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I. The Cleansing
I sat before the campfire, watching the flames flicker in the night. I would soon retire for the evening but my mind was currently filled with a myriad of thoughts.
I pondered over numerous problems and tried to devise some possible solutions. My inspiration was found within the campfire.
The answers I sought were often found within those flames.
There is Purity within Fire.
Fire can cleanse the most heinous of crimes, sacrileges or heresies. And when an object has been subjected to the intense heat of the flames, it will glow white-hot. We then see its true nature, the white of ultimate justice.
I have consigned many a Heretic to the purifying flames of justice.
I am an Initiate, a high-ranking priest though I preside over no specific temple. My mission is to travel, to advise and assist my brethren in certain essential matters. I am well respected for my valuable efforts.
My responsibility is great but then so is the satisfaction I receive for work that is well done. My work fulfills me, giving deeper meaning to my existence.
I exist to serve, to obey the dictates of the glorious Priest-Kings. I exist to protect my faith, to oppose the enemies of the mighty Priest-Kings.
I do not travel alone. I have organized my own very select entourage, a small group of professionals to assist me in areas where I may not dabble.
My Caste Codes delineate certain restrictions on my activities. I may not wield weapons or shed blood. Thus, I must hire skilled individuals who are capable of such activities.
My entourage is crucial to my effectiveness so each one has undergone very intensive screening, to ensure their absolute loyalty.
We travel across the breadth of northern Gor following no specific route. I allow the inspiration of the omnipotent Priest-Kings to guide my steps. That inspiration has never failed me.
The arrival of my entourage often surprises the inhabitants in the areas where we stop, causing quite a stir. Our reputation is very well known.
It is very good to be feared.
I do not fear anyone. I have the strength of the supreme Priest-Kings behind me, the power of my unquestioning faith. It is the only shield I require.
There can be but one truth faith, the worship of the mighty Priest-Kings. And the Initiates are the chosen spokesmen of those gods. I speak on behalf of those gods, instructing the masses in the will of the Priest-Kings.
Worship of any other gods is forbidden. It is Heresy, the ultimate crime. Yet Heresy abounds, especially in and around the lands of barbaric Torvaldsland. Worship of Thor, worship of Odin, and even the worship of Lar-Torvis. It is a terrible disease that must be eradicated.
And that is my specialty, rooting out and then destroying Heretics. I am favored by the Priest-Kings who have even rewarded me with special mystical powers to assist my mission. I am relentless in my pursuit, driven by the desire to cleanse the world of these abominations.
My entourage consists of six Initiates, twelve Warriors and a Tuchuk Torturer. If I ever need additional help, I simply recruit it from whatever area I happen to be located at the time.
Of the Initiates, one was once a Scribe and he now keeps extensive records of our activities. Those records are then archived at a monastery within the Voltai Mountains. Two other of the Initiates are experts on ecclesiastical law.
The Warriors are well-trained mercenaries, yet devoted to the Priest-Kings. They are all tarnsmen, proficient with spear, gladius and crossbow. Each is willing to die for their faith.
The Tuchuk Torturer is a special prize. He is well versed in the techniques of information extraction. Even the most stubborn of heretics will confess beneath the painful ministrations of this talented Tuchuk.
He has converted to the religion of the Priest-Kings, away from the heretical beliefs of the barbaric Wagon Peoples. It is unusual but was necessary.
I will allow only the devout to be within my inner circle.
My journey now brings me to the port city of Lydius. A Heretic has been apprehended by the local temple and needs to be properly interrogated. I happened to be in the area so I received a message, a request for assistance, from the temple.
It needed to be determined if this was a lone Heretic or part of a larger conspiracy, a cabal of threats.
I would soon learn the Truth. And then the Heretic would be cleansed by the Flames of Purity.
Ta-Sardar-Gor!
As my men settled into quarters at the temple, I spoke privately with the Chief Initiate of Lydius. He informed me of all he knew of the Heretic.
The Heretic was a citizen of Lydius though he was originally born in Torvaldsland. He was of the Warrior Caste, a tall, blond-haired and muscular man. It was clear that his Heretical beliefs stemmed from his ties to Torvaldsland. The city had not taught him the error of his Heretical views.
The Heretic had been observed in a paga tavern making the sign of Thor over his goblet. The informant had received a silver tarsk for his information.
