Rebels of Gor

by John Norman

  I wished that Pertinax had in his hand the Gorean gladius, in which he had been trained. He was no master of the companion sword, nor would he have been of the field sword. Nor was I.

  “Step in,” I said to Nodachi.

  “I would not dishonor my pupil,” said Nodachi. “He must learn.”

  “And he may die,” I said.

  “Then he will die well,” said Nodachi.

  Blades struck smartly together.

  “The blade, the blade,” said Nodachi. “Remember the dojo, gifted barbarian, the exercises. Do not watch his eyes, they will lie, watch his blade, his wrist, for the blade must follow the wrist.”

  “He is holding his own,” I marveled.

  I recalled that Nodachi had accepted him as a student, something which had once disturbed Tajima, and, I think, Lord Okimoto.

  “Ela,” said Nodachi. “The last exchange!”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Young Pertinax is being drawn into a trap. Consider the exchanges! What he will think is an opening will not be an opening. The wise enemy does not present his foe with gifts. He has forgotten!”

  One fences with the mind, of course, as well as the body. In the Kaissa of steel, as in the Kaissa of the hundred-square board, beware the seeming mistake, for it may not be a mistake. Beware the too-vulnerable piece, for it may be unwisely seized. Beware the tethered verr, for the hunter lurks in his blind. Is deception not the name of war?

  “Ela,” said Nodachi, “he is not yet ready for such a foe.”

  “I am,” I said, companion sword in hand, taken from the trophy room. In whose hand had it once leapt and soared?

  “Hold,” said Nodachi. “Do not interfere. See, Tajima lives.”

  “Pertinax may not,” I said.

  “He will live,” said Nodachi. “It is not he, but I who am the quarry of the noble Katsutoshi.”

  “Ai!” cried Pertinax, and his right sleeve was drenched with blood, and he moved his sword to his left hand, and lifted it, awkwardly.

  “Lower your sword!” cried Tajima.

  “Do so!” I ordered him, and Pertinax, blood running down his right arm, lowered his sword.

  “Do not kill him,” I said to Katsutoshi.

  “I am not a butcher,” said Katsutoshi.

  “I shall regret killing so noble a foe,” said Nodachi.

  “It will not be necessary,” I said.

  “Do not interfere,” said Nodachi. “I am his quarry.”

  “He will not reach you,” I said.

  I stepped between Katsutoshi and Nodachi.

  “Please step aside,” said Katsutoshi, politely.

  “On guard,” I said.

  “I have an appointment with the master,” said Katsutoshi.

  “It would be your last,” I said. “You will not keep it.”

  “I must,” he said.

  “You will not,” I said.

  “Forgive me,” he said, and I parried the thrust.

  He was very quick.

  He backed away, a pace.

  “That is not your weapon of choice,” he said.

  “No,” I said.

  “You grasp it in an unusual fashion,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “Are you accustomed to it?” he asked.

  “It is a blade,” I said, “a sword.”

  To be sure, I would have preferred a different blade, the shorter, broader gladius, designed for closer work, for stabbing, for moving within the guard of heavier, longer weapons.

  He thrust, and I parried, again.

  There are styles of fencing, as well as variations in blades. Tajima was familiar with the two swords of the Pani warrior, and we had often sported in the dojo, he with one or both of the Pani swords, and I with the familiar gladius. The gladius is often used with shield, or buckler. The Pani swords, like the rapier, the foil, and saber, are designed for both defense and offense. The gladius too, of course, may function in both modalities, without shield and buckler, though Gorean infantry commonly combines it with the shield, and the arena fighter with the buckler. From the sporting contests with Tajima I was familiar with the feel of the blade, then against the gladius, and its movements, and its reach. I was less familiar, of course, with handling such a weapon. A fine companion sword, with its balance and edge, is a masterpiece of the smith’s craft.

  He thrust twice more, and I parried twice more.

  I had observed him, of course, in his exchanges with Tajima and Pertinax. This was an advantage, of course, which one seldom has in dealing with a foe. I had seen him at work, and he had not seen me. Commonly, in encounters of steel, strangers meet and one dies.

