The men of Torvaldsland like to drink, they do so heartily, they have their mead in horns that don't have feet so the mead is
drank in one fell swoop and have their ale in tankards, the tankard of celebration is very, very big, five gallons!


The Forkbeard himself now, from a wooden keg, poured a great tankard of ale, which must have been of the measure of five gallons. Over this he then closed his fist. It was
the sign of the hammer, the sign of Thor. The tankard then, with two great bronze handles, was passed from hands to hands among the rowers. The men threw back their
heads and, the liquid spilling down their bodies, drank ale. It was the victory ale. Marauders of Gor, page 82

I held the large drinking horn of the north. "There is no way for this to stand upright," I said to him, puzzled.

He threw back his head again, and roared once more with laughter.

"If you cannot drain it," he said, "give it to another!" I threw back my head and drained the horn.

I handed the horn to Thyri, who, in her collar, naked, between two of the benches, knelt at my feet.

"Yes Jarl," said she, and ran to fill it, from the great vat. How marvellously beautiful is a naked, collared. Marauders of Gor,
page 89

"Here, Jarl," said Thyri, again handing me the horn. It was filled with the mead of Torvaldsland, brewed from fermented honey,
thick and sweet. Marauders of Gor, page 90

The two bond-maids, stripped, too, like the others, for the feast, Pretty Ankles and Pouting lips, struggled down the length of the
smoky hall, a spitted, roasted tarsk on their shoulders. There were slapped by the men, hurrying them along. They laughed with
pleasure. Their shoulders protected from the heat of the metal spit by rolls, of leather. The roasted tarsk was flung before us on the
table. With his belt knife, thrusting Pudding and Gunnhild back, Ivar Forkbeard addressed himself to the cutting of the meat.

He threw pieces down the length of the table. Marauders of Gor, page 91


Sa-Tarna is the major crop of the Forkbeard’s lands, but, too, there are many gardens, and, as I have noted, bosk and verr, too, are raised. Ottar dug for the Forkbeard
and my-self two radishes and we, wiping the dirt from them, ate them. The tospits, in  the Forkbeard's orchard, which can grow at this latitude, as the larma cannot, were
too green to eat. I smiled, recalling that tospits almost invariably have an odd number of seeds, saving the rarer, long-stemmed variety. I do not care too much for tospits, as
they are quite bitter. Some men like them. They are commonly used, sliced and sweetened with honey, and in syrups, and to flavor, with their juices, a variety of dishes. They
are also excellent in the prevention of nutritional deficiencies at sea, in long voyages, containing, I expect, a great deal of vitamin C. They are sometimes called the seaman's
larma. They are a fairly hard-fleshed fruit, and are not difficult to dry and store. On the serpents they are carried in small barrels, usually kept, with vegetables, under the
overturned keel of the longboat. We stopped by the churning shed, where Olga, sweating, had finished making a keg of butter. We dipped our fingers into the keg.  It was
quite good. "Take it to the kitchen,: said the Forkbeard. "Yes, my Jarl," she said.
"Hurry, lazy girl," said he. "Yes, my Jarl," she said, seizing the rope handle of the keg and, leaning to the right to balance it, hurried from the churning shed. Earlier, before he
had begun his tour of inspection, Pudding had come to him, and knelt before him, holding a plate of Sa-Tarna loaves. The daughter of Gurt, the Administrator of Kassau, was
being taught to bake. She watched fearfully as the Forkbeard bit into one. "It needs more salt," he had said to her. She shuddered. "Do you think you are a bond-maid of the
south?" he asked. "No, my Jarl," she had said. “Do you think it is enough for you to be pleasant in the furs?" he asked. "Oh, no, my Jarl!" she cried. "Bond-maids of the
north must know how to do useful things,"he told her. "Yes, my Jarl !" she cried. "Take these," said he, "to the stink pen and, with them, swill the tarsks!"
"Yes, my Jarl," she wept, leaping to her feet, and fleeing away. "Bond-maid!" called he. She stopped, and turned. "Do you wish to go to the whipping post ?" he asked. This
is a stout post, outside the hall, of peeled wood, with an iron ring near the top, to which the wrists of a bond-maid, crossed, are lashed over her head. Near the bosk shed
there is a similar post, with a higher ring, used for thralls. "No, my Jarl!" cried Pudding. “See then," said he, "that your baking improves!"
"Yes, my Jarl," she said, and fled away. "It is not bad bread," said Ivar Forkbeard to me, when she had disappeared from sight. He broke me a piece. We finished it. It was
really quite good, but, as the Forkbeard ha said, it could have used a dash more salt. When we left the side of the hall we had stopped, briefly, to watch Gunnhild and
Pouting Lips at the standing looms. They worked well and stood beautifully, under the eyes of the Forkbeard. Otto had then joined us and we had begun our inspection.
Shortly before concluding our inspection, we had stopped at the shed of the smith, whose name was Gautrek. We had then continued on our way. On the way back to the
hall, cutting through the tospit trees, we had passed by the sul patch. In it, his back to us, hoeing, was the young broad-shouldered thrall, in his white tunic, with cropped
hair. He did not see us. Approaching him, her kirtle held high in two hands, it  filled with verr dung, was blond, collared Thyri. Marauders of Gor, page 102-103

I saw, too, fields, fenced with rocks, in the sloping area. In then were growing, small at this season, shafts of Sa-Tarna; too, there would be peas, and beans, cabbages and
onions, and patches of the golden sul, capable of surviving at this altitude. I saw a small fruit trees, and hives, where honey bees were raised; and there were small sheds,
here and there, with sloping roofs of boards; on some such sheds might craftsmen work; in others fish might be dried or butter made. Against one wall of the cliff was a
long, low shed; in that the small bosk, and the verr, might be housed in the winter, and there, too, would be stored their feed; another shed, thick with heavy logs, in the
shadow of the cliff, would be the ice house, where ice from the  mountains, brought down on sledges to the valley, would be kept, covered  with chips of wood. Marauders of
Gor page 81

Many were the roast tarsk and roast bosk that had roasted over the long fire, on the iron spits. Splendid was the quality of the ale at the tables of the Blue Tooth. Sweetand
strong was the mead. Marauders of Gor, page 206
Torvaldsland
Land of the Brave and the Strong. Beware lest you hear the call:
"The men of Torvaldsland are upon you!"
This research is done on the series of books written by John Norman, the comments in italics are mine and my point of view.
Woman of Gor
All rights reserved.
This image was unsigned, but quite beautiful, I am not the
artist behind it and thank whomever took the time to create it.
Common Food and Drink of Torvaldsland