by John Norman
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Dragon has Flown
“I have not heard guards outside, for several days,” said Tajima.
Substantially, we had not left our small redoubt since what we took to be the last passage hand. We had occasionally, glaives ready, opened the door briefly, to reconnoiter the corridor, which led to the main corridor on the western side of the palace. We had opened the door the first time on the second day of our isolation, near the twentieth Ahn, both to reconnoiter and to rid ourselves of the bodies of the two dead Kurii. We trusted that, at that time, little would be known of what, if anything, had transpired within the chamber of the Kurii. Whereas it would be known that we were no longer in our respective incarceration chambers and had neutralized two Ashigaru near the corridor entrance, little else would be known. For example, little was known at that time other than the fact that the door to the chamber of the Kurii was secured and that the iron dragon had flown north, presumably on its mission to deal out destruction to the holding of Temmu. Thus, from the point of view of Lord Yamada, it seemed his plans were being implemented although the Kurii were surely unresponsive. As the iron dragon was in flight, it seemed all was well from his point of view, that of the self-proclaimed Shogun of the Islands. And who but Kurii might manage the enormous mechanical beast? Who else might risk bringing such a dreadful thing forth from its lair? Who else might dare to pilot such a thing? And who else would have the skills to do so? Most likely it would be supposed that we had failed to obtain an entrance to the chamber of the Kurii, and had fled elsewhere. Perhaps we had obtained an entrance to the chamber of the Kurii and had perished within, and perhaps had been eaten. Some Kurii do feed on human. It is not that they are cannibals, no more than a human could be considered a cannibal if he fed on verr or tarsk. And if the Kurii were unresponsive, who would be so rash, at least upon reflection, to reprimand so large, unpredictable, and dangerous a form of life?
So, the first time we had opened the door, near the twentieth Ahn on the second night of our stay in the chamber, we had propped up the bodies of the two Kurii, with boards, behind the door, so it would appear, at first, they were standing in the portal. We then opened the door. As the corridor was still dark, as before, the apparent will of the Kurii was still being respected, that of the darkened corridor.
As we had met with no opposition, and encountered no sign of our enemy, we eased the two carcasses, supported as they were, outside the door. No dozens of arrows thudded into the bodies. We then returned to the chamber and closed and barred the door.
“This ruse will not be long effective,” had said Pertinax.
“Perhaps until morning,” I had said.
“The corridor was dark,” said Tajima. “There was no arrow fire.”
“Lamps will be brought,” I said. “An inquiry will be made.”
Although the two bodies had been arranged so as to suggest the semblance of life, an appearance which might be maintained almost indefinitely in the dark, even a casual perusal under better conditions, even from a distance, would quickly dispel that illusion.
We thought it unwise, as well as noisome, to keep the bodies longer in the chamber.
“There is no sign of the men of Yamada,” had said Tajima.
“They are there, about, somewhere,” I had said.
“Can they get at us in here?” had asked Tajima.
“Eventually,” I said. “Not immediately.”
“There is food and water,” said Pertinax.
“Too,” I said, “this chamber has been designed to resist forcible entry.”
“How long will it be until they realize what has happened?” asked Tajima.
“On foot,” I said, “days, but there will be message vulos, and Yamada has two tarns, one flown by Tyrtaios. If one or both are at the front, it will be much as with the message vulos.”
“Do you think he knows now?” said Tajima.
“Probably not,” I said.
“By morning?” said Pertinax.
“He should at least suspect by morning,” I said.
“And when he knows?” said Pertinax.
“Then,” I had said, “there will be lamps in the corridor.”
This conversation had taken place, as suggested, days ago. There were now lamps in the corridor. The two dead Kurii had been dragged away by noon of the day following their placement. They were doubtless buried by now. The Pani tend to be fastidious about such things.
* * *
“It is amazing,” had said Pertinax, turning back from the observation port, “you can fly the monstrosity.”
“A dragon, in its way,” I said, “can be beautiful, like a storm or fire.”
“Jane is beautiful,” he said.