  It is difficult to touch, or cut, a skilled swordsman who is content with defense. But he who defends only will eventually die, for no defense is forever impenetrable. When one extends to the attack, one exposes more of the body, and risks more, but without risk there is no victory, only eventual defeat.

  We indulged ourselves in a brief exchange.

  I am sure that Katsutoshi was testing me, reading my blade. So I presented him with certain results to his test, and let him misread my blade.

  “Ai!” he cried, suddenly, startled, and the weapon dropped from his hand, to the dark, polished floor.

  He looked at me, wildly.

  “Kill me!” he commanded.

  It had followed his low feint, for which I had been waiting, used against both Tajima and Pertinax, intended to bring the opponent’s blade down, thus opening the way to a straight thrust over the momentarily descended blade. But no straight thrust would follow that feint, for in the instant his blade was occupied in this subterfuge, lowered, threatening, the arm extended, I did not move to defend but struck over the lowered blade, striking to the right wrist.

  In that hand he would never hold another sword.

  He had spared Tajima and Pertinax, neither a match for his skills. I would spare him.

  “Kill me!” he cried.

  “Neither of us is a butcher,” I said.

  He backed away, bleeding.

  Now, I thought, he will not rush to his death. Nodachi would have killed him. Why? Because he stood between him and Yamada, the shogun.

  “Young friends,” said Nodachi to Tajima and Pertinax, “you have done well. I am pleased with you. You have had a most valuable lesson, at the hands of a master swordsman, the noble Katsutoshi, captain of a great lord’s guard.”

  Katsutoshi inclined his head, honored.

  “My young friends,” said Nodachi. “You have advanced in the tutelage of war. You are worthy of the codes of steel. I am proud of you.”

  “Master,” said Tajima, bowing.

  “Master,” said Pertinax, bowing, his hand pressed to his arm, to staunch the bleeding.

  “Master,” said Kameko, lying at the feet of Pertinax, “I am pleased that you live.”

  Pertinax reached down with his left hand and drew her up, to her knees.

  Women look well on their knees.

  “What is on your neck?” he asked.

  “A collar, Master,” she said.

  “What sort of collar?”

  “A slave collar, Master.”

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  “Because I am a slave, Master,” she said.

  “Whose slave?” he asked.

  “Your slave,” she said.

  “You are a pretty slave,” he said.

  “It is my hope to please my Master,” she said.

  “I think I will be pleased to own you,” he said.

  “And I, to be owned by you,” she said.

  “You will learn your collar,” he said.

  “It is my hope that you will teach it to me,” she said.

  “I will teach it to you,” he said, “—with perfection.”

  “I would have it no other way, Master,” she said.

  Nodachi then stepped between us, between Tajima, Pertinax, the slave, and I, and Katsutoshi, and advanced to a place before th
e dais.

  He bowed politely to the shogun. “Now, please,” he said.

  “I,” said the shogun, “did not come to the dais easily. There were many steps, and many were covered with blood.”

  “It is often so,” said Nodachi.

  “I am the finest sword in the islands,” he said.

  “Then it will be I who will die,” said Nodachi.

  “You are not of my station, my level, my class,” said the shogun.

  “Forgive me,” said Nodachi.

  “You are determined in this matter?” asked the shogun.

  “Yes,” said Nodachi.

  “Then,” said the shogun, “let us repair to the garden.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Swords Meet Amongst Flowers;

  The Insects are not Disturbed;

  A Gate is Sundered

  “Let us consider matters, here, on the raked sand,” said Lord Yamada, “that we may not risk trampling flowers.”

  Nodachi nodded his acquiescence.

