by John Norman
“Do not question the way of the wind,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Winds change,” I said.
“One must obey the wind,” said Lord Okimoto. “It cannot be commanded. It must be obeyed.”
“One obeys the wind, in such a way as to make use of it,” I said.
“Perhaps the commander proposes the first of a series of lesser engagements, compounding ever greater dismay and terror,” said Lord Okimoto.
“The emotive impact of the tarn on battle must, of necessity, be brief,” I said. “Its appearance, by itself, is unlikely to rout an enemy more than once or twice. It is not a weapon like an armored tharlarion whose charge might shatter walls. It will soon be understood the tarn is a large, and dangerous, but wholly mortal creature. The enemy will soon learn that glaives can cut its body and arrows penetrate its breast, that it can bleed and die.”
“Perhaps the commander wishes us to put starving men, unsupported, into the field,” said Lord Okimoto.
“If we attack behind the lines of Lord Yamada,” I said, “if we threaten treasured assets, palaces and warehouses, and cut the lines of his supply, the siege, if not lifted, might be imperiled. It is common to place the security of what one owns above the prospects of adding to what one owns. Let him hurry back to defend his homeland. Too, even for a shogun of the power of Lord Yamada, it is demanding and expensive to maintain large numbers of men in the field, to supply and support them, and impractical, if not hazardous, to attempt to do so without sufficient resources.”
“It is true the weapon of hunger has two edges,” said Lord Nishida.
“The commander thinks of raids,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Yes,” I said.
“It would be premature to reveal the tarn,” said Lord Okimoto. “The element of surprise would be precluded.”
“Little might be clearly seen, or understood,” I said. “Who knows how fire could fall from the sky? Let there be a rush of air, an uncanny cry, and a roof is burning. How are such things to be understood? Might not mysteries be suspected, might not fears flourish, might not superstitions be engaged?”
“I find it difficult to believe that you would suggest so fanciful and unrealistic an action,” said Lord Okimoto, “one destitute of the prospects of success and so careless of Lord Temmu’s strategic design, to cloak the tarn until its application is opportune.”
“Eventually the situation here will become hopeless,” I said.
“It already grows hopeless,” said Lord Okimoto, “as the cavalry seems unable to supply the holding.”
“Fields are few and distant, and many are held by archers and Ashigaru of Lord Yamada,” said Lord Nishida. “Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, does what he can.”
“He may have made contact with the enemy,” said Lord Okimoto.
“And so might have others,” said Lord Nishida, “from as long ago as Brundisium and the forests.”
“It is at least within our power to die honorably,” said Lord Okimoto.
“You think of ritual knives?” said Lord Nishida.
“Of course,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Better they repose in the lacquered case,” said Lord Nishida.
“One may, of course, postpone the inevitable,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Perhaps,” said Lord Nishida, “we should permit the commander to retire to his quarters, to rest, for he returns at nightfall to his camp.”
“In your camp,” said Lord Okimoto, “it is said the men are well fed.”
“We have enough,” I said.
“Excellent,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Perhaps you would care to join us?” I said.
“My place is here,” said Lord Okimoto.
“So be it,” I said.
“Is your camp pleasant?” he asked.
“It is simple, and sufficient for our purposes,” I said.
“You have slaves to serve and content your men?”
“There are no slaves at the camp,” I said.
“They were carried away, earlier, by the raiders,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Apparently,” I said.
“Regrettable,” said Lord Okimoto.
No bodies of slaves had been found, following the raid. This, of course, was not unusual. Slaves, having value, as other domestic animals, had little to fear in such altercations. Their fate, as that of other domestic animals, would not be slaughter, but merely a change of masters, a change of owners. It might be quite otherwise with free women. To be sure, they might strip themselves and throw themselves to the feet of conquerors, desperately, piteously licking and kissing the bootlike sandals, begging the collar. If they were found of interest, they might be spared, spared for the collar for which they had begged. Some free women, usually of high caste, if found too plain for a slave, might, to their humiliation, be kept for ransom. Some free women, too, might proclaim themselves slave, following which proclamation they would be slaves. A free woman can freely pronounce herself a slave but, following such a pronouncement, which she, then a slave, is incapable of rescinding, she is a slave, helplessly and fully.