“And Saru?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” he said.
“I think,” I said, “that at one time you would have thought her the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“I was not then familiar with Gorean slaves,” he said.
“She is now a Gorean slave,” I said.
“A common slave,” he said.
“Of course,” I said.
“One amongst countless others,” he said.
“But perhaps you would like to own her, the former Miss Margaret Wentworth, now a Gorean slave, and have her subject to your whip,” I said.
“How is it that you can manage the device?” he said.
“In bondage,” I said, “even a formerly plain woman can be beautiful.”
I supposed this had to do with their then being in their place in nature, being owned and subject to a master.
“Margaret Wentworth,” he said, “was mercenary, shallow, cheap, arrogant, dishonest, and untrustworthy.”
“And beautiful,” I said.
“Not bad looking,” he said.
“And she is now in a collar, on Gor,” I said.
“At least now,” he said, “she has some value, what men will pay for her.”
“And what would you pay for her?” I asked.
“A tarsk-bit,” he said, “would be too much.”
“Scarcely,” I said.
“I do not see how you can control the dragon,” he said.
“The central sphere is the major control device,” I said. “I am familiar with sphere-guidance from a different venue, a different place, a different time. We shall experiment with the recessed switches when we are in the open, and less likely to be observed.”
“Still,” he said, “I am impressed.”
“Remember,” I said, “these controls have been designed for a visually oriented organism, and one presumably unfamiliar with the technology involved. Accordingly, they are designed to be easily understood and conveniently manipulated.”
“What is this business about a visually oriented organism?” he said.
“Nothing,” I said.
“I see,” he said.
I pointed to one of the six screens. “That is the northern road,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“What is your plan, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” asked Tajima.
“We shall fly north,” I said, “and greet the garrison of the holding of Temmu, and then we shall be about our business.”
“And what is our business?” asked Tajima.
“The imperilment of the house of Yamada,” I said.
“How long will it take to reach the holding of Temmu?” asked Pertinax.
“On foot, days, on tarnback, several Ahn,” I said. “I expect that the dragon, if urgency were involved, could manage the matter in less than two Ahn, perhaps in a single Ahn.”
“If urgency were involved?” said Pertinax.
“It is not,” I said. “It is enough if we simply move with some swiftness, bringing to those on the ground some sense of the speed and power of the dragon.”
“You are bargaining for maximum visibility,” said Pertinax.
“The more the better,” I said. “But, of course, of brief extent.”
“As a cloud,” said Tajima, “swiftly on its way, portending a storm.”
“You freed Arashi,” I said, “in the great road camp.”
“I do not know if he managed to escape the camp,” said Tajima.
“You spoke to him of the peasantry?” I said.
“Of course,” said Tajima, “but only in allusions. I did not negotiate. I would not insult him, nor incite him.”
“You bestowed his freedom as a gift,” I said.
“Yes,” said Tajima.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He accepted it, and said nothing, and slipped away,” said Tajima.
“He is an ungrateful, worthless cutthroat,” said Pertinax.
“The peasant is conniving and greedy,” said Tajima. “He is to be kept in his place with edged steel.”
“But you freed Arashi,” I said.
“One does something, and then one must wait to learn what one has done,” said Tajima. “Is it not always the case?”
“The peasantry is a great beast,” said Pertinax. “It is slow to wake, but dangerous when hungry and afoot.”
“Under what conditions does the beast wake?” I asked.
“One supposes,” said Tajima, “in times of destruction, of chaos and disorder.”
“I think so,” I said.
“And then,” said Pertinax, “after the fire and the wind, the prowling and rending, the beast returns to its den, and once more there are only peasants, the beast forgotten, and the cycle begins again, the begetting and feeding, the living and dying, the planting, the tending, and harvesting.”
We then continued on, in our flight, though we did not leave the small room, the vicinity of the simple console.
I think perhaps two Ahn elapsed.
“You will try the recessed switches?” said Tajima.
“Why not, now?” I said.
“Now?” said Pertinax.
