by John Norman
She was lovely, collared and tunicked, and serving men.
I had little doubt she wished to be owned by Pertinax, but she was not owned by him. She belonged to another. I had little doubt she wished the hands of Pertinax on her slave’s body, and not as the timid, reluctant hands of a typical man of Earth, but commandingly, imperiously, and possessively, as the hands of a master on the body of a slave. But she was not his.
Courses followed courses.
Men grew more riotous, more drunk.
At one table, I noted, however, they seemed sober. Five sat there, partaking of food, though meagerly, but waving away slaves, who would ply them with wine or paga. There is some reason, I thought, which might explain such an anomaly.
Is it not difference which takes one’s attention, amongst snow sleen a darker fur, amongst the odor of penned verr, the suggestion, ever so slight, a whisper in the night, of the larl’s scent?
I might have called this to the attention of Lord Nishida but he had withdrawn from the tables. I suspected that he found the raucous boisterings of the evening less than agreeable to his refined taste. The typical Gorean male, particularly of what the high castes think of as the lower castes, tends to be direct, open, uninhibited, unrestrained, high-spirited, exuberant, and emotional. He is quick to take umbrage, quick to fight, quick to forgive, quick to forget.
It is said that in the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed man is king. So, too, it might be said that in the kingdom of the addled and staggering, he is king who is sober, swift, and purposeful.
I waved aside a slave, who approached me with paga.
Judging by the moons it was near the twentieth Ahn.
A slave fled past, to laughter, between the torches, into the night, her ta-teera gone, pursued by two unsteady brutes.
Another slave was between the tables, gasping, squirming.
I turned to Pertinax. “Perhaps it is time for your Jane to hasten to the hut,” I said.
He put down his goblet, looked about, briefly, and nodded.
His Jane, you see, was a personal slave, one privately owned. She was not a camp slave intended to be generally available, at least under certain conditions at certain times. Fellows are usually respectful of one another’s property rights, this as a matter of simple civility, if nothing else, but sometimes, when they are drunk enough, passion may encourage them to put their principles in the cabinet of tomorrow, so to speak. In any event, they may not stop to make inquiries, read collars, and so on. Indeed, they may be in no condition to read collars. Certainly I did not wish Pertinax to be challenged for her, nor feel he had to pull her from the arms of another, which might be rather like trying to take meat from a feeding sleen.
Pertinax stood up, not too solidly, and motioned to his Jane, who instantly surrendered her trencher of suls to another girl, and hurried to him, to kneel and put her head down, softly, her forehead to his sandals. I was pleased to note her alacrity and deference. I thought she now understood whose collar was on her neck. This she had well learned the preceding evening. This lesson a girl can learn in a single night, perhaps even within an Ahn or two of her purchase. I saw her draw back a little and kiss his feet, tenderly. Then she kissed them suddenly, more fervently. I smiled. The slave was aroused. I saw her tremble with desire. How far she was now from the Serisii, and the Street of Coins. A world lies between the naive thigh and the marked thigh, between the unencircled neck and the neck in its collar.
Pertinax spoke to the slave, and she sprang to her feet, her head lowered. He gestured that she should precede him. He, too, it seemed, would return to the hut. The girl was, after all, of slave interest.
I glanced to the five fellows who, unnoticed by most, it seemed, had remained at the table, not drinking.
One stood up, and looked about.
