"I am not an outlaw," I said.

He obviously did not believe me.

"I am hungry," I said. "I have had nothing to eat in many hours." "I, too, am hungry," he said, "and have had nothing to eat in many hours." "Is your hut near?" I asked. I knew it would be from the time of day at which I had encountered him. The sun regulates the schedule of most Gorean crafts and the woodsman would now be returning with his day" s cutting. "No," he said.

"I mean you and you Home Stone no harm," I said. "I have no money and cannot pay you, but I am hungry."

"A warrior takes what he wishes," said the man.

"I do not wish to take anything from you," I said.

He regarded me, and I thought the trace of a smile cracked through the stubbled leather of his broad face.

"I have no daugher," he said. "I have no silver, and no goods." "Then I wish you prosperity," I laughed, "and will be on my way." I passed him and continued down the road.

I had moved but a few steps when his voice arrested me. It was hard to understand the words, for those of the lonely Caste of Woodsmen do not often speak.

"I have peas and turnips, garlic and onions in my hut," said the man, his bundle like a giant" s hump on his back.

"The Priest-Kings themselves," I said, "could not ask for more." "Then, Warrior," said the man, issuing Gor" s blunt invitation to a low caste dinner, "share my kettle."

"I am honoured," I said, and I was.

Whereas I was of high caste and he of low, yet in his own hut he would be, by the laws of Gor, a prince and sovereign, for then he would be in the place of his own Home Stone. Indeed, a cringing whelp of a man, who would never think of lifting his eyes from the ground in the presence of a member of one of the high castes, a crushed and spiritless churl, an untrustworthy villain or coward, an avaricious and obsequious peddlar often becomes, in the place of his own Home Stone, a veritable lion among his fellows, proud and splendid, generous and bestowing, a king be it only in his own den.