Rebels of Gor

by John Norman

  Dalliance was unacceptable.

  “Terror courses the walls of the holding,” said Tajima.

  “We will circle, three times,” I said, “as we did at the southern camp.”

  “Some flee,” said Pertinax, “seeking shelter. In the courtyard some fists are raised, and shaken. Others threaten us with futile weapons.”

  “I see arrows looping upward,” said Tajima.

  “Some may strike the dragon,” I said, “but we will be unaware of the sound of such contacts.”

  “Had they Yamada’s great bow, that in the valley, its missiles might reach us,” said Pertinax.

  “But without effectiveness,” I said. “The hide of the dragon is plated with scales of steel. It would be as unavailing as an angry, absurd straw flung against a cliff of stone.”

  “Perhaps they will raise the banners of truce, and beg for mercy,” said Pertinax.

  “No,” said Tajima. “They are warriors.”

  “Still,” said Pertinax.

  “They are pledged to their daimyos,” I said, “and their daimyos to the shogun.”

  “Still,” said Pertinax.

  “What mercy,” I said, “the mercy of Yamada?”

  “True,” said Pertinax, grimly.

  “And who,” asked Tajima, “would sue a dragon for mercy?”

  “Perhaps Lord Temmu will engage the cavalry,” said Pertinax.

  “The cavalry is no longer a minion of the house of Temmu,” I said. “It is an independent arm, a sovereign force.”

  “It may be committed,” said Tajima, “even if the engagement be suicidal.”

  “At best,” said Pertinax, “the cavalry could do little more than attack the cameras, little more than blind the dragon.”

  “The success of such an attack would be unlikely,” I said, “if the dragon chose to defend itself. Too, I would suspect that the cameras are either shielded or inconspicuous.”

  “Still,” said Tajima, “the cavalry might fling itself upon the dragon, however madly, however futilely.”

  “It will not do so,” I said. “Before leaving the holding, on our venture south, I transmitted orders to Torgus and Lysander.”

  “You explicitly forbade such an engagement?” asked Pertinax.

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “We have now completed the second circle,” I said. “By now the forces of Temmu should be alarmed or resigned, and those of Yamada reassured and inspirited.”

  “You are counting on the awe and superstition of the common soldier?” said Tajima.

  “And many who are less common,” I said, “for example, high officers, even generals, even the shogun, Lord Temmu, and his daimyo, Lord Okimoto.”

  “Many believe in the iron dragon,” said Pertinax.

  “Or do not disbelieve,” I said. “Remember, few have inspected the dragon closely. In the minds of almost all it is not a device, not a machine, however complex and formidable; it is a gigantic, living beast, a startling, monstrous, fabulous, terrifying creature, hinted at in a thousand legends, employed even to frighten children. And those who did not believe now need only lift their eyes to the sky and behold the spread of these mighty wings, the thing come alive, as from nowhere.”

  “It is a machine,” said Pertinax.

  “Few will understand that,” I said. “Priest-Kings and Kurii guard their secrets well.”

  “So most,” said Tajima, “will see it as a living being.”

  “And no ordinary living being,” I said, “simply large and dangerous, but rather a mysterious being, come from unknown worlds, come with obscure intent, a being both purposeful and portentous. The beat of its wings drives the currents of destiny; its approbation dignifies and ennobles houses; its frown foretells stricken futures. It is a thousand times more potent than the patterns of bones and shells.”

  “And now?” said Tajima.

  “Now,” I said, “the third circle is complete, and it is the house of Temmu which the dragon has examined and not harmed. It is that house which it has saluted, that house which it has taken beneath its wing.”

  “The holding stands,” said Tajima.

  “And now the dragon turns south,” said Pertinax.

  My hand hesitated for a moment, and then reached toward the recessed switches.

  * * *

  “I have not heard guards outside, for several days,” said Tajima.

  “Nor I,” I said.

  “They must be there,” said Pertinax.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “What is going on, beyond the door?” said Pertinax.

  “We cannot stay here forever,” I said.

  “It is seventeen days,” said Tajima, “since the iron dragon visited the forces of Yamada in the north.”

  “That is enough time,” I said, “for whatever was to happen to have happened.”

  “What happened is one thing,” I said, “whatever it may be. Why it happened is another thing.”

  “Would Lord Yamada know?” asked Pertinax.

  “What he knows,” I said, “is likely to be little different from what is known by thousands of others, namely, that the iron dragon favored the house of Temmu, and then disappeared, perhaps to return to its mysterious realm of origin.”

