Rebels of Gor

by John Norman

  “Yes, chieftain san,” said he whom I had taken to be the innkeeper.

  “Attend to it,” said Arashi to some of his men, and they exited.

  As I have suggested, most exchange in the islands is done not in terms of coins, or notes, from one establishment or another on some Street of Coins, but in kind, in terms of rice, millet, fish, cloth, and such. And, although I may not have made this hitherto explicitly clear, amongst such commodities, as I suppose may be obvious, may be numbered women.

  And in war, of course, women, on the islands, and certainly on continental Gor, are accounted loot, and what loot could be lovelier, or more desirable? One of the delights and remunerations of victory is appropriating the most beautiful of the enemy’s women for your slaves, to have them collared at your feet, obedient and helpless, yours to do with as you wish.

  What man does not desire a slave?

  What man can be happy without a slave?

  And what slave can be happy without her master?

  “Master!” wept Nezumi, plaintively, and hurried to Tajima, who did not even appear to notice her.

  “Master, Master!” wept Nezumi.

  “Put her on the girl-rope, with the others,” said Arashi.

  “Master!” cried Nezumi, as she was seized by the arm and yanked to her feet, and conducted, stumbling, weeping, outside, through the main entrance, where the rice cart, now heavily laden, I supposed, was waiting.

  No sign of any expression was on the face of Tajima.

  He seemed utterly impassive.

  Arashi had one of the swords, a field sword, and, grasping the tasseled handle in two hands, divided the air with it, twice. “Whose blade is this?” he inquired.

  “Mine,” said Yasushi. “Do not befoul it.”

  “It is ill-balanced,” said Arashi.

  “Not for the hand for which it was made,” said Yasushi.

  “You and your fellow are officers,” said Arashi. “What ransom might you bring?”

  “He will bring none,” said he whom I had taken for the innkeeper, indicating Tajima. “He is ronin, a transient stranger, one with no rice giver, one with no master, one with no lord.”

  “Nor will I,” snarled Yasushi. “I wear the ropes of a bandit. I am dishonored. The shogun would have me bound, and caged with starving urts. All I ask from you is a blade, with which I might end my disgrace.”

  “Surely both might bring some ransom,” I suggested, “one as a potential recruit to the cohorts of Yamada, the other as a brave and valued constable.”

  “They are witnesses to our deeds, and faces, chieftain san,” said he whom I had taken to be an innkeeper.

  “And what of these two?” asked Arashi, indicating Haruki and myself.

  “Similarly,” said he whom I had taken to be the innkeeper.

  “I request the blade,” said Yasushi. “It is my right.”

  “We do not share codes,” said Arashi.

  “You deny it to me?” asked Yasushi.

  “Yes,” said Arashi.

  “Then I must act,” said Yasushi. “You leave me no choice. You are under arrest. You are to free me, and then you, and your band, are to return with me to the camp of Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands, to stand judgment.”

  “Are you mad?” asked Arashi.

  “No,” said Yasushi. “I have done my duty. You have been placed under arrest. The words have been spoken. The order has been issued.”

  “Brave fellow!” cried Tajima.

  “I think you are mad,” said Arashi.

  “No,” said Yasushi.

  “You think words are things,” said Arashi, “but things are things, not words. The name of water does not assuage thirst, nor the name of food fill a belly. So, too, the name of arrest does not arrest. A decree without the sword is no more than a sword without a blade. There is no law without the bow and glaive.”

  I was reminded of a saying I had heard long ago. “The laws of Cos march with the spears of Cos.”

  “What are we to do, chieftain san?” asked one of the intruders.

  “Free him,” said Arashi.

  “Chieftain san?” said a man.

  “Free him,” said Arashi. “Then strip him, and nail him to the floor.”

  “Yes, chieftain san,” said two men, hurrying to Yasushi.

  “Despicable tarsk!” cried Tajima.

  “He, too,” added Arashi.

