Swordsmen of Gor (78 page)

“I am unfamiliar with such animals,” he said.

“But you know something of them,” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

It was the day following Ramar’s arrival on board. It was now toward the tenth Ahn, the Gorean noon, and Lord Nishida and I were met on the main deck, amidships. Ramar was below, caged in the same hold as Lord Nishida’s larls. I had looked in on him several times. He had usually slept. Twice he had taken broth, and then slept again. How odd, I thought, had been that pursuit. I could not understand what might have been its motivation. Surely he could have died. Why should he, a mere beast, and a land beast, too, have essayed so long, dubious, and dangerous a journey? It made no sense. He could have lived in the forest on game, eventually made his way south, and such. Would that not have been best for him? Yet he had followed the great ship. How unaccountable, how inexplicable, I thought, had been that stubborn, single-minded, unremitting pursuit. It was absurd. Perhaps the beast was indeed mad, as a mariner had suggested. It made no sense. In four or five days, perhaps ten, I expected him to be muchly recovered from his ordeal. The heart was sound. It had not burst. He had not died in the freezing sea.

“It was not to reprimand you,” said Lord Nishida, “that I suggested we meet.”

I nodded.

A suggestion from Lord Nishida, of course, as might be an invitation from a high council or a Ubar, was not the sort of thing one would ignore.

Overhead, several of the tarns were being exercised.

“I have a recruit for the cavalry,” said Lord Nishida, “one who has demonstrated his capacity to ride, and one whose sword is a welcome addition to our blades.”

“I do not understand,” I said. “I thought our contingents carefully formed, and complete.”

“This remarkable individual,” said Lord Nishida, “appeared in the river camp some five days before the launching of the ship.”

“From where?” I inquired.

“From Ar, it seems,” said Lord Nishida.

“I know of no new recruits,” I said.

“He entered the camp, and slew two mercenaries, guards, before the tent of Lord Okimoto, as proof of prowess, and demanded to be presented to his Excellency. This was done. He proved his sword was of great value, for he then slew four, who were set against him.”

This sort of thing is not unprecedented, when champions present themselves before generals, Ubars, and such. It is a way of proving skill, and their worthiness to replace lesser men. I have much frowned upon this. That one can kill is impressive, but seems to me to provide little assurance that one possesses properties of perhaps even greater importance to a leader, such as reliability, discipline, judgment, and fidelity.

“How can his sword be of great value,” I asked, “if it has cost you six men?”

“Is such a sword not worth six men?” asked Lord Nishida.

“No,” I said.

“Are you not of the Warriors?” inquired Lord Nishida.

“That is why,” I said.

“He has taken fee with Lord Okimoto,” said Lord Nishida.

“Lord Okimoto has made a serious mistake,” I said.

“Lord Okimoto,” said Lord Nishida, “is cousin to the
shogun
.”

“What is the name of this recruit?” I asked.

“Rutilius, of Ar,” said Lord Nishida.

“Not Anbar, of Ar?” I said.

“No,” said Lord Nishida.

“May I meet this recruit?” I inquired.

“I have arranged it so,” said Lord Nishida, and lifted his hand, and the wide, blue sleeve fell back from his wrist, as he signaled a group of men who were on the foredeck, below the stem castle.

One of the group, whose back had been to us, turned about, and approached, with a confident tread, and paused before us.

“Tal, Captain,” said he to me.

“You know one another?” asked Lord Nishida.

“We have met,” I said. “His name is not Rutilius, of Ar. He is Seremides, formerly captain of the Taurentians, the palace guard, in the time of the false Ubara, Talena, of Ar.”

“Many of our mercenaries,” said Lord Nishida, “have chosen names for convenience, to distance themselves from records of crime and blood, to elude pursuers, to escape justice, to begin new lives, such things.”

“He is Seremides,” I said, again, “formerly captain of the Taurentians, the palace guard, in the time of the false Ubara, Talena, of Ar.”

It was important to me that Lord Nishida clearly understood this.

This was no ordinary recruit.

