Rebels of Gor (17 page)

“I do not believe that,” I said.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I know him,” I said.

“And can you look into the hearts of men?” asked Tajima.

“I think so,” I said, “sometimes.”

“I see,” said Tajima.

“But you have done well,” I said. “We now know that Sumomo is at least involved in these matters.”

“I am sorry,” said Tajima.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because she is beautiful,” he said.

“So, too, is the small, venomous ost,” I said.

“One last thing I would speak,” said Tajima, “though I would not speak it.”

“Speak it,” I said.

“You have been relieved of your command, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

Chapter Twelve

I Hear of Bones, Shells, and Dragons;

Some Acquaintances Have Been Renewed

“She is beautiful, is she not,” he inquired.

“Yes, even slave beautiful,” I said.

“So beautiful?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Her hair, and coloring, and the eyes,” he said, “are unusual for the islands.”

“That is my understanding,” I said. “She is a slave, is she not?”

“Of course,” he said.

The girl very carefully, holding her right sleeve back with her left hand, poured tea from the blue-and-white ceramic vessel into my tiny cup.

“I had her for a
fukuro
of rice,” he said.

“From the holding of Temmu,” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

“I wonder if she is worth a
fukuro
of rice,” I said.

The girl’s hand moved, tightened, a flicker of fury flashing across that fair face, but, almost instantly, it resumed its composure. Such indiscretions are not acceptable in a slave. Less may garner a lashing.

I was pleased to note her reaction. The collar does not diminish a woman’s vanity; indeed, it may increase it, perhaps to her surprise, for not every woman is found worth collaring. How well must one think of one’s femaleness when one finds it collared! The collar itself is a certification of quality, an emblem and testimonial, a warranty, that its occupant has been found of interest, that she is desirable enough to be chained at the foot of a master’s couch. She is a beast pleasant to own. Let her understand that. She is, of course, not a free woman and, accordingly, priceless. She does not exist in a reality irrelevant to, or innocent of, assessment. She is well aware that she is an object, a commodity, and that her value is as quantifiable, objectively, given market conditions and buyers, as that of other objects, or commodities, for example, in terms of coins, tarsks, sa-tarna, rice, or such. Two free women may each regard themselves as the superior of the other, each thinking herself more beautiful, more desirable, more exciting, than the other, but, if both were to be collared and placed on the block, well bared to buyers, as is appropriate for such goods, it is unlikely they would go for the same price.

“We had several, many, for so small a price,” he said, lifting his tea, regarding me over the rim of the cup.

“I have a friend named Pertinax,” I said. “I do not know if he would put out so much for her.”

“Pertinax!” she said, startled, softly.

“Beware speaking the name of a free man,” I said.

“Be careful, my dear,” he said to the slave. “Do not spill tea, even a drop.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered, frightened. There are consequences, of course, for clumsiness in a slave. She is not a free woman.

She backed away, with short steps, her hands now in her sleeves, her eyes cast down.

“Is she not overdressed?” I said.

Saru, the former Miss Margaret Wentworth, now far from the mahogany corridors of wealth and power, those which she had once frequented, in her small, manipulative way, in a far city on a distant world, wore a silken kimono, and obi, and figured sandals. Her hair was high on her head, and held in place by pins and an ornate comb. Her garmenture was not unlike that of the contract women I had seen in Tarncamp, in Shipcamp, in the holding, and elsewhere, such as Hana, Sumomo, Hisui, and others.

“Faraway,” he said, “across the shimmering breadth of Thassa, it is my understanding that slaves are dressed differently.”

