Rebels of Gor (63 page)

The large object then ascended into the sky, swiftly, smoothly, much as a floatable object submerged will ascend to the surface when released. I had not seen such a movement in many years.

The sight of this thing, the noise, the smoke, and flames, the spillage of rocks and the spumes of dust, brought the tarn cavalry wheeling about, to do battle, to protect the holding.

“No!” I cried, from the damaged parapet. “No!”

The large object faced south, not really moving, seemingly suspended, just rocking a little in the air, much as a ship might rock in the water.

It had been years, too, since I had witnessed solid objects which could remain in place, as did that object, with little or no visible motion, silent, seemingly effortlessly suspended, almost as though alive, waiting.

“Go back!” I cried, from the parapet.

The first tarn flew at the object, the tarnsman’s lance couched.

“No!” I wept.

A burst of flame rushed forth from what seemed the maw of the thing and the bird and rider, in a flash of fire, were incinerated before our eyes, and, blackened and smoking, enridged for a moment with lingering fire, a scattering of remains tumbled to the valley below.

A dozen tarns, from the sides, swept toward the seemingly patient, still thing, in the sky, quiet as though waiting, and arrows and Anango darts struck sparks and rang against it.

“No,” I cried, looking up, helplessly, from the outer parapet. “Get out! Escape! Go! Flee!”

Lances shivered, and cast knives, quivas, caromed away.

“Tajima!” I cried. “Signal Ichiro, on the summit, signal, ‘Retreat’ and ‘Scatter’! ‘Retreat’ and ‘Scatter’!”

The large object now turned about, gracefully, the large, slow-moving wings orienting it. I do not think it was even aware that it was under attack. Rather, it was as though it wished to learn if that might be the case, as such things might be expected. The maw of the thing was then aligned with another bird and rider, and another burst of fire was emitted from what seemed the maw of the thing, and another rider and bird seemed to discolor the sky as though burning debris might have been cast suddenly on blue tiles. One could then see the residue descend against the hills beyond.

The object then, almost as though mounted on a spindle, turned about, examining the sky about.

I saw some sparks of light, and noted more broken arrows falling from its sides, to the ground below.

Ichiro on the summit winded his battle horn, and the ranks of the tarnsmen seemed to erupt about, as though cast by an invisible hand into the wind.

Another bird and rider perished in a blast of fire, and remains descended, smoking, to the ground.

Ichiro blew, again and again, the horn of battle.

Tarns, and riders, withdrew, in all directions. At most one such pair might be sought at a time.

But the object showed no interest in pursuing any of the riders or mounts.

Nor did it renew its attacks on the holding.

It then turned about, again, and slowly circled over the holding, as though it wished that its presence, and nature, might be unmistakably noted, and, perhaps, recalled.

It then, soft as a winged cloud, turned south, and, wings slowly moving, disappeared over the forces of Lord Yamada, which were now reassembling. Indeed, they were beginning to prepare the trenches and redoubts which would serve for a siege.

There were men on the roof of the castle, extinguishing the flames.

The air about still hung with smoke.

A breeze came from the north, and it would clear the air.

“It could have destroyed the holding,” said Tajima, looking after the object.

“Lord Yamada does not wish to destroy the holding,” I said. “He wants the holding.”

“What now?” asked Pertinax, wiping grit and stains from his face.

“The next move in this sport,” I said, “is Lord Yamada’s.”

“A truce,” said Lord Nishida. “Negotiations.”

“I would conjecture so,” I said.

“I will never surrender the ancestral holding,” said Lord Temmu.

“We will fight to the last man,” said Lord Okimoto.

“You may have to,” I said, “in the ashes.”

“We will need every sword,” said Lord Okimoto. “We must marshal them. Where is Nodachi? His sword is worth a dozen swords.”

“Even a sword worth a dozen swords,” said Lord Temmu, “is useless against a thousand swords.”

“What if the thousand swords are wielded by but one hand?” I said.

“I see,” said Lord Nishida.

“One sword,” I said, “applied in a certain way, at a certain time, might do the work of ten thousand swords.”

“True,” said Lord Nishida.

“Where is Nodachi?” said Lord Temmu.

“He left the holding days ago,” said Lord Nishida, quietly.

“Why?” asked Lord Okimoto.

“He said he seeks Lord Yamada,” said Lord Nishida.

“Lord Yamada is with the march,” I said.

“How do you know?” asked Lord Nishida.

“His headquarters tent and banner were with the camp,” I said. “They were stationed at the hub of the camp, at its very center.”

“Did you see him?” asked Lord Nishida.

“No,” I said.

“Nodachi seeks him,” said Lord Nishida.

“Did you dare to look upon the thing in the sky?” asked Lord Temmu.

“Yes,” I said.

“You saw its nature?”

“Of course, great lord,” I said.

“The brutality, the size, the fangs of steel, the scales, the vast, skinlike wings, the ridged, spikelike tail, the claws of steel, the shining eyes about the head, the breath of fire?”

“Yes, great lord,” I said.

“We must attempt to die well,” said Lord Temmu.

“All may not be lost,” I said.

“Surely you know what we face?” said Lord Temmu.

“I did not believe it existed,” said Lord Nishida.

“I never doubted it,” said Lord Okimoto, “but I did not hope to see it.”

“Daichi referred to such a thing,” said Lord Temmu.

“As was advised by Lord Yamada,” I said.

“You are skeptical?” said Lord Temmu.

