Marine Life
CEREMONY OF BECOMING A WARRIOR
‘Come forward, Tarl Cabot,’ said my father, and I stood before his throne of office, feeling the eyes of everyone in the chamber on me. Behind me stood the Older Tarl. I had noted that those blue Viking eyes showed almost no evidence if the previous night. I hated him, briefly.
The Older Tarl was speaking. ‘I, Tarl, Swordsman of Ko-ro-ba, give my word that this man is fit to become a member of the High Caste of Warriors.’
My father answered him, speaking in ritual phrases. ‘No tower in Ko-ro-ba is stronger than the word of Tarl, this Swordman of our city. I, Matthew Cabot of Ko-ro-ba, accept his word.’
Then, beginning with the lowest tier, each member of the Council spoke in succession, giving his name and pronouncing that he, too, accepted the word of the blond swordsman. When they had finished, my father invested me with the arms which had lain before the throne. About my shoulder he slung the steel sword, fastened on my left arm the round shield, placed in my right hand the spear, and slowly lowered the helmet on my head.
‘Will you keep the Code of the Warrior?’ asked my father.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I will keep the Code.’
‘What is your Home Stone?’ asked my father.
Sensing what was wanted, I replied, ‘My Home Stone is the Home Stone of Ko-ro-ba.’
‘Is it to that city that you pledge your life, your honour, your sword?’ asked my father.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Then,’ said my father, placing his hands solemnly on my shoulders, ‘in virtue of my authority as Administrator of
this city and in the presence of the Council of High Castes, I declare you to be a Warrior of Ko-ro-ba.’
My father was smiling. I removed my helmet, feeling proud as I heard the approval of the Council, both in voice and by Gorean applause, the quick, repeated striking of the left shoulder with the palm of the right hand. Aside from candidates for the status of Warrior, none of my caste was permitted to enter the Council armed. Had they been armed, my caste brothers would have struck their spear blades on their shields. As it was, they smote their shoulders in the civilian manner, more exuberantly perhaps than was compatible with the decorum of that weighty chamber. Somehow I had the feeling they were genuinely proud of me, though I had no idea why. I had surely done nothing to warrant their commendation.
Tarnsman of Gor, Pg. 62
CEREMONY OF CITIZENSHIP
“In the center of the amphitheater was a throne of office, and on this throne, in his robe of state a plain brown garment, the humblest cloth in the hall, sat my father, Administrator of Ko-ro-ba, once Ubar, War Chieftain of the city. At his feet lay a helmet, shield, spear, and sword.
"Come forward, Tarl Cabot," said my father, and I stood before his throne of office, feeling the eyes of everyone in the chamber on me. Behind me stood the Older Tarl. I had noted that those blue Viking eyes showed almost no evidence of the previous night. I hated him, briefly.
The Older Tarl vas speaking. "I, Tarl, Swordsman of Ko-ro-ba, give my word that this man is fit to become a member of the High Caste of Warriors."
Then, beginning with the lowest tier, each member of the Council spoke in succession, giving his name and pronouncing that he, too, accepted the word of the blond swordsman. When they had finished, my father invested me with the arms which had lain before the throne. About my shoulder he slung the steel sword, fastened on my left arm the round shield, placed in my right hand the spear, and slowly lowered,the helmet on my head.
"Will you keep the Code of the Warrior?" asked my father.
"Yes," I said, "I will keep the Code."
"What is your Home Stone?" asked my father.
Sensing what vas wanted, I replied, "My Home Stone is the Home Stone of Ko-ro-ba."
"Is it to that city that you pledge your life, your honor, and your sword?" asked my father.
"Yes," I said.
"Then," said my father, placing his hands solemnly on my shoulders, "in virtue of my authority as Administrator of this city and in the presence of the Council of High Castes, I declare you to be a Warrior of Ko-ro-ba."” Tarnsman of Gor, Pgs. 62 & 63
CEREMONY OF CLAWS OF THE SLEEN
This ritual is more to create brothers between two good friend or done after one saves the life of another. A blood-brother ritual of tearing the flesh on the forearm of both with the claw of a sleen. Each man cuts the arm of the other then they mingling the blood. The one whose life was saved, then, owes a returns debt should the other be in danger for his life.
"Greetings, Lady," said Tup Ladletender. He had emerged from between the huts.