This would be an interesting interrogation. The men of Torvaldsland often could withstand great pain. It would be quite a challenge for my Torturer.
I would question the Heretic first, telling him to confess to avoid torture. No matter what his response, he would be tortured anyways. I had to ensure that any confession was sincere and that he had not omitted any valuable information. It was simply a necessity of my work.
I would be especially concerned about any confederates of his, fellow Heretics he associated with, future targets for arrest.
Heretics did not generally function alone. They often met in small groups, hidden in a cylinder basement or other shadowy retreat. But the bright lights of the Flame would illuminate their secret places. And all the Heretics would be revealed.
I met the Heretic in one of the lower cells within the temple, a rank and dirty chamber, one of five such cells. The Heretic was chained to the wall, by ankle and wrist, with strong black steel. He was naked, helping to intensify his feelings of vulnerability. His body was bruised, with minor cuts as well.
I began to talk to him, to seek his confession but he simply looked into my eyes and then spit at me like an animal. I turned quickly and the gob of spit struck my shoulder. I then stepped back out of the cell.
One of my assistants wiped the spit off of my white robe while one of the nearby guards struck the prisoner with the stinging power of a slave goad. The yellow sparks illuminated the room as the Heretic grimaced in pain. Such a goad could even be used to kill.
I ordered the Heretic to be prepared for an immediate meeting with the Torturer.
An Ahn later, the Heretic was lying flat upon a rough stone table, securely chained. My Tuchuk Torturer had assembled the tools of his trade nearby, and a brazier burned hotly next to the stone table. My eyes flickered over the needles, blades, pliers and other implements on the nearby table.
I would remain throughout the interrogation though I would be silent. The Tuchuk was a professional and needed no advice from me.
He would extract a confession from the Heretic. Or I would have him executed for his failure.
The Torturer began quietly, inflicting pain on various areas of the Heretic's body. It was simply a prelude, an example of what the Heretic could expect if he failed to cooperate.
The Torvaldslander took it well, never once crying out. His face did grimace in pain, and his eyes did water, but he did not scream. He would be an intriguing subject.
Then the questions began, first simple ones asking such matters as his name and caste. But the Heretic refused to answer even those. So more pain was inflicted.
Yet the Heretic remained silent.
For three hours the Heretic resisted as the pain intensified. His body was covered in a slick sheen of sweat and blood. But, the Torturer finally found the Heretic's breaking point.
He removed a white-hot needle from the brazier and lanced the Heretic's right eyeball, boiling it within the socket. The Heretic finally screamed out in agony and began to babble, to spill his guts about everything.
My assistant took notes as the Heretic revealed the names of his confederates, his companions in Heresy. The torture continued until there was absolute confidence that no more information would be uncovered.
My assistant and I then left the room.
I knew what would now occur to the Heretic. The Torturer would remove his black mask, his badge of office. The only persons permitted to see him without his mask were those victims he would execute. It would be their final view before they died.
The Heretic was to be executed for his crimes. His head would then grace a spear atop the temple. Soon, the heads of his confederates would join him on their own spears.
The Heretic would be set aflame though his head would be preserved. The fire would begin at his feet and work their way further up his body. It was not an easy death. But the flames would cleanse his Heresy.
During the next two Hands, the Heretic's confederates were apprehended and similarly tortured. In total, fourteen Heretics were purged of their crimes.
I was very pleased with the results. The temple confiscated the possessions of these Heretics, based upon ecclesiastical law. Three of the Heretics had possessed significant wealth. That wealth would now further the cause of the Priest-Kings.
I received my own payment for my services, a substantial amount but my due for the importance of my work.
My entourage and I would now leave Lydius, to locate Heretics elsewhere.
Those who oppose my beliefs must be eliminated. Their Heresies cannot be permitted to spread. Their false gods are powerless against the might of the Priest-Kings.
I felt an urge to travel south, toward Esalinus. I did not question it. I simply told my men to head south. The Priest-Kings had intervened, mentally suggesting a new path for me to follow.
And I did not question the will of the Priest-Kings.
Beware Heretics, for we shall come to Cleanse you with the Flames of Justice!
A candle dimly illuminates the small chamber. I squat on the floor, examining the bone chips spread over the stone. Each chip bears a carved rune and they speak to me, providing glimpses into the future.
