Rebels of Gor (54 page)

The procession of which I have spoken was ordered as follows. First came Arashi, the bandit, swathed with ropes, two rope leashes on his neck, each in the grasp of a glaive-bearing Ashigaru, two of the foragers first met in the inn. Behind Arashi came the third Ashigaru, the third of the foragers, and he, particularly in the vicinity of the camp, would poke Arashi in the back with the point of his glaive. Each time this occurred Arashi must announce, in a loud, clear voice, under the threat of being stripped and publicly flogged, “I am Arashi, the bandit. I am the prisoner of Yasushi, Twenty-Third Constable of the march of Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands.” Following Arashi and his guards came Yasushi and Kazumitsu, walking abreast, that there would be no precedence amongst them. Following Yasushi and Kazumitsu, came Tajima, his arms bound to his sides. Following Tajima came the heavy rice cart, drawn by Haruki and myself. The cart, in its front and sides, was decorated with several heads. Most of these dangled from the top railings of the cart, tied in place by the hair. There were also three heads, scarcely recognized as human heads, or even as heads, for they were burned beyond practical recognition, mounted on three of the cart’s vertical posts, rather as on stakes. There were eighteen heads in all. Tied to the top, back railing of the cart was the coffle rope, with its seven occupants, their hands tied behind their backs, six in the tunics of inn slaves, and one, the last, in the tunic of a field slave. I feared the trek had been difficult for them; the distance had been several pasangs, Tor-tu-Gor merciless, the road rough, and, as one moved north, frequently steep. Flanking this procession, and following it, were the twenty warriors who had constituted the command of the special officer, Kazumitsu.

“All is lost,” said Tajima.

“Perhaps not,” I said.

“How not?” asked Tajima.

“Your tarn, loosed, unburdened, may have reached the encampment of tarns,” I said.

“It is possible,” said Tajima.
 

“Then,” I said, “all may not be lost.”

“How so?” said Tajima.

“Its saddle would have been empty,” I said.

“So?” said Tajima.

“So,” I said, “all may not be lost.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Two Men Call for Tajima

It was now the next morning.

By now, perhaps the eighth Ahn, we supposed that Yasushi would have visited Lord Akio, and Lord Akio would have had an opportunity to make his determination with respect to Nezumi, who was not with us, discovering her to be the former Sumomo. It would then be an immediate inference that the Pani warrior with us was he who had made away with Sumomo. A further identification, presumably inevitable, would be that it was the young tarnsman, Tajima. Then, the descriptions of Haruki and myself, as the other two of the “four,” would presumably suffice for our identification, even before we might be brought before him.

“Enjoy your millet,” I encouraged Tajima, wiping the last bit of grain out of the wooden bowl with my finger.

There were some fifty or sixty prisoners in the pen, all male. Most were peasants.

“How can you eat?” inquired Tajima.

“I am hungry,” I said.

“I will not eat,” said Tajima.

“Haruki feeds,” I said.

“He is a peasant,” said Tajima.

“I am eating,” I said.

“You are a barbarian,” he said.

“So are you,” I said, “a barbarian, though Pani.”

“I do not wish to die with a full stomach,” said Tajima.

“There is little danger of that,” I said, “given what is in your bowl.”

“True,” said Tajima.

“Eat,” I said. “Keep up your strength.”

“Do you think it fitting?” he asked.

“Certainly,” I said.

“Very well,” he said.

“Behold,” said Haruki. “Kazumitsu approaches.”

To be sure, approaching the pen was the special officer. His twenty men, with full accouterments, were with him.

“I will sell my life dearly,” said Tajima.

“Do not bother doing so, as yet,” I said.

“How so?” said Tajima.

“His men,” I said, “have their field packs.”

