Rebels of Gor

by John Norman

  “The gate is broken through,” I said. “Men pour in!”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Visitors;

  A Plan is Formed

  It was not the men of Temmu who first burst through the gate, overcoming guards, but some thirty or forty soldiers, mostly officers, many of whom still wore the livery of the shogun.

  “Greetings,” said Lord Akio.

  “You would be welcome,” said Lord Yamada. “How is it that you have broken the gate?”

  “Guards were adamant,” said Lord Akio.

  “Word might have been brought to me,” said the shogun.

  “A thousand men of the holding of Temmu are less than an Ahn away,” said Lord Akio.

  It was as I thought. Lord Temmu would be thrifty in his commitment of troops. Still, a thousand men would be a sufficient force when opposed to empty roads and abandoned fields.

  Lord Akio, I conjectured, had no more than forty men with him.

  “You have come to die with me?” asked the shogun.

  “We have come to live,” said Lord Akio.

  “Excellent,” said Lord Yamada. “You bring news of the rallying of troops, of resistance to invaders!”

  “Disarm yourself, surrender the shogunate,” said Lord Akio.

  “It was you who slew the would-be assassin!” said Lord Yamada.

  “Certainly,” said Lord Akio. “Few men can resist torture.”

  “It was I,” said Haruki, “who admitted the assailant into the garden, by a secret way.”

  “I had supposed so,” said Lord Yamada.

  “And you permitted me to remain with the garden?” said Haruki.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “The straw jacket?” said Haruki.

  “You were apprehended,” said the shogun. “One must respond to expectations, one must maintain order.”

  “Many are content with oppression,” said Haruki.

  “It seems not all,” said Lord Yamada.

  “No,” said Haruki.

  “Tyrants could not exist,” said Lord Yamada, “were they not welcome.”

  “Can it be?” asked Haruki.

  “A tyrant may be replaced,” said Lord Yamada. “But the mask of the savior, removed, reveals merely the face of the new tyrant.”

  “Men do not wish to rule themselves,” said Pertinax, “but only to be well ruled.”

  “The choice, dear Haruki, gardener san,” said Lord Yamada, “is always, and only, one amongst masks and tyrants, he who wears the mask and he who disdains doing so.”

  “And the great and noble lord disdains doing so,” said Haruki.

  “I am as I am seen,” said the shogun.

  Lord Yamada then turned to Lord Akio.

  “You have not come to succor the shogunate,” said Lord Yamada to Lord Akio.

  “No,” said Lord Akio, “but to seize it.”

  “If troops of Temmu are at hand, as you say,” said Lord Yamada, “it would be a prize but briefly held.”

  “Perhaps longer than you surmise,” said Lord Akio.

  “You have an arrangement with the house of Temmu,” said Lord Yamada.

  “Of course,” said Lord Akio, lifting his war fan, spreading its wings, and locking them in place.

  Such a device is difficult to evade.

  “You have come for my head,” said Lord Yamada.

  “A gift for Lord Temmu,” said Lord Akio.

  “Come and take it,” said Lord Yamada.

  “Do not resist,” said Lord Akio. “The iron dragon has flown.”

  “It flies no more,” I said.

  Lord Akio gestured toward us, impatiently. “Kill them!” he said.

  The first two men who reached us, fell before the whipping, almost invisible, sword of Nodachi.

  The forty some who were still with Lord Akio paused, startled, disconcerted. They had seen little but two of their fellows fall. It was though the wind itself, unseen, had drawn blood.

  “Those with glaives, forward,” said Lord Akio.

  The glaive, of course, outreaches even the field sword.

  “Swordsmen, surround them!” called Lord Akio.

  “Back,” I called. “To the bridge!”

  The bridge, entwined with the blue climbers, arched in a lovely manner, for a length of some thirty-five or forty feet over a narrow, decorative pond, on the surface of which bloomed white and yellow water flowers, rising from flat, green pads; below, in the pond, which was shallow, one could see the slow movements of colorful fish. No more than two men could stride that bridge, abreast. Either ascent could thus be well defended. The highest point of the bridge was some five to seven feet above the water.