I see a dark fire within the runes, a dark fire headed toward me. It is a warning, a foreboding of a potentially deadly peril.
The dark fire is surrounded by a halo of white, a darkness hidden within the face of purity, innocence.
I kept my senses aware, trying to discern the source of the danger before it could threaten me. I shared my vision with some trusted friends and they too watched for signs of danger.
Six days later, my vision came clear. I saw the halo of white, concealing the dark fire of death.
Tormada, a special Initiate, entered Esalinus. Tormada hunted heretics, destroying them with fire, purging the world of those who did not worship the Priest-Kings. Tormada would be very pleased to capture me.
I did not worship the Priest-Kings. I chose to worship older gods, the guardians of those from Torvaldsland. Gods like Odin and Thor.
I felt a special affinity for the All-Father, the One-Eye. For Odin was a seeker of knowledge and so was I. Odin sacrificed one eye to drink from the Well of Knowledge. I received a powerful vision one evening, a visitation by Odin himself, and he commanded me to destroy one of my own eyes.
I gladly did so and was thus rewarded with special knowledge. I now have clearer visions than any other Rune Priest before.
My home is still in the beautiful lands of Torvaldsland. But, I have been traveling to the lands south of my home for about six months. A vision led me on this path.
A dream told me that I would oppose a mighty foe of Odin in a southern city. As I traveled south, subsequent visions led me to Esalinus. For the last three months I have waited patiently.
And now I see that the vision was true. An enemy of Odin has surfaced, the vile Initiate Tormada. And I must confront him.
Tormada is responsible for the deaths of numerous people of Torvaldsland. I have seen some of the heads of his victims, atop spears on Initiate temples. Even a few close friends of mine have fallen victim to his purges.
Yet no one had yet been able to destroy him, to end his miserable life. Tormada travels by tarn, protected by some skilled warriors. Most of my people have little familiarity with tarns. And it is difficult to find trustworthy mercenaries willing to attack Tormada.
It does not help that Tormada is well financed and mercenaries know he would pay them well to turn on their original employers. Others simply fear the power of Tormada, as he is said to possess vast powers of magic.
I possess my own magics, the power of the runes. I do not know if they can match the powers of Tormada but I may soon learn.
There will be a confrontation, a clash of two men. I will face Tormada and only one will survive the encounter. I will need all of the knowledge of Odin and the power of Thor to prevail.
Our battle will have far reaching ramifications, as it will pit the Priest-Kings against the old gods. It is more than just a battle between two men. It is a battle for supremacy over Gor.
I needed to spend time devising a strategy, a plan to deal with my enemy. He would be hunting for me as well. How much time would I have before he found me?
I knew that my primary objective was to destroy Tormada, even if it cost me my life. Martyrdom was a worthy status if I could vanquish the Initiate.
But he was well defended, and the mercenaries were but one element of his defense. His powerful magics could not be underestimated either. Was I up to the challenge? Could I prevail in this battle?
How great of a risk was I willing to undergo? How confident was I in the power of my rune magic? How great of a sacrifice to my gods was needed? Should I reach back to ancient traditions and sacrifice a thrall, a male slave?
Would Tormada accept my challenge or would he simply command his mercenaries to cut me down? Did he possess any honor at all? Or did he feel that heretics deserved no honor?
I prayed to Odin for a clue, a vision of the path I should choose. I then cast the runes and deciphered my fate.
Six days passed.
They were a busy time as I readied preparations, putting into place my divinely inspired scheme. The bait was set to tempt Tormada.
The day of reckoning had arrived, the final confrontation. It would occur in public, in the city plaza during the Eleventh Ahn. It was a most propitious time and I felt Odin's gaze upon me. And I spied the hammer of Thor nearby as well.
Tormada would die.
Tormada's entourage arrived a few Ehn early to the planned meeting. They had been led to believe they would meet an informant who could lead them to a large group of heretics. They were obviously distrustful of the meeting so they had arrived in full force.
I waited until the exact moment when the meeting was to occur and then approached Tormada. I was bundled into a robe so he could not discern my identity. As I neared Tormada, his soldiers intervened. I then told them I was the informant.
Though the soldiers remained where they were, Tormada approached a bit closer. I then removed my robe, revealing my priestly raiment with visible runes.
