I'd first become aware of him when, in training to become a Scribe. I'd traveled to the mountains to interview Rowan as part of my "Greats of Gor " series. Rowan and his group of warriors/ companions/ and slaves had lived there for who knows how long. They were packing up and reading to make the dangerous trek to the Schendi jungles to carve out a new place for them to thrive.
I was petrified as I arrived at his encampment, shaking with fear one of the many warriors would take it upon themselves and decide I was aching for a collar but none did. Rowan said I was safe, and safe I was. So we sat on logs, the interview progressing nicely, while I admit I was occasionally mightly distracted by the wide smile of one of his warriors who made sure I would see his friendly face. In all these years, I 've never been able to forget the vision of that smile. It was beautiful, big, so big it could blot out the sun.
Moving on.
It was a wonderful interview I had with Rowan. Rowan was an exceptional kind man despite his and his warriors reputation as deadly.
Rowan taught his men to fight for the day or night only when nothing else would do. They were as far from a blood thirsty group as I'd ever seen or heard of on Gor. They were well trained and took their Warrior code to heart, keeping faithfully to every tenent included therein. They were unthreatening, polite, courteous to a fault. At no point, living out their caste as Warriors, did they ever act any other way. They respected free women, always. Slaves were slaves and treated as slaves and worked diligently to enjoy their Masters' nod of approval. As far as history can ascertain, these Warriors engaged in battle only when it was called for and were peaceful in times of contentment, an indomitable group of the best warriors Gor ever produced.
As the months and years meandered along, blurring one into the other, I would see him, occasionally, that warrior who had such a smile. He was always kind, always honest, always gentle. He' never violated his promise to the woman who was to be his companion. To be respected like that is the most beautiful and lasting gift a woman could ever receive.
One day he gave me a rock, accompanied by words of wisdom, ones to live by. I've never forgotten them and live by them this day. His reminder- lest - I ever - forget - gift, half way between a rock and a pebble = my heart treasure, filled with wisdom in its solidness and truth, there as a constant reminder of his words. I wear it always, in a little cloth pouch over my heart so it never gets lost. Red of course ( the pouch). In honor of his caste.
When Rowan died, his loyal band of warriors tried to go on, then, but as time passed I noticed they'd slowly dispersed all over Gor. I heard the warrior with the beautiful smile stayed in the jungle, venturing out from time to time, returning to his place of solitude in the jungle when his heart demanded such..
Word came some time ago, he'd become deathly ill and was not expected to survive. Within the last hand, word came he had indeed been seriously unwell but now is on the way to mend.
When he is fully well again, I wonder if he'll pick up his sword or if the Schendi jungle will still appeal to him. I hope, where ever he chooses to roam, he finds tranquility and peace, good food , good drink, good company, and a place to stretch his legs by a fire, accompanied by his faithful kailla.
He is the last of his kind.
The last great Warrior.
The one with the beautiful smile.
