Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Twelve THE PLAZA OF TRAINING

“You have trainers?” I asked Tajima.

“Several,” he said, “who brought the tarns from Thentis, some from elsewhere.”

Thentis was famed for her tarn flocks.

“I am not a tarn trainer,” I told him.

We were walking within a path, leading from the logging camp deeper into the forest. The path was lined with wands, on each side, and the guard larls, which were occasionally seen, would not intrude within the wands.

“No,” said Tajima, “you are a rider, and a warrior.”

“My role here, I am given to understand, is to form and discipline a tarn cavalry,” I said.

At that moment, from afar off, perhaps two hundred to two hundred and fifty yards to our right and ahead, there was a terrible roar, surely of a larl, followed, a moment later, by a harrowing scream.

Tajima seized my arm. “No!” he said. “Do not depart from the wands!”

“Help is needed!” I said, pulling away.

“No,” said Tajima. “It is no longer needed. The kill has taken place. Do not disturb a larl when it is feeding.”

“Someone was beyond the wands,” I said.

“Now, and again,” said Tajima, “some will flee the camp.”

The roar of the larl commonly startles and freezes the prey. Then the larl is upon it.

“The camp, I gather, is not to be fled?”

“No,” said Tajima, “it is not permitted.”

“Why do men flee the camp?” I asked.

“They are afraid,” said Tajima. “They do not wish to die, and then they flee, and then they die.”

“There are secrets here, too,” I said, “and men might flee, to make them known, to sell them.”

“That, too,” said Tajima.

“A perilous endeavor,” I remarked.

“True,” said Tajima.

Those brought to Tarncamp were, I had gathered from Pertinax, mercenaries, bandits, brigands, thieves, murderers, wanderers, low men, cast-off men, men lost from Home Stones, and such. Many, I understood, had come from the occupational forces now expelled from Ar. The word of such men might be as the rustle of the wind amidst leech plants. Their loyalties would on the whole be to their own hides and purses. They would on the whole be as much for hire as the Assassins, save that the Assassin, once the dagger has been painted on his forehead, signaling he is hunting, is loyal to a fee.

“Why do you and your people wish a tarn cavalry?” I asked.

“For purposes of war, of course,” said Tajima.

“On continental Gor?” I inquired.

“Elsewhere,” said Tajima.

This made sense to me, as whatever might be afoot in the forest would not be likely to be of sufficient size and potency to effect much success against Gorean cities with their own tarn forces, which might number in the hundreds and, as of old, in Ar, in their thousands. Similarly it seemed that formidable island ubarates such as Tyros and Cos would have little to fear from, say, a squadron of bandit tarnsmen. And would one not require the means to reach those sovereignties, which lay hundreds of pasangs to the west? The tarn is a land bird, and will not fly beyond the sight of land. And even if the tarn could do that, no tarn could make that flight, but would fall exhausted into the sea. They are not sea birds which can rest on the wind, aloft for Ahn, wings spread, not moving, and, if they wished, descend, and rest on the sea itself.

“Where?” I asked.

“Elsewhere,” said Tajima, politely.

“Your forces,” I said to Tajima, “seem to have means. Why do you not hire a tarn cavalry from another city, say, Treve, in the Voltai?”

“Such a cavalry,” said Tajima, “would be theirs, not ours. Also, how could such a hiring be concealed?”

“I understand you have lost men,” I said.

“We have lost twenty-two men,” he said, “to the talons and beaks of tarns, some of them trainers.”

“Then you are dealing with wild tarns,” I said. Such losses would not be expected with the training of domestic tarns.

“Yes,” said Tajima, “but from the vicinity of Thentis, from the mountains of Thentis. Any purchase of a considerable number of tarns from the cots would surely attract attention.”

“Doubtless,” I said.

Wild tarns are common in the mountains of Thentis.

“Four of my people,” said Tajima, “fled back from the tarns, and two found they could not approach them.”

“That is understandable,” I said.

“But not acceptable,” said Tajima. “But each has regained his honor.”

“I do not see how honor is involved in this sort of thing,” I said, “courage perhaps, but how honor?”

“For us, honor is involved,” said Tajima. “But do not fear, for they have regained their honor.”

“How?” I asked.

“By the knife,” he said.

We then heard the scream of a tarn, from a hundred or so yards before us.

“We are near the place of training,” said Tajima.

****

“I would now speak, if I might,” I had said in the pavilion.

“Surely,” had said Lord Nishida.

“I am grateful, great lord,” said I, “for your hospitality. But I understand little of what is going on here. I have been brought to you at what must be considerable time and expense. Agents, or operatives, have colluded in my presence here. I would like to know what I am to do, how it is that I might serve you.”

“You are here,” said the blond fellow to me, “as I suppose you know, in the service of Priest-Kings, the gods of Gor. We will speak their will, and you will obey.”

“You are then,” I said, “the agent of Priest-Kings?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Indeed,” I said, “you must be the agent of Priest-Kings. How could it be otherwise, for I was disembarked on the northern coast according to the exact coordinates of Priest-Kings, secret coordinates doubtless, was there met by two agents, doubtless also in the service of Priest-Kings, though that apparently unknown to them, was conducted to a reserve of Port Kar, and was there contacted by Tajima, servitor to Lord Nishida, and brought hither.”