  After the attack on the south camp and the siege works associated with it, I had circled about the mountain of the holding, burning hundreds of tents, blasting earthen ramparts, and pouring fire into better than a hundred trenches. Following this, I had turned the dragon east, and, over Thassa, set a course as directly as I could for the Sardar Mountains, the supposed domicile of the gods of Gor, the Priest-Kings. It had been my supposition, first, that the path of the dragon would be monitored by whatever group was responsible for its existence, and, second, that there would be a provision implicit in the thing itself for its destruction. As I had indicated earlier, no one would be likely to put a lethal weapon into the hands of a blood enemy, for it might be turned on one. Presumably then a provision would be in place to protect the donor or supplier against this most unpleasant possibility. What I did not know were the parties or arrangements involved in the construction of, and management of, the dragon. Given the disunity of the steel worlds I doubted that it would be more than one administration of one such world, if that, which would be involved on the part of the Kurii. I was much less certain about the involvement of the hierarchy of the Nest, largely determined by order of birth, in the matter. I suspected, but did not know, that the possible wager, or game, having to do with the surface of Gor, assuming it existed, was not a congenial, approved stratagem of the hierarchy as a whole, but that it would more likely be the stratagem of an aggressive faction within the hierarchy, acting on its own, and possibly secretly. If the latter conjecture was warranted, it would be important to that faction not to be discovered, at least prior to the success of its efforts. If that was the case, I suspected the dragon would be destroyed almost as soon as it was determined it was no longer behaving as expected. Indeed, the matter would seem far more urgent and dire once it was clearly turned toward the Sardar. In such a case there could be no triumphant result of a successful experiment with which to regale a world or a hierarchy, or portions thereof, supposedly having resolved a controversy of generations, but a clear threat to the Sardar itself, perhaps mounted by Kurii. If the hierarchy as a whole was a party to the wager, or game, so to speak, I would expect a delayed reaction to the dragon’s inexplicable behavior and change of course, one perhaps involving inquiries, consultation, and such; on the other hand, I expected the reaction would be precipitate if a clandestine faction were involved, which, first, would be tracking the dragon closely, and thus would be almost instantly alerted to these surprising changes in its behavior, and, two, might fear a premature exposure as plotters, and failed plotters, rather than receiving an eventual acclamation as visionary public servants.

  “What are you doing?” had asked Pertinax.

  “The iron dragon,” I had said, “has done its wor
k. It is also a dangerous device. I think it best if it now disappears.”

  “That is Thassa beneath it,” said Tajima.

  “I see fishing boats,” said Pertinax.

  “Where are you taking it?” asked Pertinax.

  “Have you heard of the Sardar?” I asked.

  “I know little about it,” he said. “I have heard of it. It is the home of the mythical Priest-Kings, is it not?”

  “Perhaps they are not mythical,” I said.

  “You are laying in a course for the Sardar?” asked Pertinax.

  “What happened?” cried Tajima.

  The six screens had suddenly gone black.

  “I was,” I said.

  “How can you guide the dragon now?” had asked Pertinax.

  “It is no longer there to guide,” I had said.

  “I do not understand,” had said Pertinax.

  “The dragon,” I had said, “is dead.”

  * * *

  “Lord Yamada doubtless feels betrayed by the dragon,” said Tajima.

  “Perhaps by Kurii,” I said.

  “The two Kurii are dead,” said Pertinax. “We killed them.”

  “Were there more than two?” I asked. “Did one or more others kill the two? Did others appear? Did others kill the two, and then interfere?”

  “He would not know,” said Tajima.

  “I do not think he supposes we are involved,” I said. “Presumably we could not overcome Kurii, and, even if so, presumably we would be unable to manage the device. No, Kurii, other Kurii, would by far be the more likely conjecture.”

  “It has been seventeen days,” said Tajima.

  “I do not wish to remain here indefinitely,” said Pertinax.

  “Nor I,” I said. “Open the door.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  A Woman Flees Before Us;

  We Encounter a Prisoner

  “When we reconnoitered before,” said Pertinax, “there were lamps in the corridor. Now it is dark again.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “It is quiet,” said Tajima.

  “Nodachi,” said Pertinax, “said, ‘Beware of silence’.”

  “Arrows make little noise,” said Tajima.

  “We will be careful,” I said.

  We edged slowly down the corridor, until we reached the main corridor on the west side of the palace.

  “There is some light here,” I said.

  “It is dim,” said Tajima.

  The main corridor stretched out on both sides, and, as far as we could tell, was empty.

  “Someone must have tended the lamp,” said Pertinax.

  “But when?” said Tajima

  “I suspect that there is little oil left in the lamp,” I said.

  “Should there not be guards here?” asked Pertinax, grasping the glaive he carried, looking about.

  “There were before,” I said.

  “Where are they?” asked Tajima.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “Seventeen days,” said Tajima.

  “We need an informant,” I said.

  “What are we to do?” asked Tajima.

