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Famous Sports Agent Leigh Steinberg Opens Up About Alcoholism
SAN DIEGO — Leigh Steinberg calls them "checkout days," when he would drink vodka from morning until night, often straight from the bottle.
Divorced and living alone for the first time, he'd drink while sitting on his balcony overlooking Newport Bay or while in bed, sometimes half-conscious.
He was arrested for DUI and again for public intoxication. In and out of rehab, he ended up on the doorstep of a treatment center for indigent alcoholics, but there wasn't a bed for him.
"So I had the ignominious distinction of not even being able to get into indigent rehab," Steinberg said.
Steinberg, the super agent who was the inspiration for Tom Cruise's character in "Jerry Maguire," had fallen so hard that in October 2008, he was arrested for investigation of being drunk in public after police received reports of a man "screaming and attempting to climb a hill" near Pacific Coast Highway.
In upscale Newport Beach in Orange County, those things get noticed.
Gone were the days when he had flown in chartered jets with boxing and Hollywood stars and shared limo rides with quarterbacks who had just won the Super Bowl. During one such ride, a dehydrated and excited Steve Young, the newly crowned Super Bowl MVP, threw up on Steinberg's and Kerry Collins' shoes.
In a series of business and personal setbacks that started 10 years ago, it all began to go wrong for Steinberg, who had always had a squeaky clean image. A powerful agent since 1975, his all-star stable of clients included many who would become NFL Hall of Famers, including Young, Troy Aikman, Warren Moon, Howie Long, Thurman Thomas, Derrick Thomas and Bruce Smith. He pioneered the concept of voidable years in contracts, secured huge signing bonuses for his clients, prodded players to do the right things off the field and is estimated to have earned well more than $100 million.
Now, the enduring "Jerry Maguire" catchphrase, "Show me the money!" rings hollow.
Late Wednesday, Steinberg, 62, filed for personal bankruptcy protection. The papers show assets of $483,500 and debts of more than $3.1 million. Steinberg said his attorneys are likely to amend the filing with more debts.
The filing shows an average monthly income of $3,583.33 and average monthly expenses of $3,580, for a net monthly income of $3.33.
Court documents show he owes the Irvine Co. $1.4 million in back rent for his Newport Beach office space, $450,000 to former NFL player Chad Morton and $90,000 to longtime client June Jones, the coach at SMU. He owes about $100,000 in various taxes and $50,000 in credit card purchases.
Among the assets Steinberg listed are $475,000 in stock in Kool Systems, a flat screen television worth $1,000, $150 in clothes, $50 in personal memorabilia and a 2001 Mercury Mountaineer worth $6,700.
Not quite a month earlier, an arrest warrant was authorized – but never issued – after Steinberg missed a hearing in a case involving the Irvine Co. debt.
He had let his agent certification lapse and can't represent NFL players until he can resolve the tangled case that started when an employee took a $300,000 loan from Morton in 2003.
Steinberg said he actually hit bottom two years ago. It's only now that the depth of his problems is coming to light.
"The reality is that I'm 663 days sober today," Steinberg said Thursday. "The irony is, this all should have happened two years ago. In other words, the scrutiny, bankruptcy, those stories are like two years after the fall; 663 days after my bomb, after I hit bottom. … The wreckage we're dealing with is wreckage from the years of drinking."
Young said it's been a few years since he's been in touch with Steinberg.
"After this last little spate of publicity, I really want to get reconnected with him," Young said in a phone interview.
"He's got such a good heart, and he just struggled with this addiction," said Young, who added that Steinberg was more like a big brother than an agent. "It's been hard, obviously, to watch and I just, oh boy, it's tough even telling you about it. But it seems like he's kind of starting to make the right kind of moves and get it back again in the right place the best he can, and I'm really cheering for him."
Steinberg said he takes responsibility for everything, including his debts.
"I'm responsible for my drinking," he said. "There are circumstances, but they're not excuses. Nothing is an excuse. No one poured alcohol down my throat."
The series of events that staggered him began when he sued former partner David Dunn, who took dozens of NFL player clients and formed his own agency.
Although he won $44 million, "That was a tough experience to go through," Steinberg said.
Steinberg said he and his wife lost two homes due to mold, the result of flooding, and their two sons were diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, which leads to blindness. His father – "The rock of my life" – died in 2004. Steinberg said he also lost "a fair amount of money" in an Internet investment.
"It was like the curses that Moses fed on the Pharaoh," Steinberg said. "You know, locusts, river of blood, darkness and eventually leading to the first-born."
He separated from his wife in 2006 and then got divorced.
Steinberg, who was Ben Roethlisberger's first agent, said it was the first time he had lived on his own.
"I was horribly distraught; having lost my kids, not being able to see them regularly, living in an apartment," he said. "And I found out that it was legal to do a very strange thing during the day, while it was light outside: One could consume alcohol. In the past I might have drank late at night. And let's say this, I entered a world that was a Disneyland of drinking. You know, at Super Bowl parties and league meetings and hanging out with players. I mean, alcohol was rampant. And so, I didn't feel like I was doing anything much different than anyone else."
Steinberg said that's when he began "to episodically check out."
He never drank at the office. "But I might not be at work for a day, or not be at work for two days. And so it started to undermine my oversight, reliability, and I went to several rehabs, but they didn't work," he said.
Steinberg said he finally dried out through the Sober Living program.
Having been admonished by those close to him to focus solely on sobering up, his debts turned into lawsuits and a series of default judgments.
Steinberg said his career has been badly damaged by the Morton case. In 2003, without his knowledge, one of Steinberg's employees took a $300,000 loan from Morton. Morton fired Steinberg as his agent and later sued, saying Steinberg and his employee defaulted on the loan.
Steinberg said he's made repeated offers to repay the loan, but Morton's representatives – who were on the losing side in the lawsuit against Dunn – have insisted on collecting money without informing the NFL Players Association that the matter is settled.
Until that happens, Steinberg said he can't get recertified.
"The subtext of it is that as long as I'm out of business, I can't compete with that agency. At some levels it seems like it's less about repaying him and more about the interest of the agents," Steinberg said.
Morton's representatives didn't return emails seeking comment.
"I can represent players in every sport except football," said Steinberg, who has been busy writing books, speaking on topics such as concussions and teaching a sports law class at UC Irvine. "There are many other things in the world I can do. But what I've been trained to do, and have had success doing for almost 40 years, is working with young men to stimulate their best values, help them adjust to their careers and post-careers and start charitable programs.
"It's disorienting," he said. "There was a routine for years: the season, the bowl games, the postseason, free agency, the draft, summer negotiations. There's a rhythm to it. The Pro Bowl and the rest of it, the league meetings. While I don't think I would go back to the days of having 150 athletic clients, you know, I still have an interest and a passion for representing athletes."


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Codes - Caste of Warriors
These are relevant references from the Books where Codes are mentioned as they pertain to the Caste of Warriors.
The ethical teachings of Gor, which are independent of the claims and propositions of the Initiates, amount to little more than the Caste Codes - collections of says whose origins are lost in antiquity. I was specially drilled in the Code of the Warrior Caste.
The Code of the Warrior was, in general, characterized by a rudimentary chivalry, emphasizing loyalty to the Pride Chiefs and the Home Stone. It was harsh, but with a certain gallantry, a sense of honor that I could respect. A man could do worse than live by such a code.
"The High Castes in a given city," said my father, "elect an administrator and council for stated terms. In times of crisis, a war chief, or Ubar, is named, who rules without check and by decree until, in his judgment, the crisis is passed."
"In his judgment?" I asked skeptically.
"Normally the office is surrendered after the passing of the crisis," said my father. "It is part of the Warrior's Code."
Tarnsman of Gor Book 1 Pages 40 - 41
"But what if he does not give up the office" I asked. I had learned enough of Gor by how to know that one could not always count on the Caste Codes being observed. "Those who do not desire to surrender their power," said my father, "are usually deserted by their men. The offending war chief is simply abandoned, left alone in his palace to be impaled by the citizens of the city he has tried to usurp." Tarnsman of Gor Book 1 Pages 42 - 43
If I was to die, it would be, if I was not to die, I would not.
I smiled to myself in spite of my fear, amused at the remark I had addressed to myself. It sounded like something out of the Code of the Warrior, something which, if taken literally, would seem to encourage its believer to take not the slightest or most sane precautions for his safety.
"Will you keep the Code of the Warrior?" asked my father.
"Yes," I said, "I will keep the Code."
"What is your Home Stone?" asked my father.
Sensing what was wanted, I replied, "My Home Stone is the Home Stone of Ko-ro-ba."
"Is it to that city that you pledge your life, your honor, and your sword?" asked my father.
"Then," said my father, placing his hands solemnly on my shoulders, "in virtue of my authority as Administrator of this City and in the presence of the Council of High Castes, I declare you to be a Warrior of Ko-ro-ba."
"I order you to protect me," she said, never taking her eyes from the ground.
"I do not take orders from the daughter of the Ubar of Ar," I said.