  “I trust all is prepared outside,” said he whom I had taken for an innkeeper, “the cart ready, the girl-rope filled with its occupants.”

  “We will pause long enough to see this carpentry done,” said Arashi.

  “What of these?” asked one of the intruders, indicating Haruki and myself.

  “We shall let them observe,” said Arashi, “and then, after a time, we shall be done with them, all of them.”

  “One is of the peasantry,” said a man.

  “He made his choice,” said Arashi. “The other is a deserter, and he who deserts one cause will as promptly desert another.”

  “Yes, chieftain san,” said the man.

  He whom I had taken to be the innkeeper, nervous, clutching his hands, went to the main entrance.

  “Is all in readiness?” inquired Arashi.

  “The cart is laden,” said he whom I had taken to be the innkeeper, “and the girl-rope is in order, the sex-tarsks appropriately strung in its keeping.”

  “Good,” said Arashi.

  Yasushi was struggling in the keeping of two of the intruders. Tajima was struggling in his ropes.

  “But chieftain san,” said he whom I had taken to be an innkeeper, “I do not see your men.”

  “What?” said Arashi, looking up, quickly.

  At that moment he whom I had taken to be an innkeeper, staggered back, and fell, a long Pani arrow, thrice-fletched, buried in his heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  What Occurred Later in the Inn

  In the eating hall of the inn consternation reigned.

  Within, men looked wildly about, uncertain, weapons in hand. Some of the intruders plunged through the door leading to the kitchen, to seek the rear entrance of the inn. Shortly thereafter I heard cries of dismay, and some of death. I heard buffeting, falling, and cries of anger, and a slamming and barring of the rear entrance. No arrows flew through the front entrance. The Pani archer seldom releases his missile without a clear target. Yasushi, half unroped, but still muchly bound, his shirt torn, had an arm free, and was tearing at his ropes. His captors stood back, looking to Arashi, who looked outside, obliquely, quickly, muchly concealing his body. Another arrow struck the door jamb, quivering in place. I could see the shadow of its movement, on the other side of the jamb. “Kill them!” ordered Arashi, but the glaives of two of the three foragers warned his men away from Yasushi and Tajima, the latter helpless, but spilled to his side. Some inn girl, or, perhaps Nezumi, screamed outside. I hoped they had the common sense to fall to the dirt or conceal themselves behind the substantial shielding provided by the layers of sacks of rice. Haruki and I backed against the dragon screen which fell, and, stumbling, ruining it, fell behind it, and then struggled up, past the low table, our backs to the side of the inn. We seemed well neglected, given the tumult within, from which we were largely separated. From our position we could see the eating hall, and partly into the kitchen. One of the three foragers, their leader, was cutting the ropes from Yasushi. “We are your men, noble one!” he assured Yasushi. “Hurry!” cried Yasushi. “Hurry! And I will have you all, careless, foolish, dallying dolts, flogged in camp!”

  “Yes, noble one,” said the leader, happily, his knife parting the ropes on Yasushi’s ankles.

  One of the intruders made as though to leap on Yasushi, but the thrust of a glaive forced him back, bloodied.

  Another girl, outside, screamed.

  The leader of the foragers then addressed himself to the bonds of Tajima. I looked wildly about. Clubs and swords, knives, and one glaive, were in the grip of the intruders. Two gl
aives, alone, were interposed between a number of distraught, confused intruders and Yasushi and Tajima. I did not think two such weapons, however well wielded, could resist any organized charge or attack. Unlike the companion sword or the shorter tanto, and unlike the typical Gorean gladius, they are not intended for close work. Arashi flung shut the doors of the inn, and, as four arrows splintered half through the wood, he succeeded in barring the portal.

  “There cannot be many of them!” he cried.

  “There may be a thousand!” said a man. “They may be as leaves, as the sands of the shore!”

  “Probably there are no more than ten,” said Arashi. “Doubtless we outnumber them, even with losses!”

