God of Tarot (9 page)

The tiger pounced at him, its strange feet extended as though to box him, except that it was not his torso that was the target. He jumped, high and to the side, so that the creature missed him. The animal’s forefeet jerked back, while the clublike hind feet struck forward. It actually landed on its hind feet, flipping over backward.

Had he remained in place, Brother Paul realized, those forefeet would have hooked his ankles, and those hind feet would have hit him with sufficient force to break his legs. Crippled, he would have been easy prey. This was not a type of attack known on Earth, but it was surely as brutally effective as teeth or tusks or claws.

The tiger wheeled about, recovering its posture with the help of its prehensile tail, and sprang again. This time it leaped higher, learning with dismaying rapidity. But Brother Paul did not jump again. He spun to face away from it, dropping simultaneously to his knees, and caught its right foreleg in the crook of his right arm. Then he rolled forward, hauling on that captive leg. This was
ippon
seoi
nage
, the one-arm shoulder throw—the first judo technique he had ever tried on an animal, terrestrial or alien. And with luck, the last!

The tiger’s hind feet came forward in its bone-breaking reflex. They glanced jarringly off Brother Paul’s back and right shoulder, and one clipped his head. Those hind feet were like sledgehammers; he saw a bright flash of light as the optic region of his brain took the shock.

He had tried the wrong technique. Since the tiger normally caught hold of its prey’s limbs and broke them, he had merely set himself up for the strike by holding the creature. A man would have been thrown over Brother Paul’s back, but the tiger’s balance and torque were different. He was lucky it had not knocked him out; if he made another mistake, that luck was unlikely to hold.

Still, he retained a hold on its foreleg. He hauled on it and tried to roll again. This time the creature rolled with him, for its momentum was spent and it had not been able to get back to its feet. It flipped onto its back, and Brother Paul started to apply a hold-down—but realized he would then be at the mercy of those battering hind legs.

Instead, he flipped about and caught hold of the nearest hind leg. Then he leaned back, extended both of his own feet, and clamped his knees around that limb. This was a leglock that would have been illicit in judo, but what were human legality in a life-and-death struggle with an alien creature? This was not at all the type of situation he had anticipated when he had joined the Order! Brother Paul arched his back, bucked his hips forward, and drew on the captive leg, putting pressure on the joint. He had no idea whether this technique would work on such a creature, but felt it was worth a try. A man would have screamed in agony at about this time…

The tiger screamed in agony. Startled by this unexpected success, Brother Paul let go, just as he would for a human opponent who tapped out, admitting defeat. Too late, he remembered that this was no human sportsman, but a creature out to break his bones. Now he was in for it!

But the tiger had had enough. It rolled to its feet, steadied itself with its tail, and leaped away as rapidly as it had come. Brother Paul stood and watched it bound across the rippling sea of wheat, relieved. He hadn’t wanted to hurt it, but had thought he would have no other choice. He was bruised, disheveled, and a bit lightheaded, but basically intact. It could have been worse—much worse!

Motion attracted his eye. People were approaching: half a dozen men. They were armed, carrying long spears—no, these were tridents, like elaborate pitchforks, excellent for stabbing an animal while holding it at bay. Effective against a man, too.

Somewhat nervously, Brother Paul awaited the party’s approach. This, too, was not precisely the welcome he had anticipated.

As they came closer he saw that these men were being careful rather than aggressive. They looked all about, weapons ever at the ready, as though afraid something hazardous to bones might come bounding in.

“Hello,” Brother Paul called. “I’m from Earth, on a special mission.”

The men glanced at each other meaningfully. “What is your faith?” one asked.

“I am Brother Paul of the Holy Order of Vision. However, I’m not here to join your society. I am supposed to—” But he broke off, uncertain of their reaction.

Again, the exchange of glances. “Vision,” the spokesman said approvingly. He was a heavyset, black-haired man with fairly deep frown-lines about his mouth that showed even when he was trying to smile, as now. “A good selection. But I did not know it was a warrior cult.”

