Rebels of Gor

by John Norman

  “Tarn!” I heard cry. “Tarn!”

  I was near the center of the camp. I was, after all, a guest. Similarly, I doubted I would be welcomed near the perimeter, as an intent of unauthorized departure on my part might be suspected. Too, of course, most of the Ashigaru and warriors were at the perimeter.

  I hoped that the tarnsman would have a similar assessment of the situation, particularly as the camp had been hastily fortified, and an imminent attack might be anticipated.

  “It is too soon for a response to the message vulos!” cried a man.

  “No,” cried another. “It is a tarn.”

  “So soon?” said another.

  “It cannot be otherwise!” said a fellow.

  “Retreat!” cried a fellow.

  “Leave fires, withdraw in darkness!” said another.

  “To what?” said a man. “Who knows what lies in wait, in the night.”

  “Some have already fled,” said a man.

  “No,” said another. “They would be stopped at the ditch!”

  “What if the guards have fled?” said another.

  “Let us see!” said another.

  “Remain in place!” said a voice, presumably that of an officer.

  I feared some of these men were not thinking clearly. It was indeed far too soon for any tarnsman-brought response to messages sent forth this very afternoon. But, of course, the thousand men or so with Lords Nishida and Okimoto were only too aware of the camp’s fortification, and the seeming appearance of hostile troops in the vicinity, hostile troops in undetermined numbers. What had begun as an unopposed march to claim an uncontested and inexpensive victory had suddenly, within an Ahn or so, turned into an apparently desperate situation, sustaining a possible siege without the benefit of suitable defenseworks against a foe which might be present in overwhelming numbers. It was not surprising, then, that nerves were taut and thoughts might seize on hopes, not facts.

  “Fire on the flighted monster!” cried a man.

  “Arrows to the string!” called a fellow.

  “No!” said another. “It must be a response from the holding of Lord Temmu!”

  “It is too soon,” said a man.

  “It must be from our lord,” said a man. “The beast, Yamada, has no tarns!”

  The two tarns which had been at the disposal of Lord Yamada were no longer available to the shogun. Tyrtaios and his fellow, masters of these two tarns, had disappeared. It was conjectured by some they had forsworn the service of Yamada and fled to the banner of Lord Temmu, apprising him of their secret, unswerving fidelity to his cause.

  How would the rider, whom I surmised would be either Tajima, Pertinax, or Ichiro, locate me?

  Whereas the camp was not nearly as large as the vast road camps of the earlier advance of Lord Yamada on the holding of Temmu, it was large enough.

  One could scarcely descend, and inquire, tent to tent.

  Were I a prisoner, a hostage, or a detained guest, it seemed rational to suppose that I would be somewhere near the center of the camp.

  But where?

  The center of the camp, of course, would be thinly defended. As the tarn cavalry was either neutral to, or allied with, the house of Temmu, and as there was too little time for mining, an assault must take place at the perimeter. Certainly that was where it was anticipated.

  Had I been in the wilderness, a small fire, visible only from above, would signal my position.

  But there were dozens of watch fires in the camp.

  I seized up a large, thick, burning brand from the nearest fire, and held it to a tent, and then, to another tent, and another, until there were four tents afire.

  “What are you doing?” cried a fellow, but he was then struck, heavily, with the fiery club, and desisted in his inquiry.

  I was then standing, well illuminated, in a clear area, looking upward, I suspect anxiously, a blazing tent several yards away, on each side. I heard men shouting, and converging toward my artificial, geometrically arranged conflagrations. From the air the spectacular oddity of this arrangement should be obvious. Who would not investigate such an anomaly?

  The great wings snapped over my head, dust pelting me, flames roaring to the sides, as though driven by the wind, the tarn hovering, and I grasped the flung, uncoiling, knotted rope, and, in a moment, was swinging wildly beneath the climbing tarn, the camp growing small behind me.

  “Well done, Ichiro, bannerman!” I called.

  “It is nothing, Commander,” he shouted.

