Rebels of Gor

by John Norman

  “The roof?” said Pertinax.

  “The roof was visible from afar,” I said. “The dragon or, more likely, its housing would have been evident, when we scouted the palace from a distance.”

  “One of its wings would not fit in this place,” said Tajima.

  “It must be here,” said Pertinax. “There must be a secret panel, leading to an adjoining chamber, one cavernous in nature, one where the walls might draw back, that it might fly.”

  “Search then for such a vast chamber,” I said. “But I do not think you will find it.”

  “It must be here, somehow adjoined with this chamber,” said Pertinax.

  “I do not think so,” I said. “While I was Lord Yamada’s guest, I examined the palace with care, not simply to familiarize myself with the premises, but to seek avenues of escape, and note points of possible attack. I recall no such space. I had hoped the corridor which was sealed away and guarded, that to which I had no access, might lead to such a space, the dragon’s cave, but it does not.”

  “There must be a secret panel,” said Pertinax.

  “Search for it then,” I said.

  Pertinax began to examine the walls, even the floor, with care.

  “It is nearly dawn,” said Pertinax.

  “The iron dragon is to fly at dawn,” said Tajima. “We will be unable to stop it.”

  “The trussed Ashigaru will shortly be discovered,” said Pertinax.

  “Doubtless, by now,” said Tajima.

  “The door,” I said, “will hold indefinitely.”

  “And we are trapped within,” said Tajima.

  “I had thought the housing for the device would be accessed from the corridor,” I said.

  “But it is not here,” said Pertinax.

  “So it is obviously elsewhere,” said Tajima.

  “Of course, it need not be here!” I said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Pertinax.

  “Continue to search for your panel,” I said. “It exists.”

  “I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

  “It is here, in this secret, guarded place, we encountered the beasts,” I said.

  “Yes?” said Tajima.

  “They must be its technicians, its controllers, its operators,” I said.

  “That is likely, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

  “Dawn,” I said, “is at hand, perhaps moments away.”

  “And the beasts were here,” said Tajima.

  “Precisely,” I said.

  “The dragon need not be here,” said Pertinax.

  “But it must be controlled from here!” said Tajima.

  “Search!” I said. “Let us all search for the panel!”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The Secret Room;

  What Was Found Within the Secret Room

  “It must be dawn,” said Tajima.

  “Almost,” I said. “Go, see!”

  On the side of the chamber, on the wall, facing west, there was a steel-shuttered aperture which Tajima slid back. The opening was small, a matter of horts. It was, however, apparently, the only direct access the chamber had to view the outside.

  “It is dark,” said Tajima.

  “You are facing west,” said Pertinax.

  “It may be dawn,” I said.

  Gor, as Earth, rotates toward the east.

  Toward the rear of the chamber, fixed in the wall to the right, as one would enter, Pertinax had located a small metal object, circular, less than a hort in diameter, covered with a mesh of fine wire.

  “I see nothing inexplicable, or anomalous, other than this,” had said Pertinax.

  “That has to be it,” I had said. “The lever, the switch, the key!”

  “It would meaningless to most Goreans,” said Tajima.

  “By intention,” I said.

  “I have tried to turn it, I have pressed it,” said Pertinax.

  “But,” I said, “my dear friend, you have not talked to it.”

  “What?” he said.

  “It looks, does it not,” I said, “like a receiver, or small microphone?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I wager,” I said, “that is, in effect, what it is. The panel is voice-sensitive. Some message in Kur would spring the lock and open the panel.”

  “Ela!” moaned Pertinax. “We are lost.”

  “Not at all,” I said, “you have succeeded splendidly. This victory is yours!”

  “We do not know Kur,” said Tajima.

  “But the panel has been found,” I had said. “Fetch the Kur ax, and help me, both of you, one after the other, to wield it.”

  Four or five feet of the wall had soon splintered apart, and collapsed, before us, succumbing to the attentions of the great ax. I yanked boards aside and revealed a small room, containing what appeared to be a console of sorts, and, behind it, a large frame, in which were mounted six viewing panels.

  “Now,” said Pertinax, “we use the ax, and destroy these things.”

  “Not yet,” I said. “That would not harm the dragon.”

  “It would be inoperative,” said Pertinax.

  “Temporarily,” I said.

  “Better that than nothing,” said Pertinax.

  “Compared to the dragon,” I said, “I am sure the control devices are relatively simple, and possibly easily replaced.”

  “You do not know that,” said Pertinax.

  “No,” I said. “And I may be wrong. But I think the dragon itself is the target of interest.”

  “We do not know where the dragon is,” said Tajima.

  “No,” I said, “but I am certain it is controlled from here.”

  “Destroy the control apparatus,” said Pertinax. “We have the ax. We can do at least that.”

  “Later,” I said.

  “At least the dragon will not fly at dawn,” said Pertinax.

  “I hope it will,” I said, sliding onto the bench before the console.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Tajima.

  “I hope,” I said, “—release the dragon.”

  “Do not trifle with these things,” said Pertinax. “They may be armed.”

  “Withdraw,” I suggested.

  “No,” said Pertinax.

