Swordsmen of Gor (23 page)

I had the sense he did not wish to disturb the camp, but thought it appropriate to wait until it was awake.

This, I took, somewhat to my surprise, as politeness.

To be sure, it is dangerous to come on a sleeping warrior, which he would presumably take Pertinax to be. Normally one makes certain, if one’s intentions are peaceful, that any approached camp is well aware of one’s approach, even to one’s singing, calling out, pounding on a shield, or such. A surreptitious advance is usually taken as an act of war.

He took little note of the girls, other, I suppose, than to note that their wrists were bound behind them, and each, by the neck, was fastened to a tree. They were, in effect, tethered, as might have been kaiila. From his vantage point, he would not have been much aware of their quality as females, for example, their value as properties. To be sure, Constantina was priceless, as she was a free woman.

When he had begun his exercises I had come forward to the point where I might sit, and watch. I was careful, of course, not to approach too closely.

When Pertinax awakened, he discovered my absence, doubtless to his considerable uneasiness, and had seemingly, swiftly, cast about to locate me, which event took place shortly. He then awakened the girls and freed their rope leashes from the respective trees to which they had been fastened, and approached me, followed by the girls, still bound, but the leashes now dangling from their necks.

After a time, the fellow sheathed his sword, bowed to the southeast, and turned to face us.

He approached to within about fifteen feet of us, and Pertinax and I, which seemed appropriate, rose to our feet. In this way, though I do not think Pertinax was aware of this, we showed him honor. For us to have remained recumbent, so to speak, would have made it seem rather as though he was an inferior, reporting to us. “Remain kneeling,” I cautioned the girls. Cecily, of course, well aware that she was in the presence of a male, and one presumably free, had not stirred. Constantina, however, had seemed on the point of rising. At my word, of course, though she was not much pleased about it, she remained on her knees.

I lifted my right hand. “Tal,” I said. I hoped he spoke Gorean.

He seemed surprised that I had greeted him first. As he had come, presumably, to render us a service, to conduct us somewhere, his station, quite possibly, would have been subordinate to ours. I had never, however, put great store in protocol. I am English, but I was not derived, as far as I knew, at least recently, from strata in English society where such formalities or precedences much mattered. Too, I had lived for several months in the colonies, so to speak, and, as is well known, they tend be careless in such matters, even to the point of embarrassment. I sensed, however, that proprieties of one sort or another might be not only extremely important to this fellow, but might, to a large extent, govern his life.

“Tal,” he said.

“Tal,” said Pertinax. “I gather you have come to meet us. You are the first Tuchuk I have met.”

The fellow looked puzzled.

I was reasonably certain he was not Tuchuk. The Tuchuk face is commonly swarthy and broad. This fellow’s face, a subtle yellowish brown, was narrower than would be common with the Tuchuk. He did have high cheekbones. He did have the epicanthic fold.

I had little doubt this was a fellow of the sort of whom I had heard yesterday on the beach, the sort spoken of as “strange men.”

“How are the bosk?” I said to him.

“Some are in the forest,” he said, uncertainly, “outside the reserve.”

He would be referring to wild bosk, which can be surly and territorial. In forested areas, they are substantially forward horned, and attack, head down, directly. The Tuchuk bosk, on the other hand, usually have wide, spreading horns. When angered they attack, a bit to the side, to tear the enemy. They also hook nicely, and, if one is caught on the horn, one can be hurled a hundred feet. They are large and powerful. The straighter horns of the forest bosk are presumably an adaptation to the arboreal environment. The plains bosk are, as suggested, usually more widely horned.

“Are the quivas sharp?” I asked.

“I do not know the word,” he said.

“It is important to keep the axles of wagons greased,” I said.

He regarded me, strangely. “I would suppose so,” he said. “The wagoners attend to such matters.”

“Forgive me,” I said to him.

“It is a test?” he said.

“In a way,” I said.

He seemed troubled. “Have I failed?” he asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “You have done splendidly.” I then turned to Pertinax. “He is not Tuchuk,” I said.

“Very well,” said Pertinax.

