Rebels of Gor (66 page)

“Yes!” laughed the skeptical officer. “What ignorant fellows, you are, what dupes!”

“Take the magician’s head!” said a man.

“Rice thief!” said another.

The skeptical officer, and his companion, I think of higher rank, turned away.

“Is that how it is done?” a man asked the magician, disappointed.

“No,” said the magician.

The two officers, hearing this, or sensing the crowd’s reaction, turned back.

“No,” said the magician, again.

“I am Izo,” said the skeptical officer, angrily, “of the guard of the shogun. I am a warrior. Do you, mountebank and peasant, lowly one, despicable fraud, speak my words false?”

“I suggest,” said the magician, who looked up, I was reminded of the way a larl might raise its head, “the honorable one is mistaken.”

“Do you call Izo, of the guard of the shogun, a liar?” asked the warrior, his hand on the tasseled hilt of his companion sword.

The crowd drew back from about the magician.

“Come away,” said his companion, gently. “We have seen what we wished to see. We have learned what we wished to learn.”

“No!” said the skeptical officer.

“He is a simple mountebank, an innocent fellow seeking rice,” said his companion. “Spare him. Do not soil your sword.”

“My honor is not satisfied,” said Izo, the skeptical officer.

By now the fellow who had rushed away for the bowl of rice had returned, apparently with a vendor’s man, who held, cushioned by layers of cloth, a large bowl of steaming rice in two hands.

“Take that away!” said Izo.

“Do not,” said the magician. “It is mine. It has been fairly earned.”

“Admit here, publicly, you are a fraud,” demanded Izo.

“No,” said the magician.

“You are a fake, a fraud!” said Izo.

“No,” said the magician.

“Come away,” said the other officer, to he whom I took to be his irate subordinate.

“I will fetch a grain of rice,” said Izo, “raw, uncooked, whole, not split, and place it on the forehead of the slave.”

“You may do as you wish,” said the magician. “I have earned the bowl of rice. I do not need another today.”

“See!” cried the officer. “He acknowledges deceit, and fraud!”

“No,” said the magician.

The officer turned away, disgusted.

“Fetch your grain of rice,” said the magician, quietly.

“No, Masters! Please, no, Masters!” cried the slave.

The officer had then turned back.

“Examine it, and place it yourself on the forehead of the slave,” said the magician.

It did not take long for a grain of rice to be brought to the officer, who examined it closely, and then, satisfied, holding it between two fingers, placed it carefully on the forehead of the miserable slave.

“Where is the magician?” asked a man.

“Gone,” said another.

Izo laughed.

“No, he approaches,” said another.

Izo turned about, annoyed.

The magician was indeed approaching. But now, gripped in two hands, he carried a different sword, the heavier, longer of the two swords often carried by a warrior, the field sword.

“Is the grain of rice acceptable, and placed to your satisfaction?” asked the magician.

“It is,” said Izo.

The magician now stood before the bound slave, on whose forehead had been placed the grain of rice. She had her head back, pressed against the post, and her eyes closed tightly. She was, I think, holding her breath. He regarded her intently, measuring the distance. He moved his left foot, in its sandal, a little forward. I saw the tiny ridge of dirt moved before it. The sword, held in its double grip, held in both hands, was raised, until both hands were literally behind his head. The blade was as still as an ost before its strike. Then, like the ost, so swift one could not mark its movement, but was only aware of it a moment after, it had struck.

Two tiny halves of a grain of rice lay parted on the girl’s forehead, and she cried out, suddenly, expelling breath, and had fainted in the ropes.

Men cried out, awed.

“So it is easily done!” cried out Izo. “I did not understand that! If a nondescript peasant, a lowly one, can do it, so can anyone! Bring another grain of rice!”

The magician, with one movement of the field sword, severed the knot of hair which held the slave’s head back, against the post. Her head, she unconscious, fell forward, some cut hair falling about the post. His blade then entered itself amongst the ropes which bound her, and they leaped away from her body, and she slumped to the foot of the post.

“How dare you free her?” exclaimed Izo, angrily.

“You would kill her,” said the magician.

“Tarsk!” cried Izo.

“Run!” said the rich peasant to the girl, and she sped away.

“Behold,” said the magician, taking a grain of rice from a fellow who had, in response to the officer’s demand, fetched it. The magician then placed it half in a tiny crack in the post, about where the girl’s forehead would have been. He then stepped back.

“It is easy,” said the magician.

With a cry of rage the officer drew his field sword, poised it, and struck at the post. The blade had entered the post half a hort from the grain of rice, and sunk a full hort into the wood.

It was with some difficulty that he managed to extricate the blade.

There was much laughter from the crowd.

And then stillness, for the lowly are not to mock their betters.

“It is easy,” said the magician, “if one trains for Ahn a day, for years.”

I do not think I had ever seen such rage on the countenance of a Pani warrior as I then beheld on the visage of the officer.

“Ragged, gross creature,” he cried, “shaggy, ugly beast, ungainly tarsk!”

“All that you say is true,” said the magician. “I am ill-dressed and ungroomed. I am homely. I am ill-favored, and ill-formed. In such a way I was born, and in such a way I live. I am an offense in the eyes of many.”

“Loathsome peasant,” said the officer.

“I am a peasant,” said the rich peasant, not pleased.

“Peasants,” cried the officer, glaring at the magician, “are not permitted two swords, or one. Cast down your illegitimate weapons, seize up your proper tools, the digging stick and rake!”

“I trust he will not disarm himself,” I said to Tajima. I myself would have been unwilling even to turn my back on the warrior.

