Rebels of Gor

by John Norman

  Not a yard or so from where he stood there was a sturdy sapling of five or six horts in girth.

  “Behold,” said Lord Akio, and he flighted the device, spinning in its blaze of blurred color, toward the sapling.

  There was quick, hard sound, and the device quivered, vibrating, like a startled bird, trapped some two or three horts in the wood. I did not doubt what it might have done if applied to flesh.

  “I see,” I said.

  Lord Akio removed the device from the tree, and, shortly thereafter, it might have been again mistaken for a fashionable accessory.

  “Replace this tree,” said Lord Akio to the gardener.

  “Yes, Lord,” said the man.

  Lord Akio then turned to me.

  “Let us continue our walk,” he said. “It is a pleasant day.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  What Occurred on the Fifth Level of the Palace

  “This wing of the palace,” said the Ashigaru, “is closed to all save Lord Yamada and selected servitors.”

  “Very well,” I said. “I shall turn back.”

  This was the fifth level of the palace, which contained six levels.

  I turned away, but, a pace or so down the corridor, turned about, again. “It seems to be raining,” I said.

  “I do not know,” said the Ashigaru.

  “But you do,” I said.

  “Noble guest?” said he.

  “It is nothing,” I said.

  I turned about, again, and continued on my way down the corridor. I had not gone far when I saw a figure approaching.

  It was not easy to mistake those brightly colored, carefully arranged robes, nor the measure of that gracefully sedate tread.

  “What are you doing here?” politely inquired Lord Akio.

  “Looking about,” I said.

  The daimyo’s arms were within his wide sleeves. I saw no evidence of his fan. I noted the hang of the sleeve on his left arm. The sleeve sheath was held by two straps.

  “You are curious?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “It is possible to be too curious,” he said.

  “For example,” I said, “I would be curious to know if your sleeve dagger has a pearled handle.”

  “You are observant,” he said. “No,” he said. “It is tem-wood, with ceramic inlays, yellow.”

  “Lovely,” I said.

  “It is a better match for my robes,” he said.

  “It is a sleeve knife,” I said. “Who would know the difference?”

  “I would,” he said.

  Whereas I had been given much liberty of movement within the palace, the garden, and the surrounding grounds, with their shops, pantries, storerooms, and numerous ancillary buildings, including a bakery, smokehouse, and brewery, certain areas were forbidden to me. These, it seemed, were sensitive, perhaps dojos, officers’ quarters, barracks, arsenals, and such. There were cook houses and eating sheds for the men. One could tell the verr and tarsk pens by smell. There was a small dairy which supplied verr milk, and processed it, as wished, into derivative products, primarily cheeses.

  When summoned by Lord Temmu, several days ago, I had arrived at his holding on tarnback. I did not know what had become of that tarn. I had little doubt that Tyrtaios, into whose hands I had been given, to be later delivered to Lord Yamada, was familiar with the reins and saddle of a tarn. If he were of the black caste, as I suspected, that would almost be taken for granted. The Assassin is expected to move with silence, stealth, and swiftness, and depart similarly. His presence at the castle of Lord Temmu suggested that he might have arrived by means of his own tarn. That was not impossible. It did not seem likely he could have arrived publicly, afoot, as a legate or such. After the destruction of the first encampment, we knew that several tarns had been destroyed, and others had been released, by auxiliary personnel, presumably to return to the wild. On the other hand, it was surely possible that a small number might have fallen into the hands of the enemy. We had had, however, no assurances of this. I calculated I had been sedated for some eight days, but did not know how or when I had been brought to the regions controlled by General Yamada. Given the time involved, it seemed plausible I had been transported by wagon or cart from the vicinity of the castle to the palace. On the other hand, I doubted this, given the difficulties which would have been involved. The most rational conjecture was that two tarns had been used, mine, and one brought to the holding by Tyrtaios. In any event, the tarn on which I had reached the castle of Lord Temmu must not remain in the holding. That would have aroused suspicion. Its absence must suggest I had returned to the encampment. I did not think that the messenger tarns held at the castle of Lord Temmu would have been used, as this might have provoked curiosity. I recalled that neither Lord Nishida nor Lord Okimoto had been at the meeting with Lord Temmu, that also attended by Daichi and, to my surprise at the time, Sumomo. I did not now know Sumomo’s whereabouts, but had gathered that Lord Yamada, displeased with her, would arrange, by means of the contrived readings of Daichi, that she be brought somewhere into his regions, perhaps to the palace, to be dealt with as a failed spy. All in all then, it seemed to be most likely, despite the time involved, that I had been placed on my own tarn and that that tarn, by a lead, would have been conducted by Tyrtaios to whatever point General Yamada might have designated. I had, however, heard no tarn cries over the past few days and so conjectured that if one or more tarns were at the disposal of Lord Yamada, they were not housed in the immediate vicinity.

  “As I am curious,” I said, “I would be pleased to inquire if there be tarns about.”

  “One can be too curious,” he said.

  “I suppose that is possible,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “you would like to seize such a mount, and slip away, discourteously declining the hospitality of the shogun.”

