I felt suddenly chilly. Then I shook the chill from me. The sky was bright. In it were billowy white clouds. It was a good day for war.
"Shall we go to the council lodge or flee?" I asked.
"We shall decide the matter in a way becoming to my people," said Cuwignaka. "Do you see that lonely fleer in the sky?"
"Yes," I said.
"If it should fly to the north or west," he said, "we shall go to the council lodge."
"And if it should fly to the south or to the east?" I asked.
"Then," said Cuwignaka, "we shall go to the council lodge."
"It is going north," I observed.
"Then the matter is clear," said Cuwignaka. "We will go to the council lodge."
"I was hoping that that would be the outcome," I said.
"So, too, was I," said Cuwignaka.
"It was very clever fleer," I said.
"I was sure it would be," said Cuwignaka.
We adjusted our weapons.
"Let us go," I said.
"What of these?" asked Cuwignaka, gesturing with his lance to the three white slaves who had been in the charge of the Yellow Knives. They stood to one side, frightened. Their long tethers dangled from their necks to the dust. They were stripped. Their hands were bound behind their backs.
"You are in the presence of a free man," I said to them, indicating Cuwignaka.
Quickly they fell to their knees, putting their heads to the dust.
"We will leave them," I told Cuwignaka. "They are only female slaves."
"I, too, am only a female slave, Master," said Wasnapohdi, looking up at me.
"You may accompany us," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
The other slaves lifted their heads, remaining on their knees, bound, in the dust.
We left them behind, then, making our way toward the council lodge. They, like other loot strewn about, robes and saddles, must wait to see who it was who would pick them up, who it was to whom they would then belong, whom they must then serve, absolutely and unquestioningly, with every perfection and particle of their intelligence and beauty.
26
Once More to Tread Disputed, Bloody Dust
"Well done!" I called to Cuwignaka.
His kaiila in the clash of shield and lances had lost its footing, spinning and falling back to its haunches. Cuwignaka had retained his position on the animal. As it scrambled up he had caught a passing Yellow Knife under the shield. The momentum of the Yellow Knife had wrenched Cuwignaka to the side but, again, he had kept his position. The same momentum, in its force, blood leaping from his side, carried the Yellow Knife from the point of the lance. In a few yards he had been unable to cling to the animal and had slipped from its back, under the paws of other beasts.
I looked about myself.
Hci and Cuwignaka, to my right, were almost side by side.
I buffeted aside the attack of a Yellow-Knife lance, it furrowing the hide of the shield I bore. There were men afoot amongst us, too, both Yellow Knives and Kaiila. The Yellow Knife whirled his kaiila about, as I did mine. Lances struck on shields. We were then apart from one another. Ear-splitting shrieks and cries filled the air. Red savages are not wont to conduct their altercations in dignified silence. There is a purpose to such things, of course. They serve to heighten aggression and ventilate emotion. They may also have a role to play in the intimidation, and consequent inhibition, of the enemy, perhaps in virtue of making one seem a more fearsome or terrible foe. Most interestingly, such cries, particularly if unexpected, may freeze, or startle, the enemy, thus, for a brief, valuable moment, providing the aggressor with a relatively inactive, stationary target for a particular stab or thrust. This sort of thing occurs in the animal world, incidentally, as when the cry of the male larl freezes game for the coordinated attack of his mate, the she-larl. Too, those who have been trained in the use of the bayonet will not find such things unfamiliar.
"Beware!" I cried.
A Kaiila turned, catching the canhpi of a Yellow Knife on his shield.
I yanked back my leg, bloody. I struck down to my right with the butt of my lance. A Yellow Knife, afoot, reeled back. He was struck by the forequarters of another Yellow Knife's kaiila and fell to the ground. There a Kaiila warrior leapt upon him, knife rising and falling.
Suddenly my lance was pinned between my mount and that of another warrior, one of the Kaiila. For an instant I could not free it of the press of the animals and then I wrenched it free.
