Swordsmen of Gor

by John Norman

  I caught sight of Tajima, now, again, in the clearing. He approached Sumomo. She turned away. Though she was a female, and he a male, and though she was a contract woman, and he free, she had not bowed to him.

  I understood this to be an insult of some sort, and I noted that Tajima’s body, briefly, stiffened with rage. He then remained standing, where he was, where he had been rebuffed, looking after Sumomo, who was now with Hana, facing away from him, several feet from him, not far from the smoldering embers of Lord Nishida’s collapsed, blackened pavilion.

  “I fear the contract woman,” I said, “did not treat Tajima well.”

  “She has nothing to fear,” said Pertinax.

  “She may have more to fear than she understands,” I said.

  “I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

  “It is nothing,” I said.

  “Her contract is held by Lord Nishida,” said Pertinax.

  “Contracts may change hands, be purchased, and such,” I said.

  “Doubtless,” said Pertinax.

  “Why should she treat Tajima badly?” I asked.

  “Doubtless for the same reason that the Lady Portia Lia Serisia of Sun Gate Towers would, if she dared, not treat Pertinax well,” said Pertinax.

  “You are referring, incorrectly, I take it,” I said, “to a meaningless slave, your Jane, in her collar, who must now obey, fetch, and serve, unquestioningly.”

  “Yes,” he said, “to my slave, Jane.”

  “Your insolent slave,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “No slave is insolent,” I said, “whom you do not permit to be insolent.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “That lovely brat still has to learn her collar,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “Do not fear to use the switch, or whip,” I said. “The slave learns quickly to respond to its discipline, to its swift, informative, lashing sting, its sudden monitory caress on her soft, smooth skin.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “Certainly,” I said. “The next time your Jane’s behavior, in any way, whether verbal, physical, or attitudinal, asks for such a stroke, or even seems that it might ask for such a stroke, see that she receives it. You will learn shortly thereafter that her behavior will then seldom ask for such a stroke, or even seem to ask for such a stroke.”

  “She will learn to fear, and will then attempt to avoid, the stoke,” he said.

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “A switch in time saves nine?” he smiled.

  “You could put it that way,” I said. “The sooner she kneels before you and sees you as her master, the better for the both of you.”

  “She as slave, I as master,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “How can she be slave, if you are not master?”

  “I fear I lack the courage, the strength, to be a master,” he said.

  “Then sell her to another,” I said, “who will treat her as she deserves, and, in her heart, desires to be treated.”

  He was silent, angry.

  What man, after all, does not, in his deepest heart, want to own a woman? What could begin to compare with such a property?

  Perhaps, I thought, he has dreamed of another woman, a different slave, his, helpless at his feet?

  Would he have the courage, the will, the determination, the kindness, the compassion, I wondered, to put her at his feet, keep her there without the least compromise, and fulfill her?

  “Why should Sumomo not respect Tajima?” I asked. “Or Jane Pertinax?”

  “Perhaps because we are weak,” said Pertinax.

  “I do not think so,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” said Pertinax, “because neither of us speak Gorean natively, perhaps because neither of us was born to this world. We are seen as different, as barbarians.”

  “I, too,” I said, “would be such a barbarian.”

  “No,” he said, “you are Gorean.”

  “Tajima,” I said, “is now of Gor.”

  “I do not think Sumomo understands that,” said Pertinax.

  “A dangerous misunderstanding,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “Pertinax,” I said, “may one day, too, be of Gor.”

  “It is not easy to be of Gor,” said Pertinax.

  “At one time, long ago,” I said, “none were of Gor.”

  “Now, many?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Is it good to be of Gor?” asked Pertinax.

  “That question can be asked only by one who does not know Gor,” I said.

  “I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

  “Is it good to be alive?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Pertinax.

  “Then you sense Gor,” I said. “Once one has known Gor, one is alive. Once one has known Gor, one never goes back.”

  “Tajima is now approaching,” said Pertinax.

  “Yes,” I said. Sumomo, I noted, perhaps alerted by Hana, had turned about, to watch Tajima withdraw. She seemed amused. Tajima did not look back at her. My pantherine associate did not seem pleased. Although his face was a careful study in composure, there was a tightness about the jaw, a rigidity, that bespoke a rage and shame he was too proud to display. He had been genuinely concerned with the safety and welfare of the contract woman, Sumomo. His concern had seemingly been scorned, perhaps even mocked. Certainly, from the looks of it, he had been treated badly, very badly. I suspected he now viewed the contract woman differently, doubtless now as less worthy of his concern, which he would now recognize had been seriously misplaced. Had we been elsewhere on Gor and she branded and naked in a slave cage I did not doubt but what he would bid on her, and soon, doubtless regardless of the cost, would have her on his chain. She might then look forward to a perfect and exquisite bondage at his feet, one from which he would see to it that he derived much satisfaction. To be sure, there was little prospect of this, as Sumomo’s contract was held by Lord Nishida. And doubtless the proud Sumomo was only too well aware of this fact. Within the fortress of etiquette and custom she doubtless supposed herself to repose secure. I supposed it would take some time for Tajima to nurse his wounds. And the deepest of wounds, we note, do not always bleed. Too, the Pani have long memories.

