Swordsmen of Gor (46 page)

The second major theory proposed to explain the ban of Priest-Kings on body armor is that the Priest-Kings, in their benign concern for human beings, one of the diverse life forms with which they stocked the planet, thought the banning of body armor would reduce injury and conflict, that it would lead humans to abandon war as too dangerous and perilous of pursuit by a rational organism. If this is the case, it seemed they may have overestimated the rationality of the human species, or underestimated the lengths to which it might go to acquire land, wealth, women, and other valuables. A variant on this theory, though one less benign, or misguided, is that the regulation from the Sardar was intended to help keep the numbers of human beings on the planet in check, that it functioned, in a sense, as a populational control device. They might have been less inclined to use other devices, say, disease, because of the danger of a mutation which might affect the denizens of the Sardar, sooner or later, as well. To be sure, other theories might be proposed, too, for example that warfare conducted under such conditions might tend to improve the species, selecting for, say, intelligence, quickness, agility, and so on. It might be noted that on the planet Earth war would seem to be counterproductive along these lines, as, on the whole, the healthy and robust do the fighting and the sickly, weak, and frail remain behind to replicate their genes.

Whatever the truth may be in these matters the Priest-Kings, as is their wont, did not explain the rationale for their rulings. They do enforce them, however, mercilessly, with the Flame Death. Perhaps the rulings on body armor were not even particularly rationally motivated, at all; perhaps they were the result of a random notion or an idiosyncratic whim on the part of one or more Priest-Kings. Whatever the case may be the rulings, as in the case of certain forbidden developments or innovations in weaponry and communication, and such, are in place.

You may recall that I had heard a scream issuing from one of the huts. I now saw one of the Pani emerging from the hut, carrying a head.

These heads were clearly trophies of a sort. For example, a warrior might win favor from his
daimyo
or
shogun
by garnering heads, this understood as a proof of prowess in war. In such a way one might earn promotion, land, gifts, preferments, and such. I would also later learn that these heads, particularly if one of a celebrated foe, might be treasured, and kept indefinitely, the hair being carefully combed and dressed, the head being perfumed, the teeth painted black, and so on. The blackness of teeth was apparently regarded as cosmetically appealing. Indeed, certain beauties of the Pani, I would learn, blackened their teeth to enhance their charms. To be sure, neither of the contract women of Lord Nishida, one of whom was Sumomo, who was apparently of interest to Tajima, and the other of whom was Hana, as I later discovered, I was pleased to note, had adopted this practice.

He in the helmet mask turned toward me, and I saw that the mask, in design and color, was garish. Too, it was horned. The entire effect was that of a hideous face, as of some frightful creature, or monster of sorts, surely not even a human face.

“That is Nodachi,” I speculated. Pertinax was at my side, and would presumably be familiar with that individual. I myself had never seen this mysterious and, it seemed, almost legendary, figure.

“No,” said Pertinax.

Although the gaze of the figure was upon me, it gave no sign of recognition.

“Bow,” whispered Pertinax.

“Of course,” I thought to myself. There are understandings in such things. I am not even of the Pani. I understand very little of this. Pertinax may be more informed than I, having profited from the tutelage of Nodachi. It did seem to me that the fellow in the helmet mask, as it was the only contrivance of its sort in view, might be important. I am not of the Pani, I reminded myself. I will be expected to bow first. There is a complex order in such matters.

And so I bowed, and lifted my sword, in a warrior’s salute.

This business on my part was accepted, it seemed, for the individual returned my bow, though less deeply, and then turned away.

I did note that his sword, the long sword, with its beautifully curved blade, and its tasseled hilt, suitable for a two-handed grasp, was bloodied.

I took him to be a high officer, of which there were several in camp. From the mask, the stature, the carriage, the nature of his garments, the tone of the skin, I took him to be Pani.

I looked about, wondering on the whereabouts of Lord Nishida.

Even as I did so, to my right, his pavilion collapsed, crashing downward in a sudden flurry of sparks and smoke, then settling into a mass of flaming planks, timbers, and panels.

