Rebels of Gor (88 page)

“The sanity of one is the madness of another,” he said.

“You seek perfection?” said Lord Yamada.

“Of course,” said Nodachi, bowing.

“Then you are a fool,” said Lord Yamada. “The path to perfection is a path with no end.”

“It is a path some will follow,” said Nodachi.

“I will kill no more sons,” said Lord Yamada. “I will have a hundred sons, a hundred swords at my side.”

“I am a man of peace,” said Nodachi.

“Are you not wedded to the sword?” asked Lord Yamada.

“There is no peace without the sword,” said Nodachi.

He then bowed to his father, which bow was returned. He then turned about and took his leave. Neither the shogun nor any of his guards attempted to detain him.

“You intend to sail with the
River Dragon
,” said Lord Nishida.

“Yes, Lord,” I said. “Perhaps you will convey my farewells to Lord Temmu and Lord Okimoto.”

“Lord Okimoto will doubtless compose a poem,” said Lord Nishida. “He will then transcribe it onto a sheet of silk. His calligraphy is superb.”

“I have heard so,” I said.

“I shall miss you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

“And I you,” I said.

“I have studied men much,” said Lord Nishida, “and I do not understand them.”

“Nor I,” I said. “There is always love and honor, and greed and gold. Some ascend the steps of blood and paint the black dagger. Others grasp at sparkling pebbles and tiny disks of yellow metal. Others will die for a Home Stone.”

“And which are you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” he asked.

“I am unknown to myself,” I said. “I am perhaps better known to others than to myself. Some are always wayfarers, strangers to themselves.”

“The
River Dragon
sails tomorrow,” said he.

“I know, my lord,” I said.

* * *

There was much bustle on the wharf, I was jostled. A long string of stripped, neck-chained, back-braceleted slaves, mostly barbarians, but some Pani, was being boarded. Some mercenaries, intent on returning to the continent, were boarding, as well, packs on their back. Few, despite the protestations of recruiters, long ago on the continent, were returning richer than they came. Wealth can be earned by the sword, but blood and misery, weariness and cold, want and danger, are more common pay.

Yet men, still, will follow the way of the sword.

“Tal, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

“I had hoped you would see me off,” I said. “How goes the cavalry?”

“Its beasts are healthy, its rounds are made, its weapons are sharpened,” said Tajima.

“Two houses fear you,” I said.

I had last seen Tajima at the camp of tarns, north of the holding of Lord Temmu, in his headquarters tent. He moved aside the lists of equipment and the maps on the small table, and clapped his hands, twice, briskly.

Nezumi hurried in, and knelt, head down, to await instructions.

“Stand, girl,” he said, “and turn, twice, slowly, before us.”

“Nice,” I said.

She was no longer in the rough tunic of a field slave, but in the slight silk of a pleasure slave, brief, and yellow. Her hair was short, still, but well shaped and cut. Her body sparkled, for slaves are not free women. They must keep themselves clean, neat, and well-groomed, such that they will be attractive to men. Perhaps that is one reason free women hate them so. Slaves, being owned, exist for their masters, and are to please them. She wore a light, flat, close-fitting collar, which closed and locked at the back of her neck.

Nezumi was indeed a lovely slave.

Men enjoy showing off their slaves, as they might any other belonging.

Tajima pointed to the ground, and she knelt, instantly, her head down.

We then paid her no more attention.

How careless she had been, I recalled, to have cast that beribboned missive from the outer parapet.

I supposed there were many ways of begging for the collar, some even unknown to the supplicant.

I recalled a conversation between them which I had overheard, at night, when camping in the open country, shortly after we had fled from that village in which we feared, and justifiably, we had been suspected.

“You saved my life,” she had said.

“It is nothing,” he had said.

“Still,” she said.

“I wanted a girl for my collar,” he said.

“I think there was more,” she said.

“No,” he said.

“Perhaps Master is less than candid,” she said.

“Perhaps Nezumi wishes to be beaten,” he said.

“There are many girls,” she said. “No, I do not wish to be beaten.”

“And most,” he said, “are far more beautiful than Nezumi.”

“Scarcely,” she had said.

