Swordsmen of Gor (66 page)

“We caught the scent of a sleen in the vicinity earlier,” said a mercenary, one of the guards.

“Apparently the bowman did not,” said a fellow.

“Nor would he,” I said.

“Double the guard,” said Lord Nishida.

“Behold,” said one of the Pani, indicating with the shaft of his long glaive the figure brought recently to the road. “This man is dead.”

“He bled to death,” said a mercenary.

“Unfortunate,” said Lord Nishida. “We might have learned much from him.”

A man drew the wadded, blood-soaked cloth from the inert body.

“Well, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida, “we have solved one of our problems.”

“How is that?” I asked.

“We have discovered our assassin,” said Lord Nishida. “This man, whose head is still muchly in his helmet, is Lykourgos, and this other, he with the crossbow, is Quintus, so one or the other, perhaps both, are of the Assassins.”

“Both may have attempted the work of the assassin,” I said, “but neither, I fear, are of the Assassins.”

“How so?” asked Lord Nishida, interested.

“This man,” I said, indicating he who had been caught beneath the chin by the edged buckler, “rushed clumsily from the darkness. He lacked the skill one would expect from a professional at dark work, and the other, he with the crossbow, did not risk a miss, preferring to leave the strike to the knife of his confederate, he himself then serving muchly as support, either for a second strike, or, more likely, to disconcert any who might too quickly approach, to cover the retreat of his companion. The professional assassin, I would suppose, would have trusted to his own quarrel, and not waited. Too, the professional assassin will usually choose to work alone, depending on himself, no others.”

“Interesting,” said Lord Nishida.

Although I said nothing, it seemed to me that we had now limited the suspicions of Lord Nishida, expressed to me earlier in Tarncamp, in his tent after I had left the feast, if they were warranted, that they had now been narrowed to Fabius, Telarion, and Tyrtaios

“But why, then,” asked Lord Nishida, “would these men attack you?”

“I think,” I said, “this has to do with a personal matter, which I would prefer to keep to myself.”

“As you wish,” said Lord Nishida.

Doubtless he supposed this had something to do with the seemingly inveterate and irascible tensions and tempers of barbarians. I myself supposed the attack was founded on my failure to satisfy Seremides in our interview of some nights ago. I had not furnished him with information as to the whereabouts of Talena, former Ubara of Ar, so was now useless to him, and he had revealed to me his identity and his interests in her pursuit, both matters he doubtless preferred to be kept unknown. He must have had a way of contacting his minions at Tarncamp or in the march, but I suspected he had had no more than two with us. If that were the case, I had nothing to concern myself with at present from that quarter. I hoped not. Similarly, if there were spies or assassins in the camp, it seemed to me that their target of primary interest, once it was decided to strike, would be not me but Lord Nishida.

“May I have a lantern?” I asked one of the Pani, and, given this artifact, I moved back, between the trees. Two or three men accompanied me, and, too, so did Lord Nishida.

It was easy to discover where Quintus had been attacked, from the dislodgment of the leaves, the rupture of the earth, the sight and smell of blood. There was no doubt the attack had been by a sleen, as there were sleen tracks about. One could see where the sleen had made its leap, from the deeper indentations in the soil, and the absence of prints between that point and the point where the prey was struck. It was several feet. The sleen must have been large, and powerful. The slight wind moving the branches would have been toward the sleen. This was what I would have expected.

“Sleen do not normally attack humans, do they?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Not usually,” I said.

“You are sure those are sleen tracks?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Do you notice anything unusual about the tracks?”

“No,” he said.

“The sleen was lame,” I said.

“Interesting,” said Lord Nishida.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

WE EMERGE FROM THE FOREST

I heard the cries of joy from forward, and knew the scouts, if not others, had now emerged from the forest, and beheld, in the morning sun, sparkling below in the valley, the winding Alexandra.

Men rushed forward.

Slaves crowded, as they could, to the sides of the wagons, on their tethers, striving to understand the commotion.

Saru, in her wagon, precariously in her shackles, stood up, trying to peer ahead.

I heard more shouts now, and was sure the first wagons had emerged from the forest.

I saw Sumomo and Hana, shading their eyes, emerge from the portal on their closed wagon and, standing on its small porch, strain to see what might be the cause of the ebullition.

Tharlarion, down the long line, lifted their heads, distended their nostrils, and bellowed. They could smell the water, perhaps the verdant grazing near the river.