“There were few slaves in the original camp,” I said. “Most were housed, as perhaps you know, for safekeeping, in the holding.”
“I see,” said Lord Okimoto.
My Cecily, for example, had been kept within the walls of the holding, in a slave shed. So, too, had been the Jane of Pertinax. Cecily, the former Virginia Cecily Jean Pym, an aristocratic English brunette, had been mine since her acquisition on a pleasure cylinder associated with a steel world, formerly that of a Kur called “Agamemnon,” for the phonetic convenience of humans, claimedly the “Eleventh Face of the Nameless One,” now the steel world of Arcesilaus, as we speak of him, claimedly the Twelfth Face of the Nameless One. Pertinax’s Jane, whom I had purchased for him in Tarncamp, that he might learn the uncompromising mastery of women, and the rewards and pleasures attendant thereupon, was Gorean, the former Lady Portia Lia Serisia of Sun Towers, of Ar. She had been given an Earth-girl name that she might better realize, and quickly, that she was now nothing, only a man’s slave. Pertinax’s Earth-name was Gregory White, to which name he was still entitled, if he wished, as he was a free man. He had come to Gor as the timid, docile, pathetically enamored subordinate of an aggressive, ambitious, petty, vain, clever, young blonde woman named Margaret Wentworth. She, arrogant, greedy, and unscrupulous, fond of the perquisites often associated with business and finance, had been a valuable and successful asset to a large investment firm, in the service of which she was expected to use her considerable charms to solicit, acquire, influence, and manipulate male clients. She, dazzled by the prospect of considerable wealth, easily and securely acquired, had agreed to act in the interests of certain unspecified forces. Miss Wentworth, and her subordinate, Gregory White, both English speakers, were brought to Gor and trained in the language and customs of Gor. They were to serve as a link, or liaison, between myself and mysterious parties, deep within the northern forests. They were to make contact with me following my disembarkation on a designated beach north of the Alexandra, and see that I reached a rendezvous deep within the bordering northern forest, where I would be met, for some purpose unknown to them. As it turned out I was to be enlisted in the service of Pani warriors, to equip and train a tarn cavalry, for eventual deployment at the World’s End. I knew little of what lay behind these matters. It seemed likely, however, given the mysterious appearance of Pani in the northern forests, and the work on a great ship, so far from civilization, a ship which might be capable of crossing Thassa, that this business would have to do, somehow, with Kurii, or Priest-Kings, or both. In any event, Miss Wentworth, expecting riches, discovered in Tarncamp that she had been perhaps less successful in her attempts to delude, manipulate, and exploit men on Earth than she had supposed. It seems her games, pretenses, deceits, and machinations had been more transparent than she realized. Perhaps she had annoyed, irritated, or merely amused certain powerful men, Gorean slavers or those associated w
ith them. Perhaps some thought she might look less well in a brief, black cocktail dress with pearls, with a drink in hand, than in a rep-cloth slave tunic and collar, bearing drink to a master. What might she look like, being vended naked on a Gorean slave block? However it had come about, she had been, unbeknownst to herself, even whilst on Earth, selected for Gorean slavery. In a sense she was then a slave, though she was herself unaware of her new status and condition. It had been decided for her, by masters. Indeed, it seemed that she, blond-haired and blue-eyed, features rare in the Pani islands, might have been used to fill a special order. In any event, she, originally owned by Lord Nishida, had been given as a gift to the shogun, Lord Temmu. Female slaves, while commonly less expensive than kaiila, and many times less expensive than tarns, are surely amongst the most lovely of gifts. She was now “Saru,” named for a small, scampering, largely arboreal bipedalian creature found in the jungles of the Ua basin. I had seen little of her, or of other slaves, of late. I supposed they were kept largely indoors, where they would be in little danger, should a storming take place, or an occasional stone or looping arrow fall into the courtyard space between the walls, and the buildings and the castle itself. When we had arrived at the holding, at the wharves below, we had had some two hundred slaves aboard. Before the defeat of the exploratory force, and the investment of the holding, this number had been reduced, by selling and distribution, to some one hundred and fifty slaves. Several had been given to independent, uncommitted daimyos, in the hope of generating good will, if not a good will of alliance then one of neutrality.