“I will orient the dragon,” I said, “toward the sea to the east.”
“Ai!” cried Tajima.
“And now the other,” I said.
“This thing is hideous,” said Tajima. “It must be destroyed!”
Although we were placidly ensconced in a small room in the palace of Lord Yamada, we could sense from the screens, the shuddering of the dragon, as, first, a torrent of fire appeared on the forward screen, and, a moment later, it seemed a stream of light sped away, diminishing in the distance.
“What is that?” asked Pertinax.
“I do not know,” I said. “I think it may be the trail of a projectile.”
“When the dragon attacked the holding of Temmu, a wall was shattered,” said Tajima.
“That suggests a projectile of some sort,” I said.
“This is a terrible thing,” said Tajima. “We must destroy it.”
“First,” I said, “the cause of Yamada must find itself beneath the shadow of its wings.”
“Then!” said Tajima.
“Then,” I said, “one must be very careful. One cannot simply crash it, or the secret of the dragon will be publicly revealed, that it is a mere contrivance.”
“Take it to sea,” said Pertinax, “and let the waves conceal it.”
“The device conceals a forbidden technology,” I said. “It must be armed in such a way, some way, to protect this technology from discovery and imitation.”
“I would not be the one to try that door,” said Pertinax.
“No,” I said. “The device would doubtless self-destruct and simultaneously destroy its unwise interrogator.”
“So, simply crash it into the sea,” said Pertinax.
“That may be too obvious, and too simple, my dear friend,” I said.
“How so?” said Pertinax.
“Kurii,” I said, “have designed gigantic habitats in space, which house the remnants of warring communities, races or nations. They are familiar with weapons of enormous power. They are the masters of space flight. Surely they might use sophisticated devices to locate and retrieve a large object fallen into the sea. The arming devices, assuming they exist, as seems likely, might perhaps, with sufficient ingenuity, be neutralized. Indeed, perhaps the very waters of Thassa herself might, after an Ehn, or after months or years, disarm the defensive devices presumably implanted in the machine. I, for one, do not know.”
“What then is to be done?” asked Pertinax.
“If you were the masters of this technology,” I said, “what would you do?”
“What?” said Pertinax.
“I would keep within my means the capacity of destroying it, remotely.”
“Why would they do this?” asked Pertinax.
“Do you think they would trust Kurii?” I asked.
“No,” said Pertinax.
“Doubtless the surveillance of those responsible for this technology is neither universal nor perfect,” I said, “but I would think they, or, more likely, some small group involved in this matter, would have the means, electronic or otherwise, of tracking the dragon.”
“Perhaps,” said Pertinax.
“Would you give a loaded gun to a blood enemy?” I asked.
“No,” said Pertinax.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I would be afraid he would turn it on me,” said Pertinax.
“And therein,” I said, “I think, lies the solution of our problem.”
“I am not sure I understand,” said Pertinax.
“Behold the front screen,” said Tajima.
“There, in the distance,” said Pertinax, “it is the holding of Temmu!”
“Below,” I said, “is the south siege camp, that to the south of the holding.”
“It is large,” said Tajima.
“So, too, was the road camp to which we were taken by Kazumitsu,” I said. “Other camps will be strategically located, to enable the encirclement of the mountain of the holding. The wharves, too, will be guarded, to prevent an escape by sea, even in small boats.”
“Eventually,” said Pertinax, “the holding is doomed.”
“The dragon has not yet spoken,” I said.
“See the trenches, the earthen walls, the redoubts, the guard posts,” said Tajima.
“Yamada’s generals,” I said, “prior to the arrival of the dragon, might well fear a sortie from the holding.”
“The dragon has now arrived,” said Pertinax.