  “We will attempt to locate Nodachi and Haruki,” I said, “and then attempt to make contact with Ichiro, and the tarns, and then take flight north.”

  “Nodachi will not go with us,” said Tajima.

  “He must,” I said.

  “He will not,” said Tajima.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “He wishes to kill Lord Yamada,” said Tajima.

  “That plan failed,” I said.

  “One does not need a plan,” said Tajima. “One needs only a sword and Lord Yamada.”

  “Lord Yamada may not even be in the palace,” I said.

  “Nor Nodachi, now,” said Pertinax.

  “I think the corridor is empty,” said Pertinax, peering into the gloom.

  “Let us search for Nodachi, and Haruki,” I said. “They are not likely to be on the fifth level.”

  We spoke softly.

  But I had the sense that if we were to shout, our voices would have rung in the corridor.

  We moved softly, but, still, it seemed we could hear our footsteps.

  It seemed a hollow sound.

  The small lamp, behind us, as we passed it, went out.

  Pertinax spun about, glaive lowered.

  “Steady, friend,” I said. “Its fuel was exhausted.”

  “Why was its fuel low?” asked Tajima.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “It should have been tended,” said Tajima.

  “Yes,” I said. “But it seems it was not.”

  “Why?” asked Tajima.

  “I do not know,” I said. “It would be gratifying to encounter an informant. The stairs are at the end of the corridor.”

  * * *

  “Hold!” I cried.

  We had descended to the second level of the palace, and had encountered no one, until this moment.

  She had turned about, several yards before us, and faced us, momentarily, seemed for a moment glad, even overjoyed, and then her expression turned to fear, and she turned and ran.

  “Would that I had a bola,” I said.

  “It is a female, she would be simple enough to pursue,” said Pertinax.

  I thrust out my arm, abruptly, and halted him, in midstride.

  “No!” I said. “Do not pursue her.”

  “As you wish,” said Pertinax, puzzled. “Might she not constitute our needed informant?”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” I said. “In pursuing her you would pass opened chambers, which might not, as the others, be empty. You might rush about a blind corner, to encounter glaives or bows. She may be a decoy girl, a lure girl.”

  “I do not think so,” said Pertinax.

  “Nor I,” I said, “but I do not choose to risk your life on the matter.”

  “She seems no slave,” said Tajima.

  “She is briefly and ill-clad,” said Pertinax.

  “But not slave-clad,” said Tajima. “She wears no tunic.”

  “Barefoot, and little but a rag clutched about her,” said Pertinax.

  “But no tunic, or no remnant of a tunic,” said Tajima.

  There are various garments which slaves, when permitted clothing, must wear. Usually they are brief and revealing, little more than mockeries of a garmenture, garments appropriate for their debased condition, that of property girls, that of owned objects. But in all their variations, which may be manifold, such garmentures clearly identify their occupant as a slave. It would not do, at all, to confuse one with a free woman. Indeed, on the continent, it can be a capital offense for a slave to don the garments of a free woman. The free woman would not stand for it, and free men would not permit it. They enjoy seeing slaves clad as slaves. As the slaves are owned, why should men not have them clad as they wish, clad for the pleasure and delectation of men? And the slave, once she understands that she is truly a slave, even to the mark and collar, delights in such things, delights in her display, delights in her frank, honest, shameless exhibition and brazen exposure, that in which she has no choice and to which she dare not object, even should she wish to do so. How else could a woman be more herself, more radically female, than as slave? The hatred borne by free women to helpless slaves is legendary. What was of interest was that the woman, of whom we had caught a brief glimpse in the corridor, though barefoot and half naked, was not tunicked, or comparably clad, as a slave. She clutched about her, in her flight, no more than a simple cloth, which might have been derived from any number of possible origins, even from the shreds of more refined habiliments.

  “I think that is a free woman,” said Tajima.

  “Too ill-clothed,” said Pertinax.

  “Even so,” said Tajima.

  “Free or slave,” I said, “she may be a lure girl.”

  “I do not think so,” said Tajima.

  “Let us not wager our lives on the matter,” I said.


  “In any event,” said Pertinax, “she is gone now.”

  * * *

  “Slaves were shackled in the basement,” I said. “If there is slave housing there, shackle rings or pens, there may be cells, as well.”

  “The palace is deserted,” said Pertinax.

  “It seems so,” I said. There was debris here and there in the halls, unthinkable in a Pani dwelling, even discarded scrolls, some torn, and some blackened with soot, as though partly burned.

  Tajima lifted up a charred painting, on a wooden panel, of a delicate forest scene, with a pond, and cranes. “This is barbarism,” he said.

  “Hatred,” I said, “is often blind.”

  “I do not understand the desertion of the palace,” said Pertinax.

  “It may not be deserted,” I said. “Here are stairs. Have your weapons ready.”