by John Norman
The war horn’s blast burst out from beneath me and I saw the cavalry, in its diving, wedgelike, suddenly widening, formation, to allow for a broad front of arrow fire, rank behind rank, deploy.
I suppose, to many, certain things might seem dreadful, the blast of the war horn, the thunder of tarn drums, the soaring descent to the attack, the scream of the tarn, the music of the bowstring, blood’s lyre, with its song of death, but, too, to some, there is little which so speaks of life as these musics of intent, of risk, and peril, little else which seems to speak so avidly and preciously of life.
Whereas I have spoken of two hundred tarns and riders, and this seems to me acceptable, it must be understood that, like any military unit, it might, from time to time, be above or below its official strength. Similarly, I have not included in the two hundred myself, certain subofficers, adjuncts, liaison personnel, and so on. Also, of great importance, but not included in the figure of two hundred, would be various forces on the ground, responsible for support, such as metal and leather workers, fletchers, tarnkeepers, suppliers of various sorts, and so on.
I pulled the tarn up, further, and then, briefly, held it almost stationary in the air, drawing back on all the straps simultaneously, the bird then hovering, wings beating fiercely.
The first wave loosed its missiles, and would then circle, to renew its attack, in turn. The attack was a simple one, a continual frontal assault, with each wave attacking thrice.
Needless to say, one of the great advantages of tarn attack is that one can get behind parapets, and such, and rake from the inside of fortifications, as well as from the outside. This possibility is neutralized in some fortifications by roofing the parapets, but this, of course, exposes the roofing to fire arrows, fire bombs, and such. In such a case the defenders will usually protect the roofing with wet hides, or slates. Similar considerations pertain to an attack on vessels. Tarn attack is often effective against ground troops, as they mass in formation, might march in columns, might be exposed in open camps, be discommoded in traversing marshy ground, be struck while fording bodies of water, and so on. Tarn attack is also useful in discouraging foraging by an enemy on the march. The harassments of tarn attack can do much to fatigue and alarm ground troops. Such troops should possess their own tarnsmen, to clear the skies as they can. Spies are often resorted to in Gorean warfare. But one of the most effective and inaccessible of spies is the distant, reconnoitering tarnsman. One might also note, in passing, the rapidity of communication by tarn, the timely reporting of developments, the swift conveyance of messages, and such. Supplies, too, in tarn basket, may be transported by tarn, usually by draft tarns, a breed of the tarn which is bred less for speed and agility than strength and stamina. Too, obviously, small numbers of raiders or infiltrators may be conveyed by tarn, and disembarked behind enemy lines or within enemy walls. For this purpose tarn baskets are sometimes used, but, if the journey is short, the tarn, even a common tarn, may carry a number of warriors, clinging to a knotted rope, some seven or so, to their destination. This tactic is not uncommon.
One of the major innovations I had introduced was to condition the birds to associate ring cries with ring tensions. For example, I would occasionally have the men cry out, say, “one-strap” at the same time as drawing on the one strap. After a certain number of repetitions this cry alone would induce the bird to respond as though the one-strap had been drawn. I thought this might prove of value. This was not necessary to facilitate archery, incidentally, freeing the hands for the bow, as some might suppose, as the kaiila of the Tuchuks, or the tarns of my men, once set on a course, pursue it. For example, although some Tuchuks retain the reins in the bow-gripping hand, many others have their hands fully free when using the bow, and only have recourse to the reins when they wish to alter the course of the kaiila. This functions the same way on tarnback, whether one is utilizing the straight bow or the crossbow. If the kaiila or tarn does swerve, which does happen, this is compensated for by the archer’s adjustment in his aim. If the kaiila’s track or the bird’s flight tends to be erratic, for example, in the midst of shouts and confusion, in which it is tested, it will be rejected for purposes of war. One desires, in so far as possible, a steady, reliable platform from which to launch one’s missiles. In this respect, obviously, the smooth flight of the tarn, particularly in its soaring, wings-spread approach, is far superior to the gallop of the racing kaiila.