I regretted the loss of the pavilion.

It had been a small, but a beautiful, and exotic, building, and might have been more suitably situated not in a rude camp, but, withdrawn, in a sheltered garden.

I trusted Lord Nishida had escaped the firing of his pavilion. I supposed he would not have been personally sought, as the archer who had attacked him may well have reported him slain. Lord Nishida had impressed me as being politically astute, and coldly subtle, but also as constituting an epitome of a civilized gentleman, at least relative to his own background, or lights. Certainly I recalled his interest, manifested in his interviewing of the former Miss Margaret Wentworth, in the delicacies of flower arrangements, tea ceremonials, and such. Such a sensitive and delicate gentleman, and particularly one so important, I hoped, at the first sign of trouble, would have been hurried to a location of safety, and a guard set about him to protect his person. One such as he was not to be risked. I did assume him safe. If he had come to harm I had little doubt that that would have been broadcast in the camp, and a new leader made known.

The Pani made no effort to save the pavilion. It was lost. It burned lower now. The smoke filled the air.

To one side I saw two women in their kimonos, with their small steps, being ushered forward by one of the
Ashigaru
. I supposed they had been concealed somewhere. I took them to be Sumomo and Hana. They were being brought into the open, I supposed, for their security. We controlled this area. Buildings might be especially dangerous. Fugitives might take shelter within them, turning them into small fortresses. One would not wish them to be seized as hostages, though I did not think the Pani would be excessively concerned with them, as they might be replaced, I supposed, with others. On the other hand, I was sure they would be taken as of greater value than, say, a common collar girl.

I caught sight of Tajima, now, again, in the clearing. He approached Sumomo. She turned away. Though she was a female, and he a male, and though she was a contract woman, and he free, she had not bowed to him.

I understood this to be an insult of some sort, and I noted that Tajima’s body, briefly, stiffened with rage. He then remained standing, where he was, where he had been rebuffed, looking after Sumomo, who was now with Hana, facing away from him, several feet from him, not far from the smoldering embers of Lord Nishida’s collapsed, blackened pavilion.

“I fear the contract woman,” I said, “did not treat Tajima well.”

“She has nothing to fear,” said Pertinax.

“She may have more to fear than she understands,” I said.

“I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

“It is nothing,” I said.

“Her contract is held by Lord Nishida,” said Pertinax.

“Contracts may change hands, be purchased, and such,” I said.

“Doubtless,” said Pertinax.

“Why should she treat Tajima badly?” I asked.

“Doubtless for the same reason that the Lady Portia Lia Serisia of Sun Gate Towers would, if she dared, not treat Pertinax well,” said Pertinax.

“You are referring, incorrectly, I take it,” I said, “to a meaningless slave, your Jane, in her collar, who must now obey, fetch, and serve, unquestioningly.”

“Yes,” he said, “to my slave, Jane.”

“Your insolent slave,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“No slave is insolent,” I said, “whom you do not permit to be insolent.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“That lovely brat still has to learn her collar,” I said.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Do not fear to use the switch, or whip,” I said. “The slave learns quickly to respond to its discipline, to its swift, informative, lashing sting, its sudden monitory caress on her soft, smooth skin.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Certainly,” I said. “The next time your Jane’s behavior, in any way, whether verbal, physical, or attitudinal, asks for such a stroke, or even seems that it might ask for such a stroke, see that she receives it. You will learn shortly thereafter that her behavior will then seldom ask for such a stroke, or even seem to ask for such a stroke.”

“She will learn to fear, and will then attempt to avoid, the stoke,” he said.

“Certainly,” I said.

“A switch in time saves nine?” he smiled.

“You could put it that way,” I said. “The sooner she kneels before you and sees you as her master, the better for the both of you.”

“She as slave, I as master,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “How can she be slave, if you are not master?”

“I fear I lack the courage, the strength, to be a master,” he said.

“Then sell her to another,” I said, “who will treat her as she deserves, and, in her heart, desires to be treated.”

He was silent, angry.