  In the pause which followed Nodachi’s swift, almost casual, felling of Lord Akio’s two men, that small, eager, ill-fated vanguard unwisely addressing themselves, woefully unsupported, to their foray, both he and Lord Yamada had replaced their companion swords in their sashes and drawn up their field swords from the sand where they had deposited them, following the election of the companion sword as the instrument for resolving the matter which lay between them. The blow of the field sword can fell a small tree, or cut away the head of a glaive.

  We fenced away sporadic, tentative attacks about us, drawing back to the bridge.

  Few seemed willing to cast themselves recklessly upon us.

  The lesson of Nodachi, it seems, had been well noted.

  “Kill them! Kill them!” shouted Lord Akio.

  I had no doubt that the Ashigaru, some ten or so, with Lord Akio would enter the pond, but the obstacle of the floor of the bridge, and its height, would, I hoped, neutralize to some extent the effect of the glaives wielded from below, by wading men with uncertain footing.

  Kameko, kneeling, her neck tied closely to a stanchion near the height of the bridge, her hands tied behind her, squirmed.

  “Be still,” snapped Pertinax, his jacket soaked with blood at the right shoulder. He grasped his companion sword in his left hand.

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered, frightened.

  “Do not be afraid,” said Pertinax. “You are a domestic animal. Unless you are cut by a diverted blade, you will simply belong to another.”

  “I do not wish to belong to another, Master,” she said.

  “You are a slave,” he said. “Your wishes are unimportant. They are of no more interest than those of a verr or tarsk.”

  “Yes, Master,” she sobbed.

  The portion of the bridge nearest the gate, and the raked sand, where contest had been done, was held by Nodachi, and, at his side, Lord Yamada. I sent Tajima and Yasushi to hold the farther portion of the bridge, that nearest the far wall, and the supper pavilion. I surmounted the center of the bridge. I could see both sides, and judge the pond below. In this way I might apprise my fellows of new dangers, direct a defense, and, in the case of need, on either portion of the bridge, supply it, immediately. A commander has obligations which take precedence over his personal preferences. He must not succumb to the dark hunger, covet the zest of battle as he may. His priorities are elsewhere. Mostly I feared bows, but none were carried that I had seen amongst the followers of Lord Akio. With me were wounded Pertinax, sword in his left hand, and Katsutoshi, his right hand in a reddened sleeve. “I may throw myself on glaives,” said Katsutoshi, “and thus discomfit or disarm two or three, clearing the road for our steel.” “Do not,” I told him. “I am useless,” he said. “There is no line to be opened.” “Watch!” I said. “Lord Akio has spread his war fan and locked its blades in place,” he said. “He is dangerous,” I said. “He looks for his opportunity. His own men obscure his targets of choice.” I assumed these would be Lord Yamada, and Nodachi, in that order. The spinning war fan is a terrible weapon, but once discharged, it is not easily recovered. “Watch,” I encouraged him. “I shall,” he said. “Momentarily,” said Pertinax, “Ashigaru will enter the water.” “It would be well,” I said, “were you not wounded, had you retained your glaive.” “Ela,” said Pertin
ax. “It is true.” “Even so,” I said, “even as you are, it might be well to have one in hand.” “I think so,” said Pertinax. I thought him strong enough to handle one in his left hand, at least for the purposes of fending and jabbing. He would have the advantage of height, striking down, with the uplifted faces of the enemy almost within reach. Normally the glaive is held in both hands, the left hand before the right. The left hand guides the blade, the right hand, and body, supplying the driving force behind the thrust. “It is awkward to use the glaive from below, from the pond, thrusting upward,” I said. “Perhaps one of those good fellows will loan you his.” “I shall see to it,” said Pertinax, placing his companion sword in his sash, “seizing it, tearing it away, with one hand, even if I have to lift him over the bridge.” I feared that Pertinax, in his zeal, might worsen his wound. I looked about. “Where is Haruki?” I asked. “I do not know,” said Pertinax, looking about.

  The leadership, it seemed by default, had fallen to me. I would have chosen Lord Yamada as the commander of our small force, but he had ranked himself at the side of Nodachi.

  They would await the foe, side by side.