I had neglected to avail myself of Lord Nishida’s suggestion for tarn-to-tarn archery practice, in which bound prisoners, aflight on leashed tarns, would serve as targets. I had substituted, instead, flighted targets, small, wooden disks, slung on ropes, carried beneath carrier tarns. If my archers could judge, lead, and strike such targets, smaller than a man’s body, I had little doubt they could manage the more likely targets. Too, there is a great difference between executing helpless prisoners and facing an unencumbered foe who has every intention of killing you. If one is familiar only with the sham of combat one might well panic in a different situation, when no charade is involved. Too, I was hoping to train warriors, not butchers.
“Yes, yes!” I whispered. “Fire, fire!”
There would be three sweeps of each of the flighted ranks.
An attack of this sort might be prolonged indefinitely, but I had ordered only three sweeps. I thought this would be adequate for the archers to accustom themselves to the attack, its speed and slope, and make any adjustments necessary. I would expect the third sweep of each rank to be more successful than the first or second, certainly more so than the first. This was the first time I had had the cavalry strike publicly, while under official observation, at ground targets in formation. Each rider, as indicated, had two broad quivers at his disposal, in each of which was a hundred arrows. The common quiver of the great bow, familiar to the peasants, would contain between twenty and thirty arrows. A crossbowman would commonly carry even fewer bolts or quarrels. Let us suppose that a crossbowman on tarnback had twenty bolts, and, drawing and cocking the cable, and extracting the bolt, and placing it in the guide, and aiming, could fire one every twenty Ihn. He could thus fire twenty bolts in 400 Ihn, or ten Ehn. On the other hand, with the short bow one could fire an arrow every five Ihn. Thus, in 400 Ihn, or ten Ehn, he could fire 80 arrows. Thus, the fellow with the short bow could fire four times as many arrows in a given period of time as the crossbowman. Further, given the quantity of arrows housed in the two broad quivers, whereas the ammunition of the crossbowman would be exhausted in ten Ehn, the ammunition of the other fellow, he with the short bow, even at the increased rate of fire, would last twenty-five Ehn. Thus the bowman could fire four times to the crossbowman’s once, and continue to fire for two and a half times as long. These figures are approximations, assuming averages, and typical marksmen. On the other hand, the differentials in fire power, with respect to rate of fire, and duration of fire, clearly and considerably favor the fellow with the short bow, at least until an enemy would adopt similar measures. In calculating these ratios I have supposed the crossbowman to be equipped with the stirrup bow, which may be reloaded and fired much more rapidly than the crank-and-ratchet bow. The range and striking power of the stirrup bow somewhat exceeds that of the short bow, and the range of the crank-and-ratchet variety exceeds that of the stirrup bow. On the other hand, given the usual proximity to targets in both cases, the rate and duration of fire of the short bow supplies it, in this sort of warfare, as it would in Tuchuk warfare, with a clear advantage. This is not to disparage certain advantages of the crossbow. For example, as with a rifle, it requires less skill to use it effectively than does the long, or short, bow. This is important if one is working with large groups of recruits from various backgrounds who may have been lured into service with inducement fees, or, not that infrequently, impressed into service. Similarly, the crossbow can remain ready to fire, for Ahn at a time. It is thus useful in door-to-door fighting, in stalking, in ambush, and so on. It is the weapon par excellence of the caste of Assassins.
The second sweep had now been concluded.
Rank after rank of the third sweep struck.
The rapidity with which these attacks may be mounted and concluded is impressive.
My attention was much focused on the flights, and the prides. The third sweep was now well in progress.
Below, targets bristled with arrows.
“Well done, fellows,” I thought. “Continue!”
But I must remind them, I thought, that posts and targets do not shoot back.
