by John Norman
“No,” I said, loudly enough to be heard within the stable. “No one is within. We will return to the main camp.”
The men about looked at me, puzzled, and disappointed, some angrily, or reproachfully, but I waved them back, away from the stable. “No,” I said to Pertinax, who seemed on the brink of rushing through the threshold.
I did not suppose that any foe within would be so simple as to suppose we thought the stable empty, as no search had been made. I did hope that they would be cognizant of the dangers we would face in seeking them out, either in darkness or in the light of lamps or torches. Torches, in particular, would not be practical as a single torch, fallen into the straw, would result in the loss of the stable, and its housing for several tharlarion. A similar danger, of course, but one considerably less, would attend the use of lamps, whose flames were small, and whose effects might be more easily smothered or stamped out. To be sure, the lamps would cast less light, and the dangers, accordingly, to those who entered would be the greater. What I did hope was that the foes within, if any were there, would suppose that the attending commander, in this case myself, preferred discretion to a hazardous intrusion into darkness.
Once withdrawn I stationed my men about the stable, encircling it fully, lest any makeshift exit be attempted. I set archers in place, particularly in the vicinity of the entrance, and, in support, Ashigaru.
I put some men to the gathering of firewood.
I also sent several men to the training area, to storage sheds which were adjacent to several of the improvised tarn cots. I expected them to return within the Ahn.
Meanwhile darkness was almost upon us.
“I am going into the stable,” said Pertinax.
“Remain where you are,” I said.
“Miss Wentworth may be in danger,” he said.
“Saru,” I said, “a slave, in effect ‘Monkey’.”
“She may be in danger,” he said.
“She may be dead,” I said.
He regarded me, agonized.
“But it is unlikely,” I said, “as she is a meaningless beast.”
“I must know!” he said.
“You would risk your life for her?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“She must never know that,” I said. “She must think you despise her.”
“I do despise her,” he said. “But I desire her, as well.”
“She belongs to Lord Nishida,” I reminded him.
“I know,” he said.
It is interesting, I thought. The slave is nothing, no more than a purchasable beast, a mere animal to be ordered about, who must obey instantly and unquestioningly, and yet men will die for them. How is it that one would risk one’s life for a soft, sleek, curvaceous little beast, one at whose least indiscretion, lapse, or failure to please one would put unhesitantly to the whip. And the slave was not even his own.
“Wait,” I said.
“How long?” he asked.
“Perhaps until morning,” I said. “There will then be sufficient light, even within the stable.”
“If any are within,” he said, “they will attempt to flee before morning.”
“I think so,” I said. “That is my hope.”
“Your hope?”
“Certainly,” I said. “They are almost certain to be seriously outnumbered. Would you wait until morning?”
“No,” he said.
“Men have returned from the tarn cots,” said Tajima.
“Good,” I said. “Let them follow their instructions.”
Tajima nodded, and disappeared into the gloom, darkness now about.
In a few Ehn I gave a signal and, one by one, so that they would be immediately visible within the stable I had the lighting of six fires begun, lit at intervals of twenty Ihn, these fires to ring the threshold of the stable.
Such fires could be fed and tended until morning.
Shortly, even before the third fire was burning, there was movement within the stable as I had hoped and several foes, concealed within, realizing their danger, and the greater danger of morning, rushed outward, to slip away before the entire area might be illuminated.
At that point the roll of netting, some six feet in width, cut from the cordage used for the repair of the improvised tarn cots, was lifted upright from the ground and formed a wall impeding the fugitives.
In a moment the Ashigaru were upon them.
Heads were extracted from the cordage and tied to belts.
“They are dead, all of them,” said Pertinax.
“Some, less swift, some less valorous, some more fearful, some less frightened, some more circumspect, some more clever, may remain within,” I said.
Tajima joined Pertinax and myself.
“You took no heads,” I observed.
“I am Pani,” said Tajima, in English, “but not every custom of my people appeals to me.”
“In the Barrens,” I said, “they take scalps.”
“The Barrens?” he said.
The Barrens were east of the Thentis Mountains.
“Great, central plains,” I said.
“That does not appeal to me either,” said Tajima, again in English. “One knows what one has done. That is sufficient.”
“Nodachi?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Nodachi.”
“It is a cultural thing,” I said.
“Doubtless,” said Tajima. “But culture should serve one, not be served by one.”
“I see,” I said.
“Vanity is pleasant,” said Tajima, “but it is dangerous, as well. While seeking and gathering trophies, while grasping at evanescent glories, while posing and preening, one may die.”
“Nodachi?” I asked.
“Tajima,” he smiled.
It was one of the few times I had seen him smile.
“Surely the fruits of victory are desirable,” I said.
“Victory is the fruit of victory,” said Tajima.
“Tajima?” I asked.
“No,” he said, smiling, “Nodachi.”
“Men desire fruits of victory other than victory herself,” I said. “They desire land, power, gold, ships, villas, cities, women, other valuables.”
“Not Nodachi,” said Tajima.