  But it was something, in my view. I thought that I might claim Aiko, who was open to claim, and give her to him. Surely, in his long concealment with the tarns, waiting for Tajima, Pertinax, Haruki, and myself to return, he would have had an opportunity to form some interest in Aiko’s lovely and delicate lineaments.

  * * *

  Whereas I have spoken of an “Agreement,” that expression was, to some extent, a euphemism. It was more in the nature of a decree, or ukase, imposed by those in a position to impose and enforce it, in this case, the cavalry, now commanded by young Tajima, tarnsman.

  I am sure the terms were neither congenial to Lord Yamada nor to Lord Temmu.

  Whereas war was forbidden to neither of them, it was forbidden between them. If the altercation between these two houses was indeed wagered on by mysterious gamblers, perhaps treading the depths of a vast nest in the Sardar, or in orbiting worlds of steel, it would lack a resolution. In this game there would be no winner, nor loser. The dice would disappear, the coin would vanish. The pieces, the game unresolved, would be dashed from the board. I did not even know if the wager had existed, or, if it existed, on which side which gambler might have wagered. But there would be truce between the two warring houses, and enemies might live in peace, however unwillingly, glaring at one another balefully. The holdings, the palaces and fortresses, the houses and villages, were vulnerable from the air. There would be no shield against fire from the sky. Not even the high holding of Lord Temmu, citadel which had withstood a hundred sieges, over a thousand years, would be immune from foes who might companion themselves with clouds. I think few understood this ruling, other than myself, and perhaps Lord Nishida.

  I had little optimism, of course, even if the contest had been allowed to come to its conclusion, that a losing party would abide its outcome. It was hard to imagine Kurii ceasing to hunger for the green fields of Gor, and it was hard to imagine Priest-Kings voluntarily sharing their world, even its surface, with so aggressive, dangerous, and territorial a life form as the destroyer of a planet and the maker of steel worlds.

  “How long do you think this arrangement will last?” had asked Lord Nishida, over tea.

  “At least,” I said, “until the interest of unseen others has turned aside.”

  “The gamble, if it existed,” said Lord Nishida, “is over, as this war is over. Stasis has been achieved. That is our resolution. A new wager would require a new war.”

  “I trust so,” I said.

  “In time,” he said, “blades will be sharpened, and the two houses will be again at one another’s throats.”

  “Let it not be so,” I said.

  “They are opposed houses,” he said.

  “For a time,” I said, “the cavalry will keep the peace.”

  “A peace,” he said.

  “One is better than none,” I said.

  “Unless one cares for war,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “You are a warrior,” he said.

  I was silent.

  “The cavalry was once decimated, nearly destroyed,” he said. “It might be so again.”

  “I think not,” I said. “Security is enhanced. Spies are stationed. Signals are emplaced. Retreat camps, hidden in the mountains, might permit rearming, and regrouping.”

  “There is always the danger of dissension and corruption within the cavalry itself,” he said.

  “There is no guarantee,” I said, “that the sea sleen will not swim, that the
larl will not hunt, that the ost will not strike.”

  “Tajima is a good officer,” he said.

  “He served you well,” I said.

  “And you,” he said.

  “Pertinax will accompany me to Brundisium,” I said.

  “And others?” said Lord Nishida.

  “Those who wish to do so,” I said.

  “Brave, loyal men may replenish the cavalry,” said Lord Nishida.

  “Many decisions will be made by the tarns themselves,” I said. The tarn, an aggressive, terrible bird, senses diffidence, hesitation, and fear. And some, for no clearly understood reason, will not accept certain riders. Many men have been maimed, even torn to pieces, by these dangerous “brothers of the wind.” But men will seek their saddles. They will risk death to share the flight of the tarn.

  “Rutilius of Ar, one perhaps of interest to you,” said Lord Nishida, “now serves in the kitchen of the castle.”

  “I see,” I said.

  Rutilius of Ar was once Seremides of Ar, master of the Taurentian guard. He had lost a leg in the Vine Sea, on the voyage to the World’s End. He had supported Talena, the “false Ubara” of Ar. There was a price on his head, on the continent. The bounty on Talena herself, who had been mysteriously removed from Ar, during the restoration of Marlenus, Ubar of Ubars, was a fortune, such that it might purchase a city, ten thousand tarn disks of gold, each of double weight.

