Rebels of Gor (31 page)

“I am not surprised,” I said. “Still, you might consider feeding her. Would you not do as much for a kaiila, a verr, a tarsk? It is likely she is hungry.”

“She was not my selection,” he said.

I looked across the floor to where Saru knelt.

Her face seemed wan. Interestingly, as Tajima had suggested might be the case, her eyes were on Pertinax. She was leaning toward him a little. She seemed a little unsteady. I feared she might faint. Her lips trembled.

“You feed her, if you wish,” said Tajima.

“It is not her fault that she is not Pani,” I said.

“Sumomo is Pani,” said Tajima.

“What are you talking about?” asked Sumomo.

“Nothing,” said Tajima.

“I think the slave is hungry,” I said to Tajima.

“Let us turn the matter over to Pertinax,” said Tajima. “I recall she knew him, even from the forest before Tarncamp, when she, the foolish slave, thought herself free.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Pertinax, I think a slave would be fed.”

“Is she not the selection of Tajima?” he said.

“Of course,” I said. “But I fear he is disgruntled that she is not Pani. He is not in a pleasant humor. He leaves the matter to you. I think she is quite hungry, as it seems were Cecily and Jane. Will she be fed or not? It is up to you.”

“I see,” he said.

Certainly slaves are better in the furs if they have been fed. To be sure, Pertinax and Tajima had a rendezvous to make somewhere with the bannerman, Ichiro.

“Slave,” called Pertinax.

She leapt up, and, in a moment, knelt before him, across the table. Before him she seemed more confident, more enlivened.

“I must reproach you, Gregory,” she said in English, angrily. “In the pen I was tied, and given ten lashes.”

“You spoke without permission,” he said, in English.

“But ten!” she said.

“I think I will have you given twenty,” he said.

“No!” she said.

Clearly she knew it could be done, at a word. There were several Ashigaru about, and the kitchen master.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said.

“Very hungry?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I am very hungry!”

“I see,” he said.

There was a hint of a sly smile, or smugness, about her features. I think she still thought of Pertinax in the terms of Gregory White, a Gregory White who, in a sense, no longer existed, at least in the terms in which she thought of him, a Gregory White who had been shy, diffident, insecure, weak, manageable, pathetic, reduced, and confused, the victim of a pathological culture, of a denaturalized conditioning program at odds with the biotruths of a species. That Gregory White, on a new world, and differentially acculturated, had become Pertinax, a warrior, and tarnsman. Such a man would no longer look upon such as she as some distant and unobtainable object, a goddess, a denizen of remote stars, something far above and beyond him, but now as something quite real, something which she truly was, a live, breathing female, a lovely prey animal at hand, an animal designed by nature for such as he, an animal wanted, an animal to be captured, subdued, owned, and trained, trained to his pleasure, an animal to be mastered.

“Feed me,” she said in English.

“Speak Gorean,” he said.

“I dare not,” she whispered, in English. “I could not dare say such a thing here, not in Gorean, and be understood. I am collared.”

“Why are you collared?” he asked.

“Because I am a slave,” she said, in English.

“Speak,” he said, in Gorean, “and exactly, as you did before.”

“I dare not,” she said.

“Speak,” he said in Gorean.

“Feed me!” she said, in Gorean.

Sumomo gasped. Those at the table looked toward her, surprised.

Pertinax reached into his shallow bowl of rice paste, to his right, and gathered some of this into his palm.

She leaned forward.

But he put the paste into his own mouth, and slowly finished it.

“I do not understand,” she said.

“You will go hungry,” he said.

“Please, no!” she said.

“Speak properly,” he said.

“Please, no,” she said, “—Master!”

“Whether a slave is fed or not,” he said, “is up to the master.”

“Please,” she said. “I am starving! Cast food to the floor, if you wish, and I will eat it on all fours, even as a sleen. But I beg to be fed!”

“You are dismissed,” he said.

“Master!” she protested.

“Return to your place,” he said. “There may be others to be served.”

Confused, and frightened, Saru returned to her place, and knelt there.

“She should be whipped,” said Sumomo.

“Perhaps later,” said Pertinax.

“You believe slaves should be whipped,” said Tajima.

“Of course,” said Sumomo.

Outside the garden was dark.

It was raining, softly. Beyond the opening, one could see the light of the colored lanterns reflected in the falling drops.

Lord Yamada addressed himself to the kitchen master. “Remove the slaves,” he said.

The kitchen master merely looked to the exit from the room, at the back, that leading to the hall, leading to the kitchen, and the three slaves hurried from the room. He followed them.

I gathered that something was to take place which required discretion, something not likely to be permitted to fall upon the ears of slaves.

Secrets are seldom entrusted to slaves. As it is said, the babbling of slaves is like the babbling of brooks. Who knows who will stray by the brook, and at what time?

“Perhaps you, too, should withdraw,” said Tajima to Sumomo.

“Why?” she said.

“Our new guests, the noble Tajima and the noble Pertinax, must make ready to return to the encampment of tarns,” said Lord Yamada, “to convey my felicitations and suggestions to their fellows, but I think it is only fitting, first, to see if there might be some word to be conveyed to the false shogun of the north, Temmu. Summon Tatsu, reader of bones and shells!”

Ah, I thought to myself, what message will be revealed amongst the scattered bones and shells, to be carried by Tajima and Pertinax to the holding of Lord Temmu where, doubtless, it will be confirmed by the noble Daichi? I thought it would most likely have to do with the possible defection of the tarn cavalry, which might precipitate some unwary act on the part of a suspicious Lord Temmu, which might then incline it more readily toward the house of Yamada. Surely this seemed more likely than a new prattling about a mythical iron dragon, or such.