Pertinax was with me.

Knowing that we should reach the Alexandra in the late morning we had freed Cecily and Jane.

“Master!” cried Cecily, elated.

“Heel us,” I snapped.

Dutifully the girls fell in behind us, on our left.

No matter how indulgent or permissive one is with slaves, they must never be permitted to forget they are slaves. If necessary, they may be whipped, to remind them. Indeed, some masters feel that a slave should be occasionally whipped, if only to help them keep in mind that they are slaves. To be sure, given Gorean discipline, a slave is seldom likely to be in any doubt about the matter. Certain prosaic regularities contribute to this purpose, that the slave will commonly kneel upon entering the master’s presence, that she may speak only when having the master’s permission to do so, that she must often kneel and kiss the whip or switch in the morning, that she may not clothe herself without his permission, that she may not take food before the master, that she may not leave the domicile without his permission, and she must give an account of her intentions before leaving and an account of her activities upon returning, and so on. Many such things remind her of her bondage. Too, one must not forget what occurs at her master’s slave ring.

“I will relish a bathing in the river,” said Pertinax.

“I did not know barbarians were fastidious,” I remarked.

I feared all on the march, with the exception of the contract women and Saru were the much the worse for the past few days.

“May we bathe, Master?” asked Cecily.

“You will be better off to seek oils and a heated tub,” I said. “The river will be cold.”

Too, I thought the slaves should soon be better garmented, for in spite of the late summer, so to speak, it was now fall, and the weather, with the season, must soon chill.

The march had certainly been cold enough and miserable enough, even for the men.

“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman!” called Tajima, hurrying beside the wagons, toward us. He, with the cavalry, had come ahead, days ago.

We bowed to one another. He was uncomfortable, I had gathered, with the clasping of hands, even the mariner’s grip, wrist to wrist. Much varies from culture to culture.

But, clearly, he was pleased to see me, and I him.

He looked at Pertinax.

“Say ‘Tal’,” I said to Pertinax.

“Tal,” said Pertinax.

“Tal,” said Tajima, pleasantly. There is an order to such things, and Tajima, correctly or incorrectly, regarded himself as senior to Pertinax, who was a mere barbarian. That he had addressed me first, rather than I him, was appropriate, given that I was his captain, so to speak, with respect to the cavalry. I occasionally erred in these rituals, but these lapses tended to be accepted with good grace, being attributed to my innocent lack of couth, and that no affront was intended. Amongst those who know what they are doing in such waters things can become subtly tense. I sometimes sensed that social duels were in progress which were simply beyond my comprehension.

“Look,” whispered Pertinax.

Both he and Tajima bowed as Nodachi passed, going forward.

“I did not know he was with the march,” I said. Certainly I had not seen him.

“He was not with the march, but behind it,” said Tajima. “He followed the march, to protect its rear.”

“I see,” I said.

“You are all very filthy,” said Tajima.

Cecily and Jane lowered their heads. The female slave is expected to keep herself neat, well-groomed, clean, combed, brushed, and so forth. She is, after all, not a free woman. Too, she is usually expected to keep herself at her “block measurements,” namely the measurements she was sold at. Accordingly, regimens of diet and exercise may be forced upon her. Again, she is a slave, not a free woman. Much may be concealed beneath the “Robes of Concealment,” but a slave tunic conceals almost nothing.

“How is Sumomo?” asked Tajima.

“I think you will find her clean and dry, and nasty, as usual,” I said.

“Excellent,” said Tajima.

“How excellent?” I asked.

“I can continue to think of her as fit for the collar.”

“I see,” I said.

“But come along,” he said. “See the river camp.”

“We will spend the winter there,” I said.

“No,” said Tajima.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Come along,” he said.

We moved toward the head of the column, it now arrested, as most of the drovers, and others, had abandoned the wagons to hurry forward, to see at last before them a vista, and not the gloomy, enclosing walls of a seemingly endless corridor of trees.

“What is it, Master? What is it?” called a slave to a passing guard, but then she cried out in fear, turned her back, crouched down, and covered her head with her hands and arms, and was struck several times with his switch.

“Curiosity,” said the guard, “is not becoming in a
kajira
.”

“Yes, Master,” she wept. “Forgive me, Master!”

It is well known hat
kajirae
are amongst the most curious of beasts. How eager they are to be informed, to be brought up to date, to learn the latest! They will beg, wheedle, scratch, and scramble for the tiniest particle of news. The girl who knows something the others do not is as a Ubara in the slave quarters. How she is pressed! How all hang upon her superior, sly glances, her least, carefully rationed word!

