Rebels of Gor (55 page)

“Much of this is conjectural,” said Haruki.

“True,” I said. “It is now up to you to enlist allies, and arrange an escape.”

“I?” said Haruki.

“Of course,” I said. “You are a peasant.”

“And it is on such as I,” said Haruki, “that the Home Stone rests?”

“Precisely,” I said.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

We Note Lanterns on a Stormy Night;

We Deem It Wise to Depart

A guard fire was maintained only near the gate of the pen. The officer of the guard had his tent in its vicinity. The guard, those not on watch, were tented within hailing distance. A pair of Pani guardsmen remained with the guard fire, by the gate. Another pair of Pani guardsmen, one with a torch, at intervals, patrolled the pen’s perimeter. In this fashion, the far side of the pen, away from the gate, received only intermittent attention.

I strained at the paling, lifting, then trying to loosen it, moving it backward and forward, and from side to side. In this work, I was assisted by two sizable peasants. Almost at our feet, two others, with empty rice bowls, tore at the dirt, scraping it away from the foot of the paling.

“Torch!” whispered Haruki, our lookout.

Immediately we melted away from the bars, and assumed postures of sleep.

We worked in relays, and at more than one point in the pen. Some might have better fortune in this work than others. Perhaps one paling was less deeply anchored than another. Ideally, men might slip in small numbers through more than one opening in the bars. If one potential egress was discovered, others might not be suspected.

Haruki had done his work well, and recruits were about, aplenty. Those who were not immediately involved in our work pretended sleep, many near the gate.

If some feared escape and would not join us, they refrained, at least, from giving an alarm. To be sure, I would not wish to give such an alarm, while separated from the guards who were on the other side of the bars.

It was our hope that several exits might be simultaneously readied. Both a clandestine vanishing, or, unfortunately, if necessary, an explosive scattering, of fugitives from diverse points is likely to be more confusing to guards, and less easily tracked, than the traces of a single line of men, not yet scattered, availing themselves of a single aperture.

I stepped back from the paling, sweating.

“How does it proceed, noble one?” inquired Haruki.

“My body aches, and my hands are bloody,” I said.

“Good,” said Haruki. “Then the work is going well.”

“It is hard to see how these fellows can keep at this,” I said.

“I am sure some palings are loosening,” said Haruki.

“We do not have long to do this,” I said. I was sure that men of Lord Akio, with suitable credentials and orders, might arrive at almost any moment.

“I fear that is true,” said Haruki, looking back toward the gate.

“With more time,” I said, “one might tunnel under the palings.”

“In places, that might be possible,” said Haruki. “Whereas the palings appear to be the same height, not all need be of the same length.”

“You have done well to recruit these fellows,” I said.

“I feared failure,” he said. “There is much selfishness, and much suspicion, amongst villages. Each is out for his own.”

“How then did you succeed?” I asked.

“Torch,” he whispered, suddenly.

It then, in a moment, became again as though all slept. I watched the torch, now at the gate, through half-closed eyes, begin its circle of the perimeter of the pen. To my unease, I sensed that it had stopped not far from where we worked. Then, to my relief, after a time, it continued on its way.

“It is going to rain,” said Haruki.

“No,” I said, “the night is clear.”

“The night will be overcast, and the darkness will deepen,” said Haruki. “That is good for our work. Too, the guards will seek shelter, and it will be difficult to kindle their torches.”

“The night is clear,” I said.

“What is not good,” said Haruki, “is that tracks may linger in rain-softened soil.”

I was silent.

He had his head lifted, and seemed keenly alert. “Good,” he said, “the rain will be heavy and, in time, tracks will be obliterated.”

“The night is clear,” I said, and then felt a drop of rain.

“We must dislodge palings swiftly,” said Haruki. “It must be near the Twentieth Ahn.”

I joined several others, stout fellows, working about the palings. These were strong men. Smaller fellows addressed themselves to the earth about the palings, about this high, smooth fence, the points of which were fastened together with lashings several feet above our heads, some with rice bowls and others with stones, and their bare hands.

A gentle rain began to fall. The yellow moon was partly obscured. The white moon was not in the sky, nor that smaller orb, called in Continental Gor, the Prison Moon.

“It is moving,” I whispered to the fellows with me. I licked the blood from my hand. It was raw from the wood, and slick now with rain, as was the wood.

I heard thunder, far off, and saw a flash of lightning beyond the camp.

“Here, too,” said one of the fellows nearby.

The rain had purchased time, as the rounds of the guards, which were desultory at best in this lax camp, had now ceased.

Men worked at various points.

I suspected the pen guards had not considered the possibility of concerted action, not amongst peasants. They would not anticipate any general challenge to the integrity of the facility they supervised, not amongst peasants. They would rely upon, and take much for granted, the docility and obedience commonly to be found in the peasantry. Peasants are expected to abide unquestioningly the will and words of the gentry.

I wondered how Haruki had managed to recruit his small legions.

I wished, of course, to free as many men as possible, both for my own sake, to confuse matters, and make pursuit more difficult, and for theirs, as well, that at least some might make their way back to their villages.

“A little more,” said the man beside me.

The palings were lifted up a foot, carrying with them the lashings near their points, and then bent outward. Almost at my feet the sharpened foot of a paling, bent forward, thrust up dirt. I bent down, and could feel the point.