Thurnus threw away the emptied goblet, into the dirt. "It is a harmless draught," he said. "Tup Ladletender and I, as young men," he said, "have fished and hunted sleen. Once I saved his life. We are brothers by the rite of the claws of sleen." Thurnus lifted his forearm where one might see a jagged scar. Ladletender, too, raised his arm, his sleeve falling back. On his forearm, too, there was such a scar. It had been torn by the claw of a sleen, in the hand of Thurnus; the same claw, in the hand of Ladletender, had marked the arm of Thurnus; their bloods had mingled, though they were of the peasants and merchants. "He now, has, too saved my life," said Thurnus. "I am pleased to have had the opportunity," said Ladletender. Slave Girl of Gor, Pgs. 235-236
CEREMONY OF COMING OF AGE
Young men and women of the city, when coming of age, participate in a ceremony which involves the swearing of oaths, and the sharing of bread, fire and salt. In this ceremony the Home Stone of the city is held by each young person and kissed. Only then are the laurel wreath and the mantle of citizenship conferred. This is a moment no young person of Ar forgets. The youth of Earth have no Home Stone. Citizenship, interestingly, in most Gorean cities is conferred only upon the coming of age, and only after certain examinations are passed. Further, the youth of Gor, in most cities, must be vouched for by citizens of the city, not related in blood to him, and be questioned before a committee of citizens, intent upon determining his worthiness or lack thereof to take the Home Stone of the city as his own. Citizenship in most Gorean communities is not something accrued in virtue of the accident of birth but earned in virtue of intent and application. The sharing of a Home Stone is no light thing in a Gorean city.
Slave Girl of Gor, Pg. 394
CEREMONY OF COLLARING
"Assume the posture of female submission," I told her. She did so, kneeling back on her heels, her arms extended, wrists crossed, her head between them, down. She was weeping.
"Repeat after me," I told her, "I, once Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, of the planet Earth."
"I, once Miss Elizabeth Cardwell of the planet Earth." she said.
"Herewith submit myself, completely and totally, in all things."
"Herewith submit myself, completely and totally, in all things." she said.
"To he who is now known here as Hakim of Tor."
"To he who is now known here as Hakim of Tor."she said.
"His girl, his slave, an article of his property, his to do with as he pleases."
"His girl, his slave, an article of his property, his to do with as he pleases." she said.
Hassan handed me the collar, It was inscribed I am the property of Hakim of Tor. I showed it to the girl. She could not read Taharic script. I read it to her. I put it about her neck.
I snapped it shut.
"I am yours, Master," I said to the girl.
She looked up at me, tears in her eyes, her neck in my locked collar. "I am yours, Master," she said.
Tribesmen of Gor, Pg 359
CEREMONY OF DISOWNMENT
A parent, who is of same Caste places His/Her had on the hilt of his sword or symbol of Their Caste, the other hand is placed on the symbol of the city or homestone of the family and says the words”This person is disowned and no longer a member of our family or caste.” The person named is then without family or caste. Hunters of Gor, Pg. 148
CEREMONY OF FREE COMPANIONSHIP
Some Goreans think if the Free Companionship as being a form of contract slavery; this is not, of course, precisely correct; on the other hand, if more women took that definition seriously, I have little doubt but what free companionships would be far more rewarding than they now are, for many couples. They might then, under that interpretation, and held contractually enforceable on the woman, be that next best thing in her actual slavery.
There is no full and adequate substitute, of course, given the dominance/submission ratios and the order of nature, for the uncompromised, and full and total bondage of the female. Once this is institutionalized and legalized, as it is on Gor, we have, then, the union of nature and civilization, a union in which civilization no longer functions as a counter biological antithesis to nature but rather, perhaps, as an extension and flowering of nature herself, a union in which natural relationships are fulfilled and furthered. Blood Brothers of Gor, Pg. 246
CEREMONY OF FUNERAL
The logs had been prepared and carefully placed. There were hundreds of them, trimmed and squared, mostly of Ka-la-na wood from the sweet-smelling wine trees of Gor. They crossed one another in the intricate, traditional patterns, spaces between to permit the rush of air, forming a carefully structured, tiered, truncated, pyramid.
Kuurus observed, curious, as the last log was placed by two men in the red of Warriors.
Then free women, veiled and in Robes of Concealment, each carrying a jar or canister, approached the structure. Even from where Kuurus waited, he could smell the perfumed oils, the unguents, and spices which the women climbing and moving about the pyramid slowly, as though on stairs, sprinkled about or poured over the wood.
Beyond the wood, toward the city, Kuurus could see the procession. He was surprised for, judging from the colors of the garments of those who marched, it contained men of many castes, perhaps all castes of the city, only thaat he didn not see among them the white of the Caste of Initiates. The puzzled Kuurus, for normally men of the Initiates are prominent in such events.
The procession did not chant, nor sing, for this was not a time for such things, nor did it carry boughs of Ka-la-na, nor were the sounds of the sista or tambor heard in the sunlight that morning. At such a time as this Goreans do not sing nor speak. They are silent, for at such a time words mean nothing, and would demean or insult; in such a time there can be for Goreans only silence, memory and fire.
The procession was led by four Warriors, who supported on their shoulders a framework of crossed spears, lashed together, on which, wrapped in the scarlet leather of a tarnsman, lay the body.
Kuurus watched, unmoved, as the four Warriors carried their scarlet burden to the height of the huge, sweet-smelling, oil-impregnated pyre.