How pleasant it is sometimes to frustrate them, and see them pout and squirm in ignorance, tears in their eyes. In this way, too, of course, they may be reminded that they are no more than slaves.

We came then, at last, to an opening in the trees, and stood upon a rise, from which a road led gently downward through the valley toward the river.

There were more than four or five hundred men there, come forward from the column.

I could see Lord Nishida and his guard making their way down toward the river. Some from the shore, and the structures there, were climbing to meet them.

The sky was very blue, and cloudless.

In it, being exercised, were several tarns.

The river, broad and apparently navigable, lay some pasang or so in the distance.

“That is the Alexandra,” I said.

“Yes,” said Tajima.

Its width could not begin to approximate that of the Vosk, in much of Vosk’s length, but it was wide, wide enough, some hundred yards or so in width.

“It is very beautiful,” said Cecily.

She, I fear, had not yet accustomed herself to the beauties of a natural world, but still thought in terms of another world, a grayer world, a more tragic world, a world in which, incredibly, pollutants and poisons were routinely discharged into the atmosphere, into the very air its creatures, large and small, innocent and guilty alike, must breathe. But it was true, I supposed, the vista was indeed beautiful.

“Quarters have been prepared for you, near the shore, near the cots,” said Tajima.

Orders were being given, behind us, by various wagon masters, and drovers, Pani, mercenaries, and all, began to withdraw to the wagons. In a few Ehn the tharlarion would again grunt and bellow, and the wagons would again trundle forward, and now downward.

“What is that large building, that structure near the shore?” I asked.

It seemed large enough to house an
insula
. It must have been seven or eight stories high.

“Beyond that,” said Tajima, “though you cannot see them, are several galleys.”

“But what is the large structure?” I asked.

“You do not know?” inquired Tajima.

“No,” I said.

“That,” said Tajima, “is the ship of Tersites.”

Chapter Thirty

I SPEAK WITH AËTIUS

I felt small, standing on the shore, beside that towering, mighty body, that massive structure, held in its building frame, sloping down to the water.

“There is much to be done,” said Aëtius, once of the arsenal at Port Kar, apprentice to the mad, half-blind shipwright, Tersites, once of the same city, now an embittered expatriate. “The rudder has not been hung at the sternpost.”

“A single rudder?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

The common Gorean galley has two side-rudders, each with its helmsman.

“The masts have yet to be added,” said Aëtius. “There will be six, two aft, two amidships, and two forward. They will be square-rigged, with four spars to the aft and amidship’s masts, and three to the forward masts.”

The usual Gorean ship has a single mast, which is lateen-rigged. In a fighting ship this mast is lowered before battle. Usually the Gorean ship carries three or more sails, to be fastened, as needed, to the long, sloping yard, depending on wind conditions. The smallest sail is the “storm sail.”

“The masts are fixed, permanent?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

The lateen-rigged galley can sail closer to the wind, but, for a given length of yard, it exposes less surface to the wind. The square sails, reefed according to conditions, are all-weather sails, permanent sails. The masts need not be lowered to accommodate changings of sails. Square-rigged vessels are not unknown on Gor. The dragons of Torvaldsland, for example, are square-rigged. Too, they have a single rudder, the “steering board,” which is located on the right side of the vessel, as one faces forward. On Earth vessels of centuries ago the “steering board” on the right side, as one faces forward, apparently gave rise to the expression “starboard.” The “port side,” or left side of the vessel, facing forward, at least on Gor, and perhaps on Earth, may have received its name from keeping harbor buoys to one’s left as the port is entered. This custom regulates harbor traffic, before a berth is reached. Leaving the port, of course, as one is reversing direction, the same line of buoys is once again on the left. This may be a mariner’s tradition brought from Earth. I do not know. Road traffic on Gor, naturally, keeps to the left. In this fashion, one’s weapon hand, if one is right-handed, faces the passing stranger. In Gorean, as in many languages, the same word serves for an enemy and a stranger. To be sure, not all strangers are enemies, and not all enemies, perhaps unfortunately, are strangers. I noted that the ship was carvel-built, with fitted planking, as opposed to being clinker-built, or with overlapping planking. The dragons of Torvaldsland are clinker-built. In this respect they ship more water, but they are more elastic in rough seas, and thus less likely to break apart.