“I trust your journey will be a safe one,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I trust so,” I said.
“I do not expect to see you again,” he said.
“In war there are many unknowns,” I said.
“In deceit, betrayal, intrigue, and treachery, as well,” said Lord Okimoto.
“It is so,” I said, bowing.
Lord Okimoto returned this gesture of respect.
“The commander clearly understands, I trust,” said Lord Okimoto, “the cavalry is not to be committed, or engaged, without direct orders from Lord Temmu.”
“Of what use is a lance left forever in its rack,” I said, “or a sword which fears to leave its sheath?”
“The lance is to remain in its rack until grasped,” said Lord Okimoto, “and the sword is to be drawn only by the proper hand.”
“Of course,” I said.
But who is to grasp the lance, I wondered, and whose would be a proper hand. Obedience is a common path to victory; but it may lead as well to defeat.
“In flight, even in darkness,” said Lord Okimoto, “be careful of the course you set.”
“There may be someone in the holding,” said Lord Nishida, “who would mark such things.”
“I understand,” I said.
Did they really think, I wondered, that I, or others, tarnsmen, would set a flight line directly to a camp allegedly secret, a line which, well marked, might be followed by seekers, or hunters, on foot? I had ordered my men, in leaving the castle, to choose randomly amongst pieces of silk, each inscribed with subdivisions of four of the eight major divisions of the Gorean compass, and follow that line until it was safe to approach the camp. One of these lines, of course, was the actual line to the camp. It would not do, of course, to systematically avoid the correct line, for what practice might more explicitly call attention to that line? I had every reason to suspect that the intelligence of the enemy was considerable, and acute. As indicated earlier, I had not located the camp at the designated position on Lord Temmu’s map, as ordered, but at a different location, known only to myself and the members of my command. Also, as noted, those set to guard the camp, watch passes in its vicinity, and such, were now drawn exclusively from the command itself.
“I wish you well,” said Lord Nishida.
“I wish you well,” I said.
We exchanged bows, I bowing first, and then I left the parapet.
Chapter Two
I Visit a Field;
The Night is Dark;
I Must be Otherwise Engaged
It was cold when I departed the holding.
Pertinax remained behind, that the camp might be contacted in case of need. We kept one or two couriers at the holding.
The dark clouds of early winter obscured the moons.
When I ascended the mounting ladder, I heard a voice cry out, “Traitor!” It had come from the darkness. I buckled the safety strap, and snapped the reins, and my mount leapt from the wall, spread its vast wings, and, after soaring a few Ihn, struck against the air and surged upward.
“Traitor” had been the cry.