“More, a bit more!” said the fellow beside me.

It was now raining heavily.

There was a flash of lightning and the camp, through the palings, suddenly appeared, in a cold blast of light, and then, as suddenly, vanished in an alarming crash of thunder.

We thrust forward against the palings.

“Not enough,” said a man.

“Noble one,” said Haruki. “Look back. Look to the gate. It is too late. A party approaches.”

I wiped rain from my eyes, and looked back, to the gate.

There was a party there, of some ten or twelve men. They wore hoods and shawls, to protect them from the rain. None wore the straw jacket of the peasantry. None carried glaives, the common weapon of the Ashigaru. I gathered they were officers and warriors, all. Some did carry sheltered lanterns which threw forth a dim light. They were being met by the officer of the guard.

“We are to be removed from the pen in darkness,” said Haruki. “Few will note our departure. None will know what has become of us. None will care what has become of us. We will have vanished. The rain and darkness will cover their work.”

“The gate opens,” said a man.

“We cannot break through the palings,” said a fellow.

“We will,” I said, “we, and the others. Together, now!”

At various points, to my left and right, for others, too, had made progress such as we, I heard the soft cries and utterances, sudden and forceful, of desperate and straining men.

“They approach,” said Haruki.

“Lift,” I said, “extend the palings, force them apart!” I got my back against one paling and, with my feet, both feet, bracing myself against it, thrust against the other. “There is your door,” I said. “Crawl, slip through, take your leave, go!”

Yards to the side I heard the movements of other men. Others may have been more successful than we.

I heard a creak of timber. From somewhere I heard the splash of a paling into the mud. The high lashings must have torn loose.

“What is going on there?” I heard, from somewhere within the pen.

I heard another sound, from the other side, and saw a paling thrust aside, swinging on its overhead lashing.

“On your hands and knees,” I said. “Through the opening, quick.
Harta
!
Harta
!”

One man after another squeezed through that narrow aperture.

“Unsheathe your blades!” cried a voice. “What you come upon, kill! Lanterns forward! Lanterns forward!”

Only Haruki remained behind.

“I shall block the opening, noble one,” he said.

“No, you will not,” I said, unpleasantly.

“What is life without its garden?” said Haruki.

“I do not know,” I said. “Hurry!”

“Must I?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“As you will, noble one,” he said.

“Find Tarl Cabot!” cried a voice, from somewhere in the midst of the approaching lanterns.

I thought my back might break, but Haruki crawled through the opening, and I threw myself free of the heavy paling which then fell back, as it could, into place. That particular opening had doubtless not been one of the best, but it had sufficed. Palings, in their strength, in the depth of their planting, in their securings and lashings, and such, would differ amongst themselves. I hoped the pursuers would attempt to make use of the same opening, as it would presumably present them with the same difficulty it had us. In the darkness and rain easier openings might not be scouted, or noticed. As soon as I was beyond the palings, I cried out, “Bowmen of Temmu, fire on the first tarsk who emerges from the pen!”

I moved back in the darkness with Haruki. The lanterns had stopped, and I sensed some indecision and milling about. Less pleasantly, I sensed cries, and movements, in the darkness about me. The camp, this portion of the camp, was apparently becoming aroused.

“Fools, there are no bowmen of Temmu in the camp. Break through, here, where the tarsks fled!”

I heard men grunting.

That massive vertical bar would not be easy to move.

“Where is Tarl Cabot?” cried an angry voice from within, a voice redolent with authority.

“Here!” I called out, from the darkness.

That, I thought, would keep them at this point in the fence. Perhaps, I thought, they could use a few stout fellows, such as I had had at my disposal, to move the palings. But then I doubted they had any peasants in their party.

“You did well, friend Haruki,” I said, “in your recruiting. How did you manage it, peasants, and peasants from different villages, suspicious, grasping fellows, wary of men of quality, working together, joining in such a common effort?”

“I told them, noble one,” said Haruki, “that they were the ox on which the Home Stone rests.”

“Did they understand?” I asked.

“I do not think so, noble one,” said Haruki, “but they were pleased.”

We then, in the pourings of rain, in the flashings of lightning and the crashings of thunder, with startled, confused men rushing about, slipping a bit in the mud, scrambled away, to lose ourselves, as we might, amongst the corridors of tents.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Pertinax;

There is Work to be Done

I stepped back behind a tent and a squad of Ashigaru hurried past, bearing glaives.

I did not think the laxity characterizing the perimeter of the camp was to be long in place.

In the distance, I could hear the ringing of an alarm bar.

Rain still fell, but the brunt of the storm had passed.

The yellow moon was now visible, only partly obscured.

I surmised that the fugitives, including Haruki and myself, would be expected to depart the camp as quickly as possible. I hoped that many, under the cover of the storm and darkness, might do so, reaching the open country. Haruki and I, however, would not be amongst them, at least not now. There was a different business to which we wished to attend.

I sought Tajima. I had dispatched Haruki to locate Nezumi. To be sure, I was less than sanguine about the success of either mission. We were to rendezvous where I supposed we would be the least suspected, within sight of the high banner surmounting the command tent of the shogun himself, at the hub of the great wheel which constituted the camp.