by John Norman
I encountered another sentry.
The night it seemed, was going well.
I thought of the assassins of the medieval Middle East. The caste of assassins was quite different. They were not dupes, fools, madmen, too stupid to understand how they had been manipulated by others, young men drunk with the wine of death, who think they will somehow thrive in the cities of dust. Against such mindless puppets, such naive fools, such lunatics, manipulated by those who send them forth, sitting safe in their mountain fastness, safe in their lair of prevarication and deceit, it is difficult to defend oneself. But the Gorean Assassin, he of the Black Caste, is not a naive, twisted, deluded, managed beast serving the purposes of others, but a professional killer. He wishes to kill and vanish, to live, to kill again. Otherwise he is no more than a clumsy oaf, a failure, having accomplished no more than might have a desperate, simple, misguided fool. If he himself dies, he has botched his work, he has failed, he has shamed his caste.
“Hold!” said a voice, at the edge of the camp, where the track begins, which leads to the plaza of training.
I stopped, and held my hands away from my body, and blinked a little against the light of the lifted, now-unshuttered dark lantern. There were three there. There might be others, in the shadows, with bows.
“How goes the night?” I asked.
“Commander,” said a voice.
“Well,” said another, “it goes well.”
I lowered my arms.
“I would proceed no further, Commander,” said one, “until light.”
“My thanks,” I said. “I shall free the blade.”
“Two might accompany you,” said one of them, “one with a lantern.”
I slipped the blade free from the sheath. The shoulder belt, if over one’s shoulder, may be instantly discarded. This may prove an important wisdom in a perilous situation. A scabbard, hooked to a buckled waist belt, or slung across the body, might be seized in combat, discommoding its wearer, perhaps pulling him off balance, or into the blade of a waiting knife. But the belt on the shoulder is easily shed. If one is in a territory thought safe, of course, the scabbard belt is not unoften slung across the body, looped from the right shoulder to the left hip, if the swordsman is right-handed, and, naturally enough, looped from the left shoulder to the right hip, if the swordsman is left-handed. Both modalities facilitate the swift, across-the-body draw. This arrangement provides a convenient, secure carry.
“Remain at your post,” I said.
“Enemies, Commander,” said one, “may linger.”
I thought this possible, but unlikely.
Few, I thought, would care to linger in our precincts, risking discovery by Ashigaru.
Would they not now, scattered, defeated, haggard, desperate, frightened, half-starved, have sought flight?
Too, they might well fear larls.
Certainly some of these large, dreaded, clawed, fanged, fearsome beasts occasionally roared within the forests. These were, doubtless, given the latitude, the larls of Lord Nishida, which might well still be in the vicinity, frequenting their former haunts, making their rounds as though the encirclements of wands was still in place.
“Take a lantern,” pressed one.
“Shuttered, it is a burden,” I said. “Unshuttered, it illuminates a target.”
“Take a buckler,” said another.
“Darkness,” I said, “serves well as shield.”
There is a saying among warriors that he who attacks a shadow plays with death.
“We have caught the scent of a sleen,” warned another, who was Pani.
Such beasts were in the forest.
“Then you have little to fear,” I said. “The sleen to fear is the one of whose presence you are unaware.”
The sleen, as most predators, whether panthers, larls, or such, will stalk in such a manner as to approach the prey from downwind, from the direction toward which the wind is blowing. In this manner the scent of the prey is borne to them, and their own scent is carried backward, away from the prey. To such animals scent not only detects prey, but can be informative as to its distance, movements, numbers, and sex. Some predators, interestingly, will favor male prey over female prey, particularly in times of estrus. The favoring of male prey, it is conjectured, tends statistically, over time, to increase the number of prey animals. To be sure, risks are involved, as the male animal is usually wary, alert, aggressive, large, and armed, so to speak, wickedly horned, sharply hoofed, and such.
I wondered if something similar might not be the case with humans. Is it not the female who is most commonly seized and coffled, who may, in time, breed sons for her master? To be sure, it is the female who is desirable, and the male who is dangerous, the female who longs for and is fulfilled in her bondage, and the male who longs for, and is fulfilled by, the female at his feet. And so for the female the collar, and for the male the whip.
“These two will accompany you,” said the command sentry.
“No,” I said.
“I insist,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“It is dangerous,” he said.
“I will take those two,” I said, indicating two others.
“As you wish,” he said.
“You will all remain at your post,” I said.
He seemed puzzled.
“All,” I said.
Perhaps I had spent too long with Lord Nishida. That two had been singled out, without consultation, to accompany me, suggested that I might be set upon in the darkness. The readiness of the command sentry to furnish two others without demur, however, reassured me that his offer had been solicitously motivated. It seemed unlikely that an entire guard group would have been recruited to set upon me in the darkness. If that were the case, why would they wait? Too, who would know I would make the rounds at the third watch?
The command sentry stepped back. “Yes, Commander,” he said.
I then turned about, and addressed myself to the track leading to the training area. I did not, of course, resheathe my blade.
It was not impossible that enemies, one or more, concealed, terrified, hungry, miserable, might be in the vicinity.