  “No, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

  “You were ready,” I said to Pertinax, “to strike it with an ax.”

  Pertinax was silent.

  “This equipment,” I said, “has been designed to be operated by Kurii, a visually oriented organism presumably unfamiliar with the technology internal to the dragon. I have no doubt that an attempt to examine that technology would be dangerous to the highest degree. Priest-Kings do not care to share secrets on which the fate of worlds may hang. This control apparatus, however, I suspect, is not armed. That precaution would not be necessary, and it might, if accidentally triggered, bring the entire mission of the iron dragon to naught. Further, I suspect we have nothing here which exceeds the technology of the Kurii themselves, and nothing here, by intent, which an average Kur, or human, cannot manage.”

  “Can you manage it?” asked Pertinax.

  “Possibly,” I said. “The board is very simple. There are only a few switches. There must be a way of opening the dragon’s gate, so to speak, of activating the dragon itself, of opening its eyes, so to speak, and so on.”

  “How is it to be guided, controlled?” asked Tajima.

  “That is the easiest,” I said. “By its reins.”

  “It has no reins, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

  “They are here,” I said, “embedded in the board, this mounted sphere. Long ago, in a distant place,” I said, “I utilized something much like this.”

  I needed not speak to them of the great nest in the Sardar, nor of the Nest War, nor of the fierce aerial battles within those mighty chambers, nor of transportation disks and flame tubes.

  “And this lever, given its curved, linear housing,” I said, “I suspect will activate t
he dragon, and regulate its speed.”

  “But it seemed to breathe fire and it could blast walls,” said Tajima.

  “Like a gun,” I said, “pointed to its target.”

  “And where is the trigger?” asked Pertinax.

  “I do not know,” I said, “but consider these two switches on the right, in their recesses. There is no danger of accidentally tripping them. That is interesting, is it not?”

  “One for a torrent of fire, one for missiles, or rays, of a sort?” said Pertinax.

  “In any event,” I said, “we will not try them unless we are successful in getting our dragon out of its cave and into the open air. There is no point in turning its hanger or housing into a furnace or a shambles of debris.”

  “There are six small spheres in what appear to be cups,” said Pertinax, pointing to the board, “and each sphere has what seems to be a dial next to it. What is all that for?”

  “I do not know,” I said, “but as there are six spheres and six dials, I would suppose it has to do with the six viewing screens.”

  We then heard a pounding on the heavy iron portal, probably from the butts of glaives.

  “The guards have been found, and released,” said Tajima.

  “It sounds so,” I said.

  We could also hear shouting from behind the door.

  “It must be dawn, by now,” said Pertinax.

  “Lord Yamada must be furious,” said Pertinax.

  “I doubt that he is informed, as yet,” I said. “I expect, rather, he is ensconced in some coign of vantage, where he is eagerly awaiting the flight of the iron dragon. Indeed, I think I know the place.”

  “Surely, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “we must not keep the shogun waiting.”

  I threw one switch.

  “At least the chamber did not explode,” said Pertinax.

  “Nothing happened,” said Tajima.

  “I am sure something happened,” I said. “The first switch in order presumably either activates the screens or opens the dragon gate, so to speak. Since the screens are not activated, namely, the dragon has not yet opened its eyes, I am hoping the dragon is free to fly, that the gate has been opened, or the roof rolled back, or such.”

  “Try the second switch,” said Pertinax.

  I threw the second switch.

  “Nothing happened, again,” said Tajima.

  “Something happened,” I said. “I am sure. I can feel the tremor in the board. Too, listen, carefully.”

  “It is a soft hum,” said Tajima.

  “I am sure the dragon is activated,” I said.

  “But motionless?” said Pertinax.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “Try the third switch,” said Pertinax.

  “Ah!” cried Tajima, pleased.

  “There!” said Pertinax.

  “The sky, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman!” said Tajima.

  We could see clouds.

  “And rock walls all about, and even what must be the floor, as of a cave!” said Pertinax.

  “Our dragon has opened its eyes,” I said.

  “Its six eyes,” said Tajima.

  “But it will seem, and act, as if it has but two,” I said. “That would contribute to the illusion.”

  “Can you control it?” asked Pertinax.

  “I think so,” I said. “In any event we shall soon know.”

  I did not think there would be much difficulty beyond this point, at least with controlling the movements of the dragon. One used the sphere for orientation, as one had with a transportation disk, and the other switch, that associated with the sphere, analogous to a throttle, to regulate power.

  “What is the role of the six spheres and the six dials?” asked Pertinax.

  “Our mystery controls,” I said.

  “Those,” he said.

  “Let us see,” I said.

  “Ah!” said Tajima.

  I had lightly rotated the sphere which I, for my convenience, would think of as Sphere One, in its recess, or cup. It was obviously associated with the side camera to the left. Manipulating the sphere then, as I determined, oriented the camera, changing the screen from the default position to a selected position, say more to the left or right, higher or lower, and such.

  “What are the dials for?” asked Pertinax.

  “We shall soon know,” I said.

  “Wonderful,” said Pertinax.