“He will not,” said Tajima.

The magician turned away.

“No,” I whispered.

“Is my sword sharp?” cried the officer. “Perhaps I shall test it, on the neck of a peasant!”

Several in the crowd moved away. It was not unknown for Pani warriors to try their weaponry on living targets.

“Come away,” said he whom I took to be the senior of the two officers. “We have seen what we were sent to see. We have learned what we were sent to learn.”

“No!” said Izo, the hitherto skeptical officer, furiously, “no!” His field sword was still in hand, indeed, gripped in two hands.

The magician stood to one side, his back to the officer. His head was down.

“He is in grave danger,” I said.

“No,” said Pertinax.

“His back is turned,” I said. “He cannot see.”

“He sees,” said Tajima. “Consider the sun.”

“Yes,” I said. The magician had placed himself in such a way that the sun was behind him. Accordingly, whatever might approach, even if not heard, would cast a warning shadow. A critical distance would be involved. Then, should the shadow move—!

“Watch,” whispered Tajima.

“I do not think I care to watch,” said Pertinax.

It was over very quickly, the two blades did not even meet. The officer’s head rolled a dozen yards before it was arrested in the dirt, the eyes staring up at the sky, as though startled.

The magician was then facing the other officer, waiting, his weapon ready.

But the other officer’s weapons were still thrust in his sash. He bowed to the magician, slightly.

“You have slain Izo,” he said, “the finest sword in the shogun’s guard.”

The magician bowed slightly.

“I am Katsutoshi,” he said, “captain of the shogun’s guard.”

Again the magician bowed slightly, acknowledging the honor paid to him, that he would be addressed by such a personage.

“Izo was a rash fool,” said Katsutoshi.

“It is unfortunate,” said the magician.

“Word of you has reached the shogun himself,” said Katsutoshi. “We were sent to report upon you.”

“I am unworthy to be brought to the attention of so great a lord,” said the magician.

“What is your name?” asked Katsutoshi.

“I do not know,” said the magician. “I may have no name.”

“What is your class, your craft, or trade?” asked Katsutoshi.

“My class is my own,” said the magician. “My craft is the sword, and my trade the same.”

“Where is your land, your home?” asked Katsutoshi.

“I am found in remote places,” he said. “My home is in the darkness of the forest, on deserted beaches, in mountain caves.”

“Who is your daimyo?” asked Katsutoshi.

“I am of the waves,” said the magician. “I have no daimyo.”

“That may soon be remedied,” said Katsutoshi. “I think you will soon have a lord.”

“I serve the sword,” said the magician.

“We shall meet again,” said Katsutoshi, bowing.

The magician returned the bow.

The captain of the guard then left the market.

The crowd began to dissipate.

The vendor’s man approached with the bowl of rice. “This is yours, noble one,” he said. “It is paid for by Eito, the great peasant.”

“And where is Eito
san
?” asked the magician.

“He has hurried away, to fetch his girl,” said the vendor’s man.

“Place it on the earth, there,” said the magician.

“Why is that?” I asked Tajima. “There are strangers about,” said Tajima. “At such a time both one’s hands are to be free.”

“Has he seen us?” I asked Tajima.

“Of course,” said Tajima.

“Tal,” said the magician.

“Master,” said Tajima, bowing.

“Master,” said Pertinax, bowing.

“Tal, noble one,” I said.

Bows were exchanged.

“This,” I said, “is our friend, Haruki.”

“Forgive me, noble one,” said Haruki. “I am unworthy to greet you. I am but a humble gardener.”

“It is I who am honored, gardener
san
,” said the magician. “Flowers are beautiful and those who love and tend them are themselves of most noble mien.”

“Tal,” said Haruki.

“Tal,” said the magician.

“We sought you,” I said.

“Your presence was not entirely unexpected,” said the magician.

“You have heard of the iron dragon?” I said.

“Yes,” said the magician. “And word like fire has swept the roads and fields, the towns and villages, that it has flown.”

“It has flown, Master,” said Tajima. “We have seen it.”

“And the holding of Temmu still stands?” asked the magician.

“I fear,” said Tajima, “only on the sufferance of Yamada.”

“Lord Yamada,” suggested the magician.

“Lord Yamada,” said Tajima.

“It is my hope to be received by him,” said the magician, “that I may kill him.”

“I have sought you,” I said, “that I may be led to Lord Yamada.”

“Do you dispute his head?” asked the magician.

“No,” I said. “My concern is not his life, or his death. There is more here than is obvious on the surface.”

“One sees the hurrying of the leaf, the crash of the tree, but not the wind,” said the magician.

“It is thought,” I said, “that behind one war there is another war.”

“One of unseen houses?” said the magician.

“Yes,” I said.

“How may I be of assistance?”

“Take four with you, into the palace,” I said.

“You do not seek Lord Yamada?” asked the magician.

“Only to seek another,” I said, “a greater beast.”

“The iron dragon,” said the magician.

“Yes,” I said.

“I will need four to accompany me,” he said.

“Good,” I said.

“Ho!” cried a voice, and we spun about.

“It is the peasant, Eito!” said Tajima.

“And the slave!” said Pertinax.

It was indeed the fellow who had supplied the slave for the magician’s demonstration, and had purchased the rice which the vendor’s man had given to the magician. At his side, held by the hair, bent over, her head at his hip, stumbling beside him, was the young, lovely, scantily tunicked slave. The garmenting of slaves, if garmenting is permitted, is up to their masters. That was one of the first lessons Nezumi had learned.