“I fear so,” I said.

“But you have seen it,” said Lord Temmu.

“Of course,” I said. “I have seen what I have seen. I know what I have seen.”

“It has come from its cave,” said Lord Temmu.

“Perhaps it was released, unchained,” said a man.

“But who would dare to release such a thing, to unchain it?” asked Lord Okimoto.

“Yamada,” said Lord Temmu.

“What do you think it is?” I asked Lord Temmu.

“You saw its size, its shape, the wings, its terribleness, the tail, the scales, the claws, its ferocity, its fangs, its breath of fire.”

“Of course,” I said.

“It is the iron dragon,” said Lord Temmu.

“No,” I said. “It is not. It is a device. You may call it an iron dragon, if you wish, but it is not your feared iron dragon of legend, which is a myth. It is a contrivance, somehow controlled, either from within or from some distant point. On a distant world, a far world beyond the moons, a steel world, inhabited by fierce denizens, I saw such things, animated by an ensconced brain, its body the device itself.”

“The iron dragon is such a thing?” said Lord Nishida.

“Something similar,” I said.

“But not the same?”

“I do not think so,” I said. “When it was attacked, it seemed unaware of the assault. If it were governed by an ensconced brain, I think the brain, housed in the object itself, would, in its own interest, have had things arranged in such a way that it could sense an attack, perhaps being aware of impinging sounds, or responding to vibrations following strikes on the surface, or fuselage, such things. I do not know, but I suspect it was controlled from afar, perhaps from a great distance.”

“Perhaps from as far as the palace of Lord Yamada?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Precisely,” I said.

“How could anything so far away guide or control it?” asked Lord Okimoto.

“The means exist,” I said.

“From far away, how could one see?” asked Lord Okimoto.

“The means exist, Lord,” I said.

“I do not understand what is going on,” said Lord Nishida.

“As long ago as Tarncamp,” I said, “you suspected.”

“We are pieces on a board we do not understand,” said Lord Nishida, “in a game of giants we do not see.”

“And a game, I suspect,” I said, “not fairly played.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Seek Nodachi,” I said. “I think he will lead me to Yamada.”

“Beware the iron dragon,” said Lord Temmu.

“I think I know its lair,” I said, “and the intelligence, or intelligences, which animate it.”

“You will go by tarn, of course,” said Lord Nishida.

“I and some others,” I said, “if they wish it.”

“I am with you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

“I, too,” said Pertinax.

“What of us here?” asked Lord Temmu.

“There will be negotiations,” I said. “Lord Yamada desires the holding. You may threaten to destroy the holding rather than surrender it. If you do this well, dallying and caviling, the business will take days.”

“I see,” said Lord Temmu.

“Pretend to believe in the iron dragon,” I said.

“That will not be difficult to do,” said Lord Nishida.

Chapter Forty-Five

Friends Converse on a Hilltop,

A Distant Palace in View

“You once said you had seen the iron dragon,” I said to Haruki.

“In the sky, to the west of the palace,” said Haruki.

“Only once?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“It was doubtless a practice flight, a test flight, or such,” I said, “one to assess its handling or performance, perhaps to familiarize an operator with the pertinent controls.”

“I do not understand such things, noble one,” he said.

“Do you know its nest, its lair?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“I think I do,” I said, “and I think I know the intelligence, or intelligences, which govern it.”

“There is much to fear,” said Haruki.

“That is the palace of Yamada in the distance,” said Pertinax.

“Consider the fifth level of the palace,” I said, “from this side, toward the north.”

“I see nothing unusual,” he said.

“Nor should you,” I said.

“You think that is the housing of the device?” asked Pertinax.

“I am sure of it,” I said.

“As far as I know,” said Tajima, “it has not flown since the attack on the holding of Lord Temmu.”

“What is not seen is often more frightening than what is seen,” I said.

“And once briefly glimpsed, and then concealed,” said Tajima, “imagination may be permitted to enlarge its menaces and terrors.”

“I think so,” I said. “If it were frequently seen it would be obvious that, however awesome it is, it is not a living, breathing dragon, no egg-sprung beast of flesh and blood, but a contrivance of sorts, terrible though it may be. It would be obvious that it is not the iron dragon of myth and legend, the source of which is lost in history, but a surrogate of that, a counterfeit.”

“It is terrible enough,” said Haruki.

“But it would have lost its mantle of mystery, its most fearsome feature, the aura of the unnatural and incomprehensible; it would no longer be something unfamiliar and inexplicable which transcends reason and the world as we know it; it would no longer be something astonishing and unwelcome, emerged from another dimension or world, from a suspected, feared, foreign order of reality. It would no longer be the iron dragon. It would be a machine, complicated and powerful, but a machine, something of this world, and a machine can be built, can be countered, can be dismantled, can be destroyed.”

“I have never seen such a machine,” said Pertinax. “It is no ordinary machine. Consider the fluidity of its movement, how it can turn in the air, no visible sign of its propulsion, its capacity to remain in place unsuspended.”

“I have seen such things,” I said.

Long ago, in the Nest of Priest-Kings, in the Nest War, I was familiar with such things, the flat, circular transportation disks which could be used to speedily negotiate the vast intricate corridors and halls of the nest. I had even managed such a device.

“It utilizes gravity,” I said, “countering its drag, minimizing and maximizing its effects, shaping its geodesics.”

“That is impossible,” said Pertinax. “There is no way to control gravity.”