“Commonly,” I said. “As the slave is an animal, she need not be dressed at all, of course. On the other hand, if her master chooses to permit her clothing, she is to be clothed as what she is, a slave. A rag or brief tunic is more than enough. Such a garment is designed not merely to make clear her beauty, and to make it clear that it is the beauty of a mere slave; it sets off, and even enhances, her beauty. In such a garment she is exhibited; in such a garment she is well displayed as the property she is. Such garments are intended to be provocative, and to leave little doubt as to what is concealed. Indeed, a suitable slave garment can make a woman seem more naked than if she were naked. The garment is little more than a mockery, and invites its removal. In such a garment a woman is in little doubt that she is a slave. She exists for labor and pleasure. Yet, interestingly, such trivial things, a rag or such, can be of desperate importance to the little beasts, and they will often beg for a scrap of cloth, and labor zealously to obtain it, and to retain it, if it is allowed to them.”

“It seems we can learn much from barbarians,” he said.

“You jest,” I said. “I have seen slaves about, and not merely barbarian slaves, collared, tunicked, and less.”

He smiled. “It is true,” he said, “we know what to do with women.”

“At least with slaves,” I said.

“With all women,” he said.

“But there are free women,” I said, “and contract women.”

“Women may be sold to contractors,” he said, “and contracts, then, may be bought and sold.”

“There are free women,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “That is true. But I do not think our free women, here in the islands, have quite the pompous, exalted status inflicted on free women across Thassa.”

“They do not have Home Stones,” I said.

“We have not made that mistake,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

“Women are not the same as men,” he said.

“I have suspected that,” I said.

“More tea?” he inquired.

“No,” I said.

He, sitting cross-legged, the small table to his left, made a tiny gesture with his left hand, and Saru quickly backed from the room.

“She was the property of Lord Temmu, master of the great holding,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “She was given to him, by Lord Nishida.”

I watched carefully to see if the mention of Lord Nishida would be registered, and in what way, if at all, on his countenance. But I detected not a flicker of interest, concern, or even recognition on his face.

“Lord Nishida,” I said, “is a daimyo, in allegiance to Lord Temmu.”

“Lord Temmu, the usurper and unjust tyrant, the scourge of the islands, has two daimyos,” he said, “one is Lord Nishida, whom you mentioned. The other is a Lord Okimoto. Do you know him?”

“Yes,” I said. “Perhaps you know him, as well.”

He smiled.

“You have the simplicity, and crudity, of the barbarian,” he said.

“I fear I am insufficiently subtle,” I said.

“Lord Temmu,” he said, “has two daimyos, I have ten. He has, at most, thirty-five hundred warriors, and soldiers.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Do not pretend ignorance,” he said. “I have several times his men.”

I did not doubt that.

“There are uncommitted daimyos,” I said.

“True,” he said.

“And many peasants,” I said.

“My peasantry and fields are far more extensive than those of Lord Temmu,” he said.

“I understand,” I said.

“The peasantry is well in hand,” he said.

I did not doubt that. On the other hand, I found it worth noting that he had volunteered this information. Perhaps they were not as well in hand as he seemed to suggest. Certainly we had had the cooperation of certain peasants, putatively his peasants, in our efforts to obtain rice for the holding.

“What of the peasantry laboring in the villages and fields of Temmu?” he asked.
 

“I am not an authority on such matters,” I said.

“You expressed an interest,” he said, “in the garmenture of the slave.”

“Yes,” I said. “I found it excessive, for a slave.”

“There was a purpose for that,” he said.

“What, noble lord?” I inquired.

“I did not wish her presence to be distractive,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

“We are alone,” said Lord Yamada. “Let us converse.”

“By all means,” I said.

* * *

Whereas I had been willing, under the force of circumstances, recognizing treachery in high places, and the lack of practical alternatives, to conduct the cavalry as a rogue arm, aflight on behalf of Lord Temmu, I was unwilling to transform it into what would be in effect a brigade of bandits under an independent mercenary captain. It had been formed and trained as, and had been intended as, a component in a unified force, engaged in a particular mission.

“It seems,” I had said to Tajima, “I might venture to the holding, and participate in the projected interview after all.”

“It is a summoning,” said Tajima.

“I should then appear,” I said.

“I would not do so, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

“I think it best,” I said.

“You are commander,” he said.

“No longer,” I said.

