Swordsmen of Gor (40 page)

“We will need two hundred bows, at least, saddle bows, thousands of arrows,” I had informed Lord Nishida.

“They will be supplied,” he had said, quietly.

“There will be other things needed, as well,” I had said.

“You will receive them,” he had said.

The audience had then been concluded.

Outside the
dojo
I spoke to Tajima.

“Your training,” I said, “extends well beyond the
dojo
.”

He did not respond.

“I have noted, upon occasion,” I said, “that you have frequented the area of the warm pool, where some bathe, far from the tubs.”

His taciturnity could sometimes be annoying.

“Too, I have seen some others frequent that area, and I do not think for the warmth of the waters.”

We continued on, toward the hut I occupied with Cecily.

“I have seen some carrying food,” I said.

“Oh?” said Tajima.

“As I suspect you yourself do, as well, sometimes,” I said.

“Is it not I who am to spy on you?” asked Tajima.

“Surely,” I said, “you do not object to a reciprocity in such matters.”

“That would be churlish of me,” he admitted. “How may I be of service to you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” he asked.

“In the forest,” I said, “though doubtless within the wands, there is further training, a teacher, a master, for some particular few, amongst whom I would suppose yourself.”

“You are perceptive,” he said.

“To be sure,” I said, “perhaps you are merely sneaking off for a secret rendezvous with the lovely Sumomo.”

“You have noted my interest in her,” observed Tajima.

“Your expression betrays little,” I said, “but the pupils of your eyes much.”

“It is hard to control such things,” said Tajima. “The movements of contract women are closely supervised. Collar-girls have much more freedom, as would domestic sleen or scavenging tarsks. Besides, she scorns me.”

“Perhaps she has a pretty body,” I said, “which would look well in a collar.”

“She is a contract woman,” said Tajima.

“Surely, wherever you come from, which I suspect is faraway, you have collar-girls.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And I suppose they are not all light-skinned or dark-skinned.”

“No,” said Tajima, “but they are not of the Pani.”

“How is that?” I asked.

“Because as soon as they are collared, they are no longer of the Pani, but only slave beasts.”

“I see,” I said.

“There are many such slave beasts,” he said. “War is frequent amongst the Pani.”

“And would not Sumomo,” I asked, “look pretty as such a slave beast?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I cannot afford her contract.”

“What if you could?” I asked.

“An interesting thought,” he said.

“And she would then be yours to do with as you wished, would she not?” I asked.

“There are expectations, customs, and such,” he said, “but, yes, she would then be mine to do with as I wished.”

“Absolutely?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Absolutely.”

“And do you not think she might look pretty as a slave beast?”

“Yes,” said Tajima, “I would think so.”

“With whom do you train in the forest?” I asked.

“Nodachi,” he said.

“He is not a two-name person?” I asked.

“That is not his name,” said Tajima. “His name is secret. He conceals it. He is called ‘Nodachi’. That is merely a name for a battle sword, one to be used in the field.”

“I understand little of this,” I said.

“He is
ronen
,” said Tajima. “A fellow of the waves, as it is said, one with no home, one carried by the current, one with no master, no captain. There are many such.”

“A mercenary?” I suggested.

“Ah, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “how little you know of these things.”

“Doubtless,” I said.

“Loyalty,” said Tajima, “is required of the warrior. His lord must be dead, or imprisoned. Or it may be he was betrayed by his lord, or that his lord proved unworthy of his devotion. It is lonely to be of the
ronen
. One remembers. One does not forget. Over the ice a cloud drifts. The bird clings to the cold branch. It cries its pain in the night.”

I said nothing more, but, after a time, we arrived.

“Your weapons, your skills, your talents, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “are not ours.”

“I would like to meet with he with whom you train,” I said, “but not to learn his weapons.”

“There are more than weapons,” said Tajima. “There is the thought, the way.”

“I would seek his help,” I said, “not for me but for my friend, Pertinax. He is not allowed in the
dojo
.”

“He is a weakling,” said Tajima.

“He has grown strong,” I said.

“Not all strength,” said Tajima, “is of the body.”

