and were at work at the lower half of the malidar's body while the sulidoror finished the other part.
Gundersen looked about for Srin'gahar. There were things he wished to ask.
It still troubled him that the nildoror had accepted the killing in the lake so coolly. He realized that he had somehow always regarded the nildoror as more noble than the other big beasts of this planet because they did not take life except under supreme provocation, and sometimes not even then. Here was an intelligent race exempt from the sin of Cain. And Gundersen saw in that a corollary: that the nildoror, because they did not kill, would look upon killing as a detestable act. Now he knew that his reasoning was faulty and even naïve. The nildoror did not kill simply because they were not eaters of meat; but the moral superiority that he had attributed to them on that score must in fact be a product of his own guilty imagination.
The night came on with tropic swiftness. A single moon glimmered. Gundersen saw a nildor he took to be Srin'gahar, and went to him.
“I have a question, Srin'gahar, friend of my journey,” Gundersen began. “When the sulidoror entered the water—"
The nildor said gravely, “You make a mistake. I am Thali'vanoom of the third birth."
Gundersen mumbled an apology and turned away, aghast. What a typically Earthman blunder, he thought. He remembered his old sector chief making the same blunder a dozen dozen times, hopelessly confusing one nildor with another and muttering angrily, “Can't tell one of these big bastards from the next! Why don't they wear badges?” The ultimate insult, the failure to recognize the natives as individuals. Gundersen had always made it a point of honor to avoid such gratuitous insults. And so, here, at this delicate time when he depended wholly on winning the favor of the nildoror—
He approached a second nildor, and saw just at the last moment that this one too was not Srin'gahar. He backed off as gracefully as he could. On the third attempt he finally found his traveling companion. Srin'gahar sat placidly against a narrow tree, his thick legs folded beneath his body. Gundersen put his question to him and Srin'gahar said, “Why should the sight of violent death shock us? Malidaror have no g'rakh, after all. And it is obvious that sulidoror must eat."
“No g'rakh?" Gundersen said. “This is a word I do not know."
“The quality that separates the souled from the unsouled,” Srin'gahar explained. “Without g'rakh a creature is but a beast."
“Do sulidoror have g'rakh?"
“Of course."
“And nildoror also, naturally. But malidaror don't. What about Earthmen?"
“It is amply clear that Earthmen have g'rakh."
“And one may freely kill a creature which lacks that quality?"
“If one has the need to do so, yes,” said Srin'gahar. “These are elementary matters. Have you no such concepts on your own world?"
“On my world,” said Gundersen, “there is only one species that has been granted g'rakh, and so perhaps we give such matters too little thought. We know that whatever is not of our own kind must be lacking in g'rakh."
“And so, when you come to another world, you have difficulty in accepting the presence of g'rakh in other beings?” Srin'gahar asked. “You need not answer. I understand."
“May I ask another question?” said Gundersen. “Why are there sulidoror here?"
“We allow them to be here."
“In the past, in the days when the Company ruled Belzagor, the sulidoror never went outside the mist country."
“We did not allow them to come here then."
“But now you do. Why?"
“Because now it is easier for us to do so. Difficulties stood in the way at earlier times."
“What kind of difficulties?” Gundersen persisted.
Softly Srin'gahar said, “You will have to ask that of someone who has been born more often than I. I am once-born, and many things are as strange to me as they are to you. Look, another moon is in the sky! At the third moon we shall
Gundersen looked about for Srin'gahar. There were things he wished to ask.
It still troubled him that the nildoror had accepted the killing in the lake so coolly. He realized that he had somehow always regarded the nildoror as more noble than the other big beasts of this planet because they did not take life except under supreme provocation, and sometimes not even then. Here was an intelligent race exempt from the sin of Cain. And Gundersen saw in that a corollary: that the nildoror, because they did not kill, would look upon killing as a detestable act. Now he knew that his reasoning was faulty and even naïve. The nildoror did not kill simply because they were not eaters of meat; but the moral superiority that he had attributed to them on that score must in fact be a product of his own guilty imagination.
The night came on with tropic swiftness. A single moon glimmered. Gundersen saw a nildor he took to be Srin'gahar, and went to him.
“I have a question, Srin'gahar, friend of my journey,” Gundersen began. “When the sulidoror entered the water—"
The nildor said gravely, “You make a mistake. I am Thali'vanoom of the third birth."
Gundersen mumbled an apology and turned away, aghast. What a typically Earthman blunder, he thought. He remembered his old sector chief making the same blunder a dozen dozen times, hopelessly confusing one nildor with another and muttering angrily, “Can't tell one of these big bastards from the next! Why don't they wear badges?” The ultimate insult, the failure to recognize the natives as individuals. Gundersen had always made it a point of honor to avoid such gratuitous insults. And so, here, at this delicate time when he depended wholly on winning the favor of the nildoror—
He approached a second nildor, and saw just at the last moment that this one too was not Srin'gahar. He backed off as gracefully as he could. On the third attempt he finally found his traveling companion. Srin'gahar sat placidly against a narrow tree, his thick legs folded beneath his body. Gundersen put his question to him and Srin'gahar said, “Why should the sight of violent death shock us? Malidaror have no g'rakh, after all. And it is obvious that sulidoror must eat."
“No g'rakh?" Gundersen said. “This is a word I do not know."
“The quality that separates the souled from the unsouled,” Srin'gahar explained. “Without g'rakh a creature is but a beast."
“Do sulidoror have g'rakh?"
“Of course."
“And nildoror also, naturally. But malidaror don't. What about Earthmen?"
“It is amply clear that Earthmen have g'rakh."
“And one may freely kill a creature which lacks that quality?"
“If one has the need to do so, yes,” said Srin'gahar. “These are elementary matters. Have you no such concepts on your own world?"
“On my world,” said Gundersen, “there is only one species that has been granted g'rakh, and so perhaps we give such matters too little thought. We know that whatever is not of our own kind must be lacking in g'rakh."
“And so, when you come to another world, you have difficulty in accepting the presence of g'rakh in other beings?” Srin'gahar asked. “You need not answer. I understand."
“May I ask another question?” said Gundersen. “Why are there sulidoror here?"
“We allow them to be here."
“In the past, in the days when the Company ruled Belzagor, the sulidoror never went outside the mist country."
“We did not allow them to come here then."
“But now you do. Why?"
“Because now it is easier for us to do so. Difficulties stood in the way at earlier times."
“What kind of difficulties?” Gundersen persisted.
Softly Srin'gahar said, “You will have to ask that of someone who has been born more often than I. I am once-born, and many things are as strange to me as they are to you. Look, another moon is in the sky! At the third moon we shall
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