for him. But this is no ordinary service but the funeral of Ivar Forkbeard, supposedly a madman. It was he who liberated Chenbar the Sea Sleen from Bosk’s dungeons; but since the fee was Chenbar’s weight in carved sapphires, Bosk privately doubts that the Forkbeard was as mad as all that.

The Forkbeard apparently underwent a deathbed conversion and begged to be anointed by the High Initiate of Kassau in token of repentance for his heathen life, which counts as a great propaganda coup for the Initiates; and Bosk tells us enough of the Initiates to make it perfectly clear that he has little time for them, and draws enough parallels with Earth religions (principally Christianity, I should say) to allow us to infer that either he or the author has a bone to pick with these.

Incidentally, Bosk seems to have forgotten a conversation he once had with High Initiate Om, back in Volume Three, in which that worthy told Tarl Cabot that all the shallow flim-flammery of Initiates was by design (though only the most enlightened Initiates actually knew this), so that men would be provoked into looking beyond all the smoke and mirrors for true meaning.

Bosk tells us of the coming of the funeral party, under its flag of truce, and gives us plenty of information about the Torvaldsland serpent ship; following Norman’s usual custom, we get a couple of pages’ worth of all the research he has done on the subject before we get back to the action. A sizeable part of the population of Kassau has come to pay their final respects to Ivar Forkbeard - or, and this is much more likely, offer some heartfelt prayers of gratitude that such an unholy terror is no more - and at the proper point in the service, the doors open and the Forkbeard is borne in on a platform of crossed spears. Behind him come his crew in attitudes of proper reverence.

This is a great moment for the High Initiate, and he allows his austere mask to crack just a fraction as he turns back the shroud to anoint the Forkbeard. He promptly gets a shock. The dead man grins broadly at him, and his yell of “Praise be to Odin!” shatters the near-silence of the temple just before he bisects the High Initiate with a single blow of his concealed axe.

Chapter Three

Pandemonium breaks out as the Torvaldslanders begin heroically to massacre the defenceless congregation, until one of the cooler-headed townsfolk calls on his compatriots to kneel in surrender. One poor fisherman close to Bosk is slow to react, and it is only Bosk’s swift intervention that saves his life; but it is plain that Bosk has no intention of fighting off the Forkbeard’s men, even if he had the ghost of a chance of doing so. However, he stays firmly planted on his own two feet, waiting to see if anyone will make something of it; for, having been taught this valuable lesson by a wily Tuchuk years ago, he has not been so foolish as to come unarmed into a place where one is not meant to go armed.

One of the Forkbeard’s men, a gigantic idiot by the name of Rollo, is still laying about him even at the Kassauites who are trying to surrender, until the Forkbeard calls him to order. Then Ivar Forkbeard demands to know why Bosk is not kneeling, and Bosk, instead of pleading for life even at the expense of slavery, gives him some cheery backchat and is set a small test of martial prowess, which he promptly passes. This is, of course, how it is meant to work and more or less how it does work all through Tarl Cabot’s career, except in the Vosk delta; and he is immediately accepted as an honourable neutral in good standing, and spared both submission and death.

Lifting all that is valuable from the temple, the raiders also accost all the attractive young females present and make bondsmaids of all of them. Two attract special attention. One Aelgifu, whom Bosk has noticed earlier on, announces her rank, station and ransomability, whereupon the Forkbeard announces a time, place and acceptable sum. The other, unnamed, also offers ransom, is refused, declares that she prefers death to slavery, and at once backs down when such is offered.

As the Torvaldslanders prepare to depart, Bosk approaches Ivar Forkbeard and requests passage, stating his business: to hunt Kurii. This appeals to the Forkbeard’s humour, as one madman to another; and as a clincher, Bosk throws out a challenge at Kaissa, which is a favourite means of passing the long winter evenings up in Torvaldsland. The Forkbeard accepts this; but he has first to win his way to his ship. Slaughtering unarmed temple worshippers is one thing, but there are several hundred able-bodied men in Kassau, and all of these can get hold of at least some improvised weapon.

Leaving the temple burning, Ivar Forkbeard forces one part of the opposition to give way by threatening Aelgifu, daughter of their leader; and when another couple of hundred men bar his way at the docks, he scatters handfuls of treasure to left and right until the penurious dock-workers decide that some easy money and the certainty of life tomorrow is better than a dangerous battle with some of Gor’s bloodthirstiest pirates.

Bosk picks up his baggage, joins the Torvaldslanders at their ship, and watches Kassau slip away astern as the weeping bondsmaids lament their worse-than-death fate. He cares neither one way nor the other about them, but he is no doubt very happy to have secured himself passage, a native guide and a foot in the door in Torvaldsland.

Chapter Four

As the ship heads north, approaching the rendezvous point for the collection of Aelgifu’s ransom, the Forkbeard mentions “the stream of Torvald”, Gor’s equivalent of the Gulf Stream that somewhat tempers the climate of the northlands. Most of his attention, though, is taken up by the Kaissa he is playing with Bosk, while other members of his crew are engaging in seamanlike pursuits of one sort or another. We get a brief Kaissa allegory when Bosk, for what seem to be good reasons, permits his Ax (called “Tarnsman” elsewhere) to be exchanged for a Singer (“Scribe” in civilized Kaissa), which would nominally be a favourable exchange but entails giving up a piece he uses well for one he is less fond of. Just to be sure that we get the point, Bosk loses the game shortly afterwards.

The Kaissa enthusiast should note, by the way, that it is still difficult to make anything coherent of the game from the description here. Ivar Forkbeard is fond of an opening called the “Jarl’s Ax’s Gambit”, indicating that the author has done his research, for this name is homologous with the “King’s Knight’s Gambit”, a famously formidable and difficult chess opening system; however, it ought to be pointed out that the King’s Knight’s Gambit has earned its reputation through certain highly specific tactical considerations that simply do not apply in Kaissa - though I am in danger of riding this hobby-horse entirely off the track of these Booknotes.

Aelgifu is showing signs of being snooty, which probably bodes ill for her as in most Gor stories to date; and she is served notice that, although Ivar Forkbeard will not prejudice his hopes of ransom by raping her, she is not immune to such punishments as will not harm her ransom. That attended to, Bosk and the Forkbeard get on with their game.

We shall now leave Bosk and his new-found friends enjoying their journey Northwards, and look forward no doubt to many deeds of derring-do and high adventure in best Viking tradition to come; and for these and Bosk’s search for the beast who did the dirty on his Telima, I urge the reader to join me next month for a further incursion into “Marauders of Gor”.

I wish you well,

Socrates