"You must take me with you," she said, eyes still downcast.
"Why?" I asked. After all, according to the rude codes of Gor, I owed her nothing, indeed, considering her attempt on my life, which had been foiled only by the fortuitous net of Nar's web, I would have been within my rights to slay her, abandoning her body to the water lizards. Naturally, I was not looking at things from precisely the Gorean point of view, but she would have no way of knowing that. How could she know that I would not treat her as - according to the rough justice of Gor - she deserved?
"Then it is to my best interest to abandon you," I said.
"I can force you to take me," she said.
"How?" I asked.
"Like this," she responded, kneeling before me, lowering her head and lifting her arms, the wrists crossed. She laughed. "Now you must take me with you or slay me," she said, "and I know you cannot slay me."
I cursed her, for she took unfair advantage of the Warrior Codes of Gor.
"Yield her or I will have my tharlarion trample you," he snapped, "or would you prefer to be spitted on my lance?"
"You know the codes," I said evenly. "If you want her, you must challenge for her and meet me with the weapon of my choice."
"Do not harm him," said Kazrak. "He is my sword brother, Tarl of Bristol." Kazrak's remark was in accord with the strange warrior codes of Gor, codes which were as natural to him as the air he breathed, and codes which I, in the Chamber of the Council of Ko-ro-ba, had sworn to uphold. One who has shed your blood, or whose blood you have shed, becomes your sword brother, unless you formally repudiate the blood on your weapons. It is a part of the kinship of Gorean warriors regardless of what city it is to which they owe their allegiance. It is a matter of caste, an expression of respect for those who share their station and profession, having nothing to do with cities or Home Stones.
"You have lifted a weapon against me," he said. "My codes permit me to kill you."
"I come on behalf of Lara, who is true Tatrix of Tharna. Sheathe your weapons. No more shed the blood of men of your own city. I ask this in the name of Lara, and of the city of Tharna and its people. And I ask it in the name of the codes of your own caste, for your swords are pledged to the true Tatrix Lara not Dorna the Proud!"
Outlaw of Gor Book 2 Page 231
I wondered how it was that Thorn had given his life for this woman. It did not seem it could have been a matter of caste obligation for this obligation had been owed not to Dorna but to Lara. He had broken the codes of his caste to support the treachery of Dorna the Proud.
I am of the Caste of Warriors, and it is in our codes that the only death fit for a man is that in battle, but I can no longer believe that this is true, for the man I met once on the road to Ko-ro-ba died well, and taught me that all wisdom and truth does not lie in my own codes.
Priest-Kings of Gor Book 3 Page 14
Had I now become so much the Gorean warrior that I could disregard the feelings of a fellow creature, in particular those of a girl, who must be protected and cared for? Could it be that I had, as the Codes of my Caste recommended, not even considered her, but merely regarded her as a rightless animal, no more than a subject beast, an abject instrument to my interests and pleasures, a slave?
"You know your codes, do you not?" she challenged. "The codes of the warrior of Gor?"
"Do not," I said.
Again she slapped me and my head leaped to the side, burning. "I hate you," she hissed.
And then, as I knew she would, she suddenly knelt before me, in fury, head down, arms extended, wrists crossed, submitting as a Gorean female.
"Now," she said, looking up, her eyes blazing with anger, "You must either slay me or enslave me."
"You are free," I said sternly.
"Then slay me," she demanded.
"I could not do that," I said.
"Collar me," she said.
"I have no wish to do so," I said.
"Then acknowledge your codes betrayed," she said.
"Fetch the collar," I said.
Nomads of Gor Book 4 Page 292
Once or twice I heard swords ringing from within the walls, as perhaps some men, loyal to Saphrar, or to their codes, attempted to prevent their fellows from leaving the compound, but I gather, judging from the continued exodus from the walls, that those who were this loyal were scattered and few in number.
"I am a warrior," said the young man proudly.
Kamchak signaled his archers and they came forward, their arrows trained on the young man.
He then threw, one after another, a dozen bags of gold to the floor.
"Save your gold, Tuchuk sleen," said the young man. "I am a warrior and I know my codes."
"The teeth of the tharlarion," said he, "are swift, Warrior."
"I know," I said.
"If you wish," said he, "we will slay you first."
"I," I said, "I do not want to die."
I lowered my head, burning with shame. In my eyes in that moment it seemed I had lost myself, that my codes had been betrayed, Ko-ro-ba my city dishonored, even the blade I had carried soiled. I could not look Ho-Hak again in the eyes. In their eyes, and in mine, I could now be nothing, only slave.
"I had thought the better of you," said Ho-Hak. "I had thought you were of the warriors."
I could not speak to him.
"I see now," said Ho-Hak, "you are indeed of Port Kar."
I could not raise my head, so shamed I was. It seemed I could never lift my head again.
"Do you beg to be a slave?" asked Ho-Hak. The question was cruel, but fair.
I looked at Ho-Hak, tears in my eyes. I saw only contempt on that broad, calm face.
I lowered my head. "Yes," I said. "I beg to be a slave."
To me, at that moment, it seemed I cared not whether they chose to throw me to tharlarion or not. It seemed to me that I had lost what might be more precious than life itself. How could I face myself, or anyone? I had chosen ignominious bondage to the freedom of honorable death.
Raiders of Gor Book 6 Page 24
I, Tarl Cabot, hating myself, no longer respected or trusted human beings. I had done what I had done that day for the sake of a child, one who had once been kind to me, but who no longer existed. I knew myself for one who had chosen ignominious slavery over the freedom of honorable death. I knew myself as coward. I had betrayed my codes. I had tasted humiliation and degradation, and most at my own hands, for I had been most by myself betrayed. I could no longer see myself as I had been. I had been a boy and now I had come to the seeings of manhood, and found within myself, disgusting me, something capable of cowardice, self-indulgence, selfishness, and cruelty. I was no longer worthy of the red of the warrior, no longer worthy of serving the Home Stone of my city, Ko-ro-ba, the Towers of the Morning; it seemed - to me then that there were only winds and strengths, and the motions of bodies, the falling of rain, the movements of bacilli, the beating of hearts and the stopping of such beatings. I found myself alone.
I was ashamed that I had been brutal with her, but I would not show it. I knew, in my heart, that it had been I, I myself, who had betrayed me, I who had fallen short of the warrior codes, I who had dishonored my own Home Stone, and the blade I bore. It was I who was guilty. Not she.
I knew now, as I had not before, what men were. I had in misery learned this in myself. And I now saw myself a fool for having espoused codes, for having set above myself ideals.
Again she regarded me with irritation. "Very well," she said. And then, angrily, loftily, she walked to the deck before me and then, movement by movement, to my fury, knelt before me, back on her heels, head down, and extended, wrists crossed, as though for binding.
"You are a fool!" I told her.
She lifted her head, and smiled. "You may simply leave me here if you wish," she said.
"It is not in the codes," I said.
"You chose," said Samos, "as warriors have it, ignominious bondage over the freedom of honorable death."
There were tears in my eyes. "I dishonored my sword, my city. I betrayed my codes."
"You found your humanity," said Samos.
"I betrayed my codes!" I cried.
"It is only in such moments," said Samos, "that a man sometimes learns that all truth and all reality is not written in one's own codes."
Raiders of Gor Book 6 Page 310
I knew that I had once betrayed my codes. I knew that I was one who had once chosen ignominious slavery over the freedom of honorable death.
"His hand on the hilt of his sword," said Mira, "and his other hand on the medallion of Ar, his daughter was disowned."
I gasped, stunned.
"Yes," laughed Verna, "according to the codes of the warriors and by the rites of the city of Ar, no longer is Talena kin or daughter of Marlenus of Ar."
But in the Delta of the Vosk, he had lost his honor. He had betrayed his codes. There, merely to save his miserable life, he had chosen ignominious slavery to the freedom of honorable death. He had sullied the sword, the honor, which he had pledged to Ko-ro-ba's Home Stone. By that act he had cut himself away from his codes, his vows. For such an act, there was no atonement, even to the throwing of one's body upon one's sword. It was in that moment of his surrender to his cowardice that Tarl Cabot was gone and, in his place, knelt a slave contemptuously named Bosk, for a great shambling oxlike creature of the plains of Gor.
Marauders of Gor Book 9 Pages 4 - 5
In the codes of the warriors, there is a saying, "Be strong, and do as you will. The swords of others will set your limits."
"Within the circle of each man's sword," say the codes of the warrior, "therein is each man a Ubar"
"Steel is the coinage of the warrior," say the codes, "With it he purchases what pleases him"
Marauders of Gor Book 9 Page 10
"It is a wonder that any man will follow you!" cried Talena. "You betrayed your codes! You are a coward! A fool! You are not worthy of me! That you dare ask me if I could care for such as you, is to me, a free woman an insult! You chose slavery to death!"
"Within the circle of each man's sword," says the codes of the warrior, "therein is each man a Ubar."
"Steel is the coinage of the warrior," says the codes. "With it he purchases what pleases him."