  I had, of course, no knowledge of what might be the case outside the inn, but it was brought home to me, forcibly, the common military strategy of confusing one’s enemies as to the nature and quantity of one’s strength. An enemy’s suspicions, and fears, often work to one’s advantage. Let him conjecture the worst.

  Were there a hundred men outside, or ten, who, concealed, shifted about and distributed their fire? Were there a hundred men outside, or ten, who applied themselves efficiently, under conditions of limited vision, on a covered bridge, in a pass, or at the rear door of an inn not far from the North Road?

  Ten men can defeat a hundred if ten attack five, and attack five again, and again.

  Even in the earliest, preserved records of war, on both Earth and Gor, it is clear that a sophisticated variety of tactics was already in place, and familiar. There are men who study war with same avidity and attention as others study the materials of the earth and the movements of the stars.

  “No more than ten!” said Arashi.

  I suspected the conjecture of Arashi was correct, but what if it were not?

  “A hundred!” speculated a fellow.

  “Ten!” shouted Arashi, angrily.

  “Ten may be warriors!” said a man.

  Obviously those outside, or some of them, had bows at their disposal. This lovely weapon was not possessed by the bandits, who, simple, ignorant men, made do, for the most part, with knives and clubs.

  Indeed, might not ten men, each with ten arrows, match even a hundred, if that hundred could not reach them, and bore but knives and clubs?

  To be sure, shooting penned verr is poor sport.

  “If there are many,” said Arashi, “let them try to enter!”

  A few men might hold a bridge, a pass, a threshold.

  “In darkness,” he said, “we will rush forth, and break, and scatter!”

  “There will be watch fires,” said a man.

  “We will bear tables,” said Arashi, “and, so shielded, sustain the first volley, and then disappear in the darkness.”

  “There may be many,” said a man.

  “If there were many,” said Arashi, “they would force the doors.”

  Arashi, I thought, was shrewd. I thought he knew more of war than would be expected of a peasant, and bandit.

  I also supposed that he would be aware of another possibility. To be sure, it was one he would be likely to keep to himself. It would not hearten his men.

  “I smell smoke!” cried a man.

  I could hear a fierce crackling from above.

  “The roof is on fire!” screamed a bandit.

  I could not see the fire, for the sleeping loft, reachable at one end of the eating hall by a ladder, but I could hear it, and, shortly thereafter, began to feel the heat, and the burning of the air.

  Some of the bandits were in the kitchen, by the rear entrance, which they had blocked. Most, seven, not counting their leader, Arashi, were in the eating hall. They stood about, confused, frightened. At the side of the eating hall, backed against the wall, now unthreatened, perhaps forgotten in the distress and tumult, were Tajima and the constable, Yasushi. Both were unarmed. The foragers, two with glaives, the other with a drawn knife, were still between them and the bandits. Tajima was looking about, wildly. Well did the young warrior recognize the imminent danger, which was not at all limited to the blades and clubs of bandits. Yasushi had his eyes fixed on Arashi. He opened and closed his fists, as though he would that a weapon might somehow appear in them.

  Arashi swept his hand toward Tajima, Yasushi, and the foragers. “Kill them!” he cried.

  The bandits milled, wavering.

  Who would be the first to fling himself upon the brandished glaives of determined Ashigaru?

  Yet, I was sure the bandits, despite the danger, and despite their fear, and their dread of the unknown quantity of the forces outside, would respond to Arashi’s command.

  Indeed, given their misery and confusion I thought they might have been willing to respond to any order addressed to them with sufficient authority, perhaps by anyone.

  The two glaives and the knife, I was sure, could not withstand a concerted attack of several desperate men.

  “Kill them!” cried Arashi, again.