Tormada's face contorted into a visage of hate when he realized that I was a heretic. Before he could speak, before he could command his men, I spoke.
I bellowed out a challenge to Tormada, requesting him to pit the powers of the Priest-Kings against the powers of Odin and the other old gods. I challenged him to publicly prove his faith, to test his resolve.
And I offered him a prize if he should prevail, the identities and locations of nearly fifty heretics. If he refused my challenge, I told him that I would slay myself so that he could not torture the information from me.
The crowd surrounding us grew as I spoke, everyone trying to observe the matter, to watch what might be a grand battle. A few people were scared as well, worried about what damage might occur when our magical powers were unleashed.
The audience was my ally, as I knew that Tormada could not easily refuse my challenge in front of the masses. Tormada had a reputation to uphold. He could not seem to be a coward in the face of an admitted heretic.
I knew his mercenaries wished to kill me, to end any potential threat I posed. And I a sure the Tuchuk Torturer also had his own desires.
Tormada glared at me, assessing me. He scrutinized my garb, analyzing the runes. And peripherally, he saw the people surrounding us, the throng waiting for his response to my challenge.
As I looked into his eyes, I felt that he desired to refuse but understood what difficulties that would cause. He did not wish to lose any status with these people. He needed their fear, their respect.
But he was also not sure that even if he refused that he could stop my suicide. And to lose me, after refusing the challenge, would be even more devastating to him.
Tormada then ordered his men to step aside, to clear a path between he and I. Reluctantly, they complied. The excitement level within the crowd rose as they witnessed this. They also tended to move back a bit, to move out of the potential range of our magics.
Tormada then bellowed out, so that all could hear him. Calling on the Priest-Kings, he accepted my challenge, claiming that I could not prevail under any circumstances. He would prove the weakness of my gods. He would defeat me and then deal with my heretic friends.
I smiled, saying a silent prayer to my gods.
Beware Tormada, for I have come to forever Quench your Dark Fire.
Tormada against Lars, priest versus priest.
The power of the Priest-Kings against the might of Odin and Thor.
There could be but a single victor. And the ramifications of the outcome would reverberate across northern Gor.
Which gods were the most powerful?
I was born into the Caste of Scribes and received an extensive education. I thought that I might become a teacher or even a scholar.
But my father had other ideas for my future. He had arranged for me to join the Caste of Initiates, the highest of all Castes on Gor.
I was ambivalent about this promotion, unsure whether it would be a positive change or not. Thus, I was especially interested in the duel before me. I wanted to witness the might of the Priest-Kings.
Though the Initiates were the highest Caste, a wealthy and powerful group, they often figured into many derisive jokes. They were both feared and ridiculed.
Their Caste Codes were bizarre in some ways. Their prohibitions were difficult, no meat, no beans, no alcohol, no women. Some of their beliefs were even mocked. Few believed they could attain immortality. Most of us believed that death was a finality, not a new beginning.
But none could deny the existence of the Priest-Kings.
The Blue Flame was concrete evidence of the existence of the Priest-Kings. Who else could destroy an individual, or even an entire city, through the mysterious Blue Flame that would incinerate its target.
The Blue Flame fell from the sky and no one knew where it might strike.
Such power could only exist in the hands of the gods.
The eternal question was then, did the Priest-Kings speak through the Initiates? Or were the Priest-Kings amused by the claims of the Initiates?
I knew a bit about Torvaldsland and their gods such as Odin and Thor. They had their own priests, Rune-Priests, who were similar to Initiates in some ways.
Yes, Torvaldsland was a land of barbarians but even they might be aware of certain truths. Could their gods actually be the ones in power rather than the Priest-Kings? Or were their gods simply mythical beings?
I had never seen a confrontation between an Initiate and a Rune-Priest. Hopefully, this divine duel would soothe my own mind, my questions and doubts.
After Lars issued his challenge to Tormada, the crowd backed away to give the two priests adequate space for their battle. They also feared being too close to the magical energies that were sure to explode. Even Tormada's soldiers backed off.
Lars and Tormada stood about twenty feet from each other. They stared at each other, each with a determined cast to their faces. There would be no quarter in this battle.
The loser could expect only death.
