Rebels of Gor (24 page)

At the moment Lord Akio and I, other than a gardener or so, were alone in the garden.

“Behold,” said Lord Akio, with a snap flinging the fan into a circle, and then, with a thumb, locking the blades in place.

“So, now,” I said, “it is a circle, a wheel, of sorts?”

“A circle of terror,” he said, “a wheel of death.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Do you think I am unarmed?” he asked.

“You might turn a blow,” I said, “and, at close quarters, strike an opponent.”

“I can hurl this,” he said.

“It might be dangerous,” I said, “with its weight and sturdiness, functioning as a missile, a flighted, spinning blade, likely to take blood wherever it might strike.”

“It is not simply a matter of drawing blood,” he said.

“Surely, given its shape it would lack the penetration of a blade,” I said, “and, given its shape and weight, it would lack the distance and accuracy of an arrow.”

“All weapons have their limitations,” he said.

“And their advantages,” I said.

“True,” he said. “For example, our attractive friend here might not be recognized as a weapon.”

“Perhaps not,” I said.

“Which is a splendid advantage.”

“Doubtless,” I said.

“I once decapitated a bandit, who thought me unarmed,” he said.

“Oh?” I said.

“You are skeptical?” he inquired.

“Not at all,” I said.

“I think you are skeptical,” he said.

“It might be done, I suppose,” I said, “at extremely close range.”

“Behold,” he said, “do you see the tender of the garden there?”

“Surely,” I said.

The fellow had a long-handled, wooden-toothed rake with which he was dressing the sand near the path we had recently traversed.

“How far would you say he is?”

“Some ten paces, or such,” I said.

“Behold,” he said, drawing back the circular artifact, its rippled blades locked in place.

“What are you going to do?” I said.

“Demonstrate,” he said.

“Do not!” I said.

“It is a peasant,” he said, “one not even Ashigaru.”

“No matter,” I said.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“I beg your indulgence,” I said. “Do not.”

“I am skillful,” he said. “There will be little pain, unless I wish it so.”

“Please,” I said.

“Very well,” said Lord Akio. “You are a guest of the shogun.” But then he cried to the gardener, “Aside, aside, tarsk, stand aside!”

The gardener turned about, startled, facing us.

“Aside!” said Lord Akio.

Frightened, the man, clutching the rake, moved to his left. He was barefoot. He was clad in little more than a rag. He had his eyes on the device in the hand of the daimyo. I gathered he knew more of it than I. Perhaps he had seen it before.

Not a yard or so from where he stood there was a sturdy sapling of five or six horts in girth.

“Behold,” said Lord Akio, and he flighted the device, spinning in its blaze of blurred color, toward the sapling.

There was quick, hard sound, and the device quivered, vibrating, like a startled bird, trapped some two or three horts in the wood. I did not doubt what it might have done if applied to flesh.

“I see,” I said.

Lord Akio removed the device from the tree, and, shortly thereafter, it might have been again mistaken for a fashionable accessory.

“Replace this tree,” said Lord Akio to the gardener.

“Yes, Lord,” said the man.

Lord Akio then turned to me.

“Let us continue our walk,” he said. “It is a pleasant day.”

Chapter Sixteen

What Occurred on the Fifth Level of the Palace

“This wing of the palace,” said the Ashigaru, “is closed to all save Lord Yamada and selected servitors.”

“Very well,” I said. “I shall turn back.”

This was the fifth level of the palace, which contained six levels.

I turned away, but, a pace or so down the corridor, turned about, again. “It seems to be raining,” I said.

“I do not know,” said the Ashigaru.

“But you do,” I said.

“Noble guest?” said he.

“It is nothing,” I said.

I turned about, again, and continued on my way down the corridor. I had not gone far when I saw a figure approaching.

It was not easy to mistake those brightly colored, carefully arranged robes, nor the measure of that gracefully sedate tread.

“What are you doing here?” politely inquired Lord Akio.

“Looking about,” I said.

The daimyo’s arms were within his wide sleeves. I saw no evidence of his fan. I noted the hang of the sleeve on his left arm. The sleeve sheath was held by two straps.

“You are curious?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“It is possible to be too curious,” he said.

“For example,” I said, “I would be curious to know if your sleeve dagger has a pearled handle.”

“You are observant,” he said. “No,” he said. “It is tem-wood, with ceramic inlays, yellow.”

“Lovely,” I said.

“It is a better match for my robes,” he said.

“It is a sleeve knife,” I said. “Who would know the difference?”

“I would,” he said.

Whereas I had been given much liberty of movement within the palace, the garden, and the surrounding grounds, with their shops, pantries, storerooms, and numerous ancillary buildings, including a bakery, smokehouse, and brewery, certain areas were forbidden to me. These, it seemed, were sensitive, perhaps
dojos
, officers’ quarters, barracks, arsenals, and such. There were cook houses and eating sheds for the men. One could tell the verr and tarsk pens by smell. There was a small dairy which supplied verr milk, and processed it, as wished, into derivative products, primarily cheeses.

