Rebels of Gor (74 page)

“Surely, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “we must not keep the shogun waiting.”

I threw one switch.

“At least the chamber did not explode,” said Pertinax.

“Nothing happened,” said Tajima.

“I am sure something happened,” I said. “The first switch in order presumably either activates the screens or opens the dragon gate, so to speak. Since the screens are not activated, namely, the dragon has not yet opened its eyes, I am hoping the dragon is free to fly, that the gate has been opened, or the roof rolled back, or such.”

“Try the second switch,” said Pertinax.

I threw the second switch.

“Nothing happened, again,” said Tajima.

“Something happened,” I said. “I am sure. I can feel the tremor in the board. Too, listen, carefully.”

“It is a soft hum,” said Tajima.

“I am sure the dragon is activated,” I said.

“But motionless?” said Pertinax.

“I hope so,” I said.

“Try the third switch,” said Pertinax.

“Ah!” cried Tajima, pleased.

“There!” said Pertinax.

“The sky, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman!” said Tajima.

We could see clouds.

“And rock walls all about, and even what must be the floor, as of a cave!” said Pertinax.

“Our dragon has opened its eyes,” I said.

“Its six eyes,” said Tajima.

“But it will seem, and act, as if it has but two,” I said. “That would contribute to the illusion.”

“Can you control it?” asked Pertinax.

“I think so,” I said. “In any event we shall soon know.”

I did not think there would be much difficulty beyond this point, at least with controlling the movements of the dragon. One used the sphere for orientation, as one had with a transportation disk, and the other switch, that associated with the sphere, analogous to a throttle, to regulate power.

“What is the role of the six spheres and the six dials?” asked Pertinax.

“Our mystery controls,” I said.

“Those,” he said.

“Let us see,” I said.

“Ah!” said Tajima.

I had lightly rotated the sphere which I, for my convenience, would think of as Sphere One, in its recess, or cup. It was obviously associated with the side camera to the left. Manipulating the sphere then, as I determined, oriented the camera, changing the screen from the default position to a selected position, say more to the left or right, higher or lower, and such.

“What are the dials for?” asked Pertinax.

“We shall soon know,” I said.

“Wonderful,” said Pertinax.

The dials regulated the magnification of the image on the pertinent screen. Depending on the use made of the dial, altering the default setting on the camera, either the field was reduced and the image magnified, or the field was enlarged and individual images were reduced.

“One could read a banner at a pasang,” said Tajima.

“But little else at the time,” I said.

“What are we going to do now, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” said Tajima.

“Now,” I said, “we are going to release a dragon.”

Chapter Fifty-Three

The Dragon has Spread Its Wings

“It is in flight!” cried Pertinax. “I see it!” He stood before the small, steel-shuttered aperture, the metal panel slid back, which provided the only direct visual access to the outside.

“Let me see,” said Tajima, and Pertinax stepped aside.

“I can see the palace,” I said, “on the screen. It is less than a pasang to my east.”

“‘Your east’?” said Pertinax. “You are in the palace.”

“To the east of the dragon,” I said.

One thinks of oneself from a certain perspective, that natural to an organism. Is one not always behind the phenomena, so to speak? Is the world not always conveniently at hand, about one as usual? Is one not always, for example, the center of the visual field? Suppose, then, your sensory experiences were somehow dissociated from their common site. Would it not then be natural, almost immediately, to psychologically situate yourself in accord with the coercions of custom and familiarity? Though I knew myself in a small room, in the palace of an island shogun, I had much the sense of oneness with the enormous beast through whose eyes, so to speak, I was experiencing the world. It was not so much that I seemed within it, as a pilot might be within an airborne vehicle, or even as though it might be a body, which I might temporarily inhabit, but rather it seemed as though it was I, myself. I seemed not so much within it, as it, it itself.

“I shall bring it about,” I said. “I am going to circle the palace, three times, slowly, in a stately fashion, at a low altitude. I want the dragon to be visible, unforgettably visible to as many as possible.”

“There is the fifth level, the compartments on the western side of the palace,” said Pertinax.

“That is where you are,” I said.

“There is the courtyard, the exercise yard, the archery range, the barracks, the work sheds, the stadium,” said Pertinax.

“I know the stadium,” said Tajima.

“That is the location of the eel pool,” I said to Pertinax.

“Guards, Ashigaru, officers, are about,” said Tajima.

“This is the first time most of them will have looked upon the dragon,” I said.

“Many are awed,” said Pertinax. “Many cover their eyes.”

“Others wave, and cry out, eagerly, and smile, and run beneath it, even in its shadow,” said Tajima.

“Would you not rejoice,” I asked, “in the presence of so mighty an ally?”

“The iron dragon flies for Yamada,” said Tajima.

“That is their supposition,” I said. “At a given point, I shall hover. There! Examine the screen to the left, as I adjust the camera and increase the magnification.”

“Lord Yamada!” said Pertinax.

“On the balcony of observation,” I said. “I thought he would observe, and presumably from such a place. Indeed, it was there that I was displayed long ago, that any concern the cavalry might have entertained with respect to my welfare might be dispelled.”

“He is in full ceremonial regalia,” said Tajima.

“I suspect,” I said, “that this brief encounter, or something like it, that of dragon and shogun, would have been prearranged.”

“Those with him,” said Tajima, “seem to be crying out. Banners are lifted. Swords are raised in salute.”