In this short debate, I had found myself siding with Nezumi. Many Pani women are quite beautiful, but I doubted that many were more beautiful than she, and certainly there would be few who would be far more beautiful. I am sure that Tajima had wanted her from the first moment he had seen her, when she was feigning the role of a contract woman in the quarters of Lord Nishida. It had not been suspected at that time that she was a spy for the house of Yamada, let alone that she might be one of his several daughters. She had frequently scorned and abused him as a poor warrior. How he must have dreamed of buying her contract! Now she had no more status than a tarsk, another beast which may be owned.

Tajima had regarded her, she kneeling at hand, head down, in the headquarters tent, in the camp of tarns.

“Look at me,” he had said.

She had raised her head, instantly.

“Go to the kitchen tent,” he said. “Go, cook our food.”

“Yes, Master,” she had said, rising, and hurrying to obey.

“Nezumi,” he had called.

She had turned, in the opening of the tent.

He slapped a switch down, sharply, on the table, and Nezumi flinched, as though the blow had fallen on her smooth, bared skin.

“I trust we will be pleased,” he said.

“Yes, Master!” she had cried, and hurried away.

“It is pleasant to own a woman,” he said to me.

“What pleasure can compare to that of the mastery?” I said.

“Women are comfortable in the collar,” he said.

“They belong in it,” I said.

“They are grateful, and joyful, in the collar,” he said, “owned and mastered.”

“It does not matter,” I said, “as they are slaves.”

“True,” he said.

“Where is Nezumi?” I asked, standing on the wharf, in the bustle, men moving about me, Pani and barbarians.

“I left her at the camp,” he said, “chained by the neck to a post.”

“You know she loves you,” I said.

“What is the vulnerable, helpless love of a slave?” he asked.

“The deepest and most profound love that a woman can bear a man,” I said.

“They cannot help themselves,” he said. “They need masters. They have been bred for masters.”

“I know a world where many never find their masters,” I said.

“I recall such a world,” said Tajima.

“I think you love Nezumi,” I said.

“Do not joke,” said Tajima. “She is a slave.”

“I think you would die for her,” I said.

“Quite possibly,” said Tajima. “She is my property.”

“I wish you well,” I said, bowing.

“And I, you,” said he, returning the bow.

He then withdrew, and I could see him no longer, for the many men, and even slaves, about.

Interestingly, I had never received the opportunity to give Aiko to Ichiro, my bannerman. It may be recalled that Haruki had ventured to the hiding place of Ichiro and the tarns, where Aiko was in attendance, and that they had then returned, by tarn, to the grounds of the palace. It was after that that Ichiro had waited for darkness, to retrieve me, if possible, from the camp of the house of Temmu, where I had presented myself to Lords Nishida and Okimoto, in the hope, first, of preventing the advance of the invasion force, and, secondly, of somehow managing to make contact with the cavalry. My ultimate goal, naturally enough, under the circumstances, was to bring the situation between the rival houses of Temmu and Yamada to the point where neither house could achieve, or plausibly claim, victory. In this way neither Priest-Kings nor Kurii could claim the benefits accruing to the outcome of a dark, portentous wager, one in which the stakes were, substantially, a world, and perhaps two.