“Some is,” I said, “and, I assure you, as you are slight, and he is large and strong, he could break you in two.”

“Only if I permitted it,” said Tajima. “The tusks of the forest tarsk, too, could tear me in two, and I could be rent by the horns of the forest bosk, but, like the wind, I do not intend to put myself beneath their tusks or horns.”

“But such beasts are dangerous,” I said.

“Not to the wind,” he said.

“Beware,” I said, “that the wind is not caught in a box, and the lid snapped shut.”

“The wind,” smiled Tajima, “does not enter boxes with lids.”

“Pertinax is different now from what you remember,” I said.

“I could kill him, easily,” said Tajima.

“Now,” I said.

“Yes,” said Tajima, “now.”

“I would that you brought Pertinax to the school of Nodachi, and inquire if he might accept him,” I said.

“So that his skills might one day equal or exceed mine?” asked Tajima.

“Certainly,” I said.

“I do not think that would happen,” said Tajima.

“Quite possibly not,” I said.

“You ask much, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said he.

“There must be balance, harmony,” I said, “and so I offer something in return.”

“Sumomo?” he asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “She is a mere female, and belongs in a collar. I offer you something of far greater value.”

“What?” he asked.

“The tarn,” I said. “You will be taught the tarn.”

“I am afraid of tarns,” he said.

“So are we all,” I said.

“Fear is not acceptable,” said Tajima.

“Fear is acceptable,” I said. “Cowardice is not.”

“I will speak to Nodachi,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen

I HAVE PURCHASED A SLAVE FOR PERTINAX;

I LEARN SOMETHING OF THE LESSONS OF PERTINAX

“He is a barbarian, Master!” cried the slave, distressed.

“So, too, am I,” I told her. “Get on your knees, put your head to his feet!”

She went to her knees before Pertinax, her head to the floor of the hut. Her small hands were high behind her, as she knelt, her small wrists closely encircled in slave bracelets. The leash, on which I had led her naked from the slave house to the hut, looped up, to my hand.

She was, of course, the former Lady Portia Lia Serisia of Sun Gate Towers, of Ar, of the house of the Serisii, now vanished.

“Whip her,” I suggested, tossing Pertinax a whip, “so that she understand she is your slave.”

“My slave?” he said.

Pertinax, having become a student in the school of Nodachi, for some weeks now, no longer assisted in the logging, but, at my request, had become resident with Cecily and myself, occupying with us the hut which had originally been put at our disposal by Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” I said. “I bought her for you, from Torgus, from the slave house.”

“For me?” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “Do not be concerned. She did not cost much.”

Indeed, I had had her for a handful of copper tarsks, to be sure, not tarsk-bits, but tarsks.

“I was Portia,” said the slave, “Lady Portia Lia Serisia of Sun Gate Towers, of Ar, of the Serisii!”

I gave her a slight kick, in the side, and she put down her head again, quickly.

“She has much to learn,” I said. “She just now spoke without permission. Perhaps you wish to punish her for that.”

“She was important?” said Pertinax.

“I was entertained many times in the Central Cylinder itself!” said the slave, her face judiciously to the floor. “I was known personally to the Ubara. I shared her table. I drank her wine! I conversed with her!”

“Actually,” I said, “she was really never more than a pampered, spoiled brat, the young, meaningless, but surely shapely, offspring of a wealthy family.”

“Master!” she protested.

“But now,” I said, “she has no more than her slave worth, and that is very little.”

“He is a barbarian, Master!” said the slave.

“I suggest you use the whip on her,” I said, “that she may learn that bondage to a barbarian, just as that to a more civilized fellow, may be quite meaningful, and sometimes distinctly unpleasant. Indeed, she has much to learn, and there is no reason why she should not begin to learn it at the feet of a barbarian. That may prove quite instructive to her.”

“She is very pretty, Master,” said Cecily. “You did buy her for Master Pertinax, did you not?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good,” she said.

The kneeling slave cast a quick look at Cecily.

“Where did you find her?” asked Cecily.

“I first noted her on the beach,” I said, “at the time of the landing of the ship bearing Torgus, and several others. She was one of a chain of slaves.”

