|
 Love ForHere are relevant references from the Books where Love For is mentioned. I make no pronouncements on these matters, but report them as I find them. Arrive at your own conclusions. I wish you well, Fogaban Click a heading to jump down to that listing. Main Headings Love for a City Love for a Leader Love for an Animal Love for Citizens Love for a Garden Love for Kurii Love for Priest-Kings Love for Ships Love for the Home Stone Love for the Nest
I truly believe that the brave men of Ar, in their valorous if blind love for their city, would have maintained the walls until the last slain warrior had been thrown from them to the streets below, but the Initiates would not have it so. "This is a great city," said Cabot, "and yet it is not loved. How many are there here who would die for this city? How many who would defend to the death its perimeters? How many who would submit to torture on its behalf?" "You're drunk," I said, smiling. "This city is not loved," he said. "Or it would not be used as it is, kept as it is." He walked sadly away. Of course, as every Gorean knows, cities too are mortal, for cities can be destroyed as well as men. And this perhaps makes them love their cities the more, for they know that their city, like themselves, is subject to mortal termination. This love of their city tends to become invested in a stone which is known as the Home Stone, and which is normally kept in the highest cylinder in a city. And, as the torches burned lower in the wall racks, the singer continued to sing, and sang of gray Pa-Kur, Master of the Assassins, leader of the hordes that fell on Ar after the theft of her Home Stone; and he sang, too, of banners and black helmets, of upraised standards, of the sun flashing on the lifted blades of spears, of high siege towers and deeds, of catapults of Ka-la-na and tem-wood, of the thunder of war tharlarion and the beatings of drums and the roars of trumpets, the clash of arms and the cries of men; and he sang, too, of the love of men for their city, "As you know," said Samos, speaking evenly, "Port Kar is not the most loved, nor the most greatly respected nor highest honored among the cities of Gor." "And what of Port Kar?" I asked. "She has no Home Stone," said one of the men. I smiled. It was true. Port Kar, of all the cities on Gor, was the only one that had no Home Stone. I did not know if men did not love her because she had no Home Stone, or that she had no Home Stone because men did not love her. And, suddenly, the room was filled with cheers and more than a hundred weapons left their sheaths and saluted the Home Stone of Port Kar. I saw weathered seamen weep and cry out, brandishing their swords. There was joy in that room then such as I had never before seen it. And there was a belonging, and a victory, and a meaningfulness, and cries, and the clashing of weapons, and tears and, in that instant, love. "Do you love the city so?" I asked. Samos smiled. "It is the place of my Home Stone," he said. I did not even have an objection to being sold in Laura. It seemed to me a simple, wild, lovely place, with the glorious air and sky, the forest to the north, the river to the south. I loved its ramps going down to the river and winding among the warehouses, the painted, carved wood on its buildings, the black shingles, the smell of bosk on the ramps and the creak of wagons, the smell of fish and salt, and glistening tharlarion, from the river, the smell of hides and fur, and sawed lumber, at the docks. Too, I suspected he had little love for Ar, and perhaps thus for Brundisium. He had once been banished from Ar, and nearly impaled, for the falsification of slave data, misrepresenting merchandise as to its level of training and skill. "I have no special love for Ar," I said. Once I had been banished from that city, being denied there bread, salt and fire. Besides, the free laborers share a Home Stone with the aristocracies of these cities, the upper castes, the higher families, the richer families, and so on. Accordingly, because of this commonality of the Home Stone, love of their city, the sharing of citizenship, and such, there is generally a harmonious set of economic compromises obtaining between the upper castes, and classes, and the lower castes, and the labor force, in general. "He has no love for either Ar or Cos," I said. "He prefers the victory of neither. Any such victory, with its achieved hegemony, might end, and would surely threaten, the existence of the free companies. Too, many would fear in it the destruction of social openness, of pluralism and freedom, as it now exists on Gor." This was not my fight. I was no lover of Ar nor of Cos. Certainly I have no love for Ar. "I am not of Ar's Station," I said, "and I have little love for her. Indeed, I do not see why I should, as I was not well treated within her walls. But yet I have served her, and perhaps well. Is that not so?" I did not think that those of Ar's Station now bore those of Ar much love. If young Marcus, of whom I have grown fond, has a weakness, I would think it would be his moodiness, and his incredible hatred for Cosians, and all things Cosian. This hatred, which seems almost pathological, is doubtless the consequence of his experiences in war, and particularly during the siege of Ar's Station. It is hard to see all, or much, of what one has loved, destroyed, and not feel illy disposed toward the perpetrators of this destruction. To be sure, he was not always gentle with her. She was, after all, a woman of Ar, for which city he now held little love, that city which had abandoned Ar's Station to her fate; too, she was a traitress and such tend, regardless of the side they have betrayed, to be treated with great contempt and severity by Gorean men; thirdly, she had spied for Cos, for which polity he held a profound hatred. "Help! Help, if there be true men of Ar here!" cried the prisoner. One of the fellows from the market pushed at a mercenary, who thrust him back, angrily. "Make way! Make way!" cried the mercenary. "We are taking this fellow to headquarters!" said the other. "Let him go!" cried a man. Men surged about the two mercenaries. "It is my only crime that I love Ar and am loyal to her!" cried the prisoner. And see how these men love their world and their cities, their fields and forests, how they keep them, how they care for them, and love them, how they will not destroy them, how they will not cut and burn them, nor diminish and exhaust them. There are surely worse worlds than this." As I may have suggested, Cos is little loved by many in the Islands. "None would seek to harm Mytilene," said another. "We are loved." "I love Mytilene," he said. "It is the place of your Home Stone," I said. "Who here loves Ar?" I asked. There was no response from my party. "Who then," I said, "loves the scribe Hemartius?" There were cries of assent. "No," said the man. "Decius Albus is a benefactor and patriot! Who has not attended his games and eaten at his tables of public feasting? He is trying to save Marlenus. Decius Albus loves Ar!" "Yes, he loves Ar," said Hemartius. "He loves every tarsk-bit of it!"
