Rebels of Gor (6 page)

I was not anxious to remain in this place. Some might have seen the tarn descend, black, brief, swift, against the yellow moon.

My hand tightened on the one-strap.

If there was someone there, in the darkness, I thought, he might be well aware that signs and countersigns had been compromised. How else might the raid on the encampment been as deftly managed? An awareness of the signs would have been initially important, as much so, I supposed, as forged commands, bearing fraudulent seals.

But I had arrived on tarnback, and tarns were alien to the islands, and thus it must be clear I was of the forces of Lord Temmu.

But there were clearly traitors within the command of Lord Temmu. Might there not then be traitors within the tarn cavalry itself?

I dismounted.

It seemed clear to me I had given enemies time to attack, or emerge from hiding, intent upon a kill or capture, of a bird or rider, or both.

“I am of the command of Lord Temmu,” I called, softly. “I know you are about. How many are there?”

There was only silence.

I saw the tarn uneasily orient itself. It is much the same with many wild creatures, certainly the sleen and larl. I was then confident of the location of at least one person, and it seemed unlikely there would be more. It was unlikely that groups would have escaped, more likely single persons, if they, in the fighting and confusion.

“You must be hungry, and cold,” I said. “I have some food in the saddle packs. Are you alone?”

I walked about the fire. I stayed rather outside its ambiance. Even though it was tiny, one does not peer over a fire, but keeps it behind one. In this way, one is not well illuminated, and, if the fire is large, one is unlikely to be dazzled; let others look into the fire, and strain to see. But it is safest to be in the darkness.

I remained to the side.

I did not remove the blade from the sheath.

It is not wise to draw a weapon when one may be beneath the point of an arrow.

I drew the tarn with its rigid, stalking steps about the fire. It did not resist. Might it know what was in the darkness?

In the cavalry we had often changed mounts. Riders have their favorites, and perhaps, too, the mighty, winged creatures themselves, but it is important that the birds accept different riders. Birds might be slain, and riders separated from their accustomed mounts. Without training a tarn may reject an unfamiliar rider, a rejection often registered by means of a slashing beak and tearing talons.

My foot snapped a branch, and my hand, without my thinking, sped my sword half from its sheath.

I strained to see deeper into the darkness.

Dried branches, dried leaves, and twigs, are sometimes scattered about the periphery of a camp, or sleeping area. Strung cords with their dangling slivers of metal tend to be less favored; they may stir in the wind, like prayer chimes in a temple, which signals a human presence, past or present, and perhaps a camp’s periphery. I saw little advantage in them, save to lure in intruders, which might then, after attacking empty bed rolls, be fallen upon. But bandits who know their trade would seldom attack an unscouted camp.

The tarn moved beyond me, and put down its head, and, at the same time, the yellow moon broke through the clouds, and I saw branches about, heaped, from which the fire might have been fed, and a supine figure, crumpled against the rocks.

The branch on which I had stepped was isolated; it was no prepared device of warning, a signal meaningful to one who might be alert, even in sleep, to that particular tiny sound. It had merely been to the side, perhaps stirred, even dropped.

Behind me the fire grew dim.

I did not think it would burn much longer.

The body lay very still.

I feared it was dead.

But the tarn did not turn away.

I took the body in my hands, and shook it, gently.

It opened glazed eyes. I was not sure it saw anything. It must have been half gone, with starvation, and cold. There were dried stains about the cold, stiff, slashed jacket. It must have lost a great deal of blood.

“Swords of Temmu,” it whispered.

“Ship of Tersites,” I responded, softly.

“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” it said.

“Tajima,” I said.

Chapter Four

What Occurred Subsequently,

Again in the Vicinity of a Small Fire

“I was seen yesterday, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, weakly. “I am sought. I am followed. I heard cries of soldiers. I do not know how long ago.”

“There are enemy soldiers at the old encampment,” I said.

“There is a new encampment?” he said.

“One better concealed, one less known,” I said.

“Good,” he said.

“You need not talk now,” I said. “Save your strength.”

“Some escaped,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Many?” he asked.

“Less than half,” I said.

“There were readied tarns,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said, “was wise.”

“Tarl Cabot is a poor captain, a poor commander,” I said. Well was I aware of this on this night. Lost in self-pity and self-reproach I had risked much for nothing, risked much for no more than a meaningless gesture.

“He is our captain, our commander,” said Tajima. “It is his banner behind which we will ride.”

“The wisdom was not mine,” I said, “but a common wisdom of war. It is done with a tarn cavalry in enemy or disputed territory. A complement is to be kept ready for action.”

“I am pleased some escaped,” said Tajima. “I was sure there would be some.”

“How is it you are afoot?” I asked.

“I gave my tarn to another,” he said, “one I thought less likely to survive in the mountains.”

“To whom?” I said.

“Ichiro,” he said.

“Our bannerman,” I said.

“He was unwilling,” said Tajima. “I must command him.”

“Once, long ago,” I said, “when he was prepared to die, I commanded him to live.”

“You must escape from here, you must flee, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

“I will get you to the tarn,” I said. “Can you rise?”

“I do not think so,” he said.

“I will carry you,” I said.

“Go on, alone,” he said.

“There is time,” I said. To be sure, I feared the descent of the tarn might have been noted. But then, too, it was unlikely there would be a patrol or kill squad in this particular area at this particular time. In any event, I did not think it wise to linger here overlong. But, too, I was wary of moving Tajima. Sometimes movement can reopen wounds. Yet it must be done, and soon. I must get him to the new camp as soon as it would be practical.