  Tajima, his weapon recovered, Pertinax, wadding his shirt against his wound, and I, had accompanied Nodachi and the shogun to the garden, having taken our way through the open chamber leading to the garden, that chamber in which, some time ago, we had been entertained at the shogun’s supper. Yasushi and Katsutoshi had followed, Katsutoshi’s right hand hidden in his wide sleeve. Pertinax had untied Kameko’s ankles in the audience chamber and wrapped the leash about her neck. Unbidden, she then, head down, heeled him to the garden, her wrists still thonged behind her back. He had then knelt her down on the small bridge, that whose railings were entwined with the vines of the blue climber. He had then, with the leash, fastened her neck, closely, to one of the stanchions supporting the rail, just under the rail. Before he removed his hands she had pressed her lips timidly against the back of his hand. Clearly she now understood there was a collar on her neck. When a woman is collared she often experiences a great sense of relief. A thousand frustrations are behind her. She is now, helplessly, gladly, in her place in nature, owned by a male. Her identity is now on her. She knows how to be, how to act, how to speak, how to love. As other slaves, reveling in the liberation bestowed by their collars, she would wish to be a good slave, and a pleasing slave, a fully pleasing slave. From her point of vantage, she could see what ensued, a few yards away. Haruki, who had been working in the garden, stood in the background.

  “Weapon?” inquired Lord Yamada.

  “You are shogun,” said Nodachi, “great and noble one.”

  “Very well,” said Lord Yamada. “Companion sword.”

  I had expected that to be the choice, rather than the larger, longer, heavier field sword, usually wielded with two hands.

  The graceful companion sword is shorter, and lighter. Its speed is such that many find it difficult to follow its flights. As unnoticed as the wind, it can appear as suddenly as the pouncing sleen, cut like a razor, and strike like the tiny, venomous ost.

  Lord Yamada thrust his field sword into the sand, and so, too, did Nodachi. Nodachi wore a short-sleeved gray jacket of simple, rough cloth, as many peasants. Lord Yamada divested himself of his stiff, ornate, outer robe.

  I did not expect Lord Yamada to stand long against Nodachi, but I did not know his skills. He had claimed to be the finest sword in the islands. I had known Lord Yamada to lie, for strategic and state reasons, but I had never known him to boast. I recalled his remark about steps leading to the dais, many of which were covered with blood. In any event, Lord Yamada’s demeanor and attitude suggested no apprehension concerning the outcome of the imminent contest. Indeed, I suspected, with a sudden coldness in my body, he might welcome this occasion, for a distractive interlude, pending returning to the audience chamber, to await the arrival of enemy troops, hundreds of violent men thirsting for his blood, competing for his head. What loyalty he had inspired, I thought, that Yasushi and Katsutoshi had stood with him on the dais, waiting, in that large, lonely, untenanted audience chamber.

  “You are not now dividing grains of rice, magician,” said Lord Yamada.

  “No, great lord,” said Nodachi.

  “There is no trickery here,” said the shogun.

  “And none was there,” said Nodachi.

  Suddenly Lord Yamada, startling me, rushed at Nodachi, and there was a brief, fierce, exchange, and both men stepped back.

  Lord Yamada smiled.

  “It seems then we are to do war,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Nodachi.

  “Are you prepared?” asked Lord Yamada.

  “I was,” said Nodachi, bowing.

  “Grains of rice do not strike back,” said Lord Yamada.

  “Should they do so, one must be prepared,” said Nodachi.

  There then commenced a lengthy, remarkable duel.

  Sunlight flashed on swift blades.

  We remained silent. There was no sound in the garden but the sudden ringing of steel, followed by silence, and then beginning again. In the silence we could hear Lord Yamada breathing, and the hum of insects. The garden was very beautiful. I supposed it had profited from Haruki’s return. Sometimes a breeze stirred the leaves. Zar flies were about. I brushed one away.

  There was a streak of blood on the right cheek of Nodachi.

  “It seems magicians can bleed,” said Lord Yamada.

  “Shoguns, as well,” said Nodachi.

  “A scratch, only,” said the shogun, annoyed, a stain of blood discoloring his left sleeve, high on the arm.

  “The touch of the point was too low for the eye,” said Nodachi.

  “Too high for the throat,” said Lord Yamada.

  “One intervenes, as one can,” said Nodachi.

  “But you were cut,” said Lord Yamada.

  “Your garment is stained,” said Nodachi.

  “I hear men at the gate!” I said.

  “Soldiers,” said Pertinax.