Although there can be some variation in these matters I had rehearsed a common formal greeting often exchanged amongst Tuchuks. In response to my first question, a Tuchuk would most likely have informed me that the bosk were doing as well as might be expected; to my second question, that one tries to keep them that way, namely, sharp. The quiva is a Tuchuk saddle knife. Usually there are seven to a saddle. They are balanced, for throwing. In response to my third question, a Tuchuk would have been expected to agree, amicably, with some remark such as, “Yes, I believe so,” or “Yes, I think so.”

“Is one called Tarl Cabot, a tarnsman, amongst you?” he asked.

“I am Tarl Cabot,” I said.

“I am honored,” he said, “to greet a two-name person.”

I did not respond, as I did not understand what he had in mind.

“I am Tajima,” he said. “I am a one-name person, but I hope, one day, to be a two-name person.”

“It is my hope, as well,” I said, “that you will one day be a two-name person.” I was not sure, frankly, what I was doing here, but I gathered it must have been right, for he bowed, graciously. I bowed back, not sure of what was going on.

“We have located Cabot and brought him here,” said Pertinax. “Conduct us to your superior.”

“I will do the talking,” said Constantina, rising to her feet. “Untie me! Take this horrid rope off my neck.”

Tajima seemed startled.

“Who is the yellow-haired collar-girl?” he asked.

“I am Margaret Wentworth,” she said. “I am in command here. Tarl Cabot has identified himself. My colleague is Gregory White. Untie me! Free me of this disgusting tether.”

“She is a free woman?” said Tajima.

“Yes,” said he whom I had thought of as Pertinax.

“What of the dark-haired collar-girl?” asked Tajima.

“She is a slave,” I informed him.

“She is your slave?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I was told to expect two free men and a slave,” said Tajima, “but I find two free men, and two slaves.”

“I brought a slave,” I said.

“I am not a slave!” said she whom I had thought of as Constantina.

“Lord Nishida,” said Tajima, “is fond of yellow-haired collar-girls.”

“I am not a collar-girl!” she snapped.

I supposed that, in a sense, Miss Wentworth had been a slave for some time, perhaps from the time she had been entered on certain records, or acquisition lists, at least from the point of view of slavers. They tend to regard such entries as effecting embondment, though, to be sure, there are various details to be later attended to, branding, collaring, and such. If one does not accept the slavers’ view of these matters, one would understand, at least, that the selectees had been designated for bondage.

I wondered if this “Lord Nishida” had put in a request for a yellow-haired collar-girl, if one had been included in, say, his “want list.”

“Miss Wentworth,” said Pertinax, for I shall continue to refer to him by this name, as it is familiar, and convenient, and as it would become his Gorean name, “is in disguise. As free women are apparently seldom, if ever, in this locality, we were advised to conceal her identity, to pretend that she might be naught but a mere, degraded slave, a low-value slave, such as might be brought hither.”

“‘Low-value’!” said Miss Wentworth.

“Whilst I myself,” said Pertinax, “assumed a disguise as a simple forester, assigned to the reserves of Port Kar.”

“Release me!” demanded Miss Wentworth.

Pertinax went to untie the wrists of Miss Wentworth.

“Wait, please,” said Tajima.

“Wait,” I told Pertinax.

“If there is a confusion in this matter,” said Tajima, “it will be clarified, three days from today, at the camp.”

“‘Three days’!” exclaimed Miss Wentworth!

“Two days with men,” said Tajima, “three days with females.”

“What camp?” I said.

“That of Lord Nishida,” he said, “in which men, some men, will learn the tarn.”

“‘Some men’?” I asked.

“We expect to lose several,” he said.

“See here,” said Pertinax, who, I am afraid, took the courteous attitude of our guide as timidity or diffidence, and as legitimating an occasion for aggressive, peremptory discourse, “Miss Wentworth and I have discharged our part of the bargain. We have delivered Cabot here, as specified. We are now to return to the coast, be met by a ship, receive our wages, and be returned home, to Earth.”

“‘Earth’?” said Tajima.

“A place far away,” I said. I did not know if Tajima was familiar with the Second Knowledge, or only the First, or, indeed, even if these distinctions were appropriate in his case. In any event, the place, “Earth,” as nearly as I could tell at the time, did not seem familiar to him.

“Our home, you fool,” said Pertinax.