I would encounter the guard group at the far end of the track, and then, a bit later, after circling the training area, the field, cots, and sheds, retrace my steps.
I had my memories of such places, and of the sky above them, from which blood had rained.
From time to time I stopped, and crouched down, and listened.
I heard only the noises of the forest.
Once I did catch the scent of a sleen.
I was then again afoot.
In the morning, the camp, Tarncamp, I had been given to understand, would be moved. This transition would include, as well, I supposed, at least some of the structures of the training and storage area. Lord Nishida’s plans, I had been informed, had been advanced. The attack had made it clear his project, whatever it might be, despite his efforts at secrecy, displayed in diverse precautions and the studied remoteness of the camp, lay in jeopardy. Our victory would doubtless gain some time, but one did not know how much. Lord Nishida might, as other commanders, gamble, for such things are inevitable in war, but, as most other commanders, as well, I did not think he would do so without necessity.
In the morning things would be much changed.
I considered leaving the service of Lord Nishida.
With a spear I did not greatly fear larls. With a keen blade, and the great bow, I did not much fear men.
The warrior is trained to live off the land.
I remembered the wands.
One did not lightly leave the service of Lord Nishida.
On the other hand, I did not think I would much care to be any who might follow me.
Yet I was curious to see a far shore, if it might be reached. I did not suppose that the world ended a bit beyond the waters of Tyros and Cos, or beyond the Farther Islands, even far beyond them, that at some point, some brink, Thassa plunged
a thousand pasangs downward, like a planetary waterfall, only to be lifted by fiery Tor-tu-Gor, Light Upon the Home Stone, the common star of Earth and Gor, as might be a drop of evaporating rain, thence to be bestowed in the east, in tens of thousands of storms, to flow then, again, in time, into the mighty Vosk, the sinuous Cartius, the tropical Ua, and a hundred other rivers, to continue its great cycle. This theory, espoused by many privy only to the First Knowledge, was dismissed by mariners, for it would require a constant current to the west which did not exist. Another theory held that the world did, indeed, end at some horizon, for in a finite world there could be no infinite number of horizons, but maintained that at the final horizon, or final shore, as in a lake, Thassa would find her final limit. But, interestingly, Thassa herself, in one such theory, constituted this limit, at that point being hardened, or frozen, a part of her, like a wall, holding back the rest. And beyond this limit there was nothing. A similar theory maintained that Thassa was restricted within her bounds by a great wall of stone, constructed eons ago by Priest-Kings. And beyond this wall, again, there was nothing. Most mariners, however, believed that the world was spherical, surmising this from a plenitude of considerations, that one first discerns the masts of approaching ships, that Gor’s shadow, round, is occasionally cast on a moon, that not all stars are visible at all latitudes, as would be the case if the world were a plane, and so on. To be sure, they often thought the lower surface of the sphere, below embedded Thassa, likely to be uninhabitable. Would not creatures fall from the world if they ventured too far thence? Too, if they could somehow cling to the surface, and move about in such precincts, fugitives or madmen, adventurers or explorers, perhaps by means of ropes or nailed sandals, would not such a life be uncomfortable and dangerous, precariously inverted as they must be? No, such depths must be uninhabited. On the other hand, Goreans with access to the Second Knowledge, recognized the sphericity of Gor, the viability of the antipodes, the action of gravity, and such.
A mystery did remain, of course, to the west, even for those admitted to the Second Knowledge, usually those of the higher castes.
The mystery was a simple one.
What lay to the west?
And, I fear, associated with this mystery, there was another. Why did ships not return from that area?
There were, of course, the Pani.
How came they to known Gor?
What were the projects of Lord Nishida?
Secrets had been breached. War was afoot.
I still did not know what might lie in the dark background of these strange matters, whether the meshes about us had been woven in the Sardar or on one or another of the distant Steel Worlds.
Perhaps I would remain in the service of Lord Nishida, at least for a time. Is a far shore not always tempting? Who does not wish to cross a new river, to venture upon untrodden grass, to see a new sky, to glimpse a hitherto undetected horizon?
And are there not an infinite number of horizons, after all.
Who would have it otherwise?
Through the trees, looking up, I saw the unshuttered lantern of an aflight tarnsman.
I was reassured, for the lantern shone green in the night.
It was a guard, making his rounds.
The lantern may be either shuttered or unshuttered. Shuttered, the light cannot be seen. Unshuttered the lamp casts its light. The guard lantern was so constructed that the color of the light it casts may be changed at will, by means of hinged, glass panels, red and green. In this way the color of the light may be easily, quickly, changed at will. Commonly the lantern is shuttered, that the guard’s presence may be less easily detected. When he returns to the vicinity of the training area he unshutters the lantern, showing green if there is nothing to report, and red, if something has been detected. The light alternates between red and green to indicate an ambivalence in the rounds. This will mean that one or more tarnsmen, waiting below, mounts saddled, will join him to take his report, or to assist him in making further determinations. In this fashion, in a matter of moments, a ten or more may be flighted, and perhaps a century alerted. If the light is an uninterrupted red cavalries are mounted. During daylight hours the signals were conveyed by banners, detectible at better than a pasang by the glasses of the Builders.