I recalled that those of the dark caste, the caste of Assassins, were often sober fellows, often denying themselves much of what most prized as giving meaning to life. Theirs was a narrow, dark life. Few held slaves. Some, before the hunt, would use a woman, briefly, ruthlessly, unfeelingly, leaving her shuddering, crumpled, and broken, sobbing, at their feet, before honing the selected blade, one of six, before painting the dagger on their forehead, that crowds might part uneasily before them, that taverns might fall silent, that children might flee, that men might bolt their doors. For whom is the dagger painted? Seldom did those of the dark caste drink ka-la-na or paga. The eye must be sharp, the senses acute, the hand steady. The hunt must be cold, passionless, rational, deliberate, relentless. Seldom did they recreate themselves with the bodies of slaves. Muchly they stayed to themselves. Each seemed to dwell in the cave of his own intent, as though in a cell, a cell in a large, dark, walled household, from whose gates he might emerge, a grayness at dawn, an enigma at noon, a darkness in the darkness of the night. I thought them less than human, more than human, perhaps, best, other than human. I wondered if they had feelings. Even the venomous ost had feelings. Were they beasts? But beasts had feelings. It was said they were immune, like knives, to compassion. Surely there was no place for such things in the gloom and solemnity of their pursuits. Might one not more profitably implore a stone for mercy? In their dark, narrow world what light was there? Did they live with hate, or even without hate, as in a winter without even cold? Did they know pleasure? I did not know. They lived for the kill. Perhaps they took pleasure in that. I did not know. They were of the dark caste, of the Assassins. I recalled one I had met, long ago, on the height of the Central Cylinder in Ar, Pa-Kur, master of the Assassins. He had leapt from the height of the Cylinder and the body, it seemed, had been lost amongst the crowds below. It had, in any event, never been recovered. Doubtless it had been torn to pieces by the crowd. He was gone. Gor was safer without him. Men had feared even his shadow.
A second one of the fellows had now stood up.
They did not wear the Assassin’s black. I did not think the dagger was borne on their foreheads. They were unhelmeted. Had the dagger been in evidence men, even drunk, would have drawn away from them, regarded them, clutched at their weapons, however clumsily.
My fears were doubtless groundless.
Perhaps they had been assigned the third watch.
That must be it.
Commonly, the slave heels the master, usually behind him on his left, as his sword arm is usually the right arm. In this way her presence is not obtrusive, and is unlikely to either distract or encumber him. Also, in this way, he is usually between the slave and other males, possible danger, and such, that she, unarmed and half naked, may be shielded. This also tends to protect her from free women. Too, of course, the position is one of subordination, and is thus fitting for a slave, and domestic animal. For example, a domestic sleen is also likely to heel the master, and also on the left. A free woman, of course, either walks next to a free male, or, in some cities, precedes him, as a mark of her status. This practice also, of course, tends to distinguish her from the slave, a distinction which is of enormous importance in Gorean society. The free woman is a person; the slave is an animal.
Pertinax, however, would have his Jane precede him. I think she well understood that. Masters sometimes like walking behind their briefly tunicked slaves, for the pleasure this affords them. Sometimes the slave’s hands are bound before her body, and fastened closely to her belly by a loop of binding fiber. When the slave precedes the master, of course, she is well aware of the effect that she may be having on him, and she, from her point of view, cannot read his expressions, be certain of his closeness, or of what he will do. This can make her uneasy.
“Do not look back,” said Pertinax.
“Yes, Master,” said Jane.
If she disobeyed, I did not doubt but what Pertinax would use the switch or whip on her.
If the slave disobeys, of course, she has only herself to blame for the consequences of any such disobedience. As a result, the slave seldom disobeys, and is seldom switched or whipped.
All five fellows were now on their
feet.
They had not been drinking.
“Wait,” I said to Pertinax.
I then caught the eye of Cecily, and summoned her. She gave her bota of paga to another slave, and hurried to me, where she knelt before me, put her head down, kissed my feet, and then knelt up, looking at me, waiting to see what would be required of her.
The five fellows were now filing from the feasting area. One of them paused at the edge of the torches, and looked back. Our eyes met. He then, with the others, disappeared into the darkness.
“Master?” asked Cecily.
“Pertinax,” I said, “returns to the hut. Accompany him.”
“Surely Master returns, as well?” she said, puzzled.
“No,” I said.
“What is wrong?” said Pertinax.
“I am frightened,” said Cecily, suddenly.
I loosened the sword in my sheath.