  “That would be rude,” I said.

  “Barbarians are not noted for their manners,” he said.

  “True,” I said.

  “But they may be taught,” he said.

  “I suppose that is possible,” I said. “Are tarns about?”

  “You have been well treated, have you not?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Are tarns about?”

  “Ela,” he said. “I am a humble servitor of the shogun. I am neither a tarnsman or tarnster. I would not know.”

  “Apparently there are portions of this level which are closed off,” I said, “except for certain individuals.”

  “Oh?” he said.

  “Lord Yamada, and some others,” I said.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “A guard has been placed,” I said.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “It is doubtless that portion of the palace which houses the higher women of Lord Yamada, his wives, concubines and contract women,” I said.

  “Doubtless,” he said.

  I had already ascertained, of course, from the Pani slaves who were regularly sent to attend me, that the private quarters of Lord Yamada’s higher women was located on the third level of the palace. The private quarters of the shogun himself, as nearly as I could determine from the soon-somewhat-evasive answers of the Pani slaves, were frequently changed, he seldom occupying the same chambers two nights in a row. Apparently ostraka were placed in a small pot and shaken, after which one would be drawn, that dictating the quarters of the evening. Two trusted servitors were then informed of the falling of the lot, that, in the case of an emergency, Lord Yamada might be expeditiously informed. Interestingly, it seemed that his daimyos did not have access to this information.

  His palace slaves, of which Saru was doubtless one, and my Pani attendants others, had their quarters in a holding area maintained somewhere beneath the first level. Most of the slaves from the holding of Lord Temmu who had been traded for rice might be anywhere, distributed to daimyos, warriors, and officers, sold, gifted, bartered, put in the fields, put to herding verr and tarsk, perhaps even being
held somewhere, in pens or sheds, to be dispersed at a later date.

  “I think it may be raining outside,” I said.

  “It had appeared dismal,” he said.

  “The wild tarn,” I said, “seldom chooses to fly in the rain.”

  “I know little of tarns,” he said.

  “But you are not surprised?” I said.

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Many beasts,” I said, “prefer to avoid the rain.”

  “I would suppose so,” he said.

  “But men,” I said, “think little of going about in the rain.”

  “True,” said Lord Akio.

  “Particularly if they are clothed appropriately, if they have a raincoat,” I said.

  “I do not understand the nature of this conversation,” said Lord Akio.

  “Of straw,” I said.

  He looked at me, quickly, suspiciously. I sensed his hands had suddenly grasped one another within the concealment of those wide, hanging sleeves. Then his features resumed once more their attentive, benignant cast. “I am surprised that Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, knows of such things, or finds them of interest,” he said. “It is true, of course, that many peasants fashion themselves such raincoats.”

  “What do you know of iron dragons?” I asked.

  “They do not exist,” he said.

  “I am surprised to meet you in the palace, on this level,” I said.

  “I have an appointment,” he said.

  “Do not let me detain you,” I said.

  He bowed slightly, politely, smiled, and continued down the corridor.

  I waited for a time, and then turned about. The daimyo was no longer in sight. Apparently he had been admitted into those precincts access to which had recently been denied to me.

  I then continued on my way.

  In the vicinity of the guard, prior to my withdrawal, I had noted in the corridor, and in the interior passage, that denied to me, alternating residues of moisture, quite possibly, given the spacing, the remnants of tracks, but unusual tracks, perhaps those of a large, unshod, shuffling creature. Doubtless this evidence might have been misinterpreted in many ways, particularly in the Pani islands, except for one detail. When the fur is thick, and matted, and soaked with rain, it has an odor which, once experienced, is not likely to be mistaken.

  It was a scent, and a sort of scent, with which I was hitherto well acquainted, from various venues, from the delta of the Vosk outside Port Kar, from the hills of bleak Torvaldsland, the wastes and oases of the Tahari, the expanses of the Barrens, the jungles of the Ua, such places, even from the dens and forests of a steel world.

  It was the scent of Kur.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Archery Court

  “Lord Yamada,” I said, “cares to speak with me?”

  I had been conducted by an Ashigaru to the shogun’s archery court.

  “Yes, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

  The typical Pani bow is quite large, commonly longer, if not heavier, than the peasant bow of the continent. To me it was unfamiliar, given its lack of what I would have supposed to be the natural symmetry of such a weapon. The arrow is released well below the center of the bow. The bow itself is taller than most tall men. The draw is long, contributing to the weapon’s striking power, accuracy, and range. Given the length of the draw, a consequence of the bow’s construction, the arrow is correspondingly long. Arrows are variously fletched, the fletching curving to the left or right, which determines the rotation of the missile in flight, the left-curving fletching producing what I tend to think of as a clockwise rotation, though, for Goreans, it would be a counterclockwise rotation, and the right producing what I tend to think of as a counterclockwise rotation, but which the Goreans would consider a clockwise rotation. As nearly as I can determine the orientation of the fletching is immaterial with respect to accuracy. Indeed, it is common to use first one and then the other, in pairs. Indeed, an arrow with the left-turned fletching is often spoken of as the first arrow, and an arrow with the right-turned fletching as the second arrow. To be sure, different archers may prefer one fletching to another, one being thought more apt or fortunate than the other. One advantage of the bow’s construction is that despite its length it may be fired from a kneeling position, this allowing the archer to avail himself of lower cover and expose less of his body in firing. I had first seen such bows used by the Pani in Tarncamp, in the northern forests of continental Gor. It might be mentioned in passing that I had seen Pani archers with shorter bows, but the longer bow seemed more common, at least amongst the Pani with whom I was most familiar.

