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Tarnsman of Gor :: Норман Джон
Страница: 35 из 145The thought flashed through my mind that tarns should be trained to respond to voice commands as well as to the numbered straps and the tam-goad. That they had not been seemed astounding to me.
I shouted to my tam, in Gorean and in English. "Har-ta! Har-ta! Faster! Faster!"
The great bird seemed to sense what I intended, or perhaps it was merely his sudden realization that the othertam was in the lead, but a remarkable transformation swept over my sable, plumed steed. His neck straightened and his wings suddenly cracked like whips in the sky; his eyes became fiery and his every bone and muscle seemed to leap with power. In a dizzying minute or two we had passed the Older Tarl, to his amazement, and had settled again in a flurry of wings on the top of the cylinder from which we had departed a few minutes before.
"By the beards of the Priest-Kings," roared the Older Tarl as he brought his bird to the roof, "that is a tarn of. tams!"
The tarns, released, winged their way back to the tam cots, and the Older Tarl and I descended to my apartment. He was bursting with pride. "What a tam!" he marveled. "I had a full pasang start, and yet you passed me!" The pasang is a measure of distance on Gor, equivalent approximately to.7 of a mile. "That tarn," he said, "was bred for you, specially selected from the best broods of the finest of our war tarns. It was with you in mind that the keepers of the tarns worked, breeding and crossbreeding, training and retraining."
"I thought," I said, "on the roof it would kill me. It seems the tarn keepers do not train their prodigies as well as they might."
"No!" cried the Older Tarl. "The training is perfect. The spirit of the tarn must not be broken, not that of a war tarn. He is trained to the point where it is necessary for a strong master to decide whether he shall serve him or slay him. You will come to know your tarn, and he will come to know you. You will be as one in the sky, the tare the body, you the mind and will. You will live in an armed truce with the tarn. If you become weak or helpless, he will kill you. As long as you remain strong, his master, he will serve you, respect you, obey you." He paused. "We were not sure of you, your father and myself, but today I am sure. You have mastered a tarn, a war taro. In your veins must flow the blood of your father, once Ubar, War Chieftain, now Administrator of Ko-ro-ba, this City of Cylinders."
I was surprised, for this was the first time I had known that my father had been War Chieftain of the city, or that he was even now its supreme civil official, or, for that matter, that the city was named Ko-ro-ba, a now archaic expression for a village market. The Goreans have a habit of not revealing names easily.
I shouted to my tam, in Gorean and in English. "Har-ta! Har-ta! Faster! Faster!"
The great bird seemed to sense what I intended, or perhaps it was merely his sudden realization that the othertam was in the lead, but a remarkable transformation swept over my sable, plumed steed. His neck straightened and his wings suddenly cracked like whips in the sky; his eyes became fiery and his every bone and muscle seemed to leap with power. In a dizzying minute or two we had passed the Older Tarl, to his amazement, and had settled again in a flurry of wings on the top of the cylinder from which we had departed a few minutes before.
"By the beards of the Priest-Kings," roared the Older Tarl as he brought his bird to the roof, "that is a tarn of. tams!"
The tarns, released, winged their way back to the tam cots, and the Older Tarl and I descended to my apartment. He was bursting with pride. "What a tam!" he marveled. "I had a full pasang start, and yet you passed me!" The pasang is a measure of distance on Gor, equivalent approximately to.7 of a mile. "That tarn," he said, "was bred for you, specially selected from the best broods of the finest of our war tarns. It was with you in mind that the keepers of the tarns worked, breeding and crossbreeding, training and retraining."
"I thought," I said, "on the roof it would kill me. It seems the tarn keepers do not train their prodigies as well as they might."
"No!" cried the Older Tarl. "The training is perfect. The spirit of the tarn must not be broken, not that of a war tarn. He is trained to the point where it is necessary for a strong master to decide whether he shall serve him or slay him. You will come to know your tarn, and he will come to know you. You will be as one in the sky, the tare the body, you the mind and will. You will live in an armed truce with the tarn. If you become weak or helpless, he will kill you. As long as you remain strong, his master, he will serve you, respect you, obey you." He paused. "We were not sure of you, your father and myself, but today I am sure. You have mastered a tarn, a war taro. In your veins must flow the blood of your father, once Ubar, War Chieftain, now Administrator of Ko-ro-ba, this City of Cylinders."
I was surprised, for this was the first time I had known that my father had been War Chieftain of the city, or that he was even now its supreme civil official, or, for that matter, that the city was named Ko-ro-ba, a now archaic expression for a village market. The Goreans have a habit of not revealing names easily.