Swordsmen of Gor cog[oc-29

by John Norman

  “You beast, White!” she screamed.

  “You will address me as Pertinax,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “There is no ship,” he said. “Much has changed.”

  “There will be a ship!” she cried. “Nothing has changed!”

  “I have changed,” he said.

  I had the thought, now, that Pertinax might leave a hut, to look after a trussed property, even were a sleen in the vicinity.

  And certainly a property, helplessly trussed, lying outside in the darkness, might fervently hope that he might do so.

  “I trust,” said Miss Wentworth to Pertinax, “you are not toying with contemplating the possible meaning of your bestial strength, that you are not tempted to acknowledge your desires.”

  Pertinax regarded her, angrily.

  How fortunate she was that he was not Gorean!

  “Your strength and desires must be ignored,” said Miss Wentworth. “It is best if you can convince yourself that they do not exist. Struggle desperately to do that. If that is not possible, you must put them to the side. One must choose sorrow and righteous grief over opportunity and gratification.”

  Yes, very fortunate.

  “Why?” asked Pertinax.

  “Because you are of Earth!” she said.

  “Perhaps an Earth which has too long ignored certain truths,” he said, “an Earth in sorry need of recollection, of reformation.”

  “You are a cultural artifact,” she said, “engineered to conform to imposed standards, as much as an envelope or motor.”

  “No,” he said, “I am a man.”

  “A cultural construct!” she said. “A manufactured product, designed to cohere with a complex set of systematically interrelated roles.”

  “Surely,” I said, “a test of cultural value should have some relevance to the happiness and fulfillment of human beings.”

  “No,” she said.

  “To what then?” I asked.

  “To the culture itself,” she said, “its prolongation.”

  “I see,” I said.

  A culture did seem to have its own dynamics, its own life, a life, a biography, to which the welfare or happiness of its components might be only indirectly related, if at all. A plant was organic, and the health of the plant assured the health of its components. A culture, on the other hand, though it might crumble and lapse into obsolescence, was commonly not organic, but mechanistic, and the functioning of the machine required not the happiness, health, or welfare of its parts, but only that they functioned appropriately, contributing to the pointless longevity of the machine itself.

  “Is there no such thing as nature?” I asked. “Is there only misery, prisons, guns, and hatred?”

  “Nature does not exist,” she said.

  “You cannot be serious,” I said.

  “It does not exist in any important sense,” she said.

  “If not,” I said, “why must it be so fiercely contested, so strenuously fought against?”

  “It is inimical to civilization,” she said.

  “Only to unnatural civilizations,” I said.

  “All civilizations are unnatural,” she said.

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “There is no reason why a civilization cannot be an expression of nature, rather than her enemy, in its way an enhancement of nature, a celebration of nature.”

  “There are no such civilizations!” she said.

  “There have been several,” I said.

  “None now!” she cried.

  “I know of at least one,” I said.

  “No!” she said. “No, no, no!”

  “What are you afraid of?” I asked.

  “I am not afraid!” she cried. She pulled down, desperately, at the hem of her tunic, with both hands. “Do not look at me so!” she cried to Pertinax.

  “There is no ship,” said Pertinax.

  I think Pertinax had begun to sense how a woman might be viewed, particularly one in such a tunic.

  Women were not men.

  They were quite different.

  “Do not look at me so!” she said to Pertinax. “Are you some boor, or brute? Have you not been educated?”

  “I was not educated,” said Pertinax. “I was trained, indoctrinated. Perhaps only now has my education begun.”

  “Beast!” she cried.

  “What of the test of life consequences?” I asked.

  “I do not understand!” she wept.

  “Does the mastery not fill a man with power,” I asked, “with zest, with vitality, with a sense of reality and identity, with a sense of fittingness, with a sense of being himself, with a sense at last of being a part of nature rather than a dislocated, lost, wandering fragment shorn from her?”

  “Why have we not been brought before Lord Nishida!” she cried.

  “The mastery fulfills a man,” I said. “What man is complete until he has at his feet a slave?”

  “A slave! Oh, yes, a slave!” laughed Miss Wentworth, scornfully.

  Then she turned to Cecily.

  “Slave!” she said.

  “Mistress?” said Cecily.

  “You are a slave, are you not?” asked Miss Wentworth.

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Cecily, frightened.

  Surely Miss Wentworth could see that her fair throat was enclosed in the circlet of bondage.

  “Worthless, degraded, meaningless, naked slave!” said Miss

  Wentworth.

  “Yes, Mistress,” whispered Cecily.

  “You, slave,” cried Miss Wentworth scornfully to Cecily, “are you happy as a slave, do you want to be a slave, are you fulfilled as a slave?”

  “It does not matter, Mistress,” said Cecily, “whether or not I am happy to be a slave, whether or not I want to be a slave, whether or not I am fulfilled as a slave. I am a slave.”

  “Answer me, slut,” cried Miss Wentworth. “And speak the truth!”

  “I must speak the truth, Mistress,” said Cecily. “I am a slave.”