The final ranks had now entered into their long, sloping dive. More complex formations and attacks would have to be planned, I thought. Aerial maneuvers, too, I thought, perhaps with tipped, blunted arrows, might be useful. Too, they must be taught to fight and strike in pairs, or more, never to engage, if possible, on equal terms. One should avoid the application of force, if possible, except against lesser force, and, ideally, much lesser force. An enemy consistently divided and attacked piecemeal is an enemy doomed to defeat. General engagements are sometimes unavoidable, and too often unavoidable, but their outcome is too often, as Goreans might say, a matter not of kaissa, but of the casting of dice. A change of wind, a rising of dust, a prolonged battle, in which the angle of the sun changes, the loss of a commander, the loss of a standard, an unexpected, unpredictable wave of alarm in the ranks, an unfounded rumor of entrapment, the failure of a wing to hold, the hesitation or confusion of reserves, the tardiness of reinforcements, almost anything, may lead to disorder, and thence to the breaking of ranks, and thence to rout, and thence to massacre. Too, despite who holds the field, who decorates the trophy tree at the day’s end, a general engagement is often lost, in effect, by both sides. Two such victories may destroy an army, and ruin a state. Wars are often lost in wholes, and won in bits and pieces. Victory is often less the fruit of valor than of information, patience, calculation, and cunning.
The third wave had now discharged its missiles and was wheeling about, when cries came from below, which drifted up to me. I had wheeled the tarn about, to alight at the end of the training plaza, to which, by prearrangement, the cavalry had returned, when I wheeled him about again, puzzled at the confusion below. On the observation platform there was much milling about, shouting, cries. At the same time I saw one of my fellows, from the final flight of the third wave, I thought, still in flight, and moving south. A figure, in white, below, on the platform, was being supported by two of the infantrymen, or Ashigaru, as the Pani spoke of them. Instantly I realized what must have happened. I cried out in rage that I was not a lone tarnsman, that I might immediately set out in pursuit of the fugitive. As captain I could not do so. I must remain with the cavalry. My men were in formation below, not having been dismissed. They, too, were in a state of apprehension, if not of consternation, as something, clearly, was amiss in the vicinity of the observation platform. None broke ranks. Some twenty percent were Pani, and their discipline was as iron and they steadied the mercenaries about them. In a moment I dispatched Tajima and Pertinax, whom I had had train with Tajima, to pursue the fugitive, whom they had not even seen. I doubted they could overtake him. His name I would learn later. I also put Ichiro, my signalman, whose ritual suicide I had forbidden weeks ago, into the air, fearing that more might be on the wing than a single fugitive. I then placed Torgus in command of the cavalry, with orders to remain on alert, and designated Lysander, a mercenary, once of Market of Semris, to second him. Torgus commanded the first century, and Lysander the second. I had first encountered Lysander on the beach with Torgus, and his other men. It was he whom I had thought bore himself as one once of the Warriors. This proved correct, and he was, as well, a tarnsman, who had turned mercenary. I did not think it meet to inquire into his past. In such cases there is not unoften a killing, and sometimes a woman, most often a slave, sometimes a seductive, manipulative, conniving slave who would, for her perceived advantage, or sense of power, set masters against one another. There is a saying that a man conquers with the sword, the slave with a kiss. As Lysander had been subordinate to Torgus in his mercenary troop, I thought it best to keep him second here. As the leader of a century, of course, he was equivalent. In dealing with men an able commander must be sensitive, as well as he can, to the possible consequences of his decisions and appointments, consequences which may affect the efficiency of his force, and to what might be thought of as the realities of the heart, such things as perceptions of propriety, possibly surmised slights, perceived unwarranted preferments, questions of honor, and the almost inevitable conflicts amongst vanities. These things do not dictate command, but they influence it. The paramount question is always the maximum efficiency, either in the long run or short run, depending on the situation, of the unit’s military effectiveness. Decisions which are made on any other basis not only favor the ends of enemies, but constitute treason.
Ichiro was now high overhead.