With some fifty followers, who loved him even more than their native walls, he fled on tarnback to the Voltai Range, from whose peaks he could always look upon the distant towers of Ar. "You truly love your Tatrix," I said. "Indeed, Warrior," said Dorna. Tharna is now a different city than it has ever been within the memory of living man. Her ruler - the gracious and beautiful Lara - is surely one of the wisest and most just of rulers on this barbaric world, and hers has been the torturous task of reuniting a city disrupted by civil strife, of making peace among factions and dealing fairly with all. If she were not loved as she is by the men of Tharna her task would have been impossible. "You must understand, Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba," said Misk, apparently sensing my puzzlement, "that it is the greatest joy of Muls to love and serve Priest-Kings. If it is the wish of a Priest-King that they die they do so with great joy; if it is the wish of a Priest-King that they live, they are similarly delighted." I am now, by order of Bosk, again permitted to serve in the great hall. But, at night, Publius, still, keeps me double chained. He is a good kitchen master, and loves his captain, Bosk of Port Kar. I do not object to his precautions. "But Gnieus Lelius makes a point of being available to the people," he said. "That is one reason he is so much loved." Taurentians were about the regent, and, too, some scribes. Notes, it seemed, and names, were being taken. Doubtless a record of the claims, grievances, petitions, and such, was being kept. It seemed there was not an excessive amount of guards. So loved, it seemed, was the regent. "We have spared the holding of Temmu," said Tyrtaios, "from the rain of burning arrows, because of our love for our wayward, misguided servitor, the glorious, honorable Temmu." "A hero, he is not popular in Cos?" I said. "Not in the court of Lurius," said Archelaos. "Heroes do not fit in. They are an embarrassment. They have no place in the vicinity of a throne. They detract from the prestige of their superiors." "They may even accrue a populace's love which is more properly bestowed on a loftier object," I ventured.
I remembered, briefly, irrelevantly, that my mother had once poisoned my small dog, which had ruined one of her slippers. I had loved the tiny animal, which had played with me, and had given me the affection, the love, which my parents had denied me, or had been too busy to bestow. It had died in the basement, in the darkness behind the furnace, where it had fled, howling and whimpering, biting at me when I, a hysterical, weeping child, had tried to touch it and hold it. Tears sprang into my eyes. I watched in terror as my master, over my body, scratched and pulled, and shoved, at that great head. Clearly he was inordinately fond of that terrible beast, and perhaps it of him. I saw his eyes. He lavished affection upon it. He cared more for it than his girls. I was certain. Perhaps it was the only thing he trusted, other than himself, the only thing he knew that he could rely upon, other than himself, the only thing, of all creatures he knew, who had proved its love and loyalty to him. If this were so, then perhaps it was not incredible that he might bestow upon it a fondness, or love, which he, betrayed perhaps by men, might withhold from others, from men, and slaves.
"Peace, friendship, joy and love," called Myron, "to our brothers in Ar!" "Merciful Talena!" wept a man. The guardsman sheathed his sword. The crowd was then silent. "I regret that I cannot," said Talena, "despite my love for you, exempt you from your duties to the state."
"He loved the garden," I said. "It seems a pity to relieve him of his post for so small an indiscretion, particularly in the light of his experience, knowledge and diligence." "It is I who am honored, gardener san," said the magician. "Flowers are beautiful and those who love and tend them are themselves of most noble mien."
I thought of the Kurii. They were terrible foes. Suddenly, incredibly, I felt love for them.
"It is now time to demonstrate your gratitude to the Priest-Kings," said the gaunt figure. "Perhaps that might be done by filling up the golden bowls," speculated a fellow, under his breath. "Hush!" said a frightened free woman. "The Priest-Kings love a generous giver," said the gaunt figure. "Certainly the High Initiate does," said the fellow. "Come down, old friend," said Portus Canio. "Stakes and thongs await, and knives can be heated, old friend." "For the love of Priest-Kings," cried Tersius Major, "give me something to drink, something to eat!" "You have broken the law of Priest-Kings," said Portus Canio. "Priest-Kings are not to be loved," said Fel Doron. "They are to be respected, and feared, and obeyed." I had little love for Priest-Kings, but theirs was the law and the rod which held in check the inventive and indiscreet aggressions of humans on this, their world.
Though I have seldom heard them speak explicitly of this, particularly when landsmen are present, many Gorean mariners seem to believe that the ship is in some way alive. This is supposed to occur when the eyes have been painted. It is then, some say, that she comes alive, when she can see. I suppose this may be regarded as superstition; on the other hand, it may also be regarded as love.
Of course, as every Gorean knows, cities too are mortal, for cities can be destroyed as well as men. And this perhaps makes them love their cities the more, for they know that their city, like themselves, is subject to mortal termination. This love of their city tends to become invested in a stone which is known as the Home Stone, and which is normally kept in the highest cylinder in a city. "You find it hard to understand the love of a man for his Home Stone," I said.
"It is well for us to die," said Misk, "for otherwise the Nest would be eternal and the Nest must not be eternal for how could we love it if it were so?" "You were brought here to kill me," said Sarm, looking down. I started. "There are those," he said, "who do not love the Nest, who would wish to see it pass." I said nothing. "The Nest is eternal," said Sarm. "It cannot die. I will not let it die." |       
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