"I would not have thought Sarus of Tyros would have used poisoned steel," I said. Such a device, like the poisoned arrow, was not only against the codes of the warriors, but, generally, was regarded as unworthy of men.
My delirium this time, interestingly to me, had been much different than it had when, long ago, the poison had first raged in my body. At that time I had been miserable, and weak, even calling out to a woman, who was only a slave, to love me. But, somehow, in the north, in Torvaldsland, I had changed. This I knew. There was a different Tarl Cabot than ever there had been. Once there had been a boy by this name, one with simple dreams, naive, vain, one shattered by a betrayal of his codes, the discovery of a weakness where he had thought there was only strength. That boy had died in the delta of the Vosk; in his place had come Bosk of Port Kar, ruthless and torn, but grown into his manhood; and now there was another, one whom I might, if I wished, choose to call again Tarl Cabot. I had changed. Here, with the Forkbeard, with the sea, the wind, in his hall and in battle, I had become, somehow, much different. In the north my blood had found itself, learning itself, in the north I had learned strength, and how to stand alone. I thought of the Kurii. They were terrible foes. Suddenly, incredibly, I felt love for them. I recollected the head of the giant Kur, mounted on its stake, in the ruins of the hall of Svein Blue Tooth. One cannot be weak who meets such beasts. I laughed at the weaknesses instilled into the men of Earth. Only men who are strong, without weakness, can meet such beasts. One must match them in strength, in intellect, in terribleness, in ferocity. In the north I had grown strong. I suddenly realized the supreme power of the united Gorean will, not divided against itself, not weak, not crippled like the wills of Earth. I felt a surge of power, of unprecedented, unexpected joy. I had discovered what it was to be Gorean. I had discovered what it was, truly, to be male, to be a man. I was Gorean.
Marauders of Gor Book 9 Pages 289 - 290
I caught the arm of the captain. His face turned white. "Have you raised your arm against me?" I asked.
I released his arm, and he staggered back. Then he slung his shield on his arm, and unsheathed the blade slung at his left hip.
"What is going on!" demanded the woman.
"Be silent, foolish woman," said the captain.
She cried out with rage. But what did she know of the codes?
Beasts of Gor Book 12 Page 114
"You have wronged this man," said the captain. "And he has labored within the permissions of his codes."
"I order you to kill him!" cried the free woman, pointing to me.
"Will you permit us to pass, Warrior?" asked the captain.
"I am afraid, under the circumstances," I said, "that is no longer possible."
He nodded. "Of course not," he said.
"Flee!" she said.
"I am of the Warriors," I said.
"But you may die," she said.
"That is acknowledged in the codes," I said.
"What are the codes?" she asked.
"They are nothing, and everything," I said. "They are a bit of noise, and the steel of the heart. They are meaningless, and all significant. They are the difference. Without the codes men would be Kurii."
"None would know if you betrayed the codes," she said.
"I would know," I said, "and I am of the Warriors."
"What is it to be a warrior?" she asked.
"It is to keep the codes," I said. "You may think that to be a warrior is to be large, or strong, and to be skilled with weapons, to have a blade at your hip, to know the grasp of the spear, to wear the scarlet, to know the fitting of the iron helm upon one's countenance, but these things are not truly needful; they are not, truly, what makes one man a warrior and another not. Many men are strong, and large, and skilled with weapons. Any man might, if he dared, don the scarlet and gird himself with weapons. Any man might place upon his brow the helm of iron. But it is not the scarlet, not the steel, not the helm of iron which makes the warrior."
She looked up at me.
"It is the codes," I said.
"Abandon your codes," she said.
"One does not speak to a slave of the codes," I said.
"Abandon them," she said.
"Kneel, Slave Girl," I said.
She looked at me, frightened, and swiftly knelt in the snow, in the moonlight, before me. She looked up at me. "Forgive me, Master," she said. "Please do not kill me!"
Beasts of Gor Book 12 Pages 340 - 341
"You always were a courageous fellow, Callimachus," said the standing man. "I always admired that in you. Had you not been concerned to keep the codes, you might have gone far. I might have found a position for you even in my organization."
Rouge of Gor Book 15 Page 77
"Surely there are others better than yourself against whom you might turn your sword," I said, angrily.
"Give me a drink," he said.
"Has it come to this," I asked him, "the glory, the codes, the steel?"
"I want a drink," he said, sullenly.
Rouge of Gor Book 15 Pages 178 - 179
"Once I was captain in Port Cos," he said. "Indeed it was I who once drove the band of Policrates from the vicinity of Port Cos." He looked up at me. "But that was long ago," he said. I no longer remember that captain. I think he is gone now."
"What occurred?" I asked.
"He grew more fond of paga than of his codes," he said. "Disgraced, he was dismissed. He came west upon the river, to Victoria."
Then when he had recalled himself to the codes of his caste he had resolved to forgo the victories and the rights, and the joys and triumphs, of the mastership until certain serious, projected works had been accomplished. It was in connection with such works that we had met this night in the tavern of Tasdron.
Victoria knew him still as only a fallen man, one defeated, one lax in his caste codes, one inert and whining in traps of his own weaving.
"You should have let me kill it," said Grunt.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Why did you not have me fire?" asked Grunt.
"It has to do with codes," I said.
"Who are you, truly?" asked Grunt.
"One to whom codes were once familiar," I said, "one by whom they have never been completely forgotten."
"Even warriors long sometimes for the sight of their own flags, atop friendly walls, for the courtyards of their keeps, for the hearths of their halls. Thus admit the Codes."
As we had not been similarly armed, it alone, afoot, and I with Grunt, he with an armed crossbow, and as it had not rushed upon me, I had not contested its withdrawal from the field. Such had seemed in accordance with codes to which I had once subscribed, codes which I had never forgotten.
There was nothing in the codes of the warriors, as I recalled, that explicitly demanded resistance to brigands, though perhaps it was presupposed.
"Work?" asked Hurtha, in horror. He was an Alar warrior. To be sure, manual labor was not exactly prescribed by my own caste codes either.
Warriors, it is said in the codes, have a common Home Stone. Its name is battle.
How complex and desperate had become the world. I felt so small, like a particle adrift on a vast sea, beneath a vast sky, a particle taken here and there, at the mercy of the tides, the currents, the winds, not understanding. But there were compasses and landmarks, as palpable to me as the stars by which I might navigate on Thassa, as solid and undoubted as the great brick structure of the pharos of Port Cos itself. There were the codes, and honor, and steel.
It was lonely here.
Yet such times are good in the life of a warrior, times to be alone, to think.
He who cannot think is not a man, so saith the codes. Yet neither, too, they continue, is he who can only think.
Vagabonds of Gor Book 24 Page 65
"Are you of the Warriors?" asked Labienus.
"Hear," said Labienus to his men. "He is of the Warriors."
"He says he is," said a fellow, glumly.
"What is the 97th Aphorism in the Codes?" inquired Labienus.
"My scrolls may not be those of Ar," I said. To be sure, the scrolls should be, at least among the high cities, in virtue of conventions held at the Sardar Fairs, particularly the Fair of En'Kara, much in agreement.
"Will you speak?" asked Labienus.
"Remove the female," I said.
"He is a Warrior," said one of the men.
One of the men lifted the bound Ina in his arms, one hand behind the back of her knees, and the other behind her back, and carried her from where we were gathered. In a few moments he returned.
"The female is now out of earshot?" inquired Labienus, staring ahead.
"Yes," said the fellow, "and she will stay where I left her, on her back, as I tied her hair about the base of a stout shrub."
"The 97th Aphorism in the Codes I was taught," I said, "is in the form of a riddle: "What is invisible but more beautiful than diamonds?"
"And the answer?" inquired Labienus.
"That which is silent but deafens thunder."
The men regarded one another.
"And what is that?" asked Labienus.
"The same," said I, "as that which depresses no scale but is weightier than gold."
"Honor," I said.
"He is of the Warriors," said a man.
Plenius turned away, stricken.
"But I have, in my time," I said, "betrayed such codes."
Plenius turned back, to regard me, a strange expression on his face.
"I think it is easy enough to do," I said.
"Yes," smiled Labienus. "I think that we all, here and there, in our time, have managed that."
The warrior does not kill himself or aid others in the doing of it. It is not in the codes.
"You have drawn a weapon against me," I said.
"You are of the warriors?" said the fellow. He wavered. He, too, knew the codes.
"And he?" asked the fellow.
"He, too," I said.
"You are not in scarlet," he said.
"True," I said. Did he think that the color of a fellow's garments was what made him a warrior? Surely he must realize that one not of the warriors might affect the scarlet, and that one who wore the grimed gray of a peasant, one barefoot, and armed only with the great staff, might be of the scarlet caste. It is not the uniform which makes the warrior, the soldier.
I was not certain, really, of the responses of Marcus. He was not a fellow of Earth, but a Gorean. Too, he was of the Warriors, and his codes, in a situation of this sort, their weapons drawn, entitled him, even encouraged him, to attack, and kill.
