“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 centre 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 honour are here involved, and honour is respected in the barbaric codes of Gor.”
“These stones,” said my father, “are various, of different colours, 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.”
“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 will 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.”
He had turned away, as if lost in thought. “It is the occasional dream of a conqueror or statesman,” he said, “to have but a single Supreme Home Stone for the planet.” Then after a long moment, not looking at me, he said, “It is rumoured there is such a stone, but it lies in the Sacred Place and is the source of the Priest Kings power.”
"He circled me, widely. "Beware," he said, "i carry a Home Stone."
I stood back and made no move to draw my weapon. Though I wa of the caste of warriors and he of peasants, and I armed and he carrying naught but a crude tool, I would not dispute his passage. One does not lighlty dispute the passage of one who carries his Home Stone."
"The officer had proposed, as clearly as one might, that the city be abandoned to the flames, and to the ravaging seamen of Cos and Tyros. Port Kar had no Home Stone.
"How many of you think," I asked, "that Port Kar has no Home Stone?"
The men looked at one another, puzzled. All knew, of course, that she had no Home Stone. There was silence.
Then, after a time, Tab said, "I think that she might have one."
"But," said I, "she does not yet have one."
"No," said Tab.
...
I was handed a knife. I cut in the rock the initials, in block Gorean script, of Port Kar. Then I held out in my hand the rock. I held it up so that the men could see.
"What have I here?" I asked.
Tab said it, and quietly, "The Home Stone of Port Kar."
"Now," said I, facing the man who had told me there was but one choice, that of flight,
"Shall we fly?"
He looked at the simple rock, wonderingly. "I have never had a Home Stone before," he said.
"Shall we fly?" I asked.
"Not if we have a Home Stone," he said.
I held up the rock. "Do we have a Home Stone?" I asked the men.
"I will accept it as my Home Stone," said the slave boy, Fish. None of the men laughed. The first to accept the Home Stone of Port Kar was only a boy, and a slave. But he had spoken as a Ubar.
"And I!" cried Thurnock, in his great, booming voice.
"And I!" said Clitus.
"And I!" said Tab.
"And I!" cried the men in the room. And, suddenly the room was filled with cheers and more than a hundred
weapons left their sheaths and saluted the Home Stone of Port Kar: I saw weathered seamen weep and cry out
brandishing their swords. There was joy in that room then such as I had never before seen it. And there was a belonging, and a victory, and a meaningfulness, and cries, and the clashing of weapons, and tears and, in that instant love. "
"I lay on a blanket, in the small room, in the insula of Torbon, on Demetrios Street, in the Metellan district. Outside, the city was generally quiet. I looked up at the darkness of the ceiling. It must have been in the neighborhood of the twentieth Ahn. By now Milo and Lavinia must have left the city. Too, Boots Tarsk-Bit, with his troupe, would be on his way north, perhaps on the Viktel Aria. Somewhere, hidden among their belongings, would be an obscure item, a seeming oddity, a stone. To look at it one might not know it from many other stones. And yet it was different from all other stones; it was special. I wondered about the Home Stones of Gor. Many seem small and quite plain. Yet for these stones, and on account of these stones, these seemingly inauspicious, simple objects, cities have been built, and burned, armies have clashed, strong men have wept, empires have risen and fallen. The simplicity of many of these stones has puzzled me. I have wondered sometimes how it is that they have become invested with such import. They may, of course, somewhat simply, be thought of as symbolizing various things, and perhaps different things to different people. They can stand, for example, for a city, and, indeed, are sometimes identified with the city. They, have some affinity, too, surely, with territoriality and community. Even a remote hut, far from the paved avenues of a town or city, may have a Home Stone, and therein, in the place of his Home Stone, is the meanest beggar or the poorest peasant a Ubar. The Home Stone says this place is mine, this is my home. I am here. But I think, often, that it is a mistake to try to translate the Home Stone into meanings. It is not a word, or a sentence. It does not really translate. It is, more like a tree, or the world. It exists, which goes beyond, which surpasses, meaning. In this primitive sense the Home Stone is simply that, and irreducibly, the Home Stone. It is too important, too precious, to mean. And in not meaning, it becomes, of course, the most meaningful of all. It becomes, in a sense, the foundation of meaning, and, for Goreans, it is anterior to meaning, and precedes meaning. Do not ask a Gorean what the Home Stone means because he will not understand your question. It will puzzle him. It is the Home Stone. Sometimes I think that many Home Stones are so simple because they are too important, too precious, to be insulted with decoration or embellishment. And then, too, sometimes I think that they are kept, on the whole, so simple, because this is a way of saying that everything is important, and precious, and beautiful, the small stones by the river, the leaves of trees, the tracks of small animals, a blade of grass, a drop of water, a grain of sand, the world. The word 'Gor', in Gorean, incidentally, means 'Home Stone'. Their name for our common sun, Sol, is 'Tor-tu-Gor' which means 'Light upon the Home Stone'."