I saw Cuwignaka fend away an attack against Hci, thrusting his kaiila, his shield lifted, literally between that of Hci and his assailant. Hci himself was thrusting away an attacker on his right.
In feeling I was not really much aware of the cut on my leg but I inspected it, visually, to ascertain its depth and nature. It is important to be objective about such matters. In particular, if the flow of blood is considerable or steady, it must be stanched. Some men have bled to death from wounds of which they, in the heat of battle, in the excitement and press of combat, were scarcely aware. The blood from the wound, however, was shallow and run from the cut itself. Already its flow was slowing. It was not dangerous. There were neither veins nor arteries in the area.
I kicked back my heels into the flanks of my kaiila and it lunged ahead. My lance dug into the chest of a Yellow Knife afoot. I jerked loose the lance. The thrust is made with the blade parallel to the ribs. This facilitates its removal.
Men clashed on either side of me.
I saw a white female slave, nude, terrified, running, buffeted, among the men and animals.
It made no sense to me that she should be loose on the field.
She was beautiful.
I saw a young Kaiila warrior, his lance transferred to his left hand, reach down to seize her by the hair, to appropriate her for himself.
"No!" I cried. "No!"
The young warrior looked up, startled.
Bearing down on him, lance leveled, was a painted Yellow Knife.
I brought my kaiila about and, desperately, thrust the lance into the charging Yellow Knife, to my right. It went half through him, his force driving his body along the wood. His gut struck my hand and the lance, in his scream and the twisting of the kaiila, was lost. Behind him, as I had feared, came his flankers, those working with him, to protect him in his charge, those who would give him time to free his lance. The short sword of Port Kar leapt forth from my sheath. I met the lance of the man on my left with the shield, turning its stroke. The other fellow, who had been to the left of the lead warrior, pulled his kaiila toward me. I turned, taking his lance thrust, too, on the shield. As he thrust at me again I struck off the end of the lance. Such blades are, for the most part, unknown in the Barrens. They can part silk dropped upon them. Startled, crying out, he pulled his kaiila back, and turned, and fled. I struck out at the fellow on my left and a segment, cleaved, flew from his shield. Wide-eyed, he, too, withdrew.
Such blades, of course, are infantry weapons. Their weight and length is designed to achieve a desiderated optimum. They are heavy enough to have considerable striking force in saberlike trajectories and light enough to have something of the swiftness and play of the foil. They are long enough to outreach a dagger-armed opponent and short enough, and maneuverable enough, to work their way, beating and thrusting, behind the guard of longer, heavier weapons. They are not, however, a good weapon for use from either the back of a kaiila or a tarn. That sabers are not used more widely on Gor is, I think, a function of the tendency of many mounted warriors to rely too exclusively, in my opinion, on their skills with the lance. The scimitar of the Tahari, a useful weapon from kaiilaback, is an interesting exception to this general tendency.
Here and there, some leaning awry, thrust in the dirt, were lances.
I rode to one and, sheathing my sword, took it in hand. It was also a Yellow-Knife lance.
I turned about on the kaiila and saw the girl who had been running through the men and beasts. She was standin
g still, bewildered, shuddering, a few yards away. I rode the kaiila to where she stood.
"Do you understand Gorean?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Are you the slave of Yellow Knives?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You are mistaken," I said. "You are the slave of Kaiila."
"Yes, Master," she said, shuddering.
"Open your mouth," I said, "widely."
I laid the point of the lance in her mouth, well in her mouth, depressing her tongue. She looked at me, frightened. The slightest thrust would drive it through the back of her neck.
The young man whom I had protected rode up beside us. She regarded him in terror, her eyes wide, unable to move, her mouth about the lance.
"I think you know this woman," I said to the young man.
"Yes," he said. "We met recently."
"She is now a Kaiila slave," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"You understand how she was used, do you not?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, bitterly.
"It will now be decided, my dear," I told the girl, "whether you will live or die."