“But more recently?” inquired Cecily.

“In the slave house,” I said.

“I suspected as much,” said Cecily.

“Do you object?” I asked.

“I do not like it,” she said, “but I may not object. I am a slave.”

“I trust you are in no danger of forgetting it,” I said.

“No, Master,” she said. “I am in no danger of forgetting it. And certainly not now. I suppose you put her to your pleasure.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Was she any good?”

The new slave looked up at me, suddenly, startled, indignant, embarrassed, angry. “Please!” she begged.

Cecily, incidentally, in the sense she had in mind, was quite good, even exquisitely, helplessly precious. A touch could ignite her, and she had grown in her bondage, and, clearly, was still growing. Indeed, there is no end to such things, as the horizons of the collar are forever beckoning, and are endless. Too, Cecily and I had been matched to one another, as tormentingly attracted lovers, by the wisdom, cruelty, and science of Priest-Kings. Indeed, she had originally been intended, as a free woman, unbeknownst to herself, to tempt and torture me from my codes, to play a role in my humiliation and downfall. I could not have indefinitely resisted the taking of her, despite the fact that she was at that time free. The intervention of Kurii, in a raid on the Prison Moon, where we were captive, prevented this situation from reaching its inevitable denouement. Later, after having been appropriately thigh-marked on the Steel World, she had come into my collar.

“Yes,” I said.

“Master!” she wept.

Whereas such questions would be highly impertinent, and, indeed, improper, asked of a free woman, they are appropriately asked of a slave. A slave, unlike a free woman, is expected to be good for something, to have her utilities.

“I trust,” I said to Pertinax, “you do not mind that she is red silk, that she is not white silk.”

“I do not understand,” he said.

“Virgin slaves,” I said, “are very rare.”

“Oh,” he said, “I see.”

“At least,” I said, “she does not have her ears pierced.”

“At least,” he agreed, puzzled.

Commonly, on Gor, it is only the lowest of slaves who have their ears pierced. On Gor pierced ears are regarded by many as a mark of shame and degradation exceeding even the brand. Slave brands are familiar, and taken for granted. They are routine in the marking of a slave. The piercing of ears is not. The brand, too, is covered by the common tunic, whereas the piercing of ears is exposed to all, to the contempt of free women and the interest and stimulation of men. This is cultural, of course, and Earth girls whose ears are pierced, something they have generally thought little of, are often startled when they are brought to Gor, to learn how this tiny thing, to which they have usually attached little importance, at least consciously or explicitly, can provoke unusual interest and lust in males. Certainly the mounting of earrings in a slave’s ears can adorn her nicely. But, too, the puncturing of the softness of the lobes by the rigid bars anchoring the adornments has its symbolic bespeakments. Naturally it is the master who selects the adornments. Some slavers, noting that pierced-ear girls sell well, have the slaves’ ears, whether they be in origin of Earth or Gor, subjected to this simple, homely operation. Initially this is likely to produce a great deal of dismay and stress in Gorean girls. This passes, however, when they discover how much more exciting these things make them. Indeed, some girls are so thrilled with these enhancements to their meaning as a slave and their beauty as a slave that they wear them before men almost insolently, or brazenly, or defiantly, or tauntingly. “Yes, here I am. I am owned. I am a slave. What are you going to do with me?” She relates to free women, of course, quite differently, and there, kneeling before them, will commonly attempt to convey to them a sense of her own self-acknowledged worthlessness, as a pierced-ear girl. In this fashion, thus seeming to accept and share the view of the free woman as to her abysmal degradation, she is less likely to be switched. It is well known that free women often have troubled dreams, inexplicable, unaccountable, frightening dreams, that they dream of themselves, to their embarrassment upon awakening, as having been shamefully branded and collared. One supposes they might, too, sometimes, dream of themselves not only as branded and collared, but as pierced-ear girls, as well. Goreans, incidentally, accept nose rings without any particular ado. Indeed, amongst the Wagon Peoples, where veiling is unknown, such rings are common even with free women.

“At any rate,” I said, “she is yours.”