Home

You follow the laughing stream and come to a clearing in the forest. A pit holds a welcoming fire in the center of a circle of furs and mats. Saucy slaves beam at your appearance and seduce you with bowls of paga, horns of mead, plates of meats and sweets and many other delights. The free of the camp look on you with regard and bid you to join the conversation, tell your story, share your jokes.

But beware! This home belongs to one of the Black Caste, watch your words or they may be your last.

We follow the traditions of old Gor - emotions may run high but drama is discouraged; bare necked slaves may not stay that way for long; show that you have honor and give respect and they will be given to you in turn. If you do not agree with our ideals, you had better move along.

Indeed, there is a saying on Gor, a saying whose origin is lost in the past of this strange planet, that one who speaks of Home Stone should stand, for matters of honor are here involved, and honor is respected in the barbaric codes of Gor.

"Gor," he said, "is the name of this world. In all the languages of this planet, the word means Home Stone." He paused, noting my lack of comprehension. "Home Stone," he repeated. "Simply that.

    "In peasant villages on this world," he continued, "each hut was originally built around a flat stone which was placed in the center of the circular dwelling. It was carved with the family sign and was called the Home Stone. It was, so to speak, a symbol of sovereignty, or territory, and each peasant, in his own hut, was a sovereign."
    "Later," said my father, "Home Stones were used for villages, and later still for cities. The Home Stone of a village was always placed in the market; in a city, on the top of the highest tower. The Home Stone came naturally, in time, to acquire a mystique, and something of the same hot, sweet emotions as our native peoples of Earth feel toward their flags became invested in it."
    My father had risen to his feet and had begun to pace the room, and his eyes seemed strangely alive. In time I would come to understand more of what he felt. Indeed, there is a saying on Gor, a saying whose origin is lost in the past of this strange planet, that one who speaks of Home Stones should stand, for matters of honor are here involved, and honor is respected in the barbaric codes of Gor.
    "These stones," said my father, "are various, of different colors, shapes, and sizes, and many of them are intricately carved. Some of the largest cities have small, rather insignificant Home Stones, but of incredible antiquity, dating back to the time when the city was a village or only a mounted pride of warriors with no settled abode."
    My father paused at the narrow window in the circular room and looked out onto the hills beyond and fell silent.
    At last he spoke again.
    "Where a man sets his Home Stone, he claims, by law, that land for himself. Good land is protected only by the swords of the strongest owners in the vicinity."
    "Swords?" I asked.
    "Yes," said my father, as if there were nothing incredible in this admission. He smiled. "You have much to learn of Gor," he said. "Yet there is a hierarchy of Home Stones, one might say, and two soldiers who would cut one another down with their steel blades for an acre of fertile ground would fight side by side to the death for the Home Stone of their village or of the city within whose ambit their village lies."
    “I shall show you someday,” he said, “my own small Home Stone, which I keep in my chambers. It encloses a handful of soil from the Earth, a handful of soil that I first brought with me when I came to this world - a long time ago.” He looked at me evenly. “I shall keep the handful of earth you brought,” he said, his voice very quiet, “and someday it may be yours.” His eyes seemed moist. He added, “If you should live to earn a Home Stone.”1)  Tarnsman of Gor  pg(s) 26-27