Whereas members of the caste of slavers are slavers, not all slavers are members of the caste of slavers. For example, I am not of the slavers, but in Port Kar I am known as Bosk, and he known as many things, among them pirate and slaver. Too, both Marcus and myself were of the warriors, the scarlet caste, and as such were not above taking slaves. Such is not only permitted in the codes, but encouraged by them. "The slave is a joy and a convenience to the warrior."
I took no note of the raised staff. I could, of course, at that point, have killed him. My codes permitted it.
Certainly he had been lax in enforcing the officer's instructions in the matter of the mysterious peasant, that huge, vacant creature in the lower cells. He had not regarded such treatment as honorable. In not complying, however, I did not doubt but what he had betrayed oaths, or even codes.
"I fear I have grown fond of a slave," he said.
"Cannot one grow fond of a slave, even of so small an unimportant a thing?" she asked.
"Curse the codes!" he cried.
"I give you my word," said the officer, "within the rights of my code, and sworn in the name of the Home Stone itself, that if you shall accomplish upon yourself this injustice, I shall see that she will be free to follow you, whether it be from this ledge, or by the cord or knife."
"No!" cried the pit master.
"It is so sworn."
"Come, let us die together, Master," said Fina.
"I, not you!" he said.
"We," she said.
"No!" he said.
"Then I alone!" she said. "Do you think that I can live, having caused you to compromise your honor?"
The pit master turned about, crying out with misery, his fists clenched.
"Keep her in chains," the pit master begged the officer. "Guarantee to me her life."
"That of a mere slave, do not be foolish."
"So you would set me this dilemma," said the pit master, "that either she must die or I must lose my honor?"
"And if she is to be the reason you cannot retain your honor, it seems that she, herself, is resolved to die."
"Honor," I said, "has many voices, and many songs."
He looked down at me startled. "That is a saying of warriors," he said. "It is from the codes. It is a long time since I have heard it. I had almost forgotten it.
Indeed, it can derange certain sorts of minds. The instincts of many caged animals, on the other hand, are more healthy. Understanding themselves trapped, they are patient, and wait. Beyond a certain interval they do not exhaust their resources, but conserve them, almost lethargically, for a given moment, for the sudden movement, for the lunge, the movement to the throat. So, after a time, Tarl Cabot, who was not particularly disanalogous to such beasts, became quiescent, at least as far as external observation might detect. This was in conformance, incidentally, with certain recommendations of his caste codes. One can learn much, even from the codes of humans. He was, as we learned, of what on Gor amongst humans is referred to as the scarlet caste. This is a high caste, doubtless because it is armed. Individuals of this caste are of great value to their cities, their employers, their princes, so to speak. Indeed, they are indispensable in their way; have they not, however unintentionally, secured the foundation of law; have they not, however unbeknownst to themselves, raised from the mire of brutishness, insecurity, and terror the towers of civilization? Surely it is they who must man the walls and defend the bridges, who must police the streets and guard the roads, and who will in sunlight, or in darkness and storms, carry forth the standards. They are unusual men and seldom understand their own nature, nor need they. Perhaps it is better that they do not. Let them laugh and fight, and drink and quarrel, and seek their slaves in conquered cities and taverns, and chain them and put them to their feet, and not inquire into the dark and mighty processes which have bred them, which have made them so real, and necessary. And so they are encouraged to emulate the stealth and savagery of the larl, the cunning and tenacity of the sleen, the vigilance and swiftness, the alertness, of the mighty tarn. They are companions to discipline; they are hardened to short rations, long watches, and the march; they are inured to the exigencies of camp and field; and trained to fight, and kill, preferably swiftly and cleanly. They do not know how they came to be, but they would not be other than they are. They are more beast than man, and more man than beast. They are, so to speak, dangerous beasts with minds. And such have their utilities. We may laud them or despise them. They are called Warriors.
Kur of Gor Book 28 Pages 17 - 18
Doubtless the Priest-Kings have their techniques, as well. And we suspect they could hardly be inferior in effectiveness to those of the Kurii. To be sure, given his codes, Tarl Cabot would be less encouraged to indulge in fruitless speculation and laborious self-searching than biding his time, attempting to obtain a weapon, plotting an escape, and such. The codes encourage attention to the future and action, rather than to the past and speculation. The exceptions commonly have to do with matters of honor and vengeance.
It then occurred to him, in fury, what must be the plan of Priest-Kings.
Neither woman, he then suspected, was a slave!
He had been placed in the container with two beautiful free females, and his codes, his honor. It seemed likely to him, you see, at that point, that the blonde, too, must be free, perhaps a freed slave.
The Priest-Kings doubtless counted on this natural surmise.
He was to be torn then between his nature and his codes, between his passion and his honor. Sooner or later, rather as a starving man put in with food, he would feed, and would then in this way betray his codes.
Slave girls may be used as men please. It is what they are for. But these were free women.
There were the codes.
The codes do, you see, recommend respect for the status of the free female, if not for the female herself. To be sure, the codes make it abundantly clear that this pertains only to females with whom one shares a Home Stone. Cabot, however, as some Warriors, tended to generalize this recommendation to free women more generally, saving, of course, those who might be insolent or abusive, or of an enemy city. Whereas there are clear cases in which the codes apply or do not apply, they, as most recommendations, rules, principles, and such perhaps unavoidably, were occasionally afflicted with a regrettable penumbra of obscurity. More acutely, a personal sense of honor, one which seems to me misplaced and overly sensitive, seems to have been involved, one clearly exceeding the parameters of the codes. One suspects this might have been the consequence of a personal idiosyncrasy, or even a residue lingering from an unnatural and ridiculous acculturation, one to which he had been subjected in the innocence of his childhood or adolescence.
She had been one of the two women who had been enclosed with me in the small, transparent container on the Prison Moon, two who had been deliberately, carefully selected by Priest-Kings, with all their shrewdness and science, with all their malevolent expertise, to constitute exquisite temptations for me, who were intended to be such as would prove irresistible to me, either of them a suitable engine to accomplish in time the destruction of my honor, either one of which was a banquet to lure me, tormented and starving, inevitably, sooner or later, from the rigors of my codes.
Swordsmen of Gor Book 29 Pages 11 - 12
Whereas brigands, assassins, and such will strike an unarmed man, the common Gorean would not be likely to do so. It seemed clear to me that his unarmed approach was not then merely to reassure me but, in a way, to diminish, if not preclude, the possibility of himself being attacked. In Gorean there is only one word for "stranger" and "enemy." Too, in the codes there is a saying that he who strikes first lives to strike second.
I removed my hands from her garment, and stepped back.
"Now untie me," she said.
I left her bound.
She did have nice legs. Such women put a strain on the codes.
"But it is true," I said, "that you are a free woman of Earth, at least as far as those women can be free, and thus that my codes, though the matter is controversial, much depending on interpretations, do suffice to give me pause."
As you are a free woman," I said, "even though one of Earth, I have treated you with some circumspection. In the codes such matters are gray, for it is commonly supposed that a Home Stone would be shared.
"I am free," she said. "Your codes! Your codes! You must protect me!"
"My codes do not require that," I said.
Submission may be rendered in a number of ways. The most important thing is that the submission is clear. A common posture of submission is to kneel, lower the head, and extend the arms, wrists crossed, as though for binding. Often a phrase, or formula, is employed, as well, often as simple as "I submit," "I am yours," "Do with me as you will," or such. If one is of the Warriors the codes then require one to either slay the captive or accept the submission. Almost invariably the submission is accepted, as women on Gor are accounted a form of wealth, at least once they are collared.
Cecily and I had been matched to one another, as tormentingly attracted lovers, by the wisdom, cruelty, and science of Priest-Kings. Indeed, she had originally been intended, as a free woman, unbeknownst to herself, to tempt and torture me from my codes, to play a role in my humiliation and downfall. I could not have indefinitely resisted the taking of her, despite the fact that she was at that time free.
"There are probably mysticisms and mysticisms," I said.
"Some, I suspect, speak of the world."
"One should not die with a weapon undrawn," said Pertinax.
"Do not be taken by surprise," I suggested.
"One should pay attention to little things," said Pertinax.
"They can be important," I said.
"From one thing learn ten thousand things," he said.
"Things lead to one another," I suggested. "They are bound together."
"One who has faced death at the point of a sword has an elevated understanding," said Pertinax.
"I think that is true," I said. "At least one is different, and one has a better sense of life. For such a one the world is then other than it was."
"Step by step walk the thousand-mile road," he said.
"Be patient," I suggested. "Do not give up. Excellence is not easily achieved."
"Are there such things in the codes?" asked Pertinax.
"There are many things in the codes," I said, "similar, and different. Much of this, I think, is wisdom, doubtless deriving from one teacher or another, in one place or another, perhaps over centuries."
"And what is the purpose of the sword?" I asked.
"It is to kill," he said.
There was something much like that in the codes. The purpose of the sword is not to fence, not to match blades, and not to exhibit skill, nor is its purpose to reach the enemy, nor even to cut him. Its purpose is to kill him.