Then I was again still, absolutely still.
“Bosk, Bosk of Port Kar,” said a voice, in the darkness.
I must have detected the presence, for I had stopped. I did not recognize the voice.
“Bosk of Port Kar,” said the voice, again.
I did not respond.
Who would know I was here? I must have been followed. I did not know if the owner of that voice had passed the posts, accepted, or had avoided them. That might make a considerable difference.
In any event, one does not respond, and reveal one’s position. Every sense was alert. I would have supposed that the owner of the voice might have moved, following his first words, but the voice had come again from the same quarter.
This suggested the absence of hostility, or simplicity.
I supposed there might be more than one.
One to mark the target, the second to strike, from behind.
“Very well,” said the voice, from the same quarter. “I will speak. I speak on behalf of a high personage. Go to the cots, take tarn, ride south for two Ehn. You will see a lantern, a rider. He would speak with you.”
I did not respond.
I sensed then that the owner of that voice had backed away, turned, and hastened into the forest.
I waited for several Ehn, and then, warily, blade ready, continued to pursue the track toward the training area.
In a few moments I encountered the guards at the far end of the track, and was then in the training area. I heard an occasional tarn but there seemed little amiss, or irregular.
A lantern burned here and there.
I would seek out Tajima, who had not attended the feast, perhaps because of the absence of Sumomo, and other contract women, or perhaps because of the presence of female slaves. He might not trust himself with them. This is quite understandable. It is hard to resist them. But then they are clothed, if clothed, in such a way as to make it hard to resist them. Too, they are trained in such a manner, even as to the femininity and grace of their movements, as to be difficult to resist. The female slave, naked or half naked, collared, utterly vulnerable, is the most helpless, needful, and, however inadvertently, or unwillingly, the most seductive of women. Too, she exists for the pleasure of men, understands this, surrenders to it, wholly, and humbly, and takes great pleasure in it. She loves to serve, to obey, and please. It is what she wants to do. It is her life. And, too, when the slave fires, long ago ignited, and then never far from the surface, begin again to flame in her fair belly, as under the cruel and shameful imperatives of biology they frequently must, earning her the contempt of free women, her seductiveness is then, soon, far less than a matter of inadvertence, or reluctance. See her glance, the trembling of a lip, the faltering of a word, the pleading of the eye. A glance, a touch, can ignite her. Few things are more seductive than a beautiful woman squirming on her belly before you, miserable in her need, her lips pressed fervently to your feet, begging for your caress. I wondered if he ever thought of the delicate, arrogant Sumomo so. I supposed so. Why not? He was a man. I thought she might make a lovely collar-girl, a lovely, mere collar-girl.
I expected to find Tajima in the barrack assigned to the guards, whose dispatch and returns he would log, but instead I encountered him crossing the training area, toward the track which led to the main camp area. With him were some five Ashigaru, two of whom bore lanterns.
“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman!” he said.
“What is wrong?” I said.
“I was going to send a runner for you,” he said.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“The night,” said he, “is amiss.”
The Ashigaru with him exchanged glances.
“How is this?” I asked.
“I see nothing,” I said.
“That is what is to be seen,” he said.
“The guard?” I said.
“There is no guard,” he said.
“He is due?” I said.
“Four Ehn past,” said Tajima.
“Saddle a tarn,” I said.
“It is waiting,” said Tajima. “Too, a ten is armed, and asaddle.”
“I go alone,” I said.
“No, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.
“This,” I said, “I fear, has to do with me.”
“How can that be?” asked Tajima.
“I do not know,” I said.
“The tarn is waiting,” said Tajima.
Chapter Twenty-Six
WHAT OCCURRED IN AN INTERVIEW
The night was cloudy.
I was aloft.
The tarn pierced the wind. Vapor, foglike, swept past. I felt moisture, a spattering of rain.
On the ground it had been warm. But here, aflight, there was the sharp, cutting, rushing of wind. My tunic whipped about me. Commonly the tarnsman jackets himself in leather, but I was as I had been, as I had come from the feast. I was unhelmeted. It was cold.
I was responding to a summons.
I did not think my life was in jeopardy. I could have been set upon in the darkness, but had not been.
Might this be some new thread in the obscure tapestry which Lord Nishida, or others, were weaving?
A ten would soon be aflight, to search for the overdue guard, whose failure to return when expected had concerned Tajima.
Thusly had I instructed the guard.
But I wanted, first, my lead.
I had little doubt the absence of the guard had something to do with the voice in the darkness.
The sky was to be clear, and any rendezvous was to be unnoted.
It had been a man’s voice, of course. Few women, slave or free, are about in the Gorean darkness, and certainly not in the forests, or outside a city’s walls. Those familiar with the Gorean culture will find nothing anomalous in this. Women, even free women, are regarded as trophies, and prizes. They make such lovely slaves. Sometimes a girl will flee a projected, unwanted companionship but these flights are seldom successful, and the fair fugitives are likely to find themselves soon caged and collared. Sometimes they are returned to their city where they are given, now as a naked slave, to he from whose companionship they had fled.