Knjigice
Learn-about book · Slovenian tales
Zlatorog the Goldenhorn
The tale of the white chamois with golden horns
Also in: Zlatorog (Slovenian) · Zlatorog (Slovak)
High in the mountains above the Trenta valley, where the rocks touch the sky, there lived Zlatorog — a snow-white chamois with horns of pure gold. He was the guardian of the miraculous mountain gardens and all their treasures. People said: whoever won his golden horns could unlock the treasure beneath Mount Bogatin.
1
The mountain gardens were tended by the White Ladies, kind mountain fairies who knew every flower and every spring. And no arrow could harm Zlatorog for long: for wherever a drop of his blood fell, a miraculous Triglav rose bloomed in an instant — and if he ate it, he was whole again, and stronger than before.
2
Down in the valley lived a young hunter, the finest shot far and wide. He loved the innkeeper's beautiful daughter. But one evening rich merchants came to the inn with gold, and the girl laughed at the hunter: "What do I want with your chamois! Bring me Zlatorog's golden horns and the treasure from under Bogatin — then we shall dance."
3
All night the hunter did not close his eyes. In the morning he took his rifle and set off alone into the snowy mountains. "I will find Zlatorog," he told himself, "and the gold will be mine, whatever it costs!" The path was steep and icy, but the hunger for gold drove him higher and higher, over ledges and scree.
4
High among the rocks, he saw him. Zlatorog! His golden horns sparkled like the sun itself. The hunter forgot every warning the old people had ever spoken. He crept closer, raised his rifle and took aim.
5
The shot rang out between the rock walls. Zlatorog sank onto a stony ledge, and from his wound, drops of blood fell onto the stone. But behold — where they fell, red Triglav roses sprang up and bloomed in an instant, glowing in the middle of the snow.
6
Zlatorog reached for the miraculous blossoms and ate them. In that same moment he rose — whole, healed, and mightier than ever before. His horns blazed like a thousand suns, and in his eyes there was no more kindness. Only wrath.
7
Blinded by the blaze, the hunter stepped back — but behind his heels there was no more path, only the abyss. His foot slipped on the ice, and he plunged into the deep, among the mists and the dark walls. Only in spring did the green Soča find him, and carry him quietly down to the valley.
8
But Zlatorog's heart had turned hard. With his golden horns he tore up and laid waste his own miraculous gardens: where flowers had bloomed and pastures had grown green, only grey stone and scree remained. The White Ladies wept, wrapped themselves in mist, and left the mountains forever.
9
From that day on, no one ever saw Zlatorog again. He left his mountains, and nobody ever won the golden horns — and the treasure beneath Bogatin sleeps undiscovered to this day. But beneath Triglav there remained vast stony wastes, which the people of the valley still call Zlatorog's ruined gardens.
10
And yet not everything vanished. Here and there among the grey rocks, a red Triglav rose still blooms today — a memory of the miraculous gardens and of the white chamois with the golden horns. And on quiet evenings the old people tell the children: the mountains gladly give many things, but only to those who respect them and do not demand everything.
11The End