I had, too, long ago, been known as Tarl of Bristol. Indeed, I had learned that songs were sung of him, of him and of a siege, long ago, of Ar. Many, today, wise and sophisticated, supposed that personage merely a creature of myth and legend. In a sense, I supposed they were right. He seemed now, to me, more an image than a man. I, at least,1 was no hero, no creature of fame. How often I had been weak, frail, and troubled. How often I had been confused, and frightened. How often I had been ignoble, drunken, cruel, petty, and unworthy. How often had I fallen short of my codes! How striking are the enlargements of time! And one supposes, as well, that there must be a thousand heroes, ten thousand heroes, better men, nobler men, who have no songs. But they are there in history, a part of her, and without them she would be different, and poorer. Perhaps the singers might compose a new song, a song for those who have no songs.
As a free woman she could not be touched, given the codes, but it was as though steaming, juicy, roasted meat had been put before a starving larl, one forbidden to so much as touch his tongue to its heat, to its temptation.
Few Goreans would place themselves in proximity to a stranger, if they were unarmed. That he did so suggested forcibly to me that he was relying on a warrior's honor, for a warrior will seldom attack an unarmed adversary. It is disapproved of in the codes. In this way he showed respect for my caste, and, simultaneously, if I observed the codes, as he apparently expected would be the case, he assured his own security.
He owed that duty to his daimyo, as I might owe similar duties to captains in whose commands I might serve, or to those codes which did so much to define and clarify my caste, the scarlet caste, that of the warriors.
"I understand what I am asked to understand," I said, "but I choose not to understand."
"You refuse?" asked Lord Nishida.
"Of course," he said. "The codes."
"I am a simple warrior," I said. "I have never pretended to cultivate the subtleties of diplomacy nor to comprehend the wisdoms of politics."
"I fear," said Lord Nishida, "that you will never sit upon the mat of the shogun nor upon the throne of the Ubar."
"Not every man desires such things," I said.
"I see," said Lord Nishida. "Your business is a less ambitious, simpler one. It would be with the blade, and little more. The vocation of such as you is circumscribed narrowly, confined, so to speak, to a limited board."
"Having to do with the kaissa of blood, the dark game."
"If you wish," I said.
The codes, of course, did not see things in this fashion. The board was set indeed, but amongst cities, always on a world. Its width was the width of worlds. The number and values of the pieces was uncertain, and the rules subject to convenient revision, or desuetude.
It is useful that the foe has rules. This puts him at your mercy.
Yet there was a hunt, a sport involved. All who have carried weapons are aware of this. Surely Lord Nishida was apprised of, and not unfamiliar with, scarlet allurements.
Occasionally a warrior on foot and a tarnsman collaborate on a kill. The warrior on foot engages the target, and the tarnsman, unseen, glides in, silently, placing a bolt in the adversary's unprotected back. This act is scorned in the codes, of course, but it is not without precedent in the field. It is common amongst outlaws and rogue tarnsmen.
I did not think he bore me any ill will. Indeed, yesterday, on my behalf, he had stood against Seremides himself. Perhaps he did not know, as I did, the skills of the former captain of the Taurentians. I knew of no blade the equal of his. Something in the eyes or mien of this man suggested he might be other than many here; oddly enough, for the venue, I suspected he might once have been no stranger to honor; such I would not have sensed in Seremides. I wondered if he were once of the warriors, perhaps long ago. Such men may betray the codes, but they are not likely to forget them. It is hard to forget the codes. Is it not a saying of warriors that one does not sell one's blade, that steel is to be prized above gold? And honor above life? How came then such a man here, if he were such a man, on this ship, amidst this unlikely, motley crew? Had he betrayed the codes? But it is difficult to forget the codes. There were always the codes, the codes. I supposed them fools, such men, but there are such men. One mocks them until one needs them. Who else, when one is in mortal jeopardy, would one prefer to have at one's back? They are of the scarlet caste. Such men, at the least, like the Assassins, are likely to kill quickly, and cleanly.
I recalled how my ankles had been bound outside the Tarsk Market. They had been fastened together with warrior knots. Might it be, somehow familiar with the scarlet codes?
Once, long ago in the delta of the Vosk, I had betrayed my codes.
"In seeking rice, in the time of hunger," said Tajima "it seems Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, was wise, in not burning and punishing villages, and slaying men and women who withheld rice."
"That was the order of Lord Temmu," I said.
"Which, it seems," said Tajima "the commander failed to convey to the cavalry."
"It slipped my mind," I said.
"Perhaps the commander is weak," said Tajima.
"But perhaps," said Tajima, regarding me narrowly, "there are codes?"
"I suspect the codes are not clear on the matter," said Tajima.
Rebels of Gor Book 33 Pages 103 - 104
"I request the blade," said Yasushi. "It is my right."
"We do not share codes," said Arashi.
"You deny it to me?" asked Yasushi.
"Yes," said Arashi.
"You think Lord Akio plots against Lord Yamada?" said Tajima.
"I think it is obvious," I said.
"But Lord Yamada is his shogun," said Tajima.
"The code of the warrior," I said, "is sometimes easily put on and off, as easily as one of the splendid garments of Lord Akio."
"Gregory White was a timid, retiring, easily abashed, enamored, manipulable weakling, an employee, a subordinate, whom you enjoyed ordering about, humiliating, tormenting, and demeaning," I said. "Pertinax is strong, supple, agile, skilled and trained, a warrior and tarnsman, the possessor of a code."
"My young friends," said Nodachi. "You have advanced in the tutelage of war. You are worthy of the codes of steel. I am proud of you."
"Put away the knife," I said. "Do not lift it against me. I am then permitted to kill you."
"The codes?" he asked.
"Of course," I said.
"How do I know you are of that caste?" he asked.
"You do not know," I said.
"Why should I believe you?" he asked.
"That your life not be jeopardized," I said.
Avengers of Gor Book 36 Page 3
"Do not draw your knife," I said. "The codes, the codes."
He removed his hand, reluctantly, from the hilt of the knife.
"You and your men have wrought much on our behalf," he said. "Yet you are not of Mytilene. It is not the place of your Home Stone. I do not even think you are of the Farther Islands. Why have you done so? Why have you stood with us on the wall and in the breaches?"
"Accept that we have done so," I said, "and do not enquire further."
"It has to do with codes?" he asked.
"Better," I said, "to finish remaining stores at once, with a great feast, and then, in the morning, hardy and nourished, in the sunlight and open air, scorning the enemy, singing, go forth to die in battle."
"The codes?" said Thrasymedes.
"Mine is not the scarlet caste," he said. "My codes do not oblige me to courage, or its semblance."
"Not picking up the survivors, their men, but abandoning them to the sharks, to the sea, to the Peasants, to the citizens of long-suffering, beleaguered Mytilene," I said.
"Of course," said Sakim.
"Let us wait a little," I said.
"Why?" asked Sakim.
"Codes," I said. "Codes."
"They are mercenaries, killers," said Sakim.
"Some are caste brothers," I said.
"You would save a fellow whom in battle you would think nothing of driving a sword into his heart?" said Sakim.
"Codes?" said Sakim.
"Yes, codes," I said.
"Shall we fire on the survivors?" asked Thurnock.
"No," I said, "they are sword brothers."
"I do not understand the scarlet caste," said Thurnock.
"Nor I the caste upon which the Home Stone rests," I said.
"The foe spared," said Thurnock, "may one day kill you."
"It is a matter of codes," I said.
"On whose behalf do you brandish your weapons?" I asked.
I recalled the codes.
It was not inadmissible to make such an inquiry.
"You are no Merchant," he said.
"And you, I suspect," I said, "are no common killer."
"I betrayed my codes," he said.
"Once long ago," I said, "I betrayed mine."
He lifted his hand, weakly, to me.
"Warrior," he said, "do not let me die by a common felon's stroke."
I, troubled, did not speak.
"Let it be by your blade," he said.
"Do him no such honor," said Thurnock.
"Sword brother?" said Ctesippus.
"Sword brother," I said, and slid my blade into his heart.
"I do not understand," said Thurnock.
"It has to do with codes," I said. "And with those who have broken them."
"You seem pensive, Captain," said Thurnock.
I think of Ctesippus," I said.
"Put him from your mind," said Clitus. "His codes were betrayed, his scarlet was soiled."
"So, too, once, were mine," I said.
I doubt that you took food from the hungry, or put the innocent to the sword," said Clitus. "You do not seem to me one who kills for sport, one who claws for power, one easily blinded by the brightness of gold."
"Do not blame yourself," said Sakim. "As in Thassa, there are currents, deep and swift. They carry one where they wish."
"We must not let that be," I said.
"All wisdom may not be in the codes," said Sakim. "There may be wisdoms unknown to the codes, wisdoms beyond the codes."
"Possibly," I said.
Did they know I was of the Warriors! How could they know that? I do not think they knew it. They were gambling. There are the codes, of course, the codes. I wondered if Seremides was right, that codes were for fools. Yet there were codes, the codes.