  “Come back!” cried Haruki. But by the time he called out, from back where we had been standing, ill at ease, apprehensive, observant, unobtrusive, even discounted, against the wall, I was across the room. The nearest bandit, poised to attack, facing the foragers, had no time to react. He had barely lifted his head, startled, trying to register the sound, the possible movement, behind him, when the weight of my shoulders struck against the back of his knees, and he pitched backward, suddenly, awkwardly, forcibly, miserably, half paralyzed. I was on my feet. I jammed my heel down on his throat. His blade, a field sword, that purloined from Tajima, was loose in his hand. I stomped on his wrist and the hilt was free, and then, with a sweeping kick, I slid the loose blade across the floor, between the Ashigaru, to Yasushi, who seized it up with a cry of elation.

  I crouched down, my hands tied behind me.

  I was not attacked.

  Two of the bandits, like sheaves of wheat, reeled back, cut from the path of the exultant Yasushi. The others drew back. One threw his blade to the floor.

  I could hear the fire roar through the roof, above the sleeping loft. I heard a plank fall. Near the ladder I could see sparks. The sleeping loft, once the fire reached the straw matting, would erupt with flame.

  Arashi turned, wildly, seeing Yasushi, armed. He brought up his own field sword and blocked the fierce blow which might have taken his head. His own attempt to strike was turned aside, smartly, twice, by Yasushi, almost indifferently.

  “Do not fear,” said Yasushi. “I want you alive.”

  “Die!” cried Arashi, rushing upon him, flailing.

  “I fear,” said Yasushi, “you cannot touch me.”

  “Ai!” cried Arashi, in pain.

  “But I can touch you,” said Yasushi.

  Arashi winced, drawing back, his shirt bright with blood.

  The four bandits in the eating hall, left of the seven, fled from the hall into the kitchen.

  “Flee,” they cried to their fellows blockading the door.

  “Arrows!” cried one, protestingly.

  “A warrior, a warrior inside, is armed,” cried one of the fugitives from the eating hall.

  “It is a larl, a larl with fangs of steel,” wept a man. “It is loose!”

  “Unbar the door. Escape!” cried another.

  Tajima, securing a companion sword from one of the fallen bandits, severed the bonds on my wrists. They parted easily, almost falling away from the blade. Such a blade, lifted, can divide silk.

  I heard the heavy wooden bars removed from their mounts at the back door to the inn. Crates, too, which had been piled against the door, were cast aside. I heard an arrow splinter into the door.

  I did not know what lay without, in the back, but I did not envy the miserable, fear-stricken bandits who, crying out, burst outward, buffeting one another, into the sunlight.

  The three foragers, now each with a glaive, stood back.

  Arashi and Yasushi had the main room, the eating hall, muchly to themselves.

  The inn grew hot.

  Smok
e was about, like cruel, dark, dry air.

  I retrieved the tanto which had been taken from me, from one of the two bandits whom Yasushi had scarcely noticed, acknowledging them merely with two dismissive gestures of steel. I then relieved Haruki of his bonds.

  “Behold Yasushi!” exclaimed Tajima. “See the swordwork. The man is a master!”

  Yasushi, now, was doing no more than playing with the desperate, half-frenzied Arashi.

  “We must depart the inn,” I said. “When the roof falls it may take the loft with it, and the ceiling will cave in.”

  Haruki was coughing.

  He was far from the pleasantries, the colors and perfumes, of his garden.

  “That man is a master!” said Tajima, awed.

  “Let us leave,” I said.

  “But who is without?” said Tajima.

  “It does not much matter,” I said.

  A crash came from above.

  “The roof falls!” I said.

  Hopefully the loft floor would hold, if only long enough for us to make our escape.

  There was a great, crackling roar of flames above, and a new wave of heat, and I could see the brightness above through the cracks in the ceiling, cracks I had not even noticed until now, until they were bright with light.

  “Kill me!” pleaded Arashi.

  “I want you alive,” said Yasushi.

  I did not know the fate of the bandits who had exited the inn through the rear entrance, nor, indeed, those whom the fellow I had taken for the innkeeper had failed to discern, when he had thought to inquire into the preparations for departure.

  Yasushi then struck the blade from the hand of Arashi, who then stood before him, weary, bleeding, unarmed.

  “You are under arrest,” said Yasushi.