  The dials regulated the magnification of the image on the pertinent screen. Depending on the use made of the dial, altering the default setting on the camera, either the field was reduced and the image magnified, or the field was enlarged and individual images were reduced.

  “One could read a banner at a pasang,” said Tajima.

  “But little else at the time,” I said.

  “What are we going to do now, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” said Tajima.

  “Now,” I said, “we are going to release a dragon.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The Dragon has Spread Its Wings

  “It is in flight!” cried Pertinax. “I see it!” He stood before the small, steel-shuttered aperture, the metal panel slid back, which provided the only direct visual access to the outside.

  “Let me see,” said Tajima, and Pertinax stepped aside.

  “I can see the palace,” I said, “on the screen. It is less than a pasang to my east.”

  “‘Your east’?” said Pertinax. “You are in the palace.”

  “To the east of the dragon,” I said.

  One thinks of oneself from a certain perspective, that natural to an organism. Is one not always behind the phenomena, so to speak? Is the world not always conveniently at hand, about one as usual? Is one not always, for example, the center of the visual field? Suppose, then, your sensory experiences were somehow dissociated from their common site. Would it not then be natural, almost immediately, to psychologically situate yourself in accord with the coercions of custom and familiarity? Though I knew myself in a small room, in the palace of an island shogun, I had much the sense of oneness with the enormous beast through whose eyes, so to speak, I was experiencing the world. It was not so much that I seemed within it, as a pilot might be within an airborne vehicle, or even as though it might be a body, which I might temporarily inhabit, but rather it seemed as though it was I, myself. I seemed not so much within it, as it, it itself.

  “I shall bring it about,” I said. “I am going to circle the palace, three times, slowly, in a stately fashion, at a low altitude. I want the dragon to be visible, unforgettably visible to as many as possible.”

  “There is the fifth level, the compartments on the western side of the palace,” said Pertinax.

  “That is where you are,” I said.

  “There is the courtyard, the exercise yard, the archery range, the barracks, the work sheds, the stadium,” said Pertinax.

  “I know the stadium,” said Tajima.

  “That is the location of the eel pool,” I said to Pertinax.

  “Guards, Ashigaru, officers, are about,” said Tajima.

  “This is the first time most of them will have looked upon the dragon,” I said.

  “Many are awed,” said Pertinax. “Many cover their eyes.”

  “Others wave, and cry out, eagerly, and smile, and run beneath it, even in its shadow,” said Tajima.

  “Would you not rejoice,” I asked, “in the presence of so mighty an ally?”

  “The iron dragon flies for Yamada,” said Tajima.

  “That is their supposition,” I said. “At a given point, I shall hover. There! Examine the screen to the left, as I adjust the camera and increase the magnification.”

  “Lord Yamada!” said Pertinax.

  “On the balcony of observation,” I said. “I thought he would observe, and presumably from such a place. Indeed, it was there that I was displayed long ago, that any concern the cavalry might have entertained with respect to my welfare might be dispelled.”

  “He is in full ceremonial reg
alia,” said Tajima.

  “I suspect,” I said, “that this brief encounter, or something like it, that of dragon and shogun, would have been prearranged.”

  “Those with him,” said Tajima, “seem to be crying out. Banners are lifted. Swords are raised in salute.”

  “They are probably cheering,” I said, “but we cannot hear them.”

  “The dragon,” said Tajima, “has spread its wings.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  The wings, of course, given the technology involved, were not necessary for flight, though I supposed they might provide some lift. They did move in flight, giving the illusion of propelling the great, mysterious, aerial beast. Do not all dragons have vast, fearful batlike wings? In a sense then, the wings were quite essential, to convey the illusion. Indeed, lacking wings, or seeming wings, this remarkable machine might not have been instantly identified, in the minds of thousands, with the fabled iron dragon of legend. In the psychology of war such a thing might rout armies.

  “Lord Yamada raises his hand,” said Pertinax.

  “Rather grandly,” I said.

  “What is a state without theater?” said Pertinax.

  “Do not object,” I said. “Men often live in terms of symbols and gestures.”

  “And die similarly,” said Pertinax.

  “Yes,” I said. “And worthily. What else so ennobles life? Without his symbols and gestures man has only the dumb succession of pointless seasons, the repetitive, meaningless cycles of insects, the vacuous rootings and ruttings of tarsks.”

  “He sweeps his hand toward the north,” said Tajima.

  “He is sending us on our way,” said Pertinax.

  “Then,” I said, “we had best be gone.”

  “I suppose,” said Pertinax, “with a bit of experimenting, we might blast the observation balcony off the wall of the palace.”

  “Probably,” I said, “but our business lies in the north.”

  “What is in the north?” asked Pertinax.

  “Yamada’s armies,” I said, “his camps and siege works.”

  “He thinks the dragon will destroy the holding of Temmu,” said Pertinax.

  “Let us suppose he is mistaken,” I said.

  I then slowly oriented the dragon toward the north. I would fly relatively low, and relatively slowly for a time, even, now and then, deviating from a direct route, that the nearby towns and villages might note our flight. Then, after a time, I found the northern road, and opened the throttle, so to speak, and, marked on the appropriate screen, the ground below rapidly slipped away.