Kazumitsu, with his men, arrested their march outside the bars of the pen. We went to the bars. The special officer bowed. “It is well I did not approach the shogun,” he said. “The noble Yasushi has saved me embarrassment, and perhaps my head. You are not those for whom I sought, the four. I regret my error and any inconvenience I may have caused you. Lord Akio has examined the slave, Nezumi. She is a common field slave, and certainly not the gracious, exalted daughter of the shogun.”

Tajima, Haruki, and I received this communication with silence.

“I am humbled by my error,” said Kazumitsu, “but I do not think the matter of sufficient import to warrant recourse to the ritual knife.”

“Certainly not,” I said.

“You are a barbarian,” said the officer. “What do you know of such things?”

“Forgive me,” I said.

“I think you are right,” said Tajima.

“I deem it so,” said the officer, “and accept your view as welcome, though unnecessary, confirmation.”

“What of the rest of us,” asked Tajima.

“You, perceptive young warrior, will be soon fetched before an officer of the camp, to pledge your service to the shogun. That is, as I understand it, your desire.”

“What of myself, and my friend?” I asked, indicating Haruki.

“Friend?” said Kazumitsu.

“Yes,” I said.

“Interesting,” he said. “You two, who were, as it seems, merely coincidentally in the inn with the others, are to be held for questioning until tomorrow morning. You, the foreigner, are presumably a deserter from the holding of Temmu, the Wicked, and might have information of interest pertaining to the forces, dispositions, and appointments of the holding, and the other, even as a guide, or follower, might prove similarly useful.”

“We are pleased to be vindicated,” I said.

“The warrior will be soon released,” he said. “The officer of the guard has been so instructed. You and he of whom you have interestingly used the word ‘friend’, are to be interrogated tomorrow, after which you may go as, and where, you please.”

“Lord Akio is generous,” I said.

“Such great lords are wise and just,” he said. “I must now resume my search for the mysterious tarnsman and the shogun’s fair daughter.” He then bowed graciously, turned about, and departed with his men.

“I do not understand,” said Tajima.

“Lord Akio wants Nezumi for himself,” I said.

“I will kill him!” said Tajima.

“Surely not over anything as negligible as a slave,” I said.

“I shall find another reason,” said Tajima.

“You need not search long,” I said. “Reasons are as easily found as Ka-la-na grapes in autumn, as easily as grains of sand on the beaches of Thassa.”

“Surely you do not suppose Lord Akio failed to identify Nezumi?” said Tajima.

“Not at all,” I said, “nor the rest of us.”

At this point the officer of the guard approached the pen gate. Outside the gate he waved Tajima to the gate. “I salute you, future ally,” he said. “I have with me two of the shogun’s officers, of the palace itself, who will conduct you in honor to a suitable officer, before whom you may pledge your service to the shogun.”

Tajima bowed, while the gate was opened.

“Those two men,” whispered Haruki, “are not men of the shogun. I know them. They are of the personal guard of Lord Akio.”

“I wish you well, my friends,” said Tajima. “I do not expect to see you again.”

“You may,” I said.

“How so?” inquired Tajima.

“The saddle of the returning tarn was empty,” I said.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

We Must Arrange to Leave the Pen

It was now the Eighteenth Ahn of the same day, that on the morning of which we had been briefly visited by Kazumitsu, and had learned of our supposed exonerations by Lord Akio.

“I fear for the noble Tajima,” said Haruki.

“Fear for yourself, as well,” I said.

“I am a mere peasant,” he said.

“On continental Gor,” I said, “the Peasants is a proud caste. It is the ox on which the Home Stone rests.”

“That is a saying?” said Haruki.

“A very old saying,” I said.

“What is an ox?” asked Haruki.

“A large, strong animal, a mighty animal,” I said.

“What is a Home Stone?” inquired Haruki.

“It is the meaning, the difference,” I said, “that for which men will kill, that for which men will die.”

“It is very important?” said Haruki.

“Very much so,” I said.

“It is hard to understand,” said Haruki.

“It is less to be defined than cherished,” I said.

“It is as the garden?” said Haruki.