More was involved here than bladecraft. Much was involved here which might well give a leader pause. Not only the skill with which a blade might be used was relevant. Surely important, as well, were the uses to which it might be put. In such a case one should extend fee only with circumspection.

“It is clear then,” said Lord Nishida, “why he might seek a different, safer name for himself, as doubtless many others with us, who were driven from Ar, either as former members of the party of the Ubara, or of the occupational forces.”

Seremides bowed his head, briefly, appreciatively.

“And,” said Lord Nishida, “should we not account ourselves fortunate to be successors to the skills of one who commanded such a guard?”

“Doubtless,” I said.

“And one supposes,” said Lord Nishida, “that one did not come easily to the captaincy of a palace guard.”

“Undoubtedly not,” I said.

“And thus his skills with the blade are less surprising.”

“Doubtless,” I said. Lord Nishida was certainly correct in suspecting that one who could rise to such a position would be wise with bladecraft. On the other hand, I had little doubt that such an elevation would not be bought by steel alone. One would expect, as well, cunning, astuteness, a will of implacable force, and, I supposed, given the nature of the traitorous party, remorseless ambition, and a useful lack of inhibitive scruples.

“We are greatly honored,” said Lord Nishida, “that so high a personage, drawn from so remarkable a background, whose sword might purchase gold in a dozen cities, would present himself for our service.”

Seremides inclined his head, briefly, acknowledging this compliment.

“He betrayed a Home Stone,” I said. “He is a traitor. Do you expect more from him than those he betrayed?”

“I do not understand the matter of the Home Stone,” said Lord Nishida, “though I have heard of such things. But I think we may suppose that Rutilius of Ar will act in his best interests, as he sees them, and that he will understand that his best interests are identical with ours, and more than this what can one expect?”

“Much,” I said.

“I fear, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida, “you do not know men.”

“I am a simple warrior,” I said. “I have never pretended to cultivate the subtleties of diplomacy nor to comprehend the wisdoms of politics.”

“I fear,” said Lord Nishida, “that you will never sit upon the mat of the
shogun
nor upon the throne of the Ubar.”

“Not every man desires such things,” I said.

“I see,” said Lord Nishida. “Your business is a less ambitious, simpler one. It would be with the blade, and little more. The vocation of such as you is circumscribed narrowly, confined, so to speak, to a limited board.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Having to do with the kaissa of blood, the dark game.”

“If you wish,” I said.

The codes, of course, did not see things in this fashion. The board was set indeed, but amongst cities, always on a world. Its width was the width of worlds. The number and values of the pieces was uncertain, and the rules subject to convenient revision, or desuetude.

It is useful that the foe has rules. This puts him at your mercy.

Yet there was a hunt, a sport involved. All who have carried weapons are aware of this. Surely Lord Nishida was apprised of, and not unfamiliar with, scarlet allurements.

The fires of life burn brightly at the edge of death.

Few are the states which have not been born in blood.

“Lord Okimoto,” said Lord Nishida, “desires that you accept our friend, Rutilius, of Ar, in the cavalry.”

“I decline,” I said.

“It is the wish of Lord Okimoto,” said Lord Nishida.

“I do not accept him,” I said.

“Lord Okimoto is cousin to the
shogun
,” said Lord Nishida.

“I do not accept him,” I said.

I then drew my sword, and, smoothly, like the lifted head of an ost, so, too, did the blade of Seremides, as noiselessly as the menace of that venomous creature, leave its sheath.

“Hold!” said Lord Nishida. “He has killed six men.”

“Let him try a seventh,” I said.

“No,” said Lord Nishida, “whatever the outcome seven men are lost.”

I half sheathed my blade, watching Seremides from the side. He smiled, but did not move. He had not taken the bait. He had more in mind, I gathered, than another kill. Too, he understood the game. Lord Nishida smiled, too. He, too, understood what had occurred. Perhaps he thought that I was foolish to utilize so transparent a lure, but I had learned what I wanted. I had not expected Seremides to attack, but I had learned what I wanted, that he knew the game, that he was no fool, and that he would be extremely dangerous, patient and dangerous, not only if he were interested in me, but dangerous, too, to whoever or whatever might brook his ambition or projects. It seemed, given his rage and disappointment over the fruitlessness of our nocturnal interview, and the consequent collapse of his hope to secure a fugitive Talena, and thereby obtain both riches and a pardon, that he had had to reconcile himself to flight from known Gor and had accordingly sought both fee and refuge with the Pani. I hoped that Lords Okimoto and Nishida understood the nature of their new sword. I feared they did not.