Averting their eyes, the Warriors threw back the scarlet leather that the body might lie free on the spears, open to the wind and sun.b
He was a large man, Kuurus noted, in the leather of a Warrior. The hair, he remarked was unusual.
The procession and those who had been earlier at the pyre now stood back from it, some fifty yards or so, for the oil-impregnated wood will take the torch quickly and fiercely. There were three who stood near the pyre; one wore the known robes of the Aministrator of a city, the humblest robes in the city, and was hooded; another wore the blue of the Caste of Scribes, a small man, almost tiny, bent now with pain and grief; the last was a very large man, broad of back and shoulder, bearded and with long blond hair, a Warrior; yet even the Warrior seemed in that moment shaken.
Kuurus saw the torch lit and then, with a cry of pain, thrown by the Warrior onto the small mountain of oiled wood. The wood leaped alive with a blaze and the three men staggered backward, their forearms thrown across their eyes. Assassin of Gor, Pgs. 1-3.
CEREMONY OF HOLDING DIRT AND GRASS
"Suddenly the Tuchuk bent to the soil and picked up a handful of dirt and grass, the land on which the bosk graze, the land which is the land of the Tuchuks, and this dirt and this grass he thrust in my hands and I held it. The warrior grinned and put his hands over mine so that our hands, together held the dirt and grass, and were together clasped upon it. 'Yes,' said the warrior, 'come in peace to the Land of the Wagon Peoples.' Nomads of Gor, Pg. 26
CEREMONY OF LA KAJIRA
A bit later, a small ceremony, or what I took to be a small ceremony, was enacted. A coiled whip was placed to my lips. I was told to kiss the whip and say, 'La kajira', with which instructions I readily complied.
Smugglers of Gor, Pg. 28
CEREMONY OF SHARING PAGA
"Where is Zarendargar?" asked Cabot. It was, after all, he who had doubtless planned and brought to fruition the raid on the Prison Moon.
"He is your friend?" inquired Arcesilaus.
"Yes," said Cabot.
"Interesting," said Pyrrhus.
"We shared paga," said Cabot.
"A great honor," said Arcesilaus.
Kur of Gor, Pg. 126
CEREMONY OF SHARING SALT
"I am coming with you," I said.
"Save yourself," said he.
"I am coming with you," I said.
"We have not even shared salt," he said.
"I shall accompany you," I said. He looked at me, for a long time. Then he thrust back the sleeve of his right hand. I pressed my lips to the back of his right wrist, tasting there, in the sweat, the salt. I extended to him the back of my right wrist, and he put his lips and tongue to it.
"Do you understand this?" he asked.
"I think so," I said.
"Follow me," said he. "We have work to do, my brother."
~Tribesmen of Gor, Pgs. 184 & 185
CEREMONY OF SUBMISSION
"Are you familiar with any of the rituals of enslavement?" I asked.
"I, Sidney Anderson, of Earth," she said, "submit myself to Tarl Cabot, of Gor, as a slave, completely, his to do with as he pleases."
Beasts of Gor, Pg. 183
CEREMONY OF SWORD BROTHERS
"Do not harm him," said Kazrak. "He is my sword brother, Tarl of Bristol." Kazrak's remark was in accord with the strange warrior codes of Gor, codes which were as natural to him as the air he breathed, and codes which I, in the Chamber of the Council of Ko-ro-ba, had sworn to uphold. One who has shed your blood, or whose blood you have shed, becomes your sword brother, unless you formally repudiate the blood on your weapons. It is part of the kinship of Gorean warriors regardless of what city it is to which they owe their allegiance. It is a matter of caste, an expression of respect for those who share their station and profession, having nothing to do with cities or Home Stones. Tarnsman of Gor, Pg. 119.
CEREMONY OF TARNSMAN'S FIRST CAPTURE
"… it is often a young tarnsman's first mission, the securing of a female, preferably free, from an enemy city, to enslave, that his sisters may be relieved of the burden of serving him; indeed, his sisters often encourage him to be prompt in the capture of an enemy wench that their own tasks may be made the lighter; when the young tarnsman, if successful, returns home from his capture flight, a girl bound naked across the saddle, his sisters welcome her with delight, and with great enthusiasm prepare her for the Feast of Collaring." Assassin of Gor, Pg 159.
"Then, to the festive music of flutes and drums, the girl kneels. The young man approaches her, bearing a slave collar, its engraving proclaiming his name and city. The music grows more intense, mounting to an overpowering, barbaric crescendo, which stops suddenly, abruptly. The room is silent, absolutely silent, except for the decisive click of the collar lock. It is a sound the girl will never forget. As soon as the lock closes, there is a great shout, congratulating, saluting the young man. He returns to his place among the tables that line the low-ceilinged chamber, hung with glowing brass lamps. He sits in the midst of his family, his closest well-wishers, his sword comrades, cross-legged on the floor in the Gorean fashion behind the long, low wooden table, laden with food, which stands at the head of the room." Outlaw of Gor, Pg. 52.
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