  “That is true,” I said to Miss Wentworth. “The slave must speak the truth. She is not a free woman.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Cecily. “I am happy to be a slave. I want to be a slave. I am fulfilled to be a slave! It is what I have always been, and knew myself to be, and now the collar is on me! I am a slave, and should be a slave. It is what I am, what I want to be, and what I should be!”

  “Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting!” screamed Miss Wentworth.

  I did not understand her concern. If some women were slaves, and wished to be slaves, and loved being owned, and wanted to be at the feet of masters, why should she object? What was it to her?

  “Have I come at an inopportune time?” inquired Tajima.

  “No,” I said.

  He had entered in his quiet, polite way, unobtrusively.

  “Lord Nishida,” said Tajima, “regrets the delay, but he was awaiting an envoy, one from exalted personages.”

  I supposed that would be some Gorean. Perhaps it would be Sullius Maximus, pretending, again, to be an agent of Priest-Kings. I had little doubt that the true agent had been disposed of, doubtless long ago, probably cast to the nine-gilled sharks of Thassa. They often follow in the wake of a ship, to retrieve garbage.

  “There!” said Miss Wentworth. “At last! Now we will receive our pay, be conducted to the coast, board ship, and, soon, brought first to an appropriate base, find ourselves again on Earth.”

  “Your slave is very pretty,” said Tajima, noting Cecily.

  He viewed her as what she was, a lovely animal, perhaps even a prize animal.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Masters are often pleased when their beasts are commended. Such commendation, you see, reflects credit on him. In such a way he is complimented on his taste in women, in slaves.

  “You may finish my tea,” I told the slave, handing her the cup, with its residue, “and then you may clothe yourself.”

  “Yes, Master,” she
said. “Thank you, Master.”

  She put her head down to drink. She held the cup with two hands, as a Gorean cup is commonly held.

  “Do white women make pleasing slaves?” asked Tajima.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “That is well,” he said.

  “I cannot see Lord Nishida like this,” said Miss Wentworth, indicating her brief tunic, little now but a rag, given our journey through the forest. “Bring me something suitable!”

  “I have,” said Tajima, who held, over his left forearm, what appeared to be, arranged in several narrow folds, a sheet of rep cloth.

  “Give it to me,” said Miss Wentworth, putting out her hand.

  “Outside,” said Tajima, “there are three tubs, filled with hot water, in which you may soak, and enjoy yourselves. It will be very pleasant, and there are, at hand, smooth scrapers of sandalwood, scents, oils, and towels.”

  “Outside?” said Miss Wentworth.

  “She is not used to public bathing,” I said.

  “Interesting,” said Tajima. “We shall have one of the tubs brought within the hut.”

  “No,” said Miss Wentworth.

  “No?” asked Tajima.

  “I insist on being brought immediately to Lord Nishida,” said Miss Wentworth.

  “You do not wish to bathe?” asked Tajima, surprised.

  “No,” she said. “Bring us to Lord Nishida immediately.”

  “We shall proceed immediately then,” said Tajima.

  “No, no,” said Miss Wentworth, suddenly. “I must dress!”

  “Perhaps we might have the honor of greeting Lord Nishida,” I said, “and Miss Wentworth might then follow, shortly.”

  “A most suitable suggestion,” said Tajima. “The yellow-haired one may then, if she wishes, dress in privacy.”

  “I certainly so wish,” she said.

  He handed the rep-cloth sheet to Miss Wentworth, who seized it from him.

  “I will send two men to conduct you to the audience,” said Tajima to Miss Wentworth.

  “I will wait outside, and accompany her,” said Pertinax.

  “As you wish,” said Tajima. “Also, as I recall, it is you who are to present Miss Wentworth to Lord Nishida.”

  “I can present myself, I assure you,” said Miss Wentworth.

  “It is not customary,” said Tajima.

  I then accompanied Tajima from the hut, as did Pertinax, save that he waited discreetly outside, until Miss Wentworth would be ready to attend the audience.

  Cecily, now tunicked, heeled me, as was proper.

  As I left the hut, I paused, to glance at the three tubs. I would have been pleased to have had the bath. To be sure, I would keep my weapons at the side of the tub. If any approached too closely, I would arm myself. More than one warrior has been slain in the bath.

  Outside, at the three aforementioned tubs, Pertinax and I found, waiting, two lovely young women. They might have been of Ar, or Venna, or Telnus, from almost anywhere.

  “These would have bathed you,” said Tajima.

  “I see,” I said.

  Both women looked down, frightened.

  Perhaps they were new to their collars.

  Both were naked.

  “You may look upon them as you wish,” said Tajima. “These are not contract women, trained, refined entertainers, or such. They are simple, coarse slaves, no different from those with which you are familiar. You may note that their necks are encircled with collars, and may be confident that the collars are closed, and locked. Too, if you care to examine their left thighs, you will note, just under the hip, a brand.”

  I examined the brands. Both wore the cursive kef, the most common Gorean slave brand.

  “They were both free women of Ar, even of high station,” said Tajima. “Several such have come recently into our hands.”

  “Ar is troubled, of late,” I said.

  “I have heard that,” said Tajima.