I detected a brief flicker of displeasure in the eyes of Tajima, but his countenance, almost instantly, resumed its attitude of almost solicitous attention. I did not know Tajima, nor was I familiar with his background, but I sensed that he was of a sort which might be acutely sensitive, perhaps pathologically so, to the way in which he was treated. Rougher, bluffer fellows might have discounted or dismissed Pertinax’s rudeness as mere tastelessness or stupidity, or even found it amusing, but I did not think that this would be the case with Tajima. He did not seem to me to be the sort of person whom it would be wise to treat with contempt. Such things might be taken more seriously by him than other fellows, might rankle with him, might fester within him, might eat away at his pride, might not be forgotten, might seem to require attention.

“He is tired, and upset,” I said to Tajima. “Please do not mind him. He was thoughtless. He did not mean what he said. I apologize for him, and ask that you forgive him. He is sorry, very sorry.” Then I said to Pertinax, in English, “You are asking for your head to be cut off. Apologize, quickly.”

“He is a servant,” said Pertinax to me, in English.

“No matter,” I said to him, in English. I supposed there were formalities to be observed amongst these “strange men,” and that amongst them there might obtain extremely complex human relationships, which would be culturally articulated, quite possibly in considerable detail. I suspected he came from a hierarchical society, as that had been suggested by his demeanor, and his concern with one-name and two-name individuals, and so on. In such a society rigid protocols would doubtless obtain between superiors and inferiors, each, in his way, showing due respect, in some mutually understood fashion, to the other. Protocol, and courtesy, I suspected, would be important to them.

“I am sorry,” said Pertinax to Tajima. “It is only that I am anxious to return to the coast, meet our ship, and return home. Please forgive me.”

“Tell him,” I said to Pertinax, in English, “that it is not he who was the fool, but you.”

“I am the fool,” said Pertinax to Tajima, in Gorean, “not you. You are not a fool. It is I who am the fool, not you. I am sorry.”

Tajima, interestingly, looked to me.

“He is sorry, genuinely sorry,” I said. “Please accept his apology.”

Tajima turned to Pertinax. He inclined his head, briefly.

“Your apology,” I said to Pertinax, “has been accepted.” I thought it well to be clear on that. If it was not accepted, or was accepted with certain reservations, that would presumably be very important to know. Honor, I was sure, was somehow entangled in these matters.

“I am not a fool,” said Tajima to Pertinax.

“Of course not,” said Pertinax.

“There is no ship,” said Tajima.

“What?” said Pertinax.

“What!” exclaimed Miss Wentworth.

“No ship,” said Tajima.

“I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

“It is you who are the fools,” said Tajima.

“Where is our money, our gold?” asked Pertinax.

“If it exists,” said Tajima, “it is being applied elsewhere, otherwise than to fill purses such as yours.”

“Take us to your superior!” said Miss Wentworth.

“I shall,” said Tajima. “That is why I am here.”

“We shall see about this!” said Miss Wentworth. “I have suffered indignities enough. My disguise is now at an end.”

“That is possible,” said Tajima, politely.

“You are a dolt,” said Miss Wentworth. “This will all be explained to you by Lord Nishida. He will clarify everything.”

“I am sure he will,” said Tajima, politely.

It was interesting to me that Tajima seemed to take no umbrage whatsoever at the attitude and words of Miss Wentworth. It had been quite different with Pertinax. Tajima seemed to consider her insult as nothing to be dealt with within the context of honor, though perhaps, I supposed, it might be dealt with, and suitably, outside of that context, perhaps as one might see fit to deal with the behavior of a small, naughty animal.

“You have been unaccommodating, even insolent,” said Miss Wentworth to Tajima. “I will have you punished by Lord Nishida.”

“Your dress is quite short,” observed Tajima, as politely as ever.

“Beast!” she said.

She then faced me. “You, Cabot,” she snarled, “are responsible for much of this! You, too, will answer for my shame, my humiliation! I will inveigh with Lord Nishida to see to it that you, too, are punished. Tie my hands! Hood me! Lead me about, on a leash, like a slave! We shall see about such things! I am a free woman, a free woman!”

I did not respond to her.

I did not think I had much to fear, at least now, from Lord Nishida, whoever he might be. I had been brought to the northern forests for some reason. I was not yet fully clear on what, ultimately, that might prove to be.