She whimpered piteously, her eyes wide, unable to speak, the lance point depressing her tongue.
"Do you find her of interest?" I asked the young man.
"Yes," he said.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Cotanka," said he, "of the Wismahi." As is often the case with the names of the red savages they do not translate simply and directly into a different language. The expression 'cotanka' usually designates a fife or flute, but it may also be used more broadly to refer to any wind instrument whatsoever. Given the cultural milieu involved and the narrower understanding of that expression within that milieu perhaps the best translation, supplying connotations familiar to the red savages, might be 'Love Flute'.
"It seems," I told the girl, "that you may be permitted to live, at least for a time."
She looked at me, wildly, piteously, gratefully, her tongue still unable to move, because of the lance point.
"The young man finds you, at least at present, of some interest," I said.
She whimpered, the sharpened metal in her mouth.
"Do you understand what it means," I asked, "when a man finds a woman of interest?"
She nodded, a tiny motion, but desperate, fervent.
"I think it would be in your best interest," I said, "to strive to be pleasing, fully."
She nodded again, tears in her eyes, desperately, fervently.
"When I give you the word," I said, "you will turn about and run to the lines of the Kaiila. There you will find a white man, who wears a broad-brimmed hat. His name is Grunt. You will throw yourself to your belly before him and tell him that you are the slave of Cotanka, of the Wismahi."
She nodded, her eyes wide.
I removed the point of the lance from her mouth. It was wet and muddy, from her saliva and from the dust, in which it had been thrust, point down, to the binding, from which I had retrieved it. She coughed and spit. She ran her tongue out, at the side of her mouth, leaving a stain of mud at the corner of her mouth.
She stepped back, terrified, shuddering. She wiped her forearm across her mouth.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"I have no name," she said. "Cotanka, my master, of the Wismahi, has not yet given me one."
"It is a suitable answer," I said. "Who are you?"
"The slave of Cotanka, of the Wismahi," she said.
"What are you to do?" I asked.
"I am to seek out one called Grunt," she said, "and tell him who I am, that I am the slave of Cotanka, of the Wismahi."
"And how are you to do this?" I asked.
"Lying on my belly before him," she said.
"As befits a slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Go, Slave," I said.
"Yes, Master!" she cried. She then turned about and ran, stumbling, back toward the Kaiila lines.
"I think she will make you a suitable slave," I said to the young man.
"I think so," he said.
"Let us return to the fray," I suggested.
"Let us do so," he agreed.
We then wheeled our kaiila about, once more to tread disputed, bloody dust.
27
Fighting
"They are coming! They are coming!" we heard. "The Kinyanpi! They are coming!"
Several times in the afternoon had the battle whistles, formed from the wing bones of taloned Herlits, blasted in the air, and the feathered battle staffs raised and lowered, communicating their signals to the combatants, not only to the Kaiila but to the Yellow Knives, as well. I did not know the codes, nor, for the most part, did Cuwignaka, as he had not been trained in the whirling, shifting tactics of his people, but Hci, and others, knew them well, much as Gorean soldiers know the meaning of the movements of standards, the blasts of battle trumpets and the beating of tarn drums. We followed their lead. Not once had Mahpiyasapa, communicating his will by the whistles and battle staffs, permitted his brave, ragged lines to pursue retreating Yellow Knives. I think this was wise for, as far as we could conjecture, we were muchly outnumbered. Surely fresh Yellow Knives had, from time to time, swept into the combat. Others, too, had been seen on nearby hills. The feigned retreat, drawing pursuers, strung out and disaligned into ambush, is a favorite tactic of red savages. Too, we wished to hold the camp. In it were women and children. In it was the meat which must nourish the Kaiila in the impending winter.
"They are coming," we heard. "The Kinyanpi!"
"Maybe it is smaller birds, a flock, much closer," said a man.
We heard blasts on the whistles of war.
"It is the Kinyanpi," said a man.