Those of the Scarlet Caste seldom favor the crossbow and would be highly unlikely, given the codes, their pride and honor, to fire on an enemy's mount, be it tharlarion, kaiila, or tarn.
I did see one thing which dismayed me. More than one of the attackers fired their quarrels into the tarns of the men of Samnium. I knew then that the attackers were not of the Scarlet Caste. To attack a mount is a felon's stroke. It is contrary to the codes.
"Land!" I told him.
"Kill the tarn," he said. "Mayhap you have no spear, no bow, but you might close with it and cut its throat, or, better, wound it a dozen times, weakening it, so that it cannot fly."
"Down!" I said.
"So," he said, "you will not strike the tarn?"
"Take it down," I said.
"I do not choose to do so," he said. "I think you are of the Scarlet Caste, one gone astray doubtless, but yet one still reluctant to scorn the codes."
"I know you from Jad," he said, "I know your familiarity with, and your interest in, these matters, I know you can identify Talena, and, most importantly, I know I can trust you."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
''The codes," he said. "We may be enemies, perhaps even blood enemies, though I would regret that, but we have a bond in common, one stern and adamant, one like stone and iron. We are both of the Scarlet Caste."
Warriors of Gor Book 37 Pages 208 - 209
I had not authorized Myron, the polemarkos, to use the name Geoffrey of Harfax in connection with the delivery of Talena to Ar. Had he drafted me, in a sense, I wondered, forcing me to participate, willing or not, in his attempt to mislead the citizenry of Ar? That did not seem possible, given the codes we shared.
"I can reach your throat," I said, "before you can bring your crutch or sword into play."
"I am not surprised, considering the distance," he said.
Iris drew back, to the side.
"But I do not think you will attack," said Seremides.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because the first instant of rage, of red, blinding rage, has passed," he said. "I counted on that."
"What of the second instant of rage," I asked, "that of calculated, implacable rage, bleak, cold, white rage, rage like ice?"
"Surely you are aware that your codes do not encourage killing in cold blood. Too, you are trammeled by honor, amongst other things. It is one of your failings."
"I am pleased," he said, "that you did not come back to kill me."
"I thought about it," I said.
"Not seriously, I trust," he said. "It would have been frowned on by your codes."
"You keep track of such things," I said.
"Sometimes it behooves one to do so," he said.
"What is your implacable blood grievance against Decius Albus?" asked Ruffio. "Is this a matter of codes? Is there some irreparable injury he has dealt you? Is there some dire wrong yet to be righted, some insult to be expunged, some inequity to be wiped away with cleansing blood?"
"I am not Marlenus of Ar," I said. "I was not betrayed. My throne was not threatened. Decius Albus means little to me, one way or the other."
The codes do not permit the mutilation of a slain foe.
"I did not think, Captain," said Thurnock, troubled, "that poison was the Warrior's weapon."
"It is not," I said. "Each flagon, other than those from which we drank, contained enough tassa powder to sedate a tharlarion."
Tassa powder is tasteless, and, mixed with wine or another beverage, is commonly used by physicians as a sedative and is often employed by slavers, and others, to render free women unconscious. The free woman is then usually bound, hand and foot, and gagged, and placed in a slave sack, to be transported out of the town or city to some distant market.
"The mercenaries will then recover?" said Thurnock.
"After a time," I said, "refreshed and brimming with energy."

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Home Investment & Immigration Welcome to Africa Documentary focuses on plight of albinos
Documentary focuses on plight of albinos
In many African societies, people with albinism are shunned, suffer sever discrimination and are regularly killed in witchcraft rituals. The documentary In the Shadow of the Sun and activists using #StopAlbinoKillings are raising awareness of their plight and calling for end to discrimination.
Josephat Torner says as an albino he doesn't trust anyone, because he fears of being killed for his disability. (Image: YouTube)
Melissa Javan
With tears streaming down his face, the 15-year-old Tanzanian shares his story. Every day, he has to go fishing with people in his village, he says. "They like to take me, because they say I could save them. They say that if the boat capsizes, I am the only person that cannot die.
"If they come on top of me, they will not drown. They will not die. They believe that I [an albino], float on water," says the boy, Vedastus.
He is interviewed in the documentary, In the Shadow of the Sun, which unpacks the lives of albinos on Ukerewe Island in Tanzania. The film has been screened around the world, including in Tanzania, where it has prompted people to get involved in trying to help albinos, who suffer severe discrimination and even murder.
The documentary has also sparked social media campaigns, such as #StopAlbinoKillings on Twitter. People use the hashtag to express their outrage and call for an end to the murder of albinos, who are killed and their body parts used in witchcraft.
Kuli Roberts, the South African radio host, is outspoken about the rights of albinos, and uses the hashtag as her Twitter name. Roberts says her campaigning started earlier this year after the hashtag #StopAlbinoKillings was created.
@kuliroberts if we see something wrong being done and we say nothin, then we are just as guilty as those doing the deeds. Albino killinstoo
— #LetsProtectAlbinos(@IAM_HovaSA) March 25, 2015
#StopAlbinoKillings pic.twitter.com/wV5qSZ8PTv
— #StopAlbinoKillings(@kuliroberts) March 25, 2015
About the documentary
Harry Freeland, the director of In the Shadow of the Sun, says in an interview on YouTube that the audience hears the dreams of two inspiring people who have albinism. "They [the albinos] face severe prejudice, isolation and brutal witchcraft-fuelled murders in Tanzania."
Harry Freeland realised how bad the prejudice in Africa were when a woman came to him and – because of his white skin – told him to take her albino baby back to where it came from.
Freeland has worked as a cinematographer for a decade. He realised that he needed to show the story of albinos in Africa after an incident in Senegal in 2004. The mother of a six-month-old albino baby came up to him, assuming that, because of his white skin, the child belonged to him. "She told me to take the baby back to where it was coming from," he says.
The woman believed she had been cursed. Her husband had kicked her out of the house because he thought she had cheated on him with a white man. "I have a cousin who has albinism, so I understood the condition," Freeland explains, but adds: "I had never met anyone in Africa with albinism before. I never realised how people can be so discriminated against for the colour of their skin and for albinism in Africa."
He had been in Senegal on another assignment and on his return to the United Kingdom he spoke to people about albinism. He found out how little people knew about the condition. "I began to think how a film could help raise awareness and hopefully have charities get involved to help these people."
A year later he was making a film in another African country, he recounts. "I met a mother with albinism who lived on the street with her four albino children. This was the first time I had a conversation with someone with the condition. I realised that this [prejudice] was not only happening in Senegal, but all over the continent."
The stigma
Freeland says he found a few issues: "There is a farm in Senegal [to which] about 30 people with albinism fled. This because they have been treated so badly in their community… I found that women with albinism in South Africa had been raped, because of the belief that it would cure HIV."
He first travelled to Ukerewe Island in 2006, where he learned that people believed a huge number of albinos were dumped a long time ago. "The population has grown, now they have a society where they can look after each other and share their experiences."
Freeland focused his documentary on the island, but making it was not without challenges. "What I didn't know was that there was going to be an outbreak of murders. They were targeting albino people in Tanzania and other parts of Africa… So really I got involved because of the incriminating stories I was hearing," he says.
The outcasts
People are treated like animals on the island, he explains. "What I found out on the island was that people were kept away from their families, in separate rooms, often in the dark [because they were albino].
"They were made to eat from a separate plate, drink from a separate cup from their brothers and sisters," says Freeland. "They knew little about skin cancer."
They did not know that albinism did not mean a person was a ghost or that it was a curse, as some Africans thought, he explains. "It's a lack of melamine in your skin that produces pigment. That's all it is. It also affects the eyes, so you can be visually impaired."
Another person interviewed in the documentary, Josephat Torner, says in the film that he is not a devil. He pleads: "Please do not kill us; look after us."
He sometimes feels his body shaking. "I think 'did I say the right thing?' In my mind, I stop trusting everyone around me. That's how I live, I don't trust anyone. Not even a relative or anyone."
Being careful
Poverty is given as one of the reasons albinos are killed, by a resident of Ukerewe. "I would kill to improve my life. If a rich man said to me he wanted an albino limb, I would think about how my life is," the fisherman says in the film.
The documentary took six years to complete, with Freeland saying it took so long because the people he interviewed received death threats. As for fearing for his own life, the filmmaker says: "I think if you see the strength of the two characters, [you can see that] it was easy for me to make the film.
"I think that's why I shot it over a period of a long time: to make sure that the people [in the film] would be safe."
He could not release some information about Torner, because it would be dangerous for him. "Certainly also the time before Vedastus got into school."
Effects of the documentary
Jennifer Targhi, who created various social media campaigns agains the killings on albinos, says that several years ago she saw a documentary which affected her deeply. "Through that film I became friends [on Facebook] with Josephat Torner and joined groups such as The Tanzania Albinism Society, Under the Same Sun, Standing Voice… In short, I tried to research the plight of people with albinism in Tanzania and to find ways I could help," she says.