And most of the crowd supported Tormada. Lars was still just a barbarian, worshipping strange and foreign gods. The people of the city of Esalinus mainly prayed to the Priest-Kings. They expected an easy victory for Tormada.
Tormada looked resplendent in his pure white robes, his gold jewelry sparkling in the sunlight. He stood proudly, his back straight and his hands poised before him.
Lars wore a white robe as well, though it was covered in enigmatic runes. He was shorter than Tormada and did not stand as erect. He presented a much less threatening picture.
Yet the eyes of Lars showed his hunger, his desire for victory. This would not be an easy battle. I felt privileged to be present at such an epic event.
The two priests faced each other, each posed as if to cast a spell but neither willing to begin. Several tense Ehn passed as nothing happened between the duelists.
Or was there actually much going on, yet only on a different battlefield? Were they locked in a mind battle? Could they see a battle that we could not?
The audience was getting restless. They wanted action, magical pyrotechnics. They wanted to see blood.
If I had not turned to examine the audience, I would have missed it. A man in the garb of a Metal Worker stood about ten feet behind Lars. I recognized his face.
It was one of Tormada's mercenaries, in disguise. What was he doing there?
It was at that moment that Tormada finally chose to act, to cast his spell, hoping to end the duel. I heard Tormada cry out so I began to turn back to the battle.
But not before noticing the mercenary poised to move forward.
Tormada called out to the Priest-Kings to smite down the Heretic, to cleanse this city of his taint. His hands moved in an intricate dance of gestures and finally ended in a thrust out towards Lars.
Lars crouched down a bit, awaiting whatever Tormada was sending his way.
There was then a near silent explosion and a burst of dark, thick smoke enveloped Lars. The smoke surrounded him in a rough circle maybe fifteen feet outwards.
It took a couple Ehn for it to dissipate and some of the audience exited the smoke choking and coughing. Including the disguised mercenary.
When the smoke cleared, Lars was on the ground, seemingly dead. Tormada was grinning as he ordered his men to claim the body so that the head could be placed atop a spear.
The crowd cheered for Tormada, praising the might of the Priest-Kings. Tormada announced that he would hold a mass later that evening and I am sure he would receive many donations.
The story of the duel would grow in the telling. Over time, the battle would become an incredible story, retold by Poets and Singers.
Yet I watched the disguised mercenary. Once within the thick crowd, he suddenly stopped choking and coughing. He quickly fled the scene, likely to rejoin his group.
The situation was clear. There had been no magic, only an illusion. The smoke had been the cover for the actions of the mercenary.
The mercenary probably stabbed Lars with an anesthetic dart, which would have rendered him unconscious. Tormada would have wanted Lars alive so he could be tortured and interrogated.
The magical duel had been a sham.
Yet Lars had not apparently possessed any magical powers either. He had not cast a single spell and had not been able to avoid the trickery of Tormada.
No god had intervened. No magic had been involved.
That provided me much food for thought. Did I really wish to join the Initiate Caste now? Did I wish to join a lie?
There was a great festival in Esalinus that night, praising the Priest-Kings for destroying a Heretic. Tormada presided over a well-attended mass and his coffers were amply rewarded with copper, silver and even gold coins.
Tormada told the citizenry that he would remain in the city for a time longer to root out some more Heretics, claiming that the Priest-Kings would give him a vision of their hiding places.
Once Lars was tortured, Tormada would know of these other Heretics. The he would act against them in brutal night-time raids.
My father was ecstatic, excited that he had arranged for me to join the ranks of the Initiates. I would be one of the elite.
But could I join those hypocrites? Could I uphold the lie of those priests?
I brooded much of the night, not sleeping. I remained away from the crowds, needing the solitariness to ponder my future.
In the end, I had little choice. To refuse the Caste promotion would bring shame upon my family. My father had worked hard to gain me entrance into the Initiate Caste.
But then, within the Initiate Caste might be the best place to effectuate change. From the outside there would be little I could do. But inside, the opportunities would abound.
So I would become a novice Initiate.
I would seek advancement as quickly as possible. I would seek to attain the pinnacle within the Caste, the High priesthood.
And I would then change the religion, its hypocrisies and hatreds. I would dispel its myths and lies.
I would burn out the heretics within the Initiate Caste until only the pure and true remained.
There is Purity within Fire
