"John Norman - Gor 03 - Priest - King of Gor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

It is little wonder that the cities of Gor support and welcome the fairs. Sometimes they provide
a common ground on which territorial and commercial dispute may be amicably resolved without loss
of honour, plenipotentiaries of warring cities having apparently met by accident among the silken
pavilions.

Further, members of castes such as the Physicians and Builders use the fairs for the dissemination
of information and techniques among Caste Brothers, as is prescribed in their codes in spite of
the fact that their respective cities may be hostile. And as might be expected members of the
Caste of Scribes gather here to enter into dispute and examine and trade manuscripts.

My small friend, Torm of Ko-ro-ba, of the Caste of Scribes, had been to the fairs four times in
his life. He informed me that in this time he had refuted seven hundred and eight scribes from
fifty-seven cities, but I will not vouch for the accuracy of this report, as I sometimes suspect
that Torm, like most members of his caste, and mine, tends to be a bit too sanguine in recounting
his numerous victories. Moreover I have never been too clear as to the grounds on which the


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disputes of scribes are to be adjudicated, and it is not too infrequently that both disputants
leave the field each fully convinced that he has the best of the contest. In differences among
member of my own caste, that of the Warriors, it is easier to tell who has carried the day, for
the defeated one often lies wounded or slain at the victor's feet. In the contests of scribes, on
the other hand, the blood that is spilled is invisible and the valiant foemen retire in good
order, reviling their enemies and recouping their forces for the next day's campaign. I do not
hold this against the contests of scribes; rather I commend it to the members of my own caste.

I missed Torm and wondered if I would ever see him again, bounding about excoriating the authors
of dusty scrolls, knocking the inkwell from his desk with an imperial sweep of his blue robe,
leaping on the table in birdlike fury denouncing one scribe or another for independently
rediscovering an idea that had already appeared in a century-old manuscript known to Torm of
course but not to the luckless scribe in question, rubbing his nose, shivering, leaping down to
thrust his feet against the everpresentm overloaded charcoal brazier that invariably burned under
his table, amid the litter of his scraps and parchments, regardless of whatever the outside
temperature might be.

I supposed Torm might be anywhere, for those of Ko-ro-ba had been scattered by the Priest-Kings.
I would not search the fair for him, nor if he were here would I make my presence known, for by
the will of the Priest-Kings no two men of Ko-ro-ba might stand together, and I had no wish to
jeopardise the little scribe. Gor would be the poorer were it not for his furious eccentricities;
the Counter-Earth would simply not be the same without belligerent, exasperated little Torm. I
smiled to myself. if I should meet him I knew he would thrust himself upon me and insist upon
being taken into the Sardar, though he would known it would mean his death, and I would have to
bundle him in his blue robes, hurl him into a rain barrel and make my escape. Perhaps it would be
safer to drop him into a well. Torm had stumbled into more than one well in his life and no one
who knew him would think it strange to find him sputtering about at the bottom of one.

The fairs incidentally are governed by Merchant Law and supported by booth rents and taxes levied
on the items exchanged. The commercial facilities of these fairs, from money changing to general