What man, after all, does not, in his deepest heart, want to own a woman? What could begin to compare with such a property?

Perhaps, I thought, he has dreamed of another woman, a different slave, his, helpless at his feet?

Would he have the courage, the will, the determination, the kindness, the compassion, I wondered, to put her at his feet, keep her there without the least compromise, and fulfill her?

“Why should Sumomo not respect Tajima?” I asked. “Or Jane Pertinax?”

“Perhaps because we are weak,” said Pertinax.

“I do not think so,” I said.

“Perhaps,” said Pertinax, “because neither of us speak Gorean natively, perhaps because neither of us was born to this world. We are seen as different, as barbarians.”

“I, too,” I said, “would be such a barbarian.”

“No,” he said, “you are Gorean.”

“Tajima,” I said, “is now of Gor.”

“I do not think Sumomo understands that,” said Pertinax.

“A dangerous misunderstanding,” I said.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Pertinax,” I said, “may one day, too, be of Gor.”

“It is not easy to be of Gor,” said Pertinax.

“At one time, long ago,” I said, “none were of Gor.”

“Now, many?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Is it good to be of Gor?” asked Pertinax.

“That question can be asked only by one who does not know Gor,” I said.

“I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

“Is it good to be alive?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Pertinax.

“Then you sense Gor,” I said. “Once one has known Gor, one is alive. Once one has known Gor, one never goes back.”

“Tajima is now approaching,” said Pertinax.

“Yes,” I said. Sumomo, I noted, perhaps alerted by Hana, had turned about, to watch Tajima withdraw. She seemed amused. Tajima did not look back at her. My pantherine associate did not seem pleased. Although his face was a careful study in composure, there was a tightness about the jaw, a rigidity, that bespoke a rage and shame he was too proud to display. He had been genuinely concerned with the safety and welfare of the contract woman, Sumomo. His concern had seemingly been scorned, perhaps even mocked. Certainly, from the looks of it, he had been treated badly, very badly. I suspected he now viewed the contract woman differently, doubtless now as less worthy of his concern, which he would now recognize had been seriously misplaced. Had we been elsewhere on Gor and she branded and naked in a slave cage I did not doubt but what he would bid on her, and soon, doubtless regardless of the cost, would have her on his chain. She might then look forward to a perfect and exquisite bondage at his feet, one from which he would see to it that he derived much satisfaction. To be sure, there was little prospect of this, as Sumomo’s contract was held by Lord Nishida. And doubtless the proud Sumomo was only too well aware of this fact. Within the fortress of etiquette and custom she doubtless supposed herself to repose secure. I supposed it would take some time for Tajima to nurse his wounds. And the deepest of wounds, we note, do not always bleed. Too, the Pani have long memories.

Tajima had now joined us.

“You saw?” asked Tajima.

“Sumomo belongs in a collar,” I said.

“She is Pani,” said Tajima.

“Doubtless some women of the Pani are in collars,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “primarily women of enemy houses. Taken, they may be reduced to collar girls.”

“Enemy houses?” I asked.

But Tajima was silent.

I suspected, but did not remark it, that Sumomo’s treatment of Tajima might have obscure motivations, motivations more subtle and deeper than a mere scorn for one she might despise as having been extracted from an alien world. I suspected she was fighting irresistibilities within herself, longings to feel his switch, curiosities as to what it might be to kneel naked before him and press her lips upon his bared feet, what it might be to writhe in his arms, helpless, and owned, as only a woman may be owned, owned to the tiniest tremor of her subdued and surrendered heart, to the last obedient cell of her mastered body.

I did not speak these things, of course, to Tajima.

We turned our attention to the door of the closed, presumably blockaded hut.

Several of the Pani with the masked figure had now ranged themselves on either side of the door of the hut.

I did see, briefly, a frightened face within, in the small, open window, to one side of the door.

The figure in the hideous mask-helmet, with the bloodied sword, gave a sign and several
Ashigaru
fetched brands from the fallen, now-smoking pavilion, and hurled them to the dried branches with which the hut was roofed.