Warrior cult? “The Holy Order of Vision is a pacifistic denomination, seeking always the route of least—”

“Yet you fought the Breaker.”

The Breaker. A fitting description! “Self-preservation compelled me. I don’t believe I damaged the creature.”

A third exchange of glances. “The question is, how is it that the Breaker did not damage
you
! We must always travel in armed parties to fend off its savagery, during that part of the day when it is present.”

Evidently they knew the routine of the Breaker, and this was its office hour. That would explain why they had not rushed up to greet him instantly; they had had to organize their troop and proceed with due caution. “I suspect I was pretty lucky,” Brother Paul said. “I managed to frighten it away just when I thought I’d lost”

“Even so,” the spokesman said dubiously—his face was very good at dour expressions—”your God surely watches over you well.”

“My God is the same as your God,” Brother Paul said modestly—and was amazed at the reaction this brought. Evidently he had committed a
faux pas
.

“We shall introduce ourselves,” the man said, gruffly easing the awkwardness. “I am the Reverend Siltz of the Second Church Communist, spokesman for this party by consent of the participants.”

Brother Paul’s face never even twitched. After Antares the gelatinous alien, a living Tarot Empress, and the Breaker, what was a little anomaly like a Communist Church? “Glad to make your acquaintance, Reverend Siltz,” he said. The man did not offer to shake hands, so Brother Paul merely nodded affirmatively as he spoke.

The man to the Reverend’s right spoke: “Janson, Adventist.” And, in turn, the others: “Bonly, Mason.” “Appermet, Yoga.” “Smith, Swedenborgian.” “Miller, Vegan Vegetarian.”

“We were expecting you,” Reverend Siltz said gruffly. “We were not informed of your precise time of arrival, but the matter is of some concern to us.” Here one of the others stifled a snort, reminding Brother Paul again of the intricate currents that flowed beneath this troubled surface. What had he gotten into?

Reverend Siltz scowled, but continued, “Church Communist was selected by lot in accordance with the Covenant to encounter you initially and proffer hospitality for the duration of your mission. This denotes no comment on the validity of your mission, or our opinion of same. You are of course free to choose an alternate accommodation, as you please. The Order of Vision has no station here.”

Currents indeed! Had the lot chosen an enemy to host him, or was this merely excessive formality? He would have to navigate his shallow craft carefully, until he knew more of this peculiar situation. “I am pleased to accept your offer, Reverend, hoping my presence will not inconvenience you or cause you embarrassment.”

Now Siltz made an honest smile. “We know of your Order. Hosting you will be a privilege.”

So acceptance had been the right decision. Maybe the man’s gruffness had been in anticipation of demurral, so that he would not lose face when Brother Paul did the expected. But it could also have stemmed from some other factor, such as this evident individuality of gods, as though each religion had its own separate deity. Brother Paul made a silent prayer that he would not make too many wrong decisions here. How fortunate that the reputation of his Order extended even to distant planets! Of course this colony, like all the others in the human sphere, could not be more than four years old, five at the most, so the colonists would have carried their knowledge of religious sects with them from Earth. So this was really no miracle.

Reverend Siltz swung about to orient on the capsule receiver building, his motion and manner reminding Brother Paul not too subtly of the Breaker. “Now we must unload, before it mattermits out. Is it a good shipment?”

“Sewing machines, spinning wheels, stoves,” Brother Paul said as they walked toward it. “Carding tools, axes—”

“Good, good!” Reverend Siltz said. “They have dowered you well.” There was a murmur of agreement, surprising Brother Paul. He suffered a two-level thought: first, the confirmation that he was not completely welcome here, so had been “dowered,” as though he were an unpretty bride requiring a monetary inducement to make him and his mission palatable; and second, the reaction to the shipment. Of course such artifacts were useful, but did these colonists have no yearnings for the more advanced products of civilization?

The next two hours were spent unloading. It was heavy work, but no one stinted; all the men were husky, and Reverend Siltz applied himself as vigorously as any of them. Yet throughout, Brother Paul was aware of a certain diffidence, directed not at him but occurring among the colonists themselves, as though not one of them trusted the others completely. What was the problem here?