“They are probably cheering,” I said, “but we cannot hear them.”

“The dragon,” said Tajima, “has spread its wings.”

“Yes,” I said.

The wings, of course, given the technology involved, were not necessary for flight, though I supposed they might provide some lift. They did move in flight, giving the illusion of propelling the great, mysterious, aerial beast. Do not all dragons have vast, fearful batlike wings? In a sense then, the wings were quite essential, to convey the illusion. Indeed, lacking wings, or seeming wings, this remarkable machine might not have been instantly identified, in the minds of thousands, with the fabled iron dragon of legend. In the psychology of war such a thing might rout armies.

“Lord Yamada raises his hand,” said Pertinax.

“Rather grandly,” I said.

“What is a state without theater?” said Pertinax.

“Do not object,” I said. “Men often live in terms of symbols and gestures.”

“And die similarly,” said Pertinax.

“Yes,” I said. “And worthily. What else so ennobles life? Without his symbols and gestures man has only the dumb succession of pointless seasons, the repetitive, meaningless cycles of insects, the vacuous rootings and ruttings of tarsks.”

“He sweeps his hand toward the north,” said Tajima.

“He is sending us on our way,” said Pertinax.

“Then,” I said, “we had best be gone.”

“I suppose,” said Pertinax, “with a bit of experimenting, we might blast the observation balcony off the wall of the palace.”

“Probably,” I said, “but our business lies in the north.”

“What is in the north?” asked Pertinax.

“Yamada’s armies,” I said, “his camps and siege works.”

“He thinks the dragon will destroy the holding of Temmu,” said Pertinax.

“Let us suppose he is mistaken,” I said.

I then slowly oriented the dragon toward the north. I would fly relatively low, and relatively slowly for a time, even, now and then, deviating from a direct route, that the nearby towns and villages might note our flight. Then, after a time, I found the northern road, and opened the throttle, so to speak, and, marked on the appropriate screen, the ground below rapidly slipped away.

Chapter Fifty-Four

The Dragon has Flown

“I have not heard guards outside, for several days,” said Tajima.

Substantially, we had not left our small redoubt since what we took to be the last passage hand. We had occasionally, glaives ready, opened the door briefly, to reconnoiter the corridor, which led to the main corridor on the western side of the palace. We had opened the door the first time on the second day of our isolation, near the twentieth Ahn, both to reconnoiter and to rid ourselves of the bodies of the two dead Kurii. We trusted that, at that time, little would be known of what, if anything, had transpired within the chamber of the Kurii. Whereas it would be known that we were no longer in our respective incarceration chambers and had neutralized two Ashigaru near the corridor entrance, little else would be known. For example, little was known at that time other than the fact that the door to the chamber of the Kurii was secured and that the iron dragon had flown north, presumably on its mission to deal out destruction to the holding of Temmu. Thus, from the point of view of Lord Yamada, it seemed his plans were being implemented although the Kurii were surely unresponsive. As the iron dragon was in flight, it seemed all was well from his point of view, that of the self-proclaimed Shogun of the Islands. And who but Kurii might manage the enormous mechanical beast? Who else might risk bringing such a dreadful thing forth from its lair? Who else might dare to pilot such a thing? And who else would have the skills to do so? Most likely it would be supposed that we had failed to obtain an entrance to the chamber of the Kurii, and had fled elsewhere. Perhaps we had obtained an entrance to the chamber of the Kurii and had perished within, and perhaps had been eaten. Some Kurii do feed on human. It is not that they are cannibals, no more than a human could be considered a cannibal if he fed on verr or tarsk. And if the Kurii were unresponsive, who would be so rash, at least upon reflection, to reprimand so large, unpredictable, and dangerous a form of life?

So, the first time we had opened the door, near the twentieth Ahn on the second night of our stay in the chamber, we had propped up the bodies of the two Kurii, with boards, behind the door, so it would appear, at first, they were standing in the portal. We then opened the door. As the corridor was still dark, as before, the apparent will of the Kurii was still being respected, that of the darkened corridor.

As we had met with no opposition, and encountered no sign of our enemy, we eased the two carcasses, supported as they were, outside the door. No dozens of arrows thudded into the bodies. We then returned to the chamber and closed and barred the door.

“This ruse will not be long effective,” had said Pertinax.

“Perhaps until morning,” I had said.

“The corridor was dark,” said Tajima. “There was no arrow fire.”

“Lamps will be brought,” I said. “An inquiry will be made.”

Although the two bodies had been arranged so as to suggest the semblance of life, an appearance which might be maintained almost indefinitely in the dark, even a casual perusal under better conditions, even from a distance, would quickly dispel that illusion.

We thought it unwise, as well as noisome, to keep the bodies longer in the chamber.

“There is no sign of the men of Yamada,” had said Tajima.

“They are there, about, somewhere,” I had said.

“Can they get at us in here?” had asked Tajima.

“Eventually,” I said. “Not immediately.”

“There is food and water,” said Pertinax.

“Too,” I said, “this chamber has been designed to resist forcible entry.”

“How long will it be until they realize what has happened?” asked Tajima.

“On foot,” I said, “days, but there will be message vulos, and Yamada has two tarns, one flown by Tyrtaios. If one or both are at the front, it will be much as with the message vulos.”

“Do you think he knows now?” said Tajima.

“Probably not,” I said.

“By morning?” said Pertinax.

“He should at least suspect by morning,” I said.