Sorath then, stung by her remark, flung himself wildly toward me and fought frenziedly, but rashly. I blocked blows, not wishing to take advantage of his recklessness. I refrained from striking him. Had we been using real axes, the handles armed with iron, I might have finished him several times. I do not know if he was fully aware of this, but I am sure some of the others were. Hurtha and Genserix, for example, judging from the alarm which I noted in their expressions, seemed to be under no misapprehensions in the matter. To be sure, had the handles been armed perhaps he would have addressed himself to our match with much greater circumspection. Panting, Sorath backed away.
"Fight, Sorath," taunted the woman. "He is an outsider. Are you not an Alar?" "Be silent, woman," said Genserix, angrily.
"I am a free woman," she said. I may speak as I please."
"Do not seek to interfere in the affairs of men," said Genserix.
She faced the group, standing on the other side of the fire. Her feet were spread. On her feet were boots of fur. Her arms were crossed insolently upon her chest. "Are there men here?" she asked. "I wonder."
There was a rumble of angry sounds from the gathered warriors. But none did anything to discipline the girl. She was, of course, free. Free women, among the Alars, have high standing.
"Do you think you are a man?" inquired one of the warriors.
"I am a female," she said, "but I am not different from you, not in the least." There were angry murmurs from the men.
"Indeed," she said, "I am probably more a man than any of you here." "Give her an ax," said Genserix.
An ax, a typical Alar ax, long handled, armed with its heavy iron blade, was handed to the girl. She took it, holding it with difficulty. It was clear it was too heavy for her. She could scarcely lift it, let alone wield it.
"You could not use that blade, even for chopping wood," said Genserix. "What is your name?" I asked her.
"Tenseric," she said.
"That is a male's name," I said.
"I chose it myself," she said. "I wear it proudly."
"Have you always been called that?" I asked.
"I was called Boabissia," she said, "until I came of age, and chose my own name."
"You are still Boabissia," said one of the warriors. "No!" she said. "I am Tenseric."
"You are a female, are you not?" I asked.
"I suppose so," she said, angrily. "But what is that supposed to mean?" "Does it mean nothing?" I asked.
"No," she said. "It means nothing."
"Are you the same as a man?" I asked.
"Yes!" she said.
There was laughter from the warriors about the fire.
"It takes more than fur and leather, and a dagger worn pretentiously at one's belt, to make a man." I said.
She looked at me with fury.
"You are a female," called one of the men. "Be one!"
"No!" she cried.
"Put on a dress!" called another of the men.
"Never!" she cried. "I do not want to be one of those pathetic creatures who must wait on you and serve you!"
"Are you an Alar?" I asked.
"Yes!" she said.
"No," said Genserix. "She is not an Alar. We found her, years ago, when she was an infant, beside the road, abandoned in blankets, amidst the wreckage of a raided caravan."
"One which had fallen to the Alars?" I inquired.
"No," said a fellow, chuckling.
"I wished it had fallen to us," said another. "From the size of the caravan, we conjecture the loot must have been considerable."
"There was little left when we arrived," commented another.
"Do not be misled," said Hurtha, smiling. "We do not really do much raiding. It does not make for good relations with the city dwellers."
His remark made sense to me. The Alars, and such folk, can be aggressive and warlike in seeking their grazing grounds, but, if left alone, they are seldom practitioners of unrestricted or wholesale raiding.
"We took the child in, and raised it," said Genserix. "We named it Boabissia, a good Alar name."
"You are not then really of the wagons," I said to the girl. "Indeed, you are quite possibly a female of the cities." "No!" said the girl. "I am truly of the wagons! I have lived among them all my life."
"She is not of the wagons, by blood," said a man.
She looked at him angrily.
"Slash my face! she cried.
"We do not slash the faces of our females," said a man.
"Slash mine!" she said.
"No," said Genserix.
"Then I shall do it myself!" she said.
"Do not," said Genserix, sternly.
"Very well," she said. "I shall not. I shall do as my chieftain asks." I saw that she did not wish, truly, to disfigure herself in the mode of the Alar warriors. I found that of interest. From the point of view of the men, too, of course, they did not desire this. For one thing she was not of the warriors and was thus not entitled to this badge of station; indeed, her wearing it, as she was a mere female, would be a joke to outsiders and an embarrassment to the men; it would belittle its significance for them, making it shameful and meaningless. The insignia of men, like male garments, become empty mockeries when permitted to women. This type of thing leads eventually both to the demasculinization of men and the defeminization of females, a perversion of nature disapproved of generally correctly or incorrectly, by Goreans. For another thing she was a beautiful woman and they had no desire to see her disfigured in this fashion. "Your chieftain is grateful," said Genserix, ironically.
"Thank you, my chieftain," she said. Reddening, inclining her head. She had little alternative, it seemed, in her anger other than to pretend to accept his remark at face value. I wondered why Genserix did not strip her and have her tied under a wagon for a few days. She looked at me in fury. "I am an Alar," she said.
Some of the warriors laughed.
"It seems more probable to me that you are a woman of the cities," I said. "No!" she said. "No!"
"Consider your coloring," I said, "and your shortness, and the darkness of your hair and eyes. Consider, too, the suggestion of interesting female curvatures beneath your leather and fur." Most of the Alar women are rather large, plain, cold, blond, blue-eyed women. "You remind me of many women I have seen chained naked in slave markets."
There was much laughter from the men.
"No!" she cried to them. "No!" she cried to me.
"It is true," I said.
"No!" she cried.
There was more laughter.
"I am an Alar!" she cried.
"No," said more than one man.
"Are you a man?" asked a fellow.
"No," she said. "I am a woman!"
"It is true," laughed a man.
"But I am a free woman!" she cried, with a look of hatred cast at Feiqa, who shrank back, trembling, beneath her fierce gaze.
"Lift up the ax you carry," said Genserix, "high, over your head, as though to strike one with it. Hold it near the end of the handle."
She, standing across from us, on the other side of the fire, tried to do this. But in a moment, struggling, unable to manage the weight, she twisted her body and the ax fell. Its head struck the dirt. The warriors were not pleased with this.
Some murmured in anger. "I cannot," she said. I myself would have had her kneel down and clean the blade with her hair. It can be a capital offense on Gor, incidentally, for a slave to so much as touch a weapon.