“He is not with the cavalry,” I said.

“Very well,” said Lord Nishida. “His place then will be with the guard of Lord Okimoto.”

“He will then have the ear of Lord Okimoto,” I said.

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida.

Chapter Forty-Four

I USE A SLAVE;

I WALK THE DECK ALONE;

THE SEA IS BEAUTIFUL;

THE SHIP PROCEEDS APACE

“Is Master troubled?” asked Cecily.

“Do not concern yourself,” I said.

“Master conceals his thoughts from his girl,” she said.

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

“The slave is wholly the master’s,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “Every corpuscle, every hair, every trembling and shiver, every movement and expression, every feeling, every thought.”

“Might I not conceal a thought?” she said.

“Certainly,” I said, “as you might conceal a candy, but the thought is still his.”

“Everything in me is his,” she said.

“Everything,” I said.

“But I want to give my thoughts to my master,” she said. “I want him to know them. I want to offer them to him!”

“Then do so,” I said.

“But what if he rejects them?” she said.

“Then they are rejected,” I said.

“Of course,” she whispered. “We are slaves.”

One does not disparage a woman for her thriving in bondage, no more than one might denounce the tides, sunlight, wind, and rain, no more than one might denounce a flower for its blossoming, for the color, brightness, delicacy, and radiance of its petals.

No woman who wants a collar should be deprived of one.

Surely it is permissible for the slave to be herself.

By what authority is she to be denied this gift?

Let she who desires to submit submit.

Accept her submission.

She is then yours.

Let her beg to kiss the feet of her master, and let her rejoice, should she be given permission to do so.

Let her welcome the collar which encircles her neck, the thongs which, as she kneels with her head to the floor, lash her wrists behind her back.

On Gor such women are not castigated but coveted. They are not disparaged but sought. They adorn sales platforms as objects of value. They are bought and sold, bartered for, exchanged, traded about, and so on. Society is unwilling to do without them.

Are they not commodities of high regard, goods of high esteem?

They obey, and kneel, and serve, and kiss, and enrich a world.

They are beautiful, desirable, exquisite, and owned.

Surely the female slave is one of the loveliest and most valuable ingredients in a high culture.

Their presence, briefly and brightly tunicked, adds delight and charm to the markets, parks, and streets of a city, even to the remoter byways of rural areas.

The world is a thousand times richer and deeper for their existence.

And how pathetic and impoverished would be a puritanical and dictatorial culture, should any exist, which would permit them no place, which would deny them their most profound fulfillments.

I recalled Cecily, from when she had been fresh from Earth. How she had striven and struggled against the insistent whispers of her heart, as she had, even on Earth, for years, trying to deny her deepest needs. Yet, in a way, even on Earth, how clearly she had understood such things, even then, that she was, wanted to be, and should be a man’s property, the abject, yielding, humbled slave of a powerful male, and yet, obedient to her background, education, training, and conditioning, how desperately she had struggled against such insights and truths, how frantically she had fought against them.

Indeed, reacting against the acute ambivalences she had felt concerning her own sexuality and men, products of the war between her genetic nature and needs and the provisional idiosyncratic enculturation prescribed by her current milieu, and hysterically attempting to counter the insistent claimancies of her dreams and fantasies, she had, on Earth, habitually, as though in a compensatory vengeance for her own unhappiness and bitter frustrations, delighted herself with leading on, and tormenting, men and boys, gratifying herself by the misery she could induce in culturally confused weaklings eager to impress, placate, and please her. Her greatest pleasure seemed to be flirting with, arousing, and then frustrating males, none of whom would take her in hand, strip her, and put her to their feet, teaching her she was a female.