  “The location of Tyrtaios, and Straton, his fellow, who rode for Lord Yamada, is not known,” said Lord Nishida.

  “I have heard so,” I said.

  “They came to the holding,” said Lord Nishida, “pledging their swords to the house of Temmu. It seems their service to Lord Yamada was a deceit, that their hearts and loyalty were always with the house of Temmu, that they had labored secretly on its behalf, at great risk to themselves, in the very midst of the enemy.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “They barely escaped the hand of Lord Temmu,” said Lord Nishida.

  “They had tarns,” I said.

  “Too,” he said, “Lord Temmu has abandoned his interest in bones and shells.”

  “Daichi returned?” I said.

  “We do not know his whereabouts,” said Lord Nishida. “Lord Temmu desires to have him cast from the outer parapets, to the valley below.”

  I sipped my tea.

  “I did not believe you, on the road to the palace of Yamada,” he said.

  “I thought you might not,” I said.

  “Your alleged masses of warriors and Ashigaru did not exist,” he said. “Those sighted were not uniformed, and were diversely armed. Banners were not in evidence. Why would forces of such potency not be more easily detected? Their ranging, and movements, were not those of armies, but of scouts or skirmishers. If Yamada had the forces you alleged at his disposal he would have done well to mass them, in formidable array, that we be disheartened. What cannot be seen may not be many, but few.”

  “They were peasants,” I said.

  “I thought so,” said Lord Nishida. “We could have paved the road to the palace with their bodies.”

  “They would not have been committed in battle,” I said. “Why did you not disabuse Lord Okimoto of his apprehensions?”

  “I wished to see what you were up to,” said Lord Nishida. “Conquest was within our grasp. What difference does it make whether the fist is closed on one day or another?”

  “True,” I said.

  “It would have been well for the house of Temmu,” he said, “had we retained you as a guest.”

  “But you failed to do so,” I said.

  “And thus,” said he, “you made contact with the cavalry.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “And were able to issue significant orders,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And return, those orders transmitted,” he said, “to issue your ultimatum.”

  “Forgive me,” I said.

  “It is just as well,” he said. “Had we crushed Yamada and ended his house, it is not clear what might have been the consequences for the world.”

  “If any,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said, “if any.”

  So two shogunates, as before, stood.

  My thoughts drifted back to the grounds of the palace of Yamada. Kazumitsu, who had been a special officer to Lord Yamada, was now a loyal and honored daimyo, having succeeded to the authority, honors, lands, and goods of Lord Akio. Katsutoshi, now training his left hand to wield the companion sword, remained the captain of the shogun’s guard. Yasushi was promoted to high sword master, he who organizes and trains Ashigaru. The whereabouts of Arashi were not known, but it was rumored he, with a handful of armed fellows, haunted the towns, roads, and villages of the north. Relentlessly pursued, he could withdraw to the lands of Lord Yamada where, it seemed, he would be welcomed, and sheltered.

  “Stay with me,” Lord Yamada had said to Nodachi. “Rule by my side.”

  “Forgive me, honored father,” said Nodachi. “But I am called by the shores of far seas, by lonely forests, by remote mountains. I will seek a cave. I must perfect my skills. I must meditate.”

  “You are mad, dear, misshapen brute,” said Lord Yamada.

  “The sanity of one is the madness of another,” he said.

  “You seek perfection?” said Lord Yamada.

  “Of course,” said Nodachi, bowing.

  “Then you are a fool,” said Lord Yamada. “The path to perfection is a path with no end.”

  “It is a path some will follow,” said Nodachi.

  “I will kill no more sons,” said Lord Yamada. “I will have a hundred sons, a hundred swords at my side.”

  “I am a man of peace,” said Nodachi.

  “Are you not wedded to the sword?” asked Lord Yamada.

  “There is no peace without the sword,” said Nodachi.

  He then bowed to his father, which bow was returned. He then turned about and took his leave. Neither the shogun nor any of his guards attempted to detain him.