“The men will follow you,” he said.

“They should not,” I said.

“They would die for you,” he said.

“I am no longer commander,” I said.

“Cry ‘One-strap!’” he said, “and the cavalry will be aflight.”

“I will not usurp an authority to which I am not entitled,” I said. “As appointed commander of the cavalry I was willing, under unusual circumstances, hoping to advance the cause of the house of Temmu, to exercise my own judgment, to act on my own initiative, to act independently of the chain of command, but all that was while I held the post and rank of commander, which post and rank I no longer hold.”

“The men,” he said, “will follow no other.”

“
Ela
,” I said. “I have then failed as commander.”

“Wait,” said Tajima. “Be patient. Wait. Do not go now to the holding.”

“I can reach the walls before dark,” I said.

* * *

Lord Temmu had not seemed angry.

I had bowed, and then sat down, cross-legged, before him.

I looked about myself. We were not on the dais, but within the castle, in a large room near the back portal of the castle, where I had brought the tarn down. An attendant led the tarn to shelter and I had been approached by two Ashigaru, who had apparently been waiting.

“My presence has been requested by Lord Temmu,” I had said. They had bowed briefly, and then turned and led the way into the castle.

I looked about myself. Neither Lord Nishida nor Lord Okimoto were present. I found this anomalous, for both commonly attended on the shogun. Daichi, dour and gaunt, the reader of bones and shells, was in the room, sitting to the left of Lord Temmu, and, surprisingly, behind the shogun and a bit to the left, as well, was a contract woman, standing, Sumomo. I recalled that Tajima, in his vigil on the outer parapet, had noted Sumomo’s presence there, and had witnessed her casting something over the parapet, presumably to be retrieved by some confederate below. He had surmised, plausibly enough, that Sumomo had acted on behalf of Lord Nishida, whose presence on the parapet, if not indiscreet, would have been likely to attract attention. I knew little of Sumomo other than the fact that she was the younger, and more beautiful, of two beautiful women whose contracts were held by Lord Nishida. I had personally found her unpleasant and arrogant, two features which, I gathered, were unusual in a Pani woman, and certainly in a contract woman. I surmised she was quite intelligent. I thought her inquisitive and cunning, and remembered how she had once lingered, concealed, in the vicinity of Lord Nishida, although she had been dismissed. I did know, of course, that Tajima found it difficult to take his eyes from her. Did not his peregrinations take him often enough into her vicinity? Indeed, I suspected it was less than a fortunate, utter happenstance that he had noted her activity on the parapet. A more casual or less diligent observer might well have missed the quick, subtle gesture which may have sped some missive, probably with its ribbon, to the foot of the cliff on which the parapet was reared.
Ela
, I thought, poor Tajima. I suspected even his dreams were not spared her presence. And I trusted her deportment might be less objectionable in that so-transient dimension. I doubted that her contract was for sale, and, even if it were, it seemed unlikely young Tajima could afford it. He was not a merchant, not a high officer, not a daimyo. Sumomo, as nearly as I could tell, was well aware of the distress and torment which she wrought in the breast of the young warrior and this recognition, rather than bringing about its diminishment or abatement, seemed to have spurred her to its augmentation. Some women enjoy twisting the knife, but this, I understood, was unusual in a Pani woman, whose acculturation tends to discourage such behavior, and certainly for one who was a mere contract woman. However these things may be, despite her acculturation, and her relatively lowly status, she commonly treated Tajima with an unbecoming scorn, contempt, and amusement. Sometimes I wondered if she fully understood that such a behavior might occasion untoward consequences. After all, she was not a Gorean free woman, as across the sea, veiled, hidden in the robes of concealment, a woman exalted and resplendent in status and dignity, a woman safe in her station and secure in her privileges, even one who possessed a Home Stone. She was Pani, and, beyond that, a contract woman. To be sure, she seldom acted like a contract woman, except in relation to, and in the presence of, Lord Nishida. I had wondered sometimes if he had noticed that.