  Tajima had now joined us.

  “You saw?” asked Tajima.

  “Sumomo belongs in a collar,” I said.

  “She is Pani,” said Tajima.

  “Doubtless some women of the Pani are in collars,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said, “primarily women of enemy houses. Taken, they may be reduced to collar girls.”

  “Enemy houses?” I asked.

  But Tajima was silent.

  I suspected, but did not remark it, that Sumomo’s treatment of Tajima might have obscure motivations, motivations more subtle and deeper than a mere scorn for one she might despise as having been extracted from an alien world. I suspected she was fighting irresistibilities within herself, longings to feel his switch, curiosities as to what it might be to kneel naked before him and press her lips upon his bared feet, what it might be to writhe in his arms, helpless, and owned, as only a woman may be owned, owned to the tiniest tremor of her subdued and surrendered heart, to the last obedient cell of her mastered body.

  I did not speak these things, of course, to Tajima.

  We turned our attention to the door of the closed, presumably blockaded hut.

  Several of the Pani with the masked figure had now ranged themselves on either side of the door of the hut.

  I did see, briefly, a frightened face within, in the small, open window, to one side of the door.

  The figure in the hideous mask-helmet, with the bloodied sword, gave a sign and several Ashigaru fetched brands from the fallen, now-smoking pavilion, and hurled them to the dried branches with which the hut was roofed.

  I would have thought it well to have warned the walled-in, dangerous, doubtless panic-stricken prisoners of the h
ut of the intention of the besiegers, that they might consider the wisdom of surrender, but they were extended no such cordiality.

  “No,” said Tajima, now at my side, as I moved to approach the hut.

  “They will be burned alive,” said Pertinax, with horror.

  The roof took the fire almost instantly, raging like tinder.

  “Let Lord Nishida be notified,” I urged, “that he may intervene.”

  “That is Lord Nishida,” said Tajima, indicating the figure in the fearsome mask with the bloodied sword.

  “It cannot be,” I said.

  “It is,” said Tajima.

  “But his sword is bloodied,” I protested.

  “Lord Nishida is a great warrior,” said Tajima.

  “He fights, he, sword to sword?” I asked.

  “Certainly,” said Tajima. “It is our way. Who would follow another?”

  “Take prisoners!” I said.

  “We do not require prisoners,” said Tajima.

  In common Gorean warfare it is not unknown for prisoners to be taken. They may be interrogated, worked, sold, and such. Too, occasionally, if important, and of station, they may be ransomed. The Pani, it seemed, might take prisoners but seldom did so. Sometimes prisoners were tortured, and crucified, presumably primarily as examples to terrify enemies, reduce the temptation to sedition, and such. A common form of Gorean execution is impalement. The Pani regarded this as barbarous, but looked lightly on crucifixion. Such things apparently vary culturally. Perhaps one reason the Pani are not prone to making prisoners is that it is thought that the prisoner might be expected, if honorable, to end his own life, to erase his shame at having fallen into the hands of the enemy, and thus, if this is so, he might as well be spared this indignity by being granted an earlier surcease. Also, if heads are prized, and important with respect to advancement, and such, this militates against taking prisoners. An interesting exception to this sort of thing is that a prisoner, or one on the verge of capture, may be accorded the right to accept a new daimyo or shogun. Once he does this he is then honor bound to serve the new leader, as he did the old, and, it seems, he may be depended on to do so. He is not a mercenary, but he is a loyal follower, whomsoever he follows. The prime reason for not taking prisoners, or not making it that much of a common practice, if this should be truly so, is probably that the male prisoner is dangerous. He is feared, and perhaps wisely. Thus it seems supposed that he might be well done away with. Similarly, as in several periods in the Middle Ages on Earth, prisoners were done away with, there being no satisfactory provisions for their incarceration, particularly in the field, no prisoner cages, or such.

  Screams emanated from the burning hut.

  “Take prisoners!” I cried.

  “Subside, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima. “They would have killed us. We will kill them.”

  The door was suddenly flung open, from the inside.

  A fellow, clothes aflame, shielding his eyes, stumbled from the hut and was cut down, from each side.

  Smoke billowed from the hut. The walls were afire.

  Another fellow, coughing, burst into the open, and ran two or three paces, and was cut down. Another followed him, and was similarly dealt with.

  I think the fellows in the hut were blinded with the smoke, and burned. Two more emerged, to be cut down.

  I looked within the hut, and the roof fell in, turning the enclosure into a furnace. I saw two or more dark shapes like shadows, silhouetted in the flames. Two more rushed from the hut, and died. One or two remained inside, and fell in the midst of the flaming branches, unable, I supposed, to reach the door. There was screaming for a few Ihn, and then it was quiet, save for the crackling of the flames.

  The figure in the hideous, horned, masklike helmet removed it, and faced me. “You have come to report?” he inquired.