I dismounted, and ran across the plaza of training, toward the observation platform.
In a moment I was at the foot of the platform.
The figure who had been in white, a white of dignity, and a color that stood out amongst the others on the platform, was lying on the platform, his head in the arms of one of the Ashigaru. An arrow was lodged in his shoulder, and the white kimono was spotted there with blood. The missile, of course, as it closes its own wound, does not produce blood in the same way that a wound opened by a knife, or blade or some sort, would. The blood flows when the missile is withdrawn. One of the Pani, a wound dresser, crouched over the fallen figure.
What an admirable target would have been the white kimono on the observation platform!
To be sure, it would have been a difficult target from tarnback, with the short bow, for one of my men, given the distance. It would have been a much more likely target for a stationary archer, armed with the peasant bow. But even then it would not have been a sure kill, across much of the plaza of training.
I heard a cry of misery from the platform, and the wound dresser stood up, the bloodied arrow in his grasp, held with two hands.
There would now be a great deal of blood, which must be stanched.
It was even now on the platform.
I could not well see the features of the fallen figure, for the men crowding about.
They would allow the wound to bleed, briefly, to wash it out.
In a few moments one of the fellows about was pressing the kimono down to the wound.
“He will live,” said the wound dresser. “Bring a panel. Place him upon it. Take him to the barracks.”
“I do not understand,” I said to a fellow beside me. “Should Lord Nishida not be taken to his pavilion?”
“Lord Nishida, of course,” said the fellow, “would be taken to his pavilion.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“It is not Lord Nishida,” said the man.
I looked about. To one side I saw Lord Nishida. He was dressed much as others, who had been on the platform.
“Tal, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.
“Lord Nishida!” I said.
“The exercise,” he said, “seemed to go well, though my eye is not practiced in such matters. What is your view?”
“The men are raw, but eager,” I said. “But they are growing in discipline, and skill.”
“Excellent,” he said.
“I thought you were struck,” I said.
“He who fled will think so, too,” he said.
“I set two aflight on his track,” I said.
“Not a twenty?” he asked.
“Those two would be sufficient,” I said.
“Excellent,” he said.
“Tajima and Pertinax,” I said.
“Pertinax?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “He is becoming a man.”
“Excellent,” said Lord Nishida. “We will need men.”
I did not inquire further into his remark, but I took it that by men, he meant something beyond mere males, that he meant
men.
“But I do not think they will overtake him,” I said.
“Let us hope not,” he said. “For I should like others to believe his mission was successful.”
“I see,” I said.
“It is important, of course, that the assailant believes himself to be earnestly pursued.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I have many spies, in many places,” said Lord Nishida.
“One must have maps, one must have eyes,” I said.
The importance of intelligence cannot be overestimated. It is a quiet business, without drums and trumpets, less apparent to the eye than wagons, bellowing tharlarion, the dust of marching columns, trains of cordaged artillery drawn through mud, and such, but I think it not less essential.
Information is essential to war.
The intellect of battle must guide its brawn.
How much of war is mind, how futile without it is its muscle!
It had not been Lord Nishida on the platform, in the white kimono.
Is not deception another name for war?
There are men, and cities, which gold can buy. Thus it is noted in the “Diaries,” usually attributed to Carl Commenius of Argentum. Similar sayings are not unknown. “The sharpest of swords has an edge of gold.” “More gates answer to a key of gold than one of iron.” “What can be purchased with gold need not be bought with blood.” And so on.
There are always jealousies, resentments, hatreds, and factions in cities, and the clever will exploit them to his own advantage.
Much will be sacrificed by many for position and power.
How often are Home Stones betrayed!
I thought of Ar.
Lord Nishida, I did not doubt, was well aware of the nature of men. I wondered if he were well aware of my nature, perhaps more so than I. One stands close to one’s self. How can the eye see itself, and even in water, or burnished plates, or bright mirrors, it sees but an image of itself, and who knows what lies behind it?