“Nodachi is not as other men,” I said.
“No,” said Tajima, “he is not as other men.”
“He must desire something,” I said.
“Perhaps,” said Tajima.
“What?” I asked.
“The recovery of honor,” said Tajima. “Why else do you think he is here, with Lord Nishida?”
I was then silent, sensing that this matter might best be left unaddressed.
“What do we do now?” asked Pertinax. He had remained with me, and had not participated at the slaughter within the nets.
“We keep the fires lit,” I said. “We arrange watches. Arrows are to remain at the string. And we wait until morning.”
“What if any remain within and sue for quarter?” asked Pertinax.
“There is no quarter,” said Tajima. “It is the law of Lord Nishida.”
“I have heard nothing from within, of Miss Wentworth,” said Pertinax, and then he corrected himself, “of the slave, Saru.”
“She may be dead,” I said.
“I would know,” he said.
“In the morning we will know,” I said.
“I would know now,” he said, angrily.
“Remain where you are,” I said.
“And if I do not?” he asked.
“Then I will have you killed,” I said.
“I hate you,” he said.
“I accept that,” I said. “It is a familiar hazard of command.” I then turned to Tajima. “Tajima,” I said, “set watches, and see that most of the men at any given time are at rest. In the morning they must be fresh. Food must be brought before dawn.”
“Yes, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.
“What will you do now?” asked Pe
rtinax.
“Sleep,” I said.
“You can sleep?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I recommend that you do the same.”
“I think I shall stay awake for a bit,” he said.
I turned to two of my fellows at hand, mercenaries. I indicated Pertinax. “Bind him,” I said, “hand and foot.”
Pertinax struggled, but was subdued, and soon trussed. He struggled, futilely, and glared at me.
“I do not really want to have you killed,” I said.
“But you would?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “It is a matter of orders, of maintaining discipline.”
“I see,” he said.
“Get some sleep,” I advised him.
He struggled, fiercely.
“Do not bother,” I said. “You have been bound by Goreans. You are now as helpless as a trussed vulo, or, should we say, a bound slave girl, a nicely tethered kajira.”
“Tarsk,” he cried, “tarsk!”
“Good,” I said. “You are becoming more Gorean by the day.”
His struggles subsided. He would wait, helplessly. He had been bound by Goreans.
I lay down and thought of the hundreds, nay thousands, of slave girls I had seen on Gor, many of them deliciously helpless, fully at a man’s mercy, roped, braceleted, chained, collared, and such. How incredibly beautiful, I thought, are women. It is no wonder men desire to own them. Indeed, what male would not desire to own one? What could give a man more delight and pleasure than the owning of a lovely, well-mastered slave?
How beautiful they are, I thought, that most exquisite form of domestic animal. And how abundant they are on Gor! I had seen them tunicked in the cities, laboring in the fields, and so on. I had seen them in markets, awaiting their sale, and during their sale; I had seen them trekked in coffle, transported in slave wagons, reclining in cages, looking out at men who might buy them; I had seen them hurrying in the streets, bargaining with vendors, busy on the quays, laughing, and teasing, and running about; I had seen them kneeling, laundering at the public troughs; I had seen them chained to the side in matches, even kaissa matches, waiting to be awarded to victors; I had seen them belled in paga taverns, serving their master’s customers; I had seen them, serving quietly, demurely, in their masters’ houses; I had seen them dancing in the firelight, in camps, to the rhythms of the czehar, the kalika, the flute, and tabor.
Yes, I thought, what could give a man more delight and pleasure than the owning of a lovely, well-mastered slave.
It is said that there is only one thing more miserable than a master without a slave, and that is a slave without a master.
I hoped that Saru was still alive.
Then I slept.
Chapter Twenty
what occurred within the stable; a tarn is requested
It was near dawn.
Some bread was handed to me.
I had taken the report of the last watch, and no one had exited the stable. The six fires had been tended during the night, and the net had been raised and anchored to posts. The fires would shortly, with the coming of light, be extinguished.
“Free him,” I said to a nearby mercenary, indicating Pertinax.
“Did you sleep?” I inquired.
“There was little else to do,” he said.
“I see you are in good humor,” I said.
“I was a fool last night,” he said. “Forgive me.”
“It is nothing,” I said. “If any remain within I feared you would die in the darkness, or, if there was a lamp, constitute a target which would be difficult to miss at the range.”
“I am grateful,” he said.
“Rub your wrists and ankles,” I said. “Exercise your limbs, move about. Then eat, but not much.”
“You are going to enter the stable,” he said.
“We will enter together,” I said.
“I, too,” said Tajima. His blade was already in his hand.
“Of course,” I said.
“This is not the work for a commander,” said Tajima.
“Lord Nishida, and some others,” I said, “are commanders, ones less dispensable.”
“The cavalry,” said Tajima.
“The substance of my work there is done,” I said, “the organization, the training. You, Torgus, Lysander, and others, could command her.”
“You forged the weapon,” said Tajima.
“Others may now wield it,” I said.
