by John Norman
“I fear so,” he said. “Tea?”
“I am returning to the encampment,” I said.
“Have you leave from Lord Temmu?” he inquired, softly.
“No,” I said.
“We expected much from the tarn cavalry,” he said.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“You are leaving?” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Things grow dark,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Lord Okimoto believes you will abandon us.”
“He is mistaken,” I said.
“You will return?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Lord Yamada,” he said, “seems to be well apprised of conditions within the holding.”
“It seems so,” I said.
“How can this be?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“There are ways in which one might communicate with his pavilion,” he said.
“Doubtless,” I said.
“For example,” he said, “by tarn.”
“It is true,” I said. “That would be possible.”
“Lord Okimoto,” he said, “suspects you of treachery.”
“I am aware of that,” I said. “So, too, do others.”
“Such suspicions,” he said, “are unfounded.”
“I trust so,” I said. “What of Lord Okimoto?”
“He is a daimyo,” said Lord Nishida. “He is above suspicion.”
“Might not a daimyo, consulting likely eventuations, change banners?” I inquired.
“It is unthinkable,” said Lord Nishida. “First, one would apply the ritual knife.”
“I see,” I said.
“You are not sure of that?” asked Lord Nishida.
“No,” I said.
“You are not of our people,” said Lord Nishida. “Deceit, treason, treachery, and such are more to be expected amongst others.”
“Amongst hirelings, fighters for fee, mercenaries?” I said.
“Lamentably so,” said Lord Nishida, quietly.
“Such as Tyrtaios,” I said.
“Clearly,” he said.
“And others?” I said.
“Possibly,” he said.
“Such as Tarl Cabot,” I suggested.
“Your loyalty is beyond question,” he said.
“The slaves were bartered for rice,” I said.
“Even the slaves of the shogun,” said Lord Nishida.
“For rice!” I said.
“More valuable than gold at present,” he said.
“How long did it last?” I asked.
“Lots were cast into a helmet, and drawn,” he said. “Most had nothing. Some were slain.”
“Even so,” I said, “how long did it last?”
“Three days,” he said. “You are angry?”
“Would that the siege might be broken,” I said.
“There is no way to do so,” he said.
“Tarns,” I said.
“Too few,” he said.
It was difficult not to share this assessment.
“We should have sallied forth when we had strength, weeks ago, risking all on a desperate charge,” I said.
“Numbers cannot be ignored,” he said. “The urt gains little by casting himself into the jaws of the larl. In the midst of the Ashigaru of Lord Yamada we would have disappeared like water into sand.”
“It would have been honorable,” I said.
“Yes,” said Lord Nishida, “but, one supposes, less than wise.”
“Now the men are weak,” I said. “I understand many cannot meet the muster.”
“I fear doom is upon us,” said Lord Nishida. “I fear, at last, we lie within the shadow of the iron dragon.”
“What is this business about an iron dragon?” I asked.
“A figure of speech,” he said. “Do not concern yourself.”
“But there is a legend involved?” I said.
“Yes,” said Lord Nishida. “The dragon is a creature of legend, a mythological beast. When it awakens and spreads its wings, it signifies loss and defeat, the changing of things, the darkening of the sun, the coming of night, the downfall of dynasties, the end of great houses.”
I had heard of this sort of thing before. Too, I recalled that Tyrtaios, oddly, had referred to this presumably mythological beast.
“Surely none subscribe to such a superstition,” I said.
“Many do,” he said.
“Lord Okimoto?” I said.
“Possibly,” said Lord Nishida.
“Such thoughts are absurd,” I said.
“What lies within the hearts of men,” he said, “is seldom absurd.”
I rose to leave.
“Do not depart angrily,” he said.
“For rice!” I said.
“Better that than that they should languish and perish in the housing area,” he said.
“I see Sumomo is about,” I said.
The lovely contract woman lifted her head, quickly.
“She is not a slave,” said Lord Nishida. “Contract women are refined, trained, and precious.”
“Contracts can be bought and sold,” I said.
“Do not be angry, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said, angrily. “I should remove the cavalry.”
“I am sure they would follow you,” he said.
“None could stop us,” I said.
“None,” he said.
“Call the guards,” I said. “See that I do not leave the holding alive.”
“No,” he said. “I trust you. You are Tarl Cabot, tarnsman. You were selected with care.”
“Selected?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“By whom?” I asked.
“Surely you do not think it a mere happenstance that you once found yourself on a remote, unmarked beach some fifty pasangs north of the Alexandra.”
“By whom?” I asked.
“That is not known to me,” he said.
I shuddered, for I had been landed at such a place long ago, a cold, narrow beach, bleak and stony, deserted, distant from settlements, bordering the northern forests, landed from a slaver’s ship, one which had exited the locks of a steel world.