When summoned by Lord Temmu, several days ago, I had arrived at his holding on tarnback. I did not know what had become of that tarn. I had little doubt that Tyrtaios, into whose hands I had been given, to be later delivered to Lord Yamada, was familiar with the reins and saddle of a tarn. If he were of the black caste, as I suspected, that would almost be taken for granted. The Assassin is expected to move with silence, stealth, and swiftness, and depart similarly. His presence at the castle of Lord Temmu suggested that he might have arrived by means of his own tarn. That was not impossible. It did not seem likely he could have arrived publicly, afoot, as a legate or such. After the destruction of the first encampment, we knew that several tarns had been destroyed, and others had been released, by auxiliary personnel, presumably to return to the wild. On the other hand, it was surely possible that a small number might have fallen into the hands of the enemy. We had had, however, no assurances of this. I calculated I had been sedated for some eight days, but did not know how or when I had been brought to the regions controlled by General Yamada. Given the time involved, it seemed plausible I had been transported by wagon or cart from the vicinity of the castle to the palace. On the other hand, I doubted this, given the difficulties which would have been involved. The most rational conjecture was that two tarns had been used, mine, and one brought to the holding by Tyrtaios. In any event, the tarn on which I had reached the castle of Lord Temmu must not remain in the holding. That would have aroused suspicion. Its absence must suggest I had returned to the encampment. I did not think that the messenger tarns held at the castle of Lord Temmu would have been used, as this might have provoked curiosity. I recalled that neither Lord Nishida nor Lord Okimoto had been at the meeting with Lord Temmu, that also attended by Daichi and, to my surprise at the time, Sumomo. I did not now know Sumomo’s whereabouts, but had gathered that Lord Yamada, displeased with her, would arrange, by means of the contrived readings of Daichi, that she be brought somewhere into his regions, perhaps to the palace, to be dealt with as a failed spy. All in all then, it seemed to be most likely, despite the time involved, that I had been placed on my own tarn and that that tarn, by a lead, would have been conducted by Tyrtaios to whatever point General Yamada might have designated. I had, however, heard no tarn cries over the past few days and so conjectured that if one or more tarns were at the disposal of Lord Yamada, they were not housed in the immediate vicinity.

“As I am curious,” I said, “I would be pleased to inquire if there be tarns about.”

“One can be too curious,” he said.

“I suppose that is possible,” I said.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you would like to seize such a mount, and slip away, discourteously declining the hospitality of the shogun.”

“That would be rude,” I said.

“Barbarians are not noted for their manners,” he said.

“True,” I said.

“But they may be taught,” he said.

“I suppose that is possible,” I said. “Are tarns about?”

“You have been well treated, have you not?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Are tarns about?”

“
Ela
,” he said. “I am a humble servitor of the shogun. I am neither a tarnsman or tarnster. I would not know.”

“Apparently there are portions of this level which are closed off,” I said, “except for certain individuals.”

“Oh?” he said.

“Lord Yamada, and some others,” I said.

“Interesting,” he said.

“A guard has been placed,” I said.

“Interesting,” he said.

“It is doubtless that portion of the palace which houses the higher women of Lord Yamada, his wives, concubines and contract women,” I said.

“Doubtless,” he said.

I had already ascertained, of course, from the Pani slaves who were regularly sent to attend me, that the private quarters of Lord Yamada’s higher women was located on the third level of the palace. The private quarters of the shogun himself, as nearly as I could determine from the soon-somewhat-evasive answers of the Pani slaves, were frequently changed, he seldom occupying the same chambers two nights in a row. Apparently ostraka were placed in a small pot and shaken, after which one would be drawn, that dictating the quarters of the evening. Two trusted servitors were then informed of the falling of the lot, that, in the case of an emergency, Lord Yamada might be expeditiously informed. Interestingly, it seemed that his daimyos did not have access to this information.

His palace slaves, of which Saru was doubtless one, and my Pani attendants others, had their quarters in a holding area maintained somewhere beneath the first level. Most of the slaves from the holding of Lord Temmu who had been traded for rice might be anywhere, distributed to daimyos, warriors, and officers, sold, gifted, bartered, put in the fields, put to herding verr and tarsk, perhaps even being held somewhere, in pens or sheds, to be dispersed at a later date.

“I think it may be raining outside,” I said.

“It had appeared dismal,” he said.

“The wild tarn,” I said, “seldom chooses to fly in the rain.”

“I know little of tarns,” he said.

“But you are not surprised?” I said.

“Not really,” he said.

“Many beasts,” I said, “prefer to avoid the rain.”

“I would suppose so,” he said.

“But men,” I said, “think little of going about in the rain.”

“True,” said Lord Akio.

“Particularly if they are clothed appropriately, if they have a raincoat,” I said.

“I do not understand the nature of this conversation,” said Lord Akio.

“Of straw,” I said.

He looked at me, quickly, suspiciously. I sensed his hands had suddenly grasped one another within the concealment of those wide, hanging sleeves. Then his features resumed once more their attentive, benignant cast. “I am surprised that Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, knows of such things, or finds them of interest,” he said. “It is true, of course, that many peasants fashion themselves such raincoats.”

“What do you know of iron dragons?” I asked.

“They do not exist,” he said.

“I am surprised to meet you in the palace, on this level,” I said.

“I have an appointment,” he said.

“Do not let me detain you,” I said.

He bowed slightly, politely, smiled, and continued down the corridor.

I waited for a time, and then turned about. The daimyo was no longer in sight. Apparently he had been admitted into those precincts access to which had recently been denied to me.

I then continued on my way.

In the vicinity of the guard, prior to my withdrawal, I had noted in the corridor, and in the interior passage, that denied to me, alternating residues of moisture, quite possibly, given the spacing, the remnants of tracks, but unusual tracks, perhaps those of a large, unshod, shuffling creature. Doubtless this evidence might have been misinterpreted in many ways, particularly in the Pani islands, except for one detail. When the fur is thick, and matted, and soaked with rain, it has an odor which, once experienced, is not likely to be mistaken.