I doubted that my absence from the camp at the time of the raid had been an accident. I doubted that I had been withdrawn by design by Lord Temmu. It seemed likely to me that, rather, my presence at the holding had been awaited, that the attack might be made. I did not think, however, that much would have proceeded differently even had I been at the camp. The guard personnel had been instituted as an independent command, that the training and readiness of the cavalry not be compromised. This was essentially a sound military decision as the cavalry’s mission would not be well served by, and might be jeopardized by, devoting a large complement of its strength to its own protection. But, as it had turned out, the soundness of this military decision had been predicated on assumptions which did not include treachery, apparently in high places. The pickets, outpost guards, sentries, and such, had been withdrawn, allegedly on the orders of Lord Temmu, which orders, apparently, had been fabricated, but had appeared authentic, given appropriate seals, and a knowledge of passwords, of signals and countersignals. The guard personnel were then relieved, and ordered back to the holding, to assist in its defense, as an attack was allegedly imminent, small, reduced units of Pani then taking their place. The new Pani, as it turned out, were cohorts of Lord Yamada, and served as scouts and guides for the converging raiders. Perhaps if I had been at the camp things might have been different, but it is difficult to tell about such things. As the guard personnel were not housed in the camp itself, and were not under our command, the transition had not been realized until it was too late. At the new camp, as suggested, I had instituted different arrangements. In particular, guard personnel were now drawn from the cavalry itself, despite this depletion of ready personnel. Beyond this, when not at their posts they were housed in the camp itself, where most men now knew one another. There would be no reliefs by strangers. Lastly, they were given to understand that their report lines were now internal to the cavalry itself. In problematical situations, they were not to act, if at all possible, without an explicit authorization administered through recognized officers in the cavalry’s chain of command. I remained bitter, of course, for I had not been there. Though I doubted that my presence would have much affected the outcome, if at all, I should have been there! It was my command! But I had not been there! And then I wondered on that. Had it been feared, had I been at the camp, that the attacks might somehow have been anticipated, and foiled? I did not know. It was hard to say. I supposed not. Yet they had awaited my absence. Perhaps, I wondered, that had less to do with military considerations, for I would not have been likely, under the circumstances, to do much to alter an outcome there unless by some happy accident, than political considerations. I ranked high amongst the mercenaries, and certainly, as least as I understood it, in the cavalry, regarded as so crucial to the strategic intentions of the shogun. If doubt could be cast on my loyalty who might trust who? A suspicion of betrayal in high places, particularly amongst one’s commanders, can shake and divide units, destroy confidence, undermine morale, threaten discipline, and induce timidity and hesitation. With what will can one obey, and with what heart can one fight, when one fears the enemy is not before you, but behind you?
Abruptly, angrily, I turned the tarn toward the former camp. It was there the columns of raiders had emerged from the passes. I had not been there. I had learned of t
he raid only from survivors.
The tarn sped on through the night. I felt a bit of snow.
I would scout the old camp.
There would not be much to see now, burned wood, ashes, perhaps rusted weaponry, perhaps bones, scoured by jards and urts.
I would not stay long.
I assumed that the patrols and kill squads of Lord Yamada would be in the vicinity. Lord Okimoto, as I recall, had said they would be about, in the mountains, hunting for survivors, those who might have escaped on foot. And surely some might linger in the vicinity of the camp. Might not some survivors, lost, miserable, desperate, cold, and starving, return, searching for food, perhaps hoping to be rescued?
I should have been there.
Occasionally the clouds parted, and I could see rocks, and mountains, below. Narrow valleys, here and there, were like black wounds.
I would not stay long in the old camp.
I conjectured it was no more than ten or twelve Ehn away.
I looked down, suddenly.
It was tiny and far below, little more than a flicker amongst rocks.
I took it to be the campfire of a Yamada patrol.
It would be visible only from the air.
A light snow continued to fall. In the morning, it would be dangerous for fugitives to move. May a track in the snow not be a long, lingering arrow, one pointing to its unseen target?
I must now be near the first encampment, that decimated weeks ago by the forces of Lord Yamada.
I should have been there at the time of the attack.
I had been at the holding, idle, waiting, doing nothing!
I cried out with rage, startling the bird, which swerved to the left, and lost a beat of the great wings.
“Steady, be steady, friend,” I called to him, chagrined, soothingly.
Again the mighty appendages found their beat, and the bird again sped, with no altered signal from the straps, on the course I had set.
Why should I return to the first camp, I asked myself. To reconnoiter, to open wounds I had not borne, or to die?