So Aiko found herself on the palace grounds, brought by Ichiro and Haruki, while Lord Yamada, Nodachi, I, and some others, and the many peasants of Arashi, advanced to meet, and discomfit, the forces of Temmu on the north road. Once I had arranged the peasants, and set them about their diversions, and had arrested the progress of Lord Yamada, in such a way as to suggest he was fully ready for battle, but hoped to lure the invasion force farther south, perhaps deeper into a trap, I had contacted Lords Nishida and Okimoto under the pretense of warning them of imminent danger. Given the higher rank and the usual circumspection of Lord Okimoto, on which I had counted, I had managed to halt their march, at least temporarily, and purchase some days of truce, while messages were being exchanged between their road camp and the distant holding of the northern shogun. These days, and the availability of tarns, allowing an expedited communication, gave me the opportunity to marshal the cavalry in such a way that I would be justified in issuing my ultimatum to both houses, peace, or destruction. During these days Aiko came to the attention of Lord Yamada, who had returned to his palace, following the fortification of the road camp. He regarded her, naturally enough, given her beauty, as a possible wife. Indeed, without discounting the sometimes marvelous beauty of the daughters of peasants, whose sales tend to fill the ranks of contract women, Lord Yamada suspected, given not only her features and lines, but the obscurity of her antecedents, and her lack of family, that she may not have been originally of the peasantry. Inquiries were made of Eito, the rich peasant who had unclaimed her in the village, and it was learned she was a scion of the nobility, in this case of a fallen house, defeated in battle, and had been sold, with other children of the house, years ago. It was as a small child, perhaps three or four years old, that she had been purchased by Eito. Lord Yamada, of course, understood her as a slave, but not as an unclaimed slave. As she was given to assisting Haruki in the garden, Lord Yamada naturally assumed that Haruki, who was a free man, owned her. It seemed she bore some resemblance to one who had once been Lord Yamada’s favorite wife, she who had been the daughter of Haruki, and the mother of, amongst others, Nodachi, whom Haruki had saved from the strangler’s cord. She had died of poison in the women’s quarters, for which crime Lord Yamada had chosen ten women by lot, and had them beheaded. As noted earlier, if she had been of high birth, all might have been slain. Ichiro, too, of course, as the matter had been concealed, did not know her as unclaimed, but also thought she must belong to Haruki. Further, he had become much enamored of her. As matters turned out, both Lord Yamada and Ichiro approached Haruki. I was present. Ichiro had no more than a handful of copper. Lord Yamada, obviously, even in the depleted state of his treasury, could offer much more. “I can take her, if I please,” said Lord Yamada. “I am shogun.” “But,” said Haruki, “who then will tend your garden?” “Very well,” said Lord Yamada, “I will offer you a golden chain. It is a hundred times her value.” “Perhaps,” said Haruki to Lord Yamada, “I will sell her to this young man, for his fine handful of copper.” “Do you dare, young tarnsman,” asked Lord Yamada, “bid against me?” “Yes, great lord,” said Ichiro. “Forgive me!” “But perhaps,” said Haruki, “she is not for sale.” “Two golden chains!” said Lord Yamada. “And I will give you a dozen slaves to help you in the garden!” “But, great lord,” said Haruki. “I do not own her.” “Who owns her?” cried both Ichiro and Lord Yamada, neither pleased, at all. Haruki looked down at Aiko, who was kneeling, as she was a slave in the presence of free persons. “I claim you!” said Haruki to Aiko. “Now I own her,” he said to Ichiro and Lord Yamada. Then he said to Aiko, “You are free!” “I do not understand,” said Ichiro. “What are you doing?” said Lord Yamada. “Rise up,” said Haruki to Aiko. He then pointed to the confused, trembling Aiko. “This is a free woman,” he said. “This is madness,” said Lord Yamada. “Not at all,” said Haruki. “I could not give her to you without injuring my friend, Ichiro, and I cannot give her to Ichiro without displeasing my shogun. Thus, she is free.” “I do not want to be free!” she wept, looking to Ichiro. “Be my wife,” said Lord Yamada. “You will be high amongst my women.” “And you?” asked Aiko of Ichiro. “Be the wife of a great shogun,” said Ichiro. And then he turned away, sadly. He had gone only a few steps when Aiko ran after him, put herself in his path, threw herself to her knees, and cried out, face uplifted, tears run upon her cheeks. “Behold this girl!” she cried. “She is before you! She is a slave, and has always been a slave. She desires a master! The secret slave is now bared to the world, as would be her body if masters wished. She acknowledges that she is a slave, publicly, before witnesses! She now performs an act of submission!” And she then put her head down and covered his feet with kisses. “I did not know that you were worthless!” said Ichiro, angrily. “Yes, Master,” she said. “I am worthless!” Then she looked up. “I am helpless now!” she said. “I am submitted, I am at your mercy. What will you do with me?” “What would you have me do?” he asked. “Accept me!” she begged. “Accept me!” “What is your name?” he asked. “I have no name,” she said, “I am a slave.” “You are not collared,” he said. “Many women who are slaves are not collared,” she said. “We will have you fitted with one,” he said. “Slaves should be in their collars.” “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master,” she said. “I will call you ‘Aiko’,” he said. “You are Aiko.” “Yes, Master,” she said. “I am Aiko, Master!” “You are accepted,” he said, “and claimed.” She then collapsed at his feet, weeping, with joy.