  “You intend to sail with the River Dragon,” said Lord Nishida.

  “Yes, Lord,” I said. “Perhaps you will convey my farewells to Lord Temmu and Lord Okimoto.”

  “Lord Okimoto will doubtless compose a poem,” said Lord Nishida. “He will then transcribe it onto a sheet of silk. His calligraphy is superb.”

  “I have heard so,” I said.

  “I shall miss you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

  “And I you,” I said.

  “I have studied men much,” said Lord Nishida, “and I do not understand them.”

  “Nor I,” I said. “There is always love and honor, and greed and gold. Some ascend the steps of blood and paint the black dagger. Others grasp at sparkling pebbles and tiny disks of yellow metal. Others will die for a Home Stone.”

  “And which are you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” he asked.

  “I am unknown to myself,” I said. “I am perhaps better known to others than to myself. Some are always wayfarers, strangers to themselves.”

  “The River Dragon sails tomorrow,” said he.

  “I know, my lord,” I said.

  * * *

  There was much bustle on the wharf, I was jostled. A long string of stripped, neck-chained, back-braceleted slaves, mostly barbarians, but some Pani, was being boarded. Some mercenaries, intent on returning to the continent, were boarding, as well, packs on their back. Few, despite the protestations of recruiters, long ago on the continent, were returning richer than they came. Wealth can be earned by the sword, but blood and misery, weariness and cold, want and danger, are more common pay.

  Yet men, still, will follow the way of the sword.

  “Tal, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

  “I had hoped you would see me off,” I said. “How goes the cavalry?”

  “Its beasts are healthy, its rounds are made, its weapons are sharpened,” said Tajima.

  “Two houses fear you,” I sai
d.

  I had last seen Tajima at the camp of tarns, north of the holding of Lord Temmu, in his headquarters tent. He moved aside the lists of equipment and the maps on the small table, and clapped his hands, twice, briskly.

  Nezumi hurried in, and knelt, head down, to await instructions.

  “Stand, girl,” he said, “and turn, twice, slowly, before us.”

  “Nice,” I said.

  She was no longer in the rough tunic of a field slave, but in the slight silk of a pleasure slave, brief, and yellow. Her hair was short, still, but well shaped and cut. Her body sparkled, for slaves are not free women. They must keep themselves clean, neat, and well-groomed, such that they will be attractive to men. Perhaps that is one reason free women hate them so. Slaves, being owned, exist for their masters, and are to please them. She wore a light, flat, close-fitting collar, which closed and locked at the back of her neck.

  Nezumi was indeed a lovely slave.

  Men enjoy showing off their slaves, as they might any other belonging.

  Tajima pointed to the ground, and she knelt, instantly, her head down.

  We then paid her no more attention.

  How careless she had been, I recalled, to have cast that beribboned missive from the outer parapet.

  I supposed there were many ways of begging for the collar, some even unknown to the supplicant.

  I recalled a conversation between them which I had overheard, at night, when camping in the open country, shortly after we had fled from that village in which we feared, and justifiably, we had been suspected.

  “You saved my life,” she had said.

  “It is nothing,” he had said.

  “Still,” she said.

  “I wanted a girl for my collar,” he said.

  “I think there was more,” she said.

  “No,” he said.

  “Perhaps Master is less than candid,” she said.

  “Perhaps Nezumi wishes to be beaten,” he said.

  “There are many girls,” she said. “No, I do not wish to be beaten.”

  “And most,” he said, “are far more beautiful than Nezumi.”

  “Scarcely,” she had said.

  In this short debate, I had found myself siding with Nezumi. Many Pani women are quite beautiful, but I doubted that many were more beautiful than she, and certainly there would be few who would be far more beautiful. I am sure that Tajima had wanted her from the first moment he had seen her, when she was feigning the role of a contract woman in the quarters of Lord Nishida. It had not been suspected at that time that she was a spy for the house of Yamada, let alone that she might be one of his several daughters. She had frequently scorned and abused him as a poor warrior. How he must have dreamed of buying her contract! Now she had no more status than a tarsk, another beast which may be owned.