The Pani had largely placed their long swords in racks near the edge of the feasting area, but none who bore them had surrendered the companion sword. That blade is to remain at hand. A similar practice I would learn often obtains in houses and barracks amongst the Pani, a practice in which the long sword is often set to one side, stored or racked, in a hall or vestibule, but the companion sword is kept at one’s side, even near the sleeping mats and blocks. To be sure, if danger is felt to be imminent, both weapons are likely to be kept in the vicinity of the warrior.
I saw Saru was to one side.
She was muchly aware of how Pertinax had placed Jane before him. I suspected that she wished it was she who had been so positioned before him, in that position of slave display.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
“Ka-la-na!” called a fellow, and she turned about, and hurried to him, to kneel before him, and replenish his cup.
“Let me come with you,” said Pertinax.
“No,” I said, “get the slaves to the hut. I intend to join you.”
“Something is wrong,” he said.
“It is early for the third watch, is it not?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Come with us, Master!” said Cecily.
“Go,” I said to Pertinax. I then indicated Cecily, angrily. I feared there might be little time. “Take this slave with you,” I said, “and chain her to one of the hut rings, closely, hand and foot.”
“Master!” protested Cecily.
“Do you wish to be ordered to beg on your belly to be switched when I return to the hut?” I asked.
“No, Master!” she said, quickly.
“Go!” I urged Pertinax.
“Move!” said Pertinax to Jane and she hurried amongst the tables, to leave the feasting area. Pertinax followed her, and Cecily, looking back once, frightened, hurried after them. Their exit attracted little attention.
I then moved swiftly from the feasting area.
The five fellows who had left the feasting area had taken their way into the darkness. They had moved purposefully. I had met the eyes of one. He had realized himself seen. There had been no mistaking that. Were they waiting for me in the darkness, it was most likely they would be interposing themselves between me and the center of the camp. Their waiting would cost them time, and gain me time. I would take a roundabout way, and rapidly, to what I supposed to be their destination, which then I might reach before them.
I thought of Licinius, and the attempt he had made on the life of Lord Nishida.
It seemed unlikely the enemy, whomsoever, or whatsoever, it might be, would have placed its entire wager on a single arrow fired from tarnback, would have placed the outcome of a large and bold enterprise on a single cast of the marked stones.
Chapter Twenty-Four
IN THE TENT OF LORD NISHIDA
Two Ashigaru crossed their glaives, barring my passage.
Another warrior, one of the Pani, unsheathed his long sword, which he gripped with two hands.
The temporary quarters of Lord Nishida was a double tent, pitched not far from the ashes of his pavilion.
Four more Ashigaru appeared, as though from nowhere.
“I must speak with Lord Nishida!” I said. “Is he well? Is he within? There is danger. I bring a warning.”
“Disarm yourself,” said the fellow with the long sword, and I slipped the shoulder scabbard, letting it fall to the ground.
I did not know if Lord Nishida, given his cunning and warcraft, would be within the daimyo‘s tent or not, but it was surely the obvious place to bring my suspicions.
“I would speak with Lord Nishida!” I said.
“He is at ease,” said the fellow with the long sword, whom I took to be the captain of the guard.
“The canvas of a tent may be rent,” I said. “Call him! Disturb him! Is he alive, even now?”
The two Ashigaru who barred my way tightened their grip on the glaives.
“Inform him he is in danger!”
“He is in no danger, now,” said the officer, “for you have been deterred.”
“I?” I said.
“You have come here, uninvited, in the midst of darkness, hastily, armed,” he said.
“An attempt on his life is imminent, I fear,” I said.
“No longer,” said the officer. “Bind him.”
I felt ropes looped about me, pinning my arms to my side.
“I have come to warn you!” I said. “I come on no dark errand!”
Then I was bound.
“Release me!” I said. “I tell you Lord Nishida is in danger!”
“No longer,” said the officer.
“Is that you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” came a voice from inside the double tent, calling out, pleasantly.