Were there wars behind wars, I wondered.
“You joined us,” said Lord Nishida.
“I was curious,” I said.
“Of your own free will,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Had you not joined us,” said Lord Nishida, “you would have been slain.”
“I see,” I said.
“You recall the wands, the perimeter, the guard larls, the fate of deserters,” said Lord Nishida.
“Yes,” I said.
“Secrecy was of the essence,” he said.
“An essence poorly secured,” I said. “The camp was discovered, and attacked. Forces were waiting at the mouth of the Alexandra to deny us the sea.”
“Enemies are amongst us,” said Lord Nishida.
“Clearly,” I said.
“How far is the encampment?” asked Lord Nishida.
“Not far, by tarn,” I said.
“I did not think the location at the confluence of two rivers was wise,” said Lord Nishida. “One need only follow a river north.”
“The choice was not mine,” I said.
“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.
“Noble lord?” I said.
“I trust you,” he said.
“I am grateful,” I said.
“Lord Okimoto does not,” he said.
“I am well aware of that,” I said.
“Lord Okimoto is senior daimyo,” said Lord Nishida.
“I have gathered that,” I said.
“He is cousin to the shogun,” said Lord Nishida.
“Perhaps he would like to be shogun,” I said.
“I do not understand,” said Lord Nishida politely.
“
It is nothing,” I said.
“Not all slaves were bartered,” said Lord Nishida.
“I was told all,” I said.
“One was not,” he said.
“Saru, the slave of Lord Temmu?” I said.
“She went for a fukuro of rice,” he said.
“What slave then?” I asked.
“It was desired that there would be a hold over you,” said Lord Nishida, “a hold in terms of which your service and loyalty might be assured.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Arrangements were made,” he said.
“My loyalty is not contingent on such things,” I said.
“That pleases me,” said Lord Nishida.
“Why did you not tell me that she was held, and not bartered?” I asked.
“There seemed no need,” he said, “but now matters are desperate.”
“So even you might doubt me?” I said.
“One must be cautious, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said. “It is hard to see into the hearts of men.”
“I am sure of it,” I said.
“Do not be angry,” he said.
“Where is she held?” I asked. “I would see her.”
“It is thought inadvisable,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“It is not necessary that you do,” he said.
“There was no need to hold her apart in the bartering,” I said, “as I contemplate no flight, no desertion, no treason, but I am pleased that you did so. In this case your suspicions, if suspicions they be, worked well to my advantage. I accord you my thanks. I regret only that the others were bartered, and for so little.”
“Do not concern yourself,” he said. “They are mere goods, merchandise, animals, beasts, slaves, and may be worked, tethered, chained, and penned, and enjoyed, as masters wish.”
“Still, I am pleased,” I said, “that my personal collar-slut, Cecily, was exempted, that she was held apart in the bartering.”
“She was not,” said Lord Nishida.
“What?” I said.
“She went for a fukuro of rice,” said Lord Nishida.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“It is another beast which was held apart,” he said, “not your Cecily.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“These arrangements were made long ago,” he said.
“By whom?” I asked.
“That is not clear to me,” he said.
“Even before the formation and training of the cavalry?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“But it is a slave?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“What slave?” I asked, puzzled.
“That is not known to me,” he said.
“Nor known to me,” I said.
“Apparently,” he said.
“Is there anything special about her?” I asked.
“She is quite beautiful,” he said.
“So are thousands upon thousands,” I said. “They would not be put on the block if they were not likely to sell, and well.”
“True,” said Lord Nishida.
“You are sure it is a slave?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Not a free woman?”
“No,” he said.
It is difficult to convey to one unfamiliar with the cultural pertinences the social status of the Gorean free woman.
“It does not matter then,” I said. “A tarsk is a tarsk. A slave is a slave.”
“I am pleased to hear you speak so,” said Lord Nishida.
“I leave,” I announced.
“Surely there is time for tea,” said Lord Nishida.
“The tarn is saddled,” I said.
“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.
“Noble lord,” I said.
“Matters are dark,” said Lord Nishida. “Lord Okimoto contemplates the ritual knife.”
“I have gathered that,” I said.
“Lord Okimoto,” said Lord Nishida, “has the ear of the shogun.”
“So?” I said.
“Should Lord Temmu suggest the ritual knife,” he said, “the garrison will unhesitantly comply.”
“The mercenaries would not,” I said.
“They might be independently slain,” said Lord Nishida. “Most are too weak to resist.”
“Surely you have contact with the shogun,” I said.
“Of course,” said Lord Nishida.
“Convince him, at all costs,” I said, “to hold out until the passage hand.”
“It will be difficult,” said Lord Nishida.
“The holding will be supplied,” I said.
“How so?” inquired Lord Nishida.
“We have sought supplies in the wrong place,” I said.