  “Peasants!” said Tajima.

  “I fear they have come for you, Lord,” said Yasushi.

  “You fight well, peasant,” said Lord Yamada to Nodachi, “better than any I have crossed steel with. Seven times I planned to kill you, and did not do so.”

  “One intervenes, as one can,” said Nodachi. “Five times, I thought I had you on my point, and five times I failed.”

  “One intervenes, as one can,” said the shogun.

  “I must improve my skills,” said Nodachi. “I must perfect them.”

  “He who is on the path to perfection is doomed,” said the shogun. “It is a path with no end.”

  “Yet,” said Nodachi, “some must follow it.”

  I heard the clamoring of men, and the breaking of timber. “The gate is being forced,” I said.

  “Mountebank,” said Lord Yamada, “I have an appointment. We must end this. You must pardon me.”

  He then addressed a medley of blows to Nodachi so swift and fierce, so varied, and so deftly met that Tajima cried out in awe. Clearly the shogun had launched that onslaught that it might constitute the bloody terminus of this strange, lengthy engagement. Nodachi, in the rhythms of combat, in its tides, in its alternation of offense and defense, had now elected to withstand this storm of steel rather than penetrate it, and seek in it some advantage. One may not slay a hurricane but, rather, strive to survive it. I feared then that Lord Yamada might indeed be the finest sword in the islands. But Nodachi met this attack, and lived! Then Nodachi, commonly so skilled in stance, and ready in response, slipped in the soft sand. Tajima cried out, in misery. I saw the shogun’s blade slash down. “No!” cried Tajima. “I live,” said Nodachi, straightening up, and tearing away the shreds of his jacket from his left side. But Lord Yamada had not pressed the advantage. Rather, startled, shaken, panting, gasping for breath, he regarded his antagonist. “The avenger!” he said. “I am no avenger,” said Nodachi. “The mark, the sign of the lotus, on the left shoulder!” cried Haruki, wildly, tears in his eyes. Lord Yamada backed away. “I have had it since birth,” said Nodachi. “It is
only another blemish, one of many.” “The empty grave!” cried Lord Yamada. “Yes,” said Haruki. “I did not strangle him. He lives. This is he! He is the son of my daughter, who died in your palace, of woman’s poisons!”

  “She?” said Lord Yamada.

  “Yes!” cried Haruki.

  “Of what are you speaking?” said Nodachi.

  “He,” said Lord Yamada, “this short, gross, squat, malformed beast?”

  “He is your son,” said Haruki.

  “Such cannot be of my blood,” said the shogun. “I will not have it.”

  “He is the avenger!” cried Haruki. “See the sign, the sign of the lotus!”

  “I am no avenger,” said Nodachi. “I am Nodachi.”

  “He has come back, noble lord!” said Haruki. “He has come back, to avenge a cemetery of brothers, a thousand wrongs, a generation of tyranny!”

  “This is not true!” said Nodachi. “I am alone, I am of no family!”

  “Lord Yamada is stunned,” said Tajima.

  “He cannot defend himself!” said Pertinax.

  “Strike!” said Tajima.

  “Seize your opportunity,” said Pertinax. “Thrust, now, to the heart!”

  “Kill him!” said Haruki.

  “But he cares for the garden,” I said to Haruki.

  Lord Yamada’s sword was lowered. I sensed he could not raise it, nor employ it now in the work of war. But he regarded Nodachi, unflinchingly, as shogun.

  “You?” he asked.

  “I know nothing of this,” said Nodachi.

  Haruki wildly rushed upon the shaken, inert shogun, and tore down his robe to the waist.

  How dared he touch the person of the shogun?

  On the shogun’s left shoulder was the odd mark, which so resembled a lotus.

  Then Haruki turned about, to face Nodachi. “He is Yamada, tyrant and murderer!” he cried. “Strike! Kill him! Kill him!”

  “Do so,” said Lord Yamada.

  Nodachi bowed. “Father,” he said.

  “Kill him!” said Haruki.

  “It is not honorable to kill one’s father,” said Nodachi.

  I heard Kameko scream.