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The sharing of salt among free men on Gor
"Your city," he asked, "what is it?" "You may think of me," I had said, "as one of Port Kar." "Very well," said he, "but I think we shall not make a great deal of that, for the men of Port Kar are not overly popular in the north." "The men of Torvaldsland," I assured him, "are not overly popular in the south." "The men of Port Kar, however," said the Forkbeard, "are respected in the north." "The men of Torvaldsland," I told him, "are similarly respected in the south." Gorean enemies, if skilled, often hold one another in high regard. "You play Kaissa well," had said Ivar Forkbeard. "Let us be friends." "You, too, are quite skilled," I told him. Indeed, he had much bested me. I still had not fathomed the devious variations of the Jarl’s Ax’s gambit as played in the north. I expected, however, to solve it. We had shaken hands over the board. "Friend," he had said. "Friend," I had said. We had then tasted salt, each from the back of the wrist of the other. Marauders Tahari warrior gains respect for Tarls skills, shares salt with him The Warrior, who had been paid to teach Tarl, returns the fee to him then, on the grounds that they "have shared salt" For ten days had we trained, for ten Gorean hours a day. Of the past forty passages eight had been divided, no blood adjudged drawn. In thirty-two I had been adjudged victorious, nineteen times to the death cut. He pulled his sand veil, yellow, from his dark face, down about his throat. He thrust his burnoose back further over his shoulders. He was Harif, said to be the finest blade in Tor. "Bring salt," he said to the judge. The judge gestured to a boy, who brought him a small dish of salt. The warrior slipped from his saddle, and, on foot, approached me. I remained mounted. "Cut the leather from the jaws of your kaiila," said he. Then he gestured to the boy, that the boy should remove the claw sheaths of the beast. He did so, carefully, the beast moving, nervous, shifting in the sand. I discarded the exercise sheath, and, with the bared blade, parted the leather that had bound the jaws of the kaiila. The leather sprang from the blade. Silk, dropped upon the scimitar of the Tahari, divided, falls free, floating, to the floor. The beast reared, its claws raking the air, and threw back its head, biting at the sun. I lifted the curved blade of the scimitar. It flashed. I sheathed it, and slipped from the saddle, giving the rein of the mount to the boy. I faced the warrior. "Ride free," he said. "I will, "I said. "I can teach you nothing more," he said. I was silent. "Let there be salt between us," he said. "Let there be salt between us," I said. He placed salt from the small dish on the back of his right wrist. He looked at me. His eyes were narrow. "I trust," said he, "you have not made jest of me." "No," I said. "In your hand," he said, "steel is alive, like a bird." The judge nodded assent. The boy's eyes shone. He stood back. "I have never seen this, to this extent, in another man." He looked at me. "Who are you?" he asked. I placed salt on the back of my right wrist. "One who shares salt with you," I said. "It is enough," he said. I touched my tongue to the salt in the sweat of his right wrist, and he touched his tongue to the salt on my right wrist. "We have shared salt," he said. He then placed in my hand the golden tarn disk, of Ar, with which I had purchased my instruction. "It is yours," I said. "How can that be?" he asked. "I do not understand," I said. He smiled. "We have shared salt," he said. Tribesmen One who has "not even shared salt" is not expected to follow a fellow into danger "Get your kaiila, escape!" said Hassan. The roof was hot; the inn, below, was burning; to our right, through the roof, flames licked upwards. "Are you not coming?" I asked. "Presently," he said. "I am curious to see one of these Kavars." "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 Although one man thinks the goal of another is pointless and hopeless, when reminded that they "have shared salt" he agrees to help "You cannot save him," said Hassan. The beams beneath the body of the kennel master were drenched with blood. My forehead was drenched with sweat. I saw the wounds in the shifting torchlight above and behind me. There was salt on my hands, blood. I pressed together, as I could, the serrated flesh. "I did not know there could be so much blood in a man," said one of the men behind me. "Bring me what I asked for," I said. The lance shaft broken, was found floating near the raft. The lacings which had reinforced the head were removed. The dagger was thrust in the wood beside me. "Help me," said I, "Hassan." "Be merciful," said Hassan. "Kill him." "Help me." I said. "There is no hope," said he. "We have shared salt," I said. "I will help you," said Hassan. Tribesmen One who has shared salt is a brother Then the two men stepped back from one another, "You fight well," said Ibn Saran. He stood unsteadily. "I could always beat you," he said " "That was years ago, said Hassan. "Yes," said Ibn Saran, "that was years ago." Ibn Saran lifted his scimitar to me in salute. "One gains a victory," I said. "One loses, an enemy." Ibn Saran inclined his head to me, in Taharic courtesy. Then his face went white, and he turned, and staggered to the parapet of the tower. He fell to the desert below. Hassan sheathed his sword. "I had two brothers," he said. "One fought for Priest-Kings. He died in the desert. The other fought for Kurii. He died on the tower of Tarna's kasbah." "And you?" I asked. "I thought to remain neutral," he said. "I discovered I could not do so." "There is no neutrality," I said. "No," be said. Then he looked at me. "Once," he said, "I had two brothers." He clasped me about the shoulders. There were tears in his eyes. "Now," he said, "now I have only one. We had shared salt at Red Rock, on a burning roof. "My brother," I said. "My brother," he said. Tribesmen gorean_librarian@yahoo.com 
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