"Let us mount up," said Cuwignaka, swallowing down a piece of pemmican.
I continued to wipe down the flanks of the kaiila.
Warriors about me were mounting. Many of the animals were covered with dust to the belly. The hair about the lower jaws of many of them was stiff with dried blood, from the control of the jaw ropes. Blood, too, was on the braided leather.
I heard men about me. Some recounted their coups aloud to themselves. Some called upon their medicine helpers for assistance, usually birds and animals. Others sang their medicines of war. Still others spoke to their shields and weapons, telling them what would be expected of them. Many sang their death songs. "Though I die the sun will rise. Though I die the grass will grow. Though I die the kailiauk will come when the grass is high."
I made the jaw rope snug again on the lower jaw of my kaiila. Then, shield and lance in hand, I mounted.
"Do you think we can stand against the Kinyanpi?" asked Cuwignaka.
"I think so," I said. "Kahintokapa has prepared well." Archers concealed under robes and hidden among lodges lay between the Kinyanpi and our main forces, at the western edge of the camp. If the Kinyanpi attacked as they had before they would encounter, unexpectedly, sheets of arrows fired from close range. They would then, too, if they maintained their early attack pattern, strike into the ropes strung between lodges. These were intended to serve the same purposes as the swaying, almost invisible tarn wire sometimes strung in the high cities, wires which can cut the wings from a bird or tear off the head or arm of a rider. Sharpened stakes, too, fashioned from lodge poles, supported by shorter, crossed poles, archers at their base, could be oriented to the trajectory of the attack. This would tend to prevent, we hoped, not only swooping, talon attacks but also the close-quarters work of which the red savage, with his small bow, is fond.
We expected the Kinyanpi to be much less effective at a greater distance. Too, if the Kinyanpi were at heights of even fifty or a hundred feet, it would be difficult for them to fire accurately through the overhead network of ropes and cloths which we had suspended between several of the lodges. This form of reticulation is calculated to have a confusing and distractive effect on swiftly moving, airborne archers. By the time a target c
an be identified there is usually not enough time to fire. The ground-based archer, on the other hand, the defender, has the solid earth beneath him, and he, because of his nearness to the openings in the network, or loosely linked canopy, can both track the approaching enemy and fire through it with ease and efficiency. In this respect it functions something like a window. It is difficult to hit a particular window, particularly at late notice, while one is moving at high speed, but it is not difficult to see what is approaching through one and to fire through it. The defender, meanwhile, between passes, may change his position or, if you like, window.
"Do you think the Yellow Knives will coordinate their attack with that of the Kinyanpi?" asked a man.
"I think they should," I said.
"I think they have had their stomach filled at the moment with fighting," said Cuwignaka. "I think they will wait to let the Kinyanpi do their work for them."
"Perhaps," I said.
"If we can stand against the Kinyanpi," said the man, "I think we can hold the camp."
"I think so," I said.
"I can see them," said Cuwignaka, turned on his kaiila. "I can see the riders clearly. They are coming in, as before."
"I think it will be the last time the Kinyanpi will attack a Kaiila camp so incautiously," I said.
We then turned to face the Yellow Knives, some three hundred yards away. We were in long lines, our ranks two and three deep. We kept a distance of a lance length between riders. This was to minimize hits by the Kinyanpi. Our kaiila shifted under us. We waited, under the network of ropes and cloths. I heard songs of war.
There was a sudden, horrified scream of a tarn, impaled.
"Shields overhead!" I cried.
A tarn, its wings like thunder, some twenty feet over our heads, smote the air, and then another.
Wind whipped about us.
Dust, like powder, billowed twisting into the air.
Men coughed, kaiila snorted, pelted in the choking turbulence.
Other tarns, I could see, had suddenly swerved or begun to climb.
The kaiila under us turned, startled, scratching at the dust.
"Watch the Yellow Knives!" I called to Cuwignaka.
Blood Brothers of Gor Page 29