"At the end of February this year, there was news of another very distressing killing of a small boy, Yohana, who was found with his arms and legs hacked off. The news was barely covered by the media here and it seemed to me that very few people I knew were actually aware of the situation."
She wanted to bring the plight of albinos in Africa to the attention of as many people as possible. "I spoke to a friend who travels regularly to Tanzania, to ask her what positive action my friends and I could take."
Targhi says her friend advised her to donate sunscreen, hats and sunglasses to people with albinism in Tanzania. "It would be helpful to lobby the president of Tanzania to take stronger action against the perpetrators of these crimes and to bring about a programme of education to all the citizens of the country.
"I have been involved with petitions before and have seen how successful they can be, so at the beginning of March I initiated my petition."
Through the petition, Targhi has become acquainted with activists in Tanzania, who have lent their support under the hashtag #StopAlbinoKillings. "So it has become a joint international effort. I am active on social media to promote the petition and to provide current and accurate information about the ongoing situation in Tanzania and the other East African countries experiencing this problem.
"I am taking steps to support a child through the charity Standing Voice, and encouraging others to do so. Many friends have now taken up the cause – this is how it spreads."
Standing Voice is a charity started by Freeland and Torner that supports and improves the lives of people with albinism in Tanzania and across Africa.
Targhi says people can build awareness by talking to anyone who will listen, by holding fundraising and awareness events, by having T-shirts printed. "I have seen some amazing designs in photographs posted on Twitter by a lady called Kuli Roberts – and this is something I would very much like to be involved with."
She and Tanzanian activists aim to hand the petition to the country's president on International Albinism Awareness Day, on 13 June. "Hundreds of people from all over the world have commented with their signature, and some of their comments are very moving. I owe it to everyone who has taken the time to sign and comment, to take this as far as I can, and to let him see their comments.
"I believe that international opinion is very important to the president and his government. So, to this end, I aim to get as many signatures as I can."
Meanwhile, it was reported by Reuters on 4 March that Tanzanian President Jakaya Kikwete had promised to end a wave of killings of albinos, saying the witchcraft-related murders were shaming his East African nation.
There were about 200 000 albinos in Tanzania, and witch doctors were known to tell clients that albino body parts would bring them luck in love, life and business, the news agency reported. Similar beliefs existed in other African societies, but activists said attacks on albinos were particularly prevalent in Tanzania.
Watch an interview with Harry Freeland, and also a clip of two albino girls in a camp:
Harry Freeland
Jennifer Targhi
Josephat
Kuli Roberts
Ukerewe Island
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LOS ANGELES — It was perfect in more ways than one.
UCLA honored Valorie Kondos Field in the final home meet of her illustrious career on Saturday at Pauley Pavilion flawlessly, christening the newly named Valorie Kondos Field floor with perfect 10s from Kyla Ross and Katelyn Ohashi and the third-highest floor score in history then hosting a dance party fit for the former ballerina.
After UCLA's 197.575-194.85 victory over Utah State on Saturday, more than 200 UCLA gymnastics alumnae from Kondos Field's 29-year head coaching career flooded the floor in a choreographed flash mob. Even Utah State, whose head coach Amy Smith was a member of Kondos Field's first-ever national-title-winning team in 1997, had a part. Then her current gymnasts took the floor. Then the band joined in with a song.
Kondos Field's face, which was nearly marked with tears during the video tribute that had just played and included messages from dozens of her former gymnasts, lit up brighter and brighter as each group joined.
"That was amazing!" said Kondos Field, who added she had no idea about any of the tribute components.
Kondos Field soaked in every moment of her final meet from the very beginning. She danced with the student section during warmups. She wiped away tears while watching former UCLA gymnasts Peng-Peng Lee, Hallie Mossett and Alex Waller sing the national anthem. She knew seeing her former gymnasts was going to be the most emotional part of the night. They came dressed in matching pink shirts with the title of Kondos Field's book "Life's short, don't wait to dance," printed on the front.
UCLA assistant coaches pulled back a tarp to reveal the words "Valorie Kondos Field floor" as athletic director Dan Guerrero announced the new name before the meet. Kondos Field marveled at the sight of her name printed on the side of the floor, which had served as her stage for creating UCLA's iconic floor routines.
The pre-meet festivities appeared to rattle some of the Bruins early. They earned their lowest vault score since Jan. 27 and tied their season-low on bars with a 49.2. Ross, who led the country in all-around, fell on both vault and bars. Her season-low 9.475 score on bars counted toward the team score when Grace Glenn also fell.
However, Glenn and Ross then both bounced back on beam with Glenn tying her career high with a 9.95 and Ross winning the event with a 9.975.
Ross followed it on floor with her first-ever perfect 10 on the event, giving her perfect 10s on all four events this season and the career "gym slam." She is the 10th collegiate gymnast to collect 10s on all four events in her career.
The 2012 Olympic gold medalist who extended her streak of perfect 10s to seven straight weeks described the meet as a "roller coaster" from the emotional pre-meet floor dedication to her self-described shocking start to the competition to UCLA's perfect 10s on floor.
Ohashi, whose relationship with Kondos Field is so close that she was one of the first to learn of Kondos Field's retirement when the coach made the decision two years ago, was one of four seniors honored at the end of the meet along with Macy Toronjo, Brielle Nguyen and senior manager Matteah Brow. Ohashi, who scored her fifth perfect 10 of the season on her final performance in Pauley Pavilion to help UCLA secure a 49.825 on floor, addressed the crowd.
Kondos Field nearly didn't make it to this point of her career. The coach was set to resign after two years. She wasn't a coach, she thought, because she had never done competitive sports and, as a former professional ballet dancer, never cared much about winning. But on her way to meet with then-senior associate athletic director Judith Holland, Kondos Field came across John Wooden's book on success.
It hit her that things turned out pretty well as she listened to Guerrero explain that Kondos Field floor will now rest on a basketball court named for Wooden.
"This is Coach Wooden's home that we all get to come visit," Kondos Field said.


The Budding Chef party option has an abbreviated menu, please review the Budding Chef menu choices here. The Executive and Top Chef party options both feature a full menu, review Executive and Top Chef menu choices here.
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Happy book birthday to Allison Tait and her new baby, 'The Book of Secrets: Ateban Cipher #1'! While I have read and loved 'The Book of Secrets' myself, I have asked Trish Buckley to review this one – given Allison and I run the 'Your Kid's Next Read' Facebook page together and I want the review to be totally unbiased! Having said this, 'The Book of Secrets' was totally what I needed this month…a fast paced, engaging and totally heartfelt story to transport me to another place.
This is going to be the perfect September holiday read for many young readers! Get on it.
Thanks for the review Trish.
This exciting fantasy novel aimed at the 9 to 12 age group will satisfy readers, and leave them wanting more. Its fast-paced plot balances a sensitive thoughtful narrator with his newly‑found‑rescuers-turned-friends so that by the time they all figure out the codes and clues, readers have been entertained and engaged.
It is better to go into the first book in the Ateban Cipher series with little knowledge about what is about to happen. Main character, Gabe has to adjust to a new world view when he steps out of his cloistered life, and we learn those lessons alongside him. His perilous journey requires him to accept that not all people are as honest or as moral as he, and his questions about the nature of evil and justifying bad deeds to achieve the right ends will be welcome to our savvy readers.
The medieval landscape is strong and believable. We meet monks, peasants, bandits and royalty but of course, there are other references which feel very contemporary – corrupt clergy, unfair imprisonment, and underestimating the abilities of females. There will be readers who love the magic and fantasy, but there will be others who will make connections with the world they see around them. Good books do this – they satisfy, but they can also challenge.
Without giving anything away, I do want to applaud some of the terrific representatives of characters presented here. It invites young people to consider the consequences of class structure, the damage of gender stereotypes, and the value of kindness and loyalty. Tait is deft and assured, and her ability to include these issues without ruining the story is marvelous.
Tait's first series, the Mapmaker Chronicles were hugely successful and popular, and The Book of Secrets demonstrates the development of a clever author who is learning her trade and is aware of what keeps readers happy – a collection of plucky heroes who never give up, a story that mixes mystery and emotion, and a solid world building foundation.
I had such a good time with this book. Congratulations A L Tait on another winner.
Oh my gosh…no thanks needed…you're the genius, not us!


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text:
Catherine Czerkawska
A Valentine's Day Special: Two Love Stories For the Price Of One
Cover by Alison Bell
If you haven't read the Curiosity Cabinet (and although it has definitely been my best selling novel to date I know there are quite a lot of people out there who haven't!) then I've planned a very special offer for Valentine's Day and the following week. From 13th February to 19th February, The Curiosity Cabinet will be on a 'Kindle Countdown' deal and you'll be able to download it for the bargain price of 99p in the UK and around a dollar in the US. That's a lot less than the price of a cup of coffee.
Many - but by no means all - of my novels, involve very grown up love stories. But with this book, you'll be getting two love stories for the price of one, two parallel stories, past and present.