  Who was I to dispute his decision?

  He was shogun.

  “Storm them!” cried Lord Akio. “Like wind and rain, like lightning! Carry all before you!”

  Lord Akio’s men, from two sides, rushed onto the bridge.

  Thickets of clashing steel sparkled.

  Ten or more Ashigaru, bearing glaives, splashed into the water, five at least to each side of the bridge. I saw the fish dart away, and then the pond was muddied.

  Swordsmen, some yards on the bridge, crowded, before and behind, were trying to force their way higher on the bridge, both to the left and right.

  One swordsman reeled over the railing, into the pond.

  Blades of glaives thrust up at us, striking wood, splintering railings, tangling in the vinous blue climbers. Men slipped and fell in the pond, in the muddy water, amidst the disturbed white and yellow flowers. Pertinax seized a thrusting glaive behind the blade and yanked it up, with two hands, blood running down his right arm, shaking loose a startled Ashigaru from the shaft, he plunging back into the water. I feared he had opened his wound, as there was fresh blood at his shoulder, and staining his sleeve, and running down his wrist. Pertinax then thrust at another, who slipped back, screaming, bleeding, his face half cut away, and then Pertinax swung the tool of war to the other side of the bridge, threatening another below, which fellow stumbled back in the muddy water, removing himself from the ambit of the weapon.

  I saw an officer fall before the stroke of Yasushi, once a pupil of Nodachi.

  Tajima fenced back a second attacker.

  I looked wildly about. I held back a moan of misery. New figures were at the gate, unopposed.

  “Draw back, draw back!” called Lord Akio. “All is well! Reinforcements arrive!”

  “We cannot hold,” called Lord Yamada. “There are too many. Die well!”

  “Who can read the fortunes of war?” said Nodachi.

  “What is written largely and boldly is easily read,” said Lord Yamada.

  “And may be as easily mistaken,” said Nodachi.

  “I saw how you handled your sword, stunted monster,” said Lord Yamada to Nodachi. “I fear my blood is indeed within you.”

  “Blood is but the beginning,” said Nodachi.

  “You are a fool, skillful, misshapen brute,” said Lord Yamada.

  “Each must choose his own path,” said Nodachi. “You chose to wed power. I chose to wed the sword.”

  “You are a fool,” said Lord Yamada.

  “Victories differ,” said Nodachi. “One’s victory is another’s defeat. Each must strive for his own victory.”

  “You tread the path of fools,” said Lord Yamada.

  “It is my path,” said Nodachi, “I have chosen it for myself. I fear few have done as much.”

  “Then tread it well,” said Lord Yamada.

  “I shall endeavor to do so,” said Nodachi.

  There must have been forty or fifty men now filing through the gate, many, as several of those with Lord Akio, still in the livery of Yamada.

  Ela, I thought to myself. The matter is done! We had held the bridge well, our narrow, wooden field of battle giving our smaller number the equalizing advantages of height and narrowness of access. Indeed, on some of the narrow, graceful, soaring bridges of the high cities of the continent, arching amongst lofty keeplike cylinders, there were many accounts of such high and dangerous passages being defended by one or two men against dozens. Odds of ten to one are considerably qualified when nine of the ten must remain inactive, when the ten must meet the one singly, one at a time, only one at a time.

  My despair was occasioned by noting that several of the newcomers carried bows, and full quivers of the long Pani arrows.

  Lord Akio’s men had moved back, to allow the approach of the newcomers. Even his Ashigaru, those in the pond, water to their thighs, waded back, glaives held at the ready, away from the bridge.

  Two floated in the water, face down.

  “We cannot resist the flighted arrow,” said Pertinax.

  The bridge, our salvation against the odds arrayed against us, would be our doom with archers, as it would hold us in place.

  We would be as vulnerable as penned verr.

  I prepared to cry us from the bridge, to regain the land, to fight amidst our foes, that archers must have patience, confronted with moving, confusing targets, that they must be cautious and often hold their fire, lest they strike allies.

  I was suddenly apprehensive.

  With the drawing back of the men of Lord Akio, both ends of the bridge were now open.