“I do not understand,” he said.
“Perhaps your contract servant might withdraw,” I said.
Sumomo was kneeling at the low, oval table, with its surface of inlaid woods, on which reposed the service for tea. She looked up, startled, then glanced to Lord Nishida, and then withdrew.
“You have a plan?” asked Lord Nishida.
I strode to a large framed screen, of painted silk, one bearing the images of mountains and needle trees, at the side of the room, and thrust it back.
Sumomo then, her head down, demurely hurried away, with short steps.
“You have a plan?” asked Lord Nishida.
“Yes,” I said.
“Let it be thought,” I said, “that I have withdrawn the cavalry, that we have deserted the banner of Temmu.”
“I fear few will fail to believe that,” said Lord Nishida.
“Good,” I said.
“If you will provide to me the details of your plan,” he said, “I shall attempt to secure the approval of the shogun.”
“Who will then seek the wisdom of advisors, such as Daichi, the caster of bones and shells,” I said.
“Doubtless,” said Lord Nishida.
“Convince him, merely,” I said, “to hold out until the passage hand.”
“I will try to do so,” he said.
“After the holding is supplied,” I said, “keep all but trusted guards off the outer parapets.”
“You think you can supply the holding?” asked Lord Nishida.
“Yes,” I said. “And it is then that my plan will become practical.”
“Surely you may confide the details of your plan to me,” he said.
“Forgive me, Lord,” I said.
“I am not trusted?” he said.
“It is hard,” I said, “to look into the hearts of men.”
“That is true,” he said, “Tarl Cabot, tarnsman.”
Chapter Eight
Lord Yamada is Supplying the Holding;
He is Unaware of This.
We would wait until nightfall, as we had the last several nights.
“I am not a porter,” growled Torgus.
“There are four more panniers to fill,” said Lysander.
We were well to the south of the investing forces of Lord Yamada. We were a pasang east of the road lined with posts, each surmounted by a human head. Our proximity to this lengthy, dismal display, I did not doubt, made it easier to enlist informants amongst the local peasantry. In the fields little love was lost where the house of Yamada was concerned. His mercilessly imposed tyranny, wrought by the edge of the sword, was keenly resented. We had soon been apprised of the location of warehouses and the routes and schedules of supply trains. The warehouses in which I was particularly interested were the small, concealed warehouses, scattered about, whose location was apparently unknown even to many of the high officers in the command of General Yamada. Such secret repositories can obviously shorten supply lines and enable a variety of maneuvers and marches, both of advance and withdrawal. In the event of defeat or exile they provide a means of provisioning a flight or supporting an unexpected return and counterattack. A concern for such measures wa
s apparently a characteristic of General Yamada. The other warehouses, large, sturdy structures, on the gates of which were emblazoned the insignia of the house of Yamada, might be left for later, and perhaps for the torch.
“Captain san,” said Ichiro, issued into my presence, come from the brush to the side. He commonly served as bannerman.
“Report,” I said.
“Disguised as a half-blind sutler,” he said, “I, together with others, peddlers, camp followers, and such, infiltrated the camp of Yamada. The camp is well-supplied.”
“It will not be for long,” I said.
“The morale of the men of Yamada is high,” he said. “The great onslaught is eagerly anticipated. Great Yamada delays, to make more certain of the incapacity of the garrison to defend itself.”
“I thought he might,” I said.
I thought him wise in the ways of war, a formidable tactician and leader. One seldom comes easily to the dais of a shogun.
“And in the camp it is said that Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, has deserted the banner of Temmu, and that the tarn cavalry, what remained of it, is fled.”
“Good,” I said.
“They are muchly amused, and pleased,” said Ichiro.
“Excellent,” I said.
“I have news from the holding, as well,” he said. “Men grow stronger. No longer do they denounce Tarl Cabot, tarnsman. They feed, and rejoice.”
“And the parapets are denied to all but trusted guards?” I asked.
“It is so, Captain san,” said Ichiro. “All others are turned away.”
Thus, I thought, even though there be spies in the holding, it would now be difficult, and, hopefully, impossible, for them to communicate with General Yamada. Presumably signals, messages, and such, could no longer be transmitted from the parapets. I had full confidence in the tarn cavalry. And men did not come and go between the holding and the camp of General Yamada. Lord Temmu had seen to this. It was a capital offense to approach a gate without authorization.
“You have done well, brave Ichiro,” I said.
He lowered his head shyly.
“It requires great courage to do what you have done,” I said.
“It gives me great pleasure to be of service to my commander, and my daimyo, and shogun,” he said.
“Few could have done this,” I said.
“I am of the command of Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.
“How is Tajima?” I asked.
Ichiro looked up.
“He is muchly recovered, and now resides in the holding,” said Ichiro. “He fears the onslaught, and would have it no other way.”