Civilization, Tradition and Social Structure
“You do not cook your meat?” I asked. ------------- “We sometimes do,” he said. It looked at me. “Cooked meat weakens the jaws,” it said.
“Fire, and cooked meat,” I said, “makes possible a smaller jaw and smaller teeth, permitting less cranial musculature and permitting the development of a larger brain case.”
“Our brain cases are larger than those of humans,” it said. “Our anatomy could not well support a larger cranial development. In our history as in yours, larger brain cases have been selected for.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“In the Killings.” It said.
“The Kur is not a social animal?” I asked. “It is a social animal,” it said. “But it is not as social as the human.”
“That is perhaps a drawback to it as a species,” I said.
“It has its advantage,” it said. “The Kur can live alone. It can go its own way. It does not need its herd.”
“Surely, in ancient times, Kurii came together,” I said.
“Yes,” it said, “in the matings, and the killings.” It looked at me, chewing. “But that was long ago,” it said. “We have had civilization for one hundred thousand years, as you would understand these things. In the dawn of our prehistory small bands emerged from the burrows and the caves and forests. It was a beginning.”
“How can such an animal have a civilization?” I asked.
“Discipline,” it said.
“That is a slender thread with which to restrain such fierce, titanic instincts,” I said.
The beast extended to me a thigh of the lart. “True,“ it said. “I see you understand us well.”
I took the meat and chewed on it. It was fresh, warm, still porous with blood.
“You like it, do you not?” asked the beast.
“Yes,” I said.
“You see,” it said, “you are not so different from us.”
“I have never claimed to be,” I said.
“Is not civilization as great an achievement for your species as for mine?” it asked.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Are the threads on which your survival depends stouter than those on which our depends?” it asked.
“Perhaps not,” I said.
“I know little of humans,” it said, “but it is my understanding that most of them are liars and hypocrites. I do not include you in this general charge.”
I nodded.
“They think of themselves as civilized animals, and yet they are only animals with a civilization. There is quite a difference,”
“Admittedly,” I said.
“Those of Earth, as I understand it, which is your home world, are the most despicable. They are petty. They mistake weakness for virtue. They take their lack of appetite, their incapacity to feel, as a merit. Howe small they are. The more they betray their own nature the more they congratulate themselves on their perfection. And they put economic gain above all. Their greed and their fevered scratching, repulses me.”
“Not all on Earth are like that,” I said.
“It is a food world,” it said, “and the food is not of the best.” (Beasts of Gor)
“I, too, am skilled in weaponry,” it said, “in various weapons traditional with my people, and in modern weapons, as well.”
“You maintain, even with your technology, a dueling tradition?” I asked.
“Of course,” it said. “And the tradition of the fang and claw is continued as well.”
“Of course,” I said.
“I am not fond of modern weapons,” it said. “An egg-carrier or even a non-dominant could use them. They put on at too great a distance from the kill. They can be effective, and that is their justification, but they are, in my opinion, boring. They tend to rob one, because of their nature, of the closeness, the intimacy, the joy of the hot kill. That is the greatest condemnation of them. They take the pleasure out of killing.” It looked at me. “What can compare,” it asked, “with the joy of real victory? Of true victory? When one has risked one’s life openly and then, after a hard-fought contest, has one’s enemy at one’s feet, lacerated, and bleeding and dying, and can then tear him in victory and feast in his body, what can compare with the joy of that?” The eyes of the beast blazed, but then the fierce light subsided. It poured us again a glass of Paga.
“Very little, I suppose,” I said.
“Do I horrify you?” it asked.
“No,” I said.
“I knew I would not,” it said.
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“I saw you fight,” it said.
I shrugged.
“You should have seen your face,” it said. “You cannot tell me you did not like it.”
“I have not told you that,” I said.
“In time the war will be finished,” it said. It looked at me, “If we should survive it, there will be afterwards no use for such as we.”
“We will, at least,” I said. “have known one another.”
“That is true, it said. “Would you like to see my trophies?” it asked.
“Yes,” I said. (Beasts of Gor)
“How much time is there?” I asked.
“Three Kur Ahn,” he said. “The device is set on Kur chronometry, synchronized to the rotation of the original world.”
“The same chronometry which is used in the complex?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“That is a little more than five Gorean Ahn,” I said.
“Two Ehn more,” he said.
I nodded. The Kur day was divided into twelve hours, the Gorean day into twenty. The periods of rotation of the original Kur world and of Gor were quite similar. That was one reason the Kurii were interested in Gor. They wished a world which would be congenial to their physiological rhythms. Developed in harmony with given environmental periodicities of darkness and light. (Beasts of Gor)
“That,” it said, “is whom you face. It is unfortunate that you do not know the ways of Kurii, or the dynatsties of our clans. In my way, to use concepts you may grasp, I am a prince among my people, not only in blood, but by battle, for in such a way only does one become prince among the Kurii. I have been trained in leadership, and have, in assuming such a leadership, killed for the rings. I say this that you may understand that it is much honor that is done to you. The Kurii know you, and, though you are a human, an animal, this honor they do to you.” (Marauders of Gor)
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