  “I am surprised,” I said. “I thought such women might not be cultural for you.”

  I had some sense of the milieu from which the “strange men” might have sprung. I did not doubt but what ancestors of theirs, from hundreds of years ago, or perhaps thousands, might have been brought to Gor by Priest-Kings on the Voyages of Acquisition, as had representatives, or, perhaps better, specimens, of a number of other backgrounds and cultures. The Garden of Gor, so to speak, both botanically and zoologically, had seemingly been stocked with care, at least at one time, apparently for interests both scientific and aesthetic.

  Most Goreans, on the other hand, were, I was sure, completely unfamiliar with the “strange men.”

  To be sure, much of Gor is terra incognita.

  But what did it bode, or signify, I wondered, that some such men might now be here, in the northern forests, engaged in some project, which appeared to be both mysterious and secret?

  And I had been debouched on the northern coast, at specific coordinates, supposedly by the order of Priest-Kings, though Kurii, too, obviously, had been apprised of those coordinates.

  What might be, I wondered, the interest of Priest-Kings, or Kurii, in this area, at this time?

  “We are a formal, traditional people,” said Tajima. “The old ways are important to us. But we are also an intelligent, adaptive people, and are always ready and eager to adopt useful devices, pleasant customs, and such.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Also, of course, it is not unusual for women to come into our keeping as a result of sale, of raiding, of war, and such.”

  “Still, I am surprised,” I said. “I thought such identificatory and custodial details, brands and collars, and such, might not be cultural for you.”

  “We have had them for centuries,” said Tajima. “It may be, I do not know, that they were not original with us, but one does, does one not, mark animals?”

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “Thus, we may very well have come up with them independently, but, if not, we are happy to learn from others. Those of the high cities are so elegant and efficient in these matters that it would do us great honor to recognize, if we did, the perfections which they have developed in their handling of women.”

  “Of slaves,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  It was true. Over centuries the Goreans had developed the handling of female slaves into a fine art.

  That is something an Earth woman might remember, if she is brought to Gor as a slave.

  “There were three tubs,” I said, “two slaves.”

  “One slave to bathe you,” said Tajima, one to bathe Pertinax.”

  “We could bathe ourselves,” I said.

  “Assuredly,” said Tajima, “but is it not pleasant to be bathed by a naked slave?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “The small pleasures of life,” said Tajima, “are not to be scorned.”

  “True,” I said.

  “Besides,” said Tajima, “the act is beneficial for the women, as well. It helps them to understand that they are women, and that, as women, although they are women, they may prove to be of some value, however humble.”

  “What of Miss Wentworth?” I asked.

  “Miss Wentworth, as she is a female, may bathe herself.”

  “There were only three tubs,” I said.

  “Your slave,” said Tajima, “would use your tub, after you had finished.”

  “I think you speak English,” I said.

  I remembered this from the reserve.

  “I learned it far away,” he said.

  “On Earth?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Have you come recently from Earth?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  At that moment I heard the roar of a larl.

  “Do not be dismayed,” said Tajima, “it is from the pavilion of Lord Nishida.”

  “It sounds close,” I said.

  “It is,” said Tajima. “There is the pavilion.”

 
Chapter Ten

  in which is recounted a portion of what occurred in the pavilion of lord nishida

  “Greetings, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida. “Welcome to Tarncamp.”

  “Greetings,” said I, and bowed, politely, which salutation was graciously acknowledged by Lord Nishida, with an inclination of the head.

  Lord Nishida was garbed in white robes. He sat cross-legged, within his pavilion, on a low, flat platform of lacquered wood, some twelve feet square. Beside him, one on each side, lay two swords, one short, one long, each with a large, slightly curved hilt, wrapped in silk, and a curved blade. The longer of the two swords was not unlike that carried by Tajima, thrust in his belt, edge uppermost. Lord Nishida’s countenance was refined, even delicate, but refined and delicate in the way a light, carefully edged weapon is refined and delicate, as, for example, the shorter of the two blades beside him.

  “I trust that your journey hither was pleasant, and uneventful,” said Lord Nishida.

  “Yes,” I said.

  It would have been considerably less pleasant for the girls, of course, as they had been bound, and hooded, and led on leashes, for much of the journey.

  “I trust, as well, that your quarters, though regrettably primitive, a consequence of the rude and transitory nature of our camp, are satisfactory.”

  “Thoroughly satisfactory,” I said.

  “I am pleased to hear that,” said Lord Nishida.

  “You have made the acquaintance, of course,” he added, “of our trusted and loyal servitor, Tajima.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I trust his service was satisfactory.”

  “Eminently so,” I said.

  Tajima was standing behind me, to my right.

  “He is in training,” said Lord Nishida.

  “I am sure he will do well,” I said.

  “We will see,” said Lord Nishida. “He has much to learn.”

  “We are grateful,” said Lord Nishida, “that you deigned to accept our invitation to Tarncamp.”

  “It was my pleasure,” I said.

  I had heard a tarn in the vicinity, but I had seen none in the camp, either taking flight or alighting.

  Lord Nishida smiled, slightly.