At last the job was done. “Good, good!” Reverend Siltz said with satisfaction as he viewed the equipment piled somewhat haphazardly at the edge of the wheat-field. “Tomorrow the wagon comes.” They covered each item with one of the light plastic tarpaulins provided by the shipper, and organized the return march.

As they passed the throne, Brother Paul wanted to inquire about the girl he had seen there, but hesitated; it could be that female colonists were not permitted direct contact with strange men. That would explain why she had fled, and make any question about her presence inappropriate. In a society as cult-ridden as this one seemed to be, the status of women was open to question.

Behind the ridge was a village, not much more than two kilometers from the capsule receiver. Brother Paul could have run it in six minutes or so, had he known where to go, but he doubted that the girl could have had time to arrive here, alert the village, and send this party back before he finished with the Breaker. Reverend Siltz must have been on the way the moment the capsule had arrived. Planet Tarot evidently had no electronic communications or motorized transportation, so foot power and observation were important here, just as they were on the better part of Earth, now.

A sturdy stockade of wooden posts surrounded the village, each post polished and handsome. Brother Paul had learned something about the various kinds of wood during his Order tenure, but had never seen wood like this. “The heart of heart-of-pine,” he murmured.

The houses inside were of the same kind of wood, constructed of notched logs calked with mud. Their roofs were sod, in most cases, with thick grass growing on them, and even small flowers. Primitive but tight, he was sure. Here and there, in the shade, were more clusters of the colored bubbles he had noted by the compost pile. So they could not be purely a product of organic decomposition.

“What are these?” Brother Paul asked, stooping to touch one. It did not pop, so he picked it up carefully—and then it popped. Evidently some of the bubbles were stronger than others.

“Tarot Bubbles,” Reverend Siltz responded. “They grow everywhere, especially at night. They are of no value, like mildew or weeds. Clever children can make castles of them on cloudy days. We keep them out of our houses so they will not contaminate our food.”

How quickly a pretty novelty became a nuisance! But Brother Paul could appreciate the colonists’ desire to keep proliferating growths away from their food; the residues might be harmless, but why gamble? Most germs on Earth were harmless too, but those that were not were often devastating.

In the center of the village was a pile of wood. All around it people were working. Men were sawing planks, or rather scraping them, forming mounds of curly shavings. Children gathered these shavings by armfuls, depositing them in patterns near seated I women. The women seemed to be carding the shavings, stretching out the fibers of the wood so that they resembled cotton. This was some wood!

Reverend Siltz halted, and the other members of the party stopped with him, bowing their heads in silent respect. “Tree of Life, God of Tarot, we thank thee,” Siltz said formally, and made a genuflection to the pile of wood.

Tree of Life?
God of Tarot
. Brother Paul knew the Tree of Life as the diagram of meanings associated with the Cabala, the ancient Hebrew system of number-alchemy. And the God of Tarot was what he had come to seek, but he had not expected it to be a pile of wood. What did this mean?

Reverend Siltz turned to him as the other men departed. “We are of many faiths, here at Colony Tarot. But on one thing we agree: the Tree is the source of our well-being. We do not feel that our own gods object to the respect we pay to the Tree.”

“Does this resemble the Great World Tree of Norse legend, called Yggdrasil?” Brother Paul inquired. “Its roots extended into three realms—”

“There are Norse sects here that make that analogy,” Siltz agreed. “But the majority of us regard it as a purely planetary expression and gift of God. Indeed, we seek to ascertain which God
is
the Tree.”

“You see God as—as a physical object? A tree? Wood?”

“Not precisely. We must cooperate for survival, and only through the Tree can we accomplish this. Thus the Tree of Life is the God of Tarot.” He formed a rare smile. “I perceive you are confused. Come, eat, rest at my abode, and I shall explain as well as I am permitted by the Covenant.”

Brother Paul nodded, not trusting himself to speak lest he commit some additional
faux pas
in his ignorance. This nascent planetary culture was far stranger than he had anticipated.

4

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