“Yes,” I said, “and as Thassa, as fields of Sa-Tarna, as the crags of the Voltai, the skerries of bleak Torvaldsland, the steaming flower-strewn basin of the Ua, beyond Schendi, the gleaming stars of the sky.”

“It is perhaps then not so lowly to be of the peasants,” said Haruki.

“Not at all,” I said.

“It is the ox on which the Home Stone rests,” said Haruki.

“That is the saying,” I said.

“And it is an old saying,” said Haruki.

“A very old saying,” I said.

“I am pleased,” said Haruki.

“Do not despair of Tajima,” I said. “I suspect he is still alive, though in the power of Lord Akio. Lord Akio is a resourceful man. He may arrange things in such a manner as to appear to have personally apprehended the thieving tarnsman who so shamefully spoiled the sport of the plank and eels. Surely the shogun would find that impressive.”

“What of Nezumi?” asked Haruki.

“I think Lord Akio wishes her for his own,” I said. “Indeed, few men would be unwilling to have a slave such as Nezumi at their feet. He may be particular with respect to his appearance and attire, but I am sure he is man enough to have better things to do with a beautiful slave than feed her to eels.”

“I see,” said Haruki.

“I am also sure, of course,” I said, “he would be willing, as would the shogun, to sacrifice her instantly for political reasons, but why do so, if there is no advantage in doing so?”

“Where is she now?” asked Haruki.

“I am sure,” I said, “she is somewhere in the camp, probably chained to a stake in some obscure tent, perhaps near the camp’s border, being held incommunicado. It is easy enough for a slave to be moved about, to disappear and reappear where one wishes, in one house or another.”

“You conjecture that both Tajima and Nezumi are alive,” said Haruki.

“As of now,” I said. “I think we, at present, are in much greater danger.”

“We are supposed to be interrogated in the morning,” said Haruki.

“And then released,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you believe that?” I asked.

“No, noble one,” said Haruki.

“It is dark now,” I said. “I am sure Lord Akio wishes to do away with me, surreptitiously, for a variety of reasons, and you, as a witness of various things, are in no better way.”

“No, noble one,” he said.

“We are not expected to see the morning,” I said. “His guards will visit the pen tonight. We are to be either slain here, or, taken out, done away with elsewhere.”

“
Ela
,” said Haruki, sadly.

“But we shall not wait for them,” I said. “We shall escape.”

“The bars are closely set and deeply planted,” said Haruki.

“Perhaps not so deeply planted,” I said. “This is clearly a temporary pen, to be taken down and reassembled in successive camps.”

“What of the prisoners?” asked Haruki.

“Those who are retained, neither released nor killed,” I said, “would be taken ahead to the next camp, under guard, perhaps coffled.”

“The bars, I suspect,” said Haruki, “would be planted deeply enough.”

“True,” I said, “but there are some fifty or sixty stout fellows here.”

“The camp is armed,” said Haruki.

“Yamada is complacent, security is lax,” I said. “Too, I am sure we have allies within the camp.”

“How so?” asked Haruki.

“I anticipate that Tajima’s tarn, unburdened, managed to reach its cot in the encampment of tarns,” I said. “The empty saddle, undamaged, uncut, not bloodied, and such, will suggest that Tajima abandoned the tarn, and would try to reach the holding of Temmu or the encampment of tarns on foot. If he managed to do so, well and good. On the other hand, given the intensity and extensiveness of searchings, the broadcast alertings of villages, and such, which would presumably be anticipated, it would be quite possible that he would be captured, and, if captured, would be brought to Lord Yamada, not back at the palace, but here, where Lord Yamada would be, in one of his march’s road camps. Too, of course, in any event, one would hope that Lord Temmu would have the common wisdom of attempting to penetrate such camps with spies. Indeed, these spies, if recognized, might not even be apprehended, but, rather, ignored, that they might return to the holding of Temmu with disconcerting, dire tidings of the might of Lord Yamada’s advance.”