The Urt People, from Players of Gor, chapters 12 and 13.
The evening of my second day in this captivity, which was the fourth following my capture, the representative of the urt people had been thrust in with me. I did not much welcome his company. He was, however, familiar with the routines of the prison.
The urt people learn quickly. They are rational. Some people keep them as pets. I think they are, or at one time were, a form of human being. Probably long ago, as some forms of urts became commensals with human beings, so, too, some humans may have become commensals, traveling companions, sharers at the same table, so to speak, with the migratory urt packs.
"What do they call you here?" I asked.
"Nim, Nim," it said.
"I cam called Bosk," I said.
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"I do not owe this to you," I said. "It is mine."
The creature shrank back a bit, frightened.
"But I might give it to you," I said.
It looked at me.
I broke off a piece of the pit fruit and handed it to him. He ate it quickly, watching me.
"Come here," I said. "Up here." I indicated the surface of the table.
He leapt up to the surface of the table, squatting there.
I broke off another bit of the hard fruit and handed it to him. "What is your name?" I asked.
He uttered a kind of hissing squeal. I supposed that might be his name. The urt people, as I understood it, commonly communicate among themselves in the pack by means of such signals. How complicated or sophisticated those signals might be I did not know. They did tend to resemble the natural noises of urts. In this I supposed they tended to make their presence among the urts less obvious to outside observers and perhaps, too, less obvious, or obtrusive, to the urts themselves. Too, however, I knew the urt people could, and did upon occasion, as in their rare contacts with civilized folk, communicate in a type of Gorean, many of the words evidencing obvious linguistic corruptions for others, interestingly, apparently closely resembling archaic Gorean, a language not spoken popularly on Gor, except by members of the caste of Initiates, for hundreds of years. I had little difficulty, however, in understanding him. He seemed an intelligent creature, and his Gorean was doubtless quite different from the common trade Gorean of the urt people. It had doubtless been much refined and improved in the prison. The urt people learn quickly. They are rational. Some people keep them as pets. I think they are, or at one time were, a form of human being. Probably long ago, as some forms of urts became commensals with human beings, so, too, some humans may have become commensals, traveling companions, sharers at the same table, so to speak, with the migratory urt packs.
"What do they call you here?" I asked.
"Nim, Nim," it said.
"I cam called Bosk," I said.
Players of Gor page 268
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"Are you sure these are your people?" I asked, curious about the matter. Urts looked much alike from my point of view. To be sure, I supposed one could come to distinguish them individually after a time.
"yes," said Nim Nim proudly. "There is," and he made a whistling sound, "and there is," and there again he made a piping, hissing, whistling noise, pointing out two urts. "and there is," he said, adding in another noise, "our leader!" he had indicated a large, dark-furred, broken-tusked urt, a gigantic creature for this type of animal, with small eyes and a silvered snout. I did not doubt that Nim Nim knew what he was talking about. This was surely his pack. There could be no doubt about it.
"The people tear Bosk to pieces!" called Nim Nim. "The people do not hurt Nim Nim! Nim Nim is of the people. Nim Nim safe!"
I looked back at the crest of the hill. The sleen had not yet been released. "Nim Nim tricked pretty Bosk!" he said. "Nim Nim smart! Nim Nim free now! Nim Nim safe!"
I wondered how it was that the urt people could travel with the urt packs. I knew that even strange urts were often torn to pieces when they attempted to approach a new pack. How, then, could the urt people, who were obviously human, or something like human, run with impunity with them? It made no sense. But there must be an explanation, a reason, I thought, some sort of empirical, scientific explanation or reason. Perhaps something had been selected for, somehow, in the recognition and acceptance dispositions of the urt people and the packs. I saw the leader of the pack, he identified as that by Nim Nim, looking at me. I doubted that it could see me too well. Urts tend to be myopic. He had his nose lifted toward me. I saw it twitching and sniffing. Suddenly the hair rose on the back of my neck. "Do not enter the pack!" I called out to Nim Nim. "Don?t!"
"Pretty Bosk want to hurt Nim Nim!" he cried. He moved toward the pack. "Don?t go into the pack!" I cried out to him. "I am staying here! I am not approaching! I will not hurt you! Do not enter the pack!"
Players of Gor page 278
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Clearly, as I now understood, the recognition and acceptance disposition of the pack was connected with smell. There must be, in effect, a pack odor. If something had this it would be accepted. If it lacked it, it would not be accepted. Indeed, the lack of the pack odor apparently triggered the attack response. the hideous squeal which was so terrifying, so shrill and piercing, which had such an effect on the other animals, was presumably something like a stranger-in-our-midst signal, a stranger-recognition
Players of Gor Page 280
Urt Soldiers: a warrior society of the Yellow Knife tribe of Red Savages. Book 17: Savages of Gor, page 314
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