“Why will you enter the stable?” asked Tajima.
“Curiosity,” I said.
“He intends to protect us,” said Pertinax.
“No,” I said. “I am seeking someone.”
“One who wears our gray?” said Tajima.
“Yes,” I said.
“The mercenary, Licinius Lysias of Turmus,” said Tajima.
“Yes,” I said.
It was he, it had been determined, who had fired upon he whom he thought was Lord Nishida during the exercises of the preceding morning, and had then fled, to soon return, guiding the horde with which we had done contest, in the sky, on the ground. It had been easy to determine this, first from startled witnesses to his perfidy, and a later call of the roll, to confirm the matter, lest the witnesses were confused, mistaking one uniform for another in the haste, the commotion, and turmoil of the moment. Too, indisputably, later in the afternoon, he had been noted amongst enemies in the camp, leading a party, firing structures, and such. He had worn a yellow armband to insure his safety from his own cohorts, an armband later removed, in an attempt to blend in with our men, an attempt unsuccessful as he had been well noted in the fighting. He had then, it seemed, with several others, taken refuge in the stable, doubtless first urging others to loose tharlarion and attempt to escape in the confusion, an attempt in which he had apparently declined to participate, preferring to remain concealed, planning to make away in the darkness. His name had been brought to me the preceding evening. It was not certain, however, that he was within the stable. If he was, I wished to meet him. Lord Nishida had assured me that there were spies in the camp. Licinius Lysias of Turmus had obviously been one of them. Others doubtless remained.
“I do not urge this,” said Tajima, “but would it not be wise to enter the stable in force?”
“It would be better to first reconnoiter,” I said.
“Surely you are not concerned with a slave?” said Tajima, puzzled.
“She has some value,” I said, “an unusual coloring, and such. Too, recall that Lord Nishida intends her for a shogun.”
Tajima nodded. If a general melee was in store, involving close fighting with several men, taking and giving ground, even a frightened, bounding kaiila might suffer, terrified in the rush of men, the shouts, the movement of blades, the fending of strokes, the thrust of spears, the slashing of glaives, the flight of arrows.
“No,” said Pertinax, smiling. “You do not wish to risk losing your man.”
“Ah!” said Tajima.
I think he was reassured then that Saru was, appropriately, not of importance, or at least of no particular importance. She was, after all, only a slave. She was not of the Pani, nor a contract woman. She was, when all was said and done, only another collar girl. Too, she could always be replaced with a slave of similar appearance, perhaps one even more beautiful. I did not think he would have viewed the matter in the same light had the girl been, say, Sumomo. To be sure, Sumomo was of the Pani, and had the status of a contract woman. She was not a collar-girl.
“Are you ready to kill?” I asked Pertinax.
“I think so,” he said.
“It would be better to be sure of it,” I said.
“- I am ready,” he said.
“Let us enter,” I said.
There was a musty odor in the stable, and the strong smell of tharlarion dung. The light was acceptable.
“Bucklers,” I cautioned Tajima and Pertinax.
We crouched down, bucklers forward, to cover as much of our bodies as was practic
al, and surely the chest and throat. Helmeted, we looked over the edge of the bucklers.
I had positioned myself on the right. There was no particular need for this in the situation, but it was a natural thing to do, almost without thinking. In the Gorean phalanx the field commander leads the right wing, which tends to drift to the right, this resulting from the natural tendency of each man to take advantage of the protection of the shield of the man on his right, as well as his own shield. Accordingly, the right wing of the phalanx tends to outflank the left wing of its foe, while the foe’s right wing tends to outflank his left. In this way the phalanxes tend to turn in the field, rather like a wheel of war. Some commanders, well aware of this dynamic, increase the depth of their left wings, a tactic which often leads to victory. The typical Gorean commander, perhaps unwisely, does not “lead” from a position of safety, from interior lines, so to speak, but leads from the front. He himself will be where steel meets steel. In this sense, I suppose he is less a general, and more a warrior. Wisely or not, this seems to be the typical Gorean way. Men, of course, are then ready to die for him, for he is with them, and one of them.
There was a sudden flash, almost invisible, and a shriek of gouged metal and a brightness of sparks and Pertinax, who was in the center, was spun half about, and almost lost the buckler, but then again had it in place.
“Ai!” he said.
“A quarrel,” I said.
Taken frontally the quarrel strikes like an iron fist. It might have gone more than half way through the layering of a leather shield. It could not penetrate the buckler, which was of metal.
Pertinax, clearly, had not anticipated the force of the missile.
“There!” he cried. “I see him! He will have to reload. I can have him before he can set the quarrel.”
“No,” I said. “Stop!”
He looked at me, wildly. The opportunity seemed golden to him. It was not.
“There will be others, to the side,” I said.
Had Pertinax rushed forward he would have been exposed to side fire, and, if he entered far enough into the stable, might have been hit in the back.
Trained crossbowmen, in such a situation, do not volley their fire. They will keep one or more bows ready, waiting.
We heard a woman scream.
“Margaret!” cried Pertinax.