  Fighting bodies were no longer interposed between Yasushi and Tajima and the foe at their portion of the bridge, nor, at the other portion of the bridge, that closer to the gate and the raked sand, between Lord Yamada and Nodachi and the foe.

  Lord Yamada and Nodachi had turned to look up to me, at the height of the bridge.

  Were they awaiting my cry, to abandon the bridge?

  “Beware!” cried Katsutoshi.

  I had seen the motion, the preparation before, the grace and power of that movement, long ago in the garden, when Lord Akio, forgoing a living target at my behest, as I was a guest of the shogun, had demonstrated the effectiveness of the war fan on a young tree, close by the side of the gardener, Haruki.

  I assumed his target was Lord Yamada, but never learned, for Lord Akio suddenly stiffened, and the fan fell behind him.

  Warned, Lord Yamada and Nodachi had swiftly turned, but only to see Lord Akio, in his exquisite robes, crumple to the ground.

  One of Lord Akio’s men raised his sword to strike Haruki, who stood there, a long, four-pronged garden fork, used for turning soil, bloody to the socket, in his hands, but the blow failed to fall, and the bearer of the lifted sword spun away, his blade lost, he grasping at a long Pani arrow in his throat, blood running through his fingers.

  Two more of Lord Akio’s men were struck by arrows, and the rest fled from the garden, through the gate.

  The officer apparently in charge of the newcomers approached.

  I knew him, for I had met him before, and, indeed, had had unpleasant dealings at his hands.

  “Greetings noble lord,” said the officer, bowing to Lord Yamada.

  “Who is your shogun?” said Lord Yamada.

  “Yamada, of the house of Yamada, great lord,” said the officer.

  “You have not come to seize the shogunate?” said Lord Yamada.

  “No, great lord,” he said. “I would defend it as long as I could, but I fear it is doomed.”

  “It stands,” said Lord Yamada.

  “The perfidy of Lord Akio is broadcast,” he said. “He is in league with the house of Temmu. The forces of Temmu, a thousand or more, are nigh.”

  “How then are you here?” asked Lord Yamada.

  “I have come to die with my shogun,
” he said.

  “Though the iron dragon has flown?” asked Lord Yamada.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You, noble Kazumitsu, special officer, trusted servant, are now daimyo,” said Lord Yamada. “All lands and goods, treasures, houses, fortresses, men and chattels of the traitor, Lord Akio, are now yours.”

  “The men of Temmu are nigh, great lord,” said Kazumitsu.

  “Gardiner!” called Lord Yamada. “Approach!”

  Haruki, the long fork still in hand, in two hands, approached Lord Yamada.

  I feared he might raise the fork against the shogun.

  “How dared you strike one so far above you, one of the nobility?” asked Lord Yamada.

  “To save your life, noble lord,” I suggested.

  “No,” said Haruki.

  “Why then?” asked Lord Yamada.

  “Lord Akio,” said Haruki, “did injury in this place.”

  “He failed,” said Lord Yamada.

  “He succeeded only too well,” said Haruki.

  “I live,” said Lord Yamada.

  “His victim does not,” said Haruki.

  “What victim?” said Lord Yamada.

  “The victim of his cruel and needless crime,” said Haruki.

  “I do not understand,” said Lord Yamada.

  “In this very garden, Lord Akio gratuitously slew a lovely tree, in the shimmering glory of its youth.”

  “I see,” said Lord Yamada.

  “I have avenged it,” said Haruki.

  “It seems you have saved my life, as well,” said Lord Yamada.

  “The occasion, if not welcome, was opportune,” said Haruki.

  “I will not owe my life to another,” said Lord Yamada. “What will you accept, in lieu of my life, that your head be spared?”

  “I return your life,” said Haruki. “I ask nothing in return.”

  “You shall take something, or I shall have your head,” said Lord Yamada. “What will you have, a golden chain, ten flocks of verr, ten herds of tarsk, a house, a dozen slaves?”

  “I would that I might be permitted to tend your garden,” said Haruki.

  “The post is yours,” said Lord Yamada.

  “I fear it will be but briefly held, great shogun,” said Kazumitsu. “The troops of Lord Temmu are nigh.”