  Lord Yamada was dressed in a long, white exercise smock, with short, white sleeves. He extracted one of the long arrows from a stand to his right.

  “Would you care to join me?” he inquired, pleasantly.

  “Perhaps,” I said, “if I might avail myself of a more familiar bow.”

  “Barbarians are delightful,” he said.

  “Oh?” I said.

  “Certainly,” he said. “You are inquiring if the tarn which carried you to the castle of Lord Temmu is in the vicinity, masking your interest by a reference to the saddle bow. If that were available, so, too, presumably, would be the tarn.”

  “It is true,” I said, “I am interested to know if tarns are about.”

  “What would we, mere Pani, know of demon birds?” he asked.

  “It seems likely,” I said, “your noble ally, the barbarian, Tyrtaios, reached the castle of Lord Temmu astride a tarn, secretly, by night, and likely, as well, that my tarn, for such beasts are of great worth, if it were practical, would have been acquired. Certainly it would not be released, nor would it have been left at the castle. Indeed, I conjecture that it was used in bringing me into your hospitality. If both tarns were used, neither would be overburdened, such a weighting taxing the beast and diminishing its speed, the rider’s work thusly being brought more expeditiously to its conclusion.”

  “Very wise,” he said. “I have often regarded barbarians as ignorant and uncouth, but I have never made the mistake, unlike many others, of considering them stupid.”

  “So I gather that at least two tarns are about,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Lord Yamada. “And I hope to have you soon again on tarnback.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “In my service,” said he.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Observe,” he said.

  Lord Yamada lifted the grip of the bow, with arrow to the string, slowly carefully, above his head, and then slowly, carefully, evenly, considering the target, paralleling it to that objective, lowered it gracefully. A moment later that long bird took flight.

  “The preparation for the release,” I said, “is interesting. It seems much like a ritual, almost ceremonial. One might almost conceive of such a movement in a ceremony, or stately dance.”

  “Might you say it is beautiful?” he asked.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “But the arrow can kill.”

  “Why can there not be grace and beauty in all things,” he said, “the curve of a spoon, the touch of ink on silk, the arrangement of flowers, such things?”

  “Perhaps even,” I said, “in the flight of an arrow, the stroke of a sword.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  I had thought of the frightening, martial grace of a swordsman faraway, a short, unkempt, thickly bodied, ugly man known as Nodachi, Sword, ugly save when his blade was drawn, and his unprepossessing persona seemed somehow enlarged and transformed, transformed into something different, something awesome, something very still, a cloud which might conceal lightning, a night from which a beast might spring, something which, in its way, was, like the crouching, observant larl, both terrifying and beautiful.

  “But you must not understand the beauty of this form of archery as a mere cultural oddity,” he said, “or a whim of fashion like the color of sandals or the cut of a garment. Things have their purposes as well as their appeara
nces. The lifting of the bow stretches the arms, and postpones the action; this calms the heart and steadies the nerves. The grip is not clutched to waver, but the arrow, as it descends, is gently brought into harmony with the target. Then, after a moment of meditation, it is at peace with the bow, the string, and target. Then, ready, the bird takes wing.”

  “Things might be done differently,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Still,” I said, “it is beautiful.”

  “I think so,” he said, “but not merely beautiful.”

  “No,” I said, regarding the target, “I do not think it merely beautiful.”

  “Beauty need not have use,” he said. “It is its own justification, of course, the scent of the flower, the marking of the petal.”

  “True,” I said. “But nature has its contrivances. The color of the blossom, the marking of the petal, the scent of the flower attract tiny predators whose labors, unbeknownst to themselves, profit the very hosts whom they despoil.”

  “But the flower is still beautiful,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “But one must not overlook less contemplative beauties,” he said. “There are some beautiful things, even quite beautiful things, of which one might ask of what value would they be without use?”

  “The female slave,” I said.

  “Certainly,” he said. “Even barbarians understand that. Consider the women your coins fetch from the auction block. What is the value of that beauty if it is not put to use, if it is not enjoyed, ravished, owned, and mastered?”

  “True,” I said.

  “What value would be that beauty without use?”

  “What, indeed?” I said.

  “Indeed,” he said, “if such beauty were limited to mere contemplation, it would be less beautiful, even annoying, for it would issue in little but torment, and frustration.”

  “True,” I said.

  “In such respects it is quite unlike the sunset, and the flower,” he said, “on which we are content to gaze with rapturous equanimity.”

  “Quite unlike,” I said.