Such sorties from a besieged holding, city, or such, providing a sufficient number of troops is available, are not that uncommon. There have been numerous instances not only of the clash of armies before walled, besieged cities, sometimes almost daily, often involving challenges and conflicts of champions, but there is always the danger of destructive, nocturnal raids, designed to burn tents and spread panic, or, often, to disable or destroy siege engines, siege towers, and such. To be sure, in the present instance, siege towers were impractical, given the height and steepness of the escarpment surmounted by the holding of Temmu. Too, the garrison of the holding, given its slightness, would be unlikely to mount a sortie in force. Still the threat of raids, almost certainly under the cover of darkness, would not be discounted by the generals of Lord Yamada. Too, walls, trenches, frequent watch fires, and guards would be likely to minimize the escape from the holding of even small numbers of individuals. In short, under familiar circumstances, the almost impregnable security of the holding and the relative slightness of its garrison, one would expect a prolonged siege, perhaps for years, until hunger and thirst would force either the garrison to capitulate or the enveloping forces to withdraw. In such a situation, of course, the enveloping forces are likely to have the advantage, given the extent of their logistical base and the openness and stability of their supply lines. But, as before, one cannot always count on familiar circumstances. As earlier, the cavalry had forced the lifting of the siege, so now, it seemed, the iron dragon might render it unnecessary, demolishing the holding.
“What are you doing?” asked Tajima.
“At low altitude
,” I said, “I am going to circle the south camp, and the nearby siege works, three times.”
“Maximum visibility?” said Pertinax.
“Maximum effect,” I said. “People see with their hearts, with their fears and hopes, their beliefs and expectations, as well as their eyes. Seeing is a mysterious, complex business; it is not a matter of just opening one’s eyes. An identical image may strike terror into one fellow and hearten and inspire another. One fellow may see what is not there, wanting to see it, and another not see what is there, even before him, as he does not want to see it.”
“Some are fleeing,” said Pertinax.
“Others are being rallied by officers,” said Tajima.
“Many, now,” said Pertinax, “seem to acclaim us, waving to us, lifting banners, brandishing glaives, as though to urge us on.”
“It is much as it was at the palace of Yamada,” said Tajima.
“They must remember the dragon’s attack on the holding,” said Pertinax.
“Even so,” I said, “many will fear the dragon. Who can look into the heart of a dragon?”
“As you do not attack, and continue to circle,” said Tajima, “surely many will lose their fear, and see the dragon as their ally, a monstrous beast who spreads its wings on behalf of the house of Yamada.”
“That is my hope,” I said.
“What if this hope, this optimism, this confidence, were to be dashed?” asked Tajima.
“Yes,” I said, “what then?”
“You do war with the mind,” said Pertinax.
“The mind is a dangerous weapon,” I said. “It is never to be discounted.”
* * *
Following the benign display of the dragon over the vast, southern camp, which we took, from its location, its proximity to the northern road, facilitating communications with, and the movement of supplies from, Yamada’s heartland, to be the headquarters of the besieging forces, we moved, in a similarly serene and stately manner toward the holding of Temmu. It was easy for us to suppose the trepidation with which the garrison of the holding might view the dragon’s approach, particularly given its earlier attack on the holding. That earlier attack, of course, had been more in the nature of a demonstration than an assault in earnest. Its purpose had been little more than to convince the house of Temmu that the dragon was dangerous, powerful, irresistible, and flew for Yamada. Now, however, the negotiations, the terms for surrender, the supposed guarantees of safety for the garrison, and such, had been concluded. The shogun, Temmu, and his daimyos, Lords Nishida and Okimoto, predictably, had refused to evacuate the holding. Lord Yamada’s ultimatum had been issued, and rejected, and this now was the third day, toward noon, following the rejection of the ultimatum, the day on which the iron dragon was to take to the sky. The holding would be his, or it would cease to exist, had said Lord Yamada. Walls will crumble, the mountaintop will be black, ashes will blow out to sea, he had said. I could see the rationale of this decision. Lord Temmu would destroy the holding before allowing it to fall into the hands of Lord Yamada. That being the case, why might not the iron dragon strike? Surely Lord Yamada would not care for the inconvenience, the delay, and the economic hardships of maintaining a second siege, perhaps lasting years, to obtain a prize which would be destroyed before it could be grasped.