“I do not think so,” he said.

“I hear nothing,” I said.

“I tried to extinguish the fire,” said Tajima, “but I was weak.”

“It is well that you did not do so,” I said. “Else I would not have found you.”

“It would be better had you not found me,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“There is danger here,” he said.

“It is quiet,” I said.

“The enemy is near,” said Tajima. “I heard their cries. I tried to rise, to extinguish the fire, but I could not do so. I was weak. I lost consciousness. I do not know how long I was unconscious, perhaps a few Ehn, perhaps an Ahn. Then you were here.”

“You fear the enemy is about?” I said.

“They were approaching,” he said. “I do not know how long I was unconscious. They are near. I heard their shouts. They will examine each gorge and crevice. In moments they may be upon us.”

“We shall leave together,” I said.

“No,” he said. “Tajima is done.”

“No,” I said.

“Save yourself,” he said.

“I fear to move you,” I said, “but we cannot remain here.”

“Leave me,” he begged.

“No,” I said.

“It is snowing,” he said.

“It has begun again,” I said.

“It is beautiful,” he said.

“Your senses wander,” I said.

“Surely you see how beautiful it is,” he said.

“Beautiful, and fearful,” I said. On foot it would be dangerous to move, for the tracks.

I sensed he was in pain. I trusted no wound had opened. But the blood on the jacket remained dry, caked, and cold.

“How goes the war?” he asked.

“Do not concern yourself,” I said.

“But I would know, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

“Poorly,” I said. “The holding is invested, even the wharves are closed. There is little to eat. Lord Yamada is patient. He is like a sleen waiting for a larl to die. In the courtyard an urt brought a silver tarsk.”

“What of Lords Nishida and Okimoto?” he asked.

“Both live,” I said. “Lord Nishida ponders war, and Lord Okimoto, I fear, the ritual knife.”

“He is truly noble,” said Tajima.

“Doubtless,” I said. “He is fat, as well.”

“He is a daimyo,” said Tajima, reproachfully.

“A fat daimyo,” I said.

“Defeat is dishonor,” said Tajima.

“Not if one has fought well,” I said.

“Defeat is dishonor,” he said.

“Much depends on the defeat,” I said. “The leaf torn from the tree suffers no dishonor, nor the grass crushed beneath a passing boot.”

“The calligraphy of Lord Okimoto is exquisite,” said Tajima.

“Excellent,” I said. “He is still fat.”

“How fare others?” he asked.

“Well enough,” I said, “Torgus, Lysander, Pertinax live.”

“What of Nodachi, swordsman?” asked Tajima.

“His whereabouts are unknown,” I said. “He disappeared from the holding, days ago.”

Tajima leaned back against the rock. I sensed, again, he was in pain. I was alarmed. Then it seemed the pain had passed.

“Go,” he said. “Save yourself.”

“We leave together,” I said. But I did fear to move him. I feared he might die if I should lift him, or die in the pommel straps, if I could manage to get him to them. The fire of life within him did not seem to me that much different from the small, pathetic signal fire, that tiny beacon, now dying, which he had set in the darkness.

He looked up at me.

“You wish to speak,” I said, “but hesitate?”

“No,” he said.

“Speak,” I said.

“—How fares Sumomo?” he asked.

“Why should you care, what does it matter?” I asked.

“I would know, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

Sumomo was one of the two contract women whose contracts were held by Lord Nishida. The other was Hana. I knew that Tajima was much interested in buying the contract of Sumomo, but it was not within his means. Sumomo, like Hana, who was somewhat older, was quite beautiful. On the other hand, I personally found her unpleasant and arrogant. She treated Tajima with contempt, even failing to bow to him, despite the differences in their sexes. Amongst the Pani even an older sister will bow first to a younger brother. Tajima was an intelligent, strong, agile, fine young man. For his age he was an excellent swordsman, and was skilled, generally, in the martial arts of the Pani. He was loyal to the cavalry, to his shogun, Lord Temmu, and to his daimyo, Lord Nishida. That he should be taken with the haughty Sumomo, contract woman of a daimyo, who seemingly despised him, and surely treated him with contempt, seemed anomalous. I had never seen Sumomo other than in her decorous robes but I suspected that, properly exhibited, she would fetch a good price in a typical market on the continent, say, in Brundisium, Port Kar, Ko-ro-ba, Ar, or such. The Pani keep slaves, but the cultural status of the contract woman is superior to that of the slave, and considerably inferior, naturally, to that of the free woman. On continental Gor there is no status equivalent to that of the contract woman. All women on continental Gor, and, in the familiar islands, as well, are either slave or free. There is a considerable difference, of course, between being the slave of a peasant, peddler, or herdsman and that of a high merchant or Ubar, but both are identically slaves. In the collar all women are equal, and nothing, mere slaves, though the collars of some may be set with diamonds.

“I know little of her now,” I said, “or of the slaves. They are kept indoors. There is the occasional danger of engine-sprung stones, of descending arrows. I would suppose that she is as lovely and disagreeable as ever.”

“How beautiful she is,” he said.

Yes, I thought, like a silken urt, and perhaps half as trustworthy. I suspected she had ambitions which well exceeded the clauses of her contract. Her treatment of Tajima had never failed to rankle me. Did she not know she was a contract woman, as barterable in her way as a slave, and he a free man, and warrior? “We must to the tarn,” I said.