didn’t have to keep a constant eye out for snakes anymore, and for
another, I wasn’t continually trailing a cloud of mosquitoes. I’m not
really sure which of them is worse. The air grew cooler as I ascended
into that spur of mountains, and the forests thinned out. I’ve always
rather liked mountains.
There was a bit of trouble at the border of Maragor. The Marags were
still practicing that ritual cannibalism Beldin had told me about, and
the border guards tended to look upon travelers as a food source. I
didn’t have too much trouble persuading them that I probably wouldn’t
taste good, though, and then I went northeast toward the capital at Mar
Amon.
I believe I’ve hinted at some of the peculiarities of the Marag culture
before, but I suspect I’ll have to be a little more specific at this
point. The God Mara was just a bit overly enthusiastic about physical
beauty. For a woman, this presents no particular problem; she either
has it or she hasn’t. A man, however, has to work on it. Masculine
beauty involves muscle development, so Marag men spent a great deal of
time lifting heavy things over their heads. That gets boring after a
while, though, and there’s not much point in having bushel baskets full
of muscles if you don’t use them for something. The men of Maragor
devised contests of various sorts–running, jumping, throwing things,
swimming, and the like.
Unfortunately, if you develop enough muscles, they’ll eventually start
to squeeze your head and reduce the size of your brain. In time, most
of the men of Maragor were all as beautiful as marble statues–and
almost as intelligent. They were totally incapable even of taking care
of themselves, and so the women had to take over. They owned all the
property, and they housed their childlike heroes in dormitories and
arranged various athletic competitions that kept those beautiful
specimens of manhood happy.
There were far more women among the Marags than there were men, but
that didn’t really cause any problems, since Marag men wouldn’t really
have made good husbands anyway. The Marags got along very well without
marriage. They were happy, they enjoyed life, and they were kind and
generous to each other. They seemed to be incapable of the jealousy
and irrational possessiveness that mars other cultures.
I think that covers everything. For various reasons, Polgara’s always
had a low opinion of the Marags, and if I take this too much further,
it’ll just give her another excuse to scold me.
Oh, one last thing. The Marags didn’t have a single ruler. They had a
“Council of Matriarchs” instead–nine middle-age and presumably wise
women who made all the decisions. It was a little unusual, but it
worked out fairly well.
Maragor lay in a pleasant, fertile basin in the southern part of the
Tolnedran Mountains. There are extensive mineral deposits in those
mountains, and the turbulent streams that run down into the basin where
the Marags lived pass through those deposits and carry with them
assorted minerals and a fair number of gemstones. Unless you know what
to look for, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds appear to be no more
than common pebbles. Gold, however, is plainly visible on the bottom
of every brook in Maragor. The Marags ignored it. They had a barter
economy and were largely self-sufficient, so they had no real interest
in trade with other nations. Thus, they didn’t need money. Their idea
of beauty leaned in the direction of personal physical attractiveness,
so they didn’t bother with jewelry. Once you’ve eliminated money and
jewelry, gold becomes largely meaningless. It’s too soft and too heavy
to have any real practical use.
It did get my attention, however. I dallied a bit on my journey from
the border to the capital and managed to pick up a fairly large
pouchful of gold nuggets. It’s hard to walk away when there are lumps
of gold lying in plain sight.
It was autumn when I reached Mar Amon, a beautiful city that lay a few
leagues to the west of the large lake in the center of Maragor. I went
to the Temple of Mara and introduced myself to the High Priestess.
There were priests, of course, but as was the case in the rest of Marag
society, men played a decidedly minor role in their religion. The High
Priestess was a tall, handsome woman in her mid-forties, and her name
was Terell. I talked with her for a while, and I soon realized that
she had no interest at all in the outside world. That was probably the
fatal flaw in the Marag culture. No place is so isolated that you can
safely ignore the rest of mankind–particularly when your stream-beds
are cluttered with free gold.
Despite the fact that I don’t have rippling biceps and a neck like a
tree trunk, the women of Mar Amon found me attractive. My celebrity
may have played a part in that. The average Marag male’s sole claim to
fame was most likely the fact that he’d won a foot-race some years
back, and his conversation tended to be a little elemental. Women, as
you may have noticed, like to talk. You may have also noticed that I
do, too.
I drifted around Mar Amon, and many a conversation that I struck up by
saying “good morning” to a Marag lady who might be out sweeping off her
doorstep lasted for several weeks. The women of Maragor were generous
and friendly, so I always had something to eat and a place to sleep.
There are all manner of things that a man can do to take his mind off
his troubles. I’d tried one of them in Camaar, and that didn’t turn
out too well. The one I tried in Mar Amon wasn’t nearly as
self-destructive, but the end result was probably the same. Extensive
sensuality can erode your mind almost as much as extensive drinking
can. It’s not as hard on your liver, though.
Let’s not take this any further, shall we?
I spent nine years in Mar Amon, drifting along in a sort of haze, and
after the first few years I was on a first-name basis with every lady
in town.
Then one spring, Beldin came looking for me. I was having breakfast in
the kitchen of a lovely young woman when he came stumping through the
door with a face that looked like a thundercloud.
“What do you think you’re doing, Belgarath?” he demanded.
“Having breakfast at the moment. What does it look like?”
“It looks to me like you’re living in sin.”
“You sound like an Ulgo, Beldin. The definition of sin varies from
culture to culture. The Marags don’t consider these informal
arrangements sinful. How did you manage to find me?”
“It wasn’t too hard,” he growled.
“You left a very wide trail.” He came over to the table and sat down.
Wordlessly my hostess brought him some breakfast.
“You’re a legend in Camaar, you know,” he continued, still scowling at
me.
“They’ve never seen anybody who could get as drunk as you used to.”
“I don’t do that any more.”
“No. I noticed that you’ve found other entertainments instead. You
disgust me. The very sight of you sickens me.”
“Don’t look, then.”
“I have to. This wasn’t my idea. For all I care, you can drown
yourself in cheap beer and roll around with every woman you come
across. I came after you because I was sent after you.”
“Give Aldur my apologies. Tell him that I’ve retired.”
“Oh, really? You can’t retire, you clot. You signed on willingly, and
you can’t go back on that just because you’re feeling sorry for
yourself.”
“Go away, Beldin.”
“Oh, no, Belgarath. Our Master sent me to take you back to the Vale,
and I’m going to obey him, even if you aren’t. We can do it the easy
way, or we can do it the hard way. It’s entirely up to you. You can
come along peacefully–all in one piece–or I’ll take you back in
chunks.”
“That might take a little doing, brother mine.”
“Not really. If all the childish tricks you played on your way here
are any indication, you don’t have enough of your talent left to blow
out a candle. Now stop wallowing in self-pity and come back home where
you belong.” He stood up.
“No.” I also stood up.
“You’re disgusting, Belgarath. Do you really think that this past
twelve years of dissipation and debauchery have changed anything?
Poledra’s still dead, your daughters are still in the Vale, and you
still have responsibilities.”
“I’ll pass them on to you, brother. Enjoy them.”
“I guess we’d better get started, then.”
“Started with what?”
“Fighting.” And he promptly punched me in the belly.
Beldin is enormously strong, and his blow knocked me completely across
the room. I lay on the floor gasping and trying to get my breath back.
He stumped after me and kicked me in the ribs.