“It is he!” I cried, gratefully. “Lord Nishida! He is safe!”
“Now,” said the officer, with satisfaction.
“Yes, now!” I said. “But perhaps not in a moment! Be vigilant!”
“Please enter,” called Lord Nishida.
I was thrust stumbling past the first tent wall. Within, between the two walls, there were several more Ashigaru, far more than were outside.
I was then pushed through the inner entrance, and found myself within the large, inner tent.
The inner room of the double tent was lit by tharlarion-oil lamps, and I found Lord Nishida sitting cross-legged, at his ease, behind a small table, with a small cup in hand. On each side of the table, somewhat behind the table, were two contract women, demurely and tastefully kneeling, in their kimonos, Hana and Sumomo. More to my surprise were five fellows, not of the Pani, who, cross-legged, sat about, in attendance. These were the same fellows whom I had suspected at the feast, whom I had hoped to precede to the tent of the daimyo.
“May I present,” said Lord Nishida, “five retainers, who, though barbarians, like yourself, are loyal retainers, trusted servitors. Quintus, Telarion, Fabius, Lykourgos, and Tyrtaios.”
I nodded.
“You are known, of course, to them,” said Lord Nishida.
“I came to warn you,” I said. “I took them to have dark intents. I watched them at the feast. I feared an attempt on your life.”
“It was intended you should suspect them,” said Lord Nishida.
“I see,” I said.
“You have passed our small test admirably.”
“How is that?” I inquired.
“You have the wariness, the alertness, of the warrior,” said Lord Nishida, “as I had thought you would. Moreover, for whatever reason, for honor, for gain, or adventure, or to see things out, or whatever, you have proved, or seem to have proved, your willingness, and your intent, to protect my life. I find that gratifying.”
“Seemed to have proved?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “For you arrived rather late. Quintus and his fellows arrived well before you. Perhaps you intended to arrive a bit late, after the deed had been done.”
I shrugged in the ropes. “I thought they realized my suspicions,” I said, “and would wait to silence me, caught in the purs
uit, and then return to their objective. I circled about, to arrive here first, supposing them to be waiting for me.”
“Also,” said Lord Nishida, “it would be a bit foolhardy to overtake them in a direct route to the tent, would it not?”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“Your Pertinax would probably have sped here directly, and died,” said Lord Nishida.
“I do not know,” I said. “Perhaps.”
“Quintus?” asked Lord Nishida.
“I made certain,” said Quintus, “almost face to face, across the tables, that Cabot knew his suspicions detected.”
“Good,” said Lord Nishida. “That alone would guarantee he would not rush directly toward the tent, for he might be met by five blades in the darkness, and be surely thus delayed, if not killed.”
“It might also,” said Quintus, “have saved one or two of us.”
“True,” said Lord Nishida. “Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said he, “was it not clumsy of you to allow your suspicions to be detected.”
“Doubtless,” I said.
The exchange of glances had been almost inadvertent. I now realized it had been manipulated by the fellow called Quintus. Still, it is surely difficult to be looking at someone and not, if the person looks back, be seen as looking. Perhaps a subtler individual might have managed something. I could still feel the paga. I also felt like a fool.
“I think,” said Lord Nishida, “all things considered, we have tested your alertness, your cleverness, and your benevolent dispositions concerning my person, whatever might have been their motivations. I accept your loyalty, at least as of this moment.”
“I think your captain of the guard,” I said, squirming a bit in the ropes, “thought I intended an attempt on your life, perhaps under the ruse of entering your presence to warn you of danger.”
“He is to be commended for his caution,” smiled Lord Nishida.
“Doubtless,” I said.
“You could have struck at me many times, if you had wished,” said Lord Nishida. “To be sure, you would doubtless then have been promptly slain, assuming you were that fortunate. And surely it would seem an oddity for a fellow to rush loudly and openly on a well-guarded tent in the middle of the night on an assassin’s errand.”