Shortly thereafter a fellow entered, in simple robes, yellow, carrying an oval box which would contain, I supposed, bones and shells.

This, I assumed was, Tatsu, Lord Yamada’s reader.

Lord Yamada, I was sure, placed no more confidence in the ceremonial litter of bones and shells than I, or Tajima, or Pertinax. Lord Temmu, on the other hand, was more than willing to attribute credit to such impostures. It was not simply that readings might be sufficiently ambiguous as to seem to plausibly predict a variety of possible developments, but, upon occasion at least, thanks to the forewarnings, and such, supplied to Daichi, might appear both clear and alarmingly accurate.

“Attend,” said Lord Yamada.

Tatsu knelt and opened the box. A moment later a rattle of bones and shells struck the floor, over which Tatsu bent, intently.

“Something is in the garden,” said Pertinax.

“Ashigaru,” said Tajima, watching Tatsu, whose body rocked slowly over the bones and shells.

I noted the rain, still falling outside, the lantern light illuminating the droplets, and then returned my attention to Tatsu.

Tatsu then turned, hastily, still on his knees, to face Lord Yamada; his face seemed strained, even frightened.

“The bones and shells have not fallen well!” he said.

“I gather,” said Lord Yamada, gravely, “they have not fallen well for the house of Temmu.”

“I do not understand how they have fallen,” said Tatsu.

“You cannot read them?” said Lord Yamada, angrily.

I gathered Tatsu had had his instructions beforehand. How then could he be having any difficulty in the matter?

“I can read them,” said Tatsu. “It is only I do not understand how they have fallen.”

“They speak of the tarn cavalry,” said Lord Yamada, “and of the house of Temmu. They warn the house of Temmu of betrayal, of danger.”

“No, great lord,” said Tatsu, trembling, “they speak of the house of Yamada, and of danger.”

Lord Yamada rose up from behind the table, his hand on the hilt of his companion sword, and strode angrily to Tatsu.

“In whose hire are you?” he inquired. “Who has suborned you?”

“I am loyal to you, great lord,” cried Tatsu. “The bones and shells speak of danger to the house of Yamada, of an avenger, a dark figure, one approaching, a lost son, a son of the very blood of the house of Yamada, one who returns, one on whose left shoulder is borne the sign of the lotus.”

“There are no sons of the blood of the house of Yamada,” said Lord Yamada, drawing from his sash the companion sword. “I will not have sons. Each was strangled at birth.”

“There is an empty grave,” said Tatsu.

“You lie!” said Lord Yamada. “There is no empty grave!”

“Forgive me, great lord,” said Tatsu.

“Cast the bones and shells again,” suggested Lord Akio.

“No,” said Tatsu. “They have spoken.”

“And you shall not again!” said Lord Yamada, and the companion sword, with a movement of Lord Yamada’s wide sleeve, entered the reader’s heart, and then, as easily, with another motion of that sleeve, withdrew. Tatsu remained kneeling, as he was, for a few moments, as though nothing had happened, and then his body stiffened, and he fell to his side, amongst some of the debris from his reading.

Suddenly Pertinax sprang across the table and seized a dark-clad figure about the waist, lifting it up, and flinging it backward. There was a cry of rage. This figure had apparently emerged from the darkness of the garden, silently. It had been moving swiftly toward Lord Yamada. In its hand, upraised, was a
tanto
, a stabbing dagger. In a moment Ashigaru had closed about the figure and borne it, face downward, to the floor. At its side, crouching, was Lord Akio. His right hand drew from its concealed sheath the sleeve knife, which he thrust into the assailant’s neck, at the base of the skull, severing the vertebrae.

“You are safe, Lord!” he cried.

Lord Yamada glared at the assailant’s body. It no longer moved.

“Perhaps less safe than before,” said Lord Yamada, “as we cannot question this man.”

“Such men,” said Lord Akio, “are trained assassins. They reveal nothing, even under torture.”

“We shall never know,” said Lord Yamada.

Pertinax seemed shaken.

“You were brave,” I said to him. “You intervened, even though unarmed.”

“I did not stop to reflect,” said Pertinax.

“Often there is no time to so indulge oneself.”

“How is it that you, alone of all,” asked Lord Yamada, “noted this peril?”

“When there is nothing to see,” said Pertinax, “that is the time to look closely. When all look north, look south; when all look east, look west.”

“A teacher?” said Lord Yamada.

“Yes,” said Pertinax.

“You will have another chain of gold,” said Lord Yamada. “I will owe my life to no man.”

“I accept it in lieu of such,” said Pertinax.

“We are quit?” asked Lord Yamada.

“Yes,” said Pertinax.

“And thus,” said Lord Yamada, quietly, “you keep your head.”

“Behold, Lord,” said Lord Akio, kneeling beside the fallen assailant, who had now been turned to his back. Lord Akio had cut away the dark, close-fitting clothing of the assailant, in such a way as to reveal his left shoulder. “Behold,” said he, again. “See, my lord, the sign of the lotus!”

“It is the avenger, of whom Tatsu spoke!” said an Ashigaru, peering downward.

I sopped a cloth with water, and wiped the sign away.

“Dye, or paint, pigment of some sort,” said an Ashigaru.

“He is not the avenger,” said another, looking at Lord Yamada.

“No,” said Lord Yamada. “Examine every man in my domain, whatever his rank, exalted or lowly, warrior or peasant, merchant or Ashigaru, fisherman or porter, whatever he may be, and bring to me any who bear on his left shoulder the sign of the lotus.”

“Shall we not kill each so marked?” asked Lord Akio.

“No,” said Lord Yamada. “Such a man will not be alone. Where there is one ost there will be others. What nest contains but one?”

“It is an unusual marking,” said Lord Akio.

“I bear it on my own left shoulder,” said Lord Yamada.