In present day Scotland, Alys revisits the beautiful (fictional) Hebridean island of Garve after an absence of twenty five years, and finds herself captivated by the antique embroidered casket on display in her hotel. She discovers that it belongs to Donal, her childhood playmate on the island, and soon they resume their old friendship.
Another ancient McNeill
But interwoven with the story of their growing love is the darker historical tale of Henrietta Dalrymple, kidnapped by the formidable chieftain, Manus McNeill, and held on Garve against her will and with no inkling of the reason why she has been imprisoned.
With three hundred years separating them, the women are linked by the cabinet and its mysterious contents, by the tug of motherhood and by the magic of the island itself. But Garve has its secrets, past and present. Donal must learn to trust Alys enough to confide in her and, like Henrietta before her, Alys must earn the right to belong.
The island and its people are fictional, but the landscape is very like the landscape of the beautiful little island of Gigha which I know well. I'm told that it seems like Coll too.
I'm always a bit bemused by the reviews of this book since they tend to be wildly differing, even when they're positive (and most of them are positive, thanks to my many lovely readers!) But it's clear from reading them that some readers see it as a tightly, tautly written book with great depths, whereas others see it as a frothy 'guilty pleasure'. In house agent's parlance (real estate if you're reading this in the US) it probably means that the book is 'deceptively simple'.
The truth is that whether you find it deceptively simple or genuinely simple, it doesn't matter, just as long as you enjoy it. I hope, at least, that you believe in Alys and Donal, and in Henrietta and Manus. Because I grew very fond of them, and of Alys's little boy Ben, as well.
It's a book about the present redeeming the past - and also about the ways in which a beautiful and largely unchanging place with an intense history can hold something of the past, even within its present.
One of my readers called it a 'beautifully crafted tapestry of a book' and I'm grateful that s/he understood exactly what I was trying to do in the novel - and took pleasure from reading it. Because it was certainly a great pleasure for me to research and write it!
Why not give it a try at the links below?
The Curiosity Cabinet in the UK
The Curiosity Cabinet in the US
You can also visit my website to read a bit more about what I'm working on right now, and find out about my other books, especially my new - and much darker - historical novel, The Physic Garden, which has just been published as an eBook by Saraband, and is due for release in paperback in late March.
Historical Fiction Kindle Countdown love story McNeill Saraband Scotland The Curiosity Cabinet The Physic Garden Valentine's Day
The Amber Heart: The Long, Long Story of a Story
I've blogged about my Polish novel The Amber Heart on and off over the years, but I don't think I've ever told the full unredacted story - and now seems like as good a time as any, with a brand new, edited version out on Kindle, and a paperback and other eBook versions planned for early in 2021. Lucky me. Once upon a time, when I was young and optimistic, my first full length adult novel, titled The Golden Apple, was accepted for publication by The Bodley Head , an old and distinguished publisher. To be clear, this wasn't my very first novel. There were others, tucked away in folders, never to see the light of day. Practice novels. And there was a young adult novel, published in Scotland, before young adult was even a thing. But this was my first grown up novel that was fit to be seen. I considered myself very lucky. My agent for fiction at the time was Pat Kavanagh, and she was a fine agent with a wonderful reputation. Among other things, and unlike almost all agent
My Dolls' House at Christmas
My late mum always wanted a dolls' house. When my dad spent a couple of years working in Vienna, as a visiting expert at the International Atomic Energy Commission there, my mum came back with a collection of dolls' house miniatures, picked up here and there, some new, some vintage. But she never got her dolls' house. I'm still not sure why, because my dad would have bought her one or - more likely - made one for her. He was good at making things. But perhaps she just enjoyed collecting the miniatures and dreaming about the house. Later, my husband made a dolls' house for me, but although it was beautiful, it was always a bit too big for the space available, so eventually we passed it on to a young relative. Then, a few years ago, Alan found the second hand house of my dreams and it turned up on Christmas Day. It's a solid plywood Georgian mansion, with six rooms, plus stairs and hallways, in its beautiful interior. It may have been made from one of those pat
Do you really need an agent? Six things for writers to think about before writing a hundred query letters.
The Society of Authors will NOT do this to you! I've blogged about agents before, but it seems worth revisiting, since things seem to have moved on in the intervening period. I've had good agents and not so good agents but now I'm not looking for one. To be fair, my ex-agency – the one that actually did a lot of good work for me - still remits my share of royalties and residual payments for past work with great promptness and efficiency. But for some time now, I think that the relationship between writers and agents has been skewed. For a start, there are too many potential clients chasing too few agents and this is partly because of the myth still being perpetuated by most creative writing courses, that you need an agent to find a publisher. The other fiction is that if you get an agent, you will find a publisher. Neither is strictly true. So here are some things to think about. 1 What, realistically, are you expecting your agent to do for you? Do you want somebody to nur
Facebook for Writers
Dreaming of a white Christmas - or maybe not. Over the past year, I've attended a few professional Zoom meetings with my fellow writers, and the subject of social media comes up fairly regularly. Some of us are happy to wade in and engage with Facebook, Twitter, Instagram etc, and others aren't. Some think that Facebook is the work of the devil. It may be, and you will need a long spoon to sup with it. It is also a huge time suck. A veritable sink hole of time suckery. But it's still a useful tool for writers. And there are some very nice people on there. I've made contact with many old 'friends in real life' as well as making some new ones. The truth is that, much like real life, all these sites are a mixture of the good, the bad, and the truly ugly, but if you want to sell books, or help your publisher to sell your books, (as well as keeping sane during a pandemic) you are going to have to learn how to do a little interacting and Facebook is probably the eas
All material unless otherwise stated ©Catherine Czerkawska


A term that contains at least a literal number to represent a quantity is called an algebraic term.
An algebraic term is a term that contains at least one literal. Algebraic terms are usually formed by the involvement of both numbers and literals in different possible combinations to represent quantities mathematically.
The algebraic terms are formed in four different ways possibly to represent quantities mathematically.
Every number is a symbol and used to represent a particular quantity. Hence, every real number is a basic example to algebraic terms.
Every symbol can be used to represent a quantity. Therefore, the symbols (can be either constants or variables) are also best examples of algebraic terms.
Numbers and symbols involve in multiplication to form single terms as their product to represent quantities. So, every algebraic term can be formed in product form by a number and at least one symbol.
Numbers and symbols are also involved in division to form single terms as their quotient. Therefore, every algebraic term can be formed in quotient form by a number and at least one symbol.


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Last night the Glengarry Wines Malt Club took a page out of The Vapours song book and turned Japanese for the night. Led by Sam Baker, Brand Manager for Hancocks Wines and Spirits, and Kenny Ariens, Spirit Brand Ambassador, also from Hancocks, we worked our way through our recently expanded range of Sake, Japanese Whiskies and Shochu.
First cab off the rank was Sam with Sake! After a quick rundown on the styles of Sake and how it is made (fermented like wine and not distilled like a spirit, which it is sometimes confused with!) it was straight into tasting. Most Sake have a recommendation of serving either cold or warm but there are no hard and fast rules so we tried all four Sake both cold and warm.
The difference was startling. We started with the Gekkeikan Traditional, made by the oldest and largest Sake brewery in Japan. This was lively and a touch rough while cold, but when warm the citrus flavours opened and the mouth-feel was fuller and rounder. Our journey through the quality levels made its way to the Houraisen (producer) Bi Junmai Daiginjo (style) which was pure and had a complex nose with sweet fruit, much like a wine! When trying this warm the delicate nose was lost and the Sake seemed simple, over powered by the temperature. Houraisen embody the quality focus that can be found in these Sake. From growing their own rice from a specially selected strain of rice suit to the area and high polishing (stripping away the hard-outside husk of the rice grain). A true masterclass in such an interesting category.
Next up was Kenny to explore two of the Mars Whiskies. Over the last 5-10 years the demand for Japanese Whisky has skyrocketed and it is great to see new distilleries here in the market. The Hombo family, owners of Mars Whisky, first took out a licence to distill whisky in 1949, although it was not until 1960 that it started making whisky. This continued until the distillery had to close in 1992 due to low demand, finally firing back into life in 2011. The Mars Iwai Traditional, aged in a combination of ex Bourbon and ex Sherry Casks, as well as some fresh Mizunara casks (Japanese oak) was rick, with dried fruits and an impressively long finish! Next the Lucky Cat, a limited release series named after the owner's favourite feline friends, this one the third release named Mint. These sell out in Japan direct from the distillery.
Finally, we finished with some sweet Shochu (Sweet potato distillate) macerated with different fruit. A Yuzushu (Shochu macerated with yuzu fruit) was refreshingly tangy with citrus and sweetness, like old fashioned lemonade but with booze! Then a Umeshu (Shochu macerated with Japanese plums and brown sugar), tasting much like a refined PX Sherry would be a great match with blue cheese at the end of the night!
All and all a great, intriguing and educational tasting. The one thing that shines through all these products was the focus on purity and the quality of water sources these producers use. Look out for more Japanese Sake and Whisky finding their way around Auckland in the near future!