How Should One Live?

Somehow, in the north, in Torvaldsland, I had changed. This I knew. There was a different Tarl Cabot than ever there had been. Once there had been a boy by this name, one with simple dreams, naive, vain, one shattered by a betrayal of his codes, the discovery of a weakness where he had thought there was only strength. That boy had died in the delta of the Vosk; in his place had come Bosk of Port Kar, ruthless and torn, but grown into his manhood; and now there was another, one whom I might, if I wished, choose to call again Tarl Cabot. I had changed. Here, with the Forkbeard, with the sea, the wind, in his hall and in battle, I had become, somehow, much different. In the north my blood had found itself, learning itself; in the north I had learned strength, and how to stand alone.

In the north I had grown strong. I suddenly realized the supreme power of the united Gorean will, not divided against itself, not weak, not crippled like the wills of Earth. I felt a surge of power, of unprecedented, unexpected joy. I had discovered what it was to be Gorean. I had discovered what it was, truly, to be male, to be a man. I was Gorean.

p439, Marauders of Gor [Gor Series Book 9]
John Norman

Nine books. It took nine books for Tarl Cabot to become a true Gorean. Four years living among Goreans (10,119-10,122 Contasta Ar) before he found himself. It took four years of living directly among them, even with Tarl's incredible capacity to learn, to discover the his true Gorean Nature.

I am taking that journey. And while I likely will not find myself in Ko-Ro-Ba or in the Sardar Mountains or in Port Kar, I am following in Tarl's footsteps. I look forward to the day of my Torvaldsland experience.

When Tarl first arrived on Gor (Tarnsman of Gor) he was taught by men who knew Gor. His father Matthew Cabot, the Scribe Torm, and the Warrior Older Tarl. These men provided Tarl with an excellent foundation of skills for, and knowledge and understanding of how to live as a Gorean Warrior. They taught him how to interact with others, what others expected of him, and how to function successfully as a Gorean in Gorean society. They trained him in the skills necessary to do so.

He continued to be taught by others in the nuances of warfare skills in their particular culture. Among the desert tribes (Tribesmen of Gor) he learned to fight with the scimitar. Here, in Torvaldsland he learned to fight with the axe.

And others taught him in the nuances of being a man, as well.  The Forkbeard teaches Tarl about being a man as they play Kaissa.

"You should not have surrendered your Ax," said Forkbeard.

"In not doing so," I said, "I would have lost the tempo, and position. Too, the Ax is regarded as less valuable in the end game."

"You play the Ax well," said Forkbeard. "What is true for many men may not be true for you. The weapons you use best perhaps you should retain."

I thought on what he had said. Kaissa is not played by mechanical puppets, but, deeply and subtly, by men, idiosyncratic men, with individual strengths and weaknesses. I recalled I had, many times, late in the game, regretted the surrender of the Ax, or its equivalent in the south, the Tarnsman, when I had simply, as I thought rationally, moved in accordance with what were reputed to be the principles of sound strategy. I knew, of course, that game context was a decisive matter in such considerations, but only now, playing Forkbeard, did I suspect that there was another context involved, that of the inclinations, capacities and dispositions of the individual player. Too, it seemed to me that the Ax, or Tarnsman, might be a valuable piece in the end game, where it is seldom found. People would be less used to defending against it in the end game; its capacity to surprise, and to be used unexpectedly, might be genuinely profitable at such a time in the game. I felt a surge of power.

pp95-96, Marauders of Gor [Gor Series Book 9]
John Norman

But Tarl didn't have a mentor, a guide for his journey of self-discovery. He made this journey into his nature on his own. He learned from other men; he listened to them, evaluated and weighed their advice, and chose to heed some and ignore others. But he had no mentor for his crusade of self-discovery. It was one he had to take on his own.

There were no maps for me.

I, Tarl Cabot, or Bosk of Port Kar, was torn between worlds.

I did not know how to live.

I was bitter.

But the Goreans have a saying, which came to me in the darkness, in the hall. "Do not ask the stones or the trees how to live; they cannot tell you; they do not have tongues; do not ask the wise man how to live, for, if he knows, he will know he cannot tell you; if you would learn how to live do not ask the question; its answer is not in the question but in the answer, which is not in words; do not ask how to live, but, instead, proceed to do so."

I do not fully understand this saying. How, for example, can one proceed to do what one does not know how to do? The answer, I suspect, is that the Gorean belief is that one does, truly, in some way, know how to live, though one may not know that one knows. The knowledge is regarded as being somehow within one. Perhaps it is regarded as being somehow innate, or a function of instincts. I do not know. The saying may also be interpreted as encouraging one to act, to behave, to do, and then, in the acting, the doing, the behaving, to learn. These two interpretations, of course, are not incompatible. The child, one supposes, has the innate disposition, when a certain maturation level is attained, to struggle to its feet and walk, as it did to crawl, when an earlier level was attained, and yet it truly learns to crawl, and to walk, and then to run, only in the crawling, in the walking and running.

The refrain ran through my mind. "Do not ask how to live, but, instead, proceed to do so."

But how could I live, I, a cripple, huddled in the chair of a captain, in a darkened hall?

I was rich, but I envied the meanest herder of verr, the lowest peasant scattering dung in his furrows, for they could move as they pleased.

I tried to clench my left fist. But the hand did not move.

How should one live?

pp18-21, Marauders of Gor [Gor Series Book 9]
John Norman

How should one live? This question reverberates through my own soul. As for Tarl, there are no maps charting the path to my Torvaldsland Experience.  Moreover I have no father, no Scribe, no Warrior to teach me.  To train me in the understanding and the skills of living as a Gorean Builder in my day-to-day life, to teach me how to function successfully as a Gorean in society, among those unGorean people that I come in contact with.

What is left to me? To take the journey of understanding, of skills, of self-discovery on my own; and "in the acting, the doing, the behaving, to learn." The wounds and the scars and the victories will be dear instructors.