  “The sky is ours,” I informed Lord Nishida.

  “Some will have escaped,” he speculated.

  “Yes,” I said. “They fled. They separated. They were many. We were few. We could not kill them all.”

  “Unfortunate,” said Lord Nishida. “Our plans must now be advanced.”

  I did not understand this.

  Others approached, and Lord Nishida politely received their reports, as well. The camp was clear, it seemed, save for one or two huts, which would be soon attended to.

  Lord Nishida turned to me. “We are pleased, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

  I bowed, acknowledging this compliment.

  “Now,” smiled Lord Nishida, “it seems a feast, a victory feast, would be in order, when things are done, and matters cleared, of course, a feast in, say, a day or two, after the day’s work. Is it not the Gorean way?”

  “Perhaps,” I said, “if a watch is kept, and sufficient men are armed and at hand, to prevent unpleasant surprises, and such.”

  Most such feasts, of course, take place within a holding within the environing walls of a city, perhaps one over which the tarn wire still sways in the wind, not in the open, not in a camp.

  “It is unfortunate,” he said, “that we have not captured suitable numbers of the enemy’s free women, that they might serve such a feast naked.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “That is the Gorean way, is it not?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “but I suspect that it is also a way not unknown to the Pani.”

  He smiled.

  “It seems, Lord,” I said, “we are short of such serving maids.”

  It is common to have the women of the enemy serve such a feast naked. It is one of the pleasures of victory. The women may either be collared prior to their service or not. It is usually thought best to save their collaring for later. That they should serve such a feast while still free is thought to shame them excellently, and to teach them that even the glorious free women of the defeated are worthy only to be the naked servitors, and later slaves, of the victorious.

  “I trust the slaves are well, and in hand,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Lord Nishida. “Doubtless you are concerned with your pretty Cecily.”

  “She is well curved,” I said.

  “Even now,” said Lord Nishida, “she is within a ring, her small hands upon the rope.”

  This was a reference to the “rope circle.” In the “rope circle,” a single rope is tied about a group of slaves, either kneeling or standing, at their belly. The hands of each slave must then grasp the rope and may not, until permitted, release the rope. This holds a group of slaves together, nicely.

  “How fares the blond-haired, blue-eyed slave whom I believe is now named ‘Saru’?” asked Lord Nishida of me.

  “The stable slut?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I have not seen her in weeks,” I said.

  “Doubtless the honorable Pertinax, tarnsman, has more recent news,” said Lord Nishida.

  I recalled that Lord Nishida had had plans for the former Miss Margaret Wentworth.

  “No, Lord,” said Pertinax, “I have not seen her since the pavilion, when you remanded her to the tharlarion stable.”

  “That seems strange to me,” said Lord Nishida.

  Pertinax shrugged.

  “My fellow, Pertinax, I fear,” I said to Lord Nishida, “fears to look upon her.”

  “‘Fears’?” inquired Lord Nishida.

  Pertinax reddened.

  “Much of him,” I said, “remains of Earth. He fears, I think, that he would succumb to her charms, that she would manipulate and dominate him, that she would easily bend him to her will, that she would make of him much what she once made of him, her slave.”

  “The slave of a slave?” smiled Lord Nishida.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Surely, Pertinax,” said Lord Nishida, “you know her neck is in a collar.”

  Pertinax nodded.

  “Even so,” I said, “the beauty of a woman, a tear in her eye, the trembling of a lip, such things, are formidable weapons.”

&n
bsp; “Until she is suitably mastered,” said Lord Nishida.

  “True,” I said.

  “Perhaps she should be whipped,” said Lord Nishida. “The whip is useful in convincing a woman she is a slave. Perhaps if she were weeping, and squirming, and begging for mercy, under a whip, she would no longer be in doubt as to what she was.”

  “I think she is in no doubt as to her bondage,” I said. “I am sure the grooms in the stable have seen to that. The fear is that she might not know herself a slave before Pertinax, that she might attempt to use the subtle wiles of Earth, guilt, and such, to work her will in a hundred ways upon him.”

  “And perhaps the honorable Pertinax fears she might prove successful in such endeavors?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Then he is weak,” said Lord Nishida.

  “He fought well today,” I said.

  “One who is strong in one way may be weak in another,” said Lord Nishida.

  “True,” I said.

  How many men are conquered by a look cast over a shoulder, by a smile! Some men are drunk on kaissa, others on power, others on kanda, others on paga. I recalled a warrior, on a Steel World, who, in misery and futility, once risked ruin, harkening to the siren lure of a swirling, golden beverage.

  “Be a master,” I said to Pertinax.

  He looked down.

  “No woman can find herself,” I said, “until she finds herself at the feet of a master.”

  Pertinax regarded me.

  “And the slave, Saru,” I said, “is no different.”

  “By now, the hair of the slave should be grown out a bit,” said Lord Nishida. “Had I realized that our plans must be advanced, I would have had it cropped, and not shaved.”

  I knew nothing of his plans.