“Certainly,” said Thrasilicus.

Lord Nishida seemed to smile, slightly.

I doubted that either Thrasilicus or Lord Nishida believed me to suppose they truly labored for Priest-Kings, but it did not seem judicious to them, obviously, to express doubt as to my convictions in this matter, nor did it seem judicious to me to challenge their claim, or, perhaps better, that of Thrasilicus, for Lord Nishida had never proclaimed that thesis, nor, as far as I could tell, did he care what I might believe in this matter.

Both would presumably be aware that the coordinates had been supplied to Kurii on the Steel World, formerly that of “Agamemnon,” later that of “Arcesilaus,” by Priest-Kings, and that, accordingly, some Kurii, at least, perhaps unauthorized Kurii, despite the supposed confidentiality of the matter, might have had access to them. Expressions, incidentally, such as “Agamemnon” and “Arcesilaus” are used for convenience, as the actual names, being in Kur, cannot be rendered in the phonemes of either English or Gorean. The two names given were used by humans on the Steel World in question to refer to the individuals involved. I have retained the usage.

I gathered it did not make a great deal of difference to either Thrasilicus or Lord Nishida whether I took them, in fact, to be laboring in the cause of Priest-Kings or not.

Too, why should they believe, in the first place, that I would wish to labor on behalf of Priest-Kings?

Surely I had not been treated well by Priest-Kings.

But if it did not matter to them, what I believed in this matter, why would it not matter to them?

I recalled that the former Miss Wentworth had said that there was a hold over me, which had something to do with a woman. This had not, however, been made clear to me, nor would it be, I supposed, unless I proved hesitant or uncooperative. The hold, I was sure, had naught to do with the slave, Cecily, who would be discounted, first as she was a slave, and, secondly, they presumably would not have known that I would bring her to Gor, in her collar, heeling me. I did know that Priest-Kings had wished me debouched on the beach at the designated coordinates, and so they would have had something in mind for me, but what I did not know. Perhaps I could discern it, if only indirectly, if I continued to accommodate myself to the wishes of Thrasilicus and Lord Nishida. Thrasilicus, in my view, clearly, was laboring on behalf of Kurii. He was obviously associated with certain Gorean slavers who had access to the shores of Earth. The ships of such slavers were furnished currently, or originally, as the case might be, by the Steel Worlds, as the sophisticated technologies involved would be far beyond that of Gorean humans, and, currently, at least, beyond those of Earth, who were not even subjected to the weapon and technology laws of Priest-Kings, concerned to protect themselves and their world from the ignorance, cunning, and rapacity of what they regarded, with considerable justification, as an inferior species. Freedom, obviously, is not an absolute value, as only fools could believe. Freedom for what is an obvious consideration. Children should not be permitted to romp on the high bridges. Tharlarion should not be permitted to trample cultivated fields. Slaves should not be permitted to wear the garments of a free woman, and so on. Ships from the Steel Worlds might be crewed by either humans or Kurii, but, I supposed, seldom would the crews be mixed. Kurii tend to be powerful, short-tempered, dangerous beasts. I personally would not care to share confined spaces with them for days at a time. I supposed much of the business of Kurii on both Gor and Earth would be conducted, for obvious reasons, by their humans. An obvious inducement, or partial inducement, to certain Goreans, for example to certain members of the caste of slavers, for their assistance, in a variety of tasks, would be something all males understand, women. On Gor, women, that is, slaves, are negotiable items of value, a currency of sorts. Indeed, on Gor a salary may be paid in women. Sometimes a fellow’s wages may be two slaves, or three. The women of Earth, unlike Gorean women, who tend to be zealously protected, are largely undefended and easily obtained. They are much like wild fruit which may be picked as one pleases, for personal use, for marketing, and such. Accordingly, access to the women of Earth, slave fruit, ripe for harvesting, is a not negligible emolument for Goreans, whose views of women tend to be less romantic than sexual and utilitarian. Indeed, one of the surprises to many Earth women brought to Gor for the sales cages of slavers is to learn that on this world they are not viewed through clouds of misrepresentation and nonsense but, radically and profoundly, as what they are, basically and fundamentally, females. Too, if they are slaves, they will learn that such a thing as males exist, males in a rather different sense from that to which they were accustomed on Earth, and that they will be owned by these males, very different sorts of males, who will be their masters, as much or more so as if they were, say, pigs or dogs. Interestingly, it seems that not every ship which plies the slave routes between Earth and Gor is in the service of Kurii. A goodly number, it seems, perhaps the majority of them, are now independent, doing their own scouting, maintaining their own acquisition lists, and so on. These commonly, it seems, sustain their own bases, on Earth or Gor. I had no doubt, however, that Thrasilicus was closely associated with Kurii.

A normal Gorean slaver, for example, commonly harvests his slave fruit, brings it to Gor, brands and collars it, pens it, gives it some training, that it not be slain the first night off the platform, and then sells it. He would not be involved in the complex arrangements which had surrounded the arrival of Miss Wentworth on Gor, her application to a particular deceit, and so on. Clearly she had been recruited as an agent of Kurii, even if she had not the least idea what Kurii might be. Then, when she had finished her task, and was no longer of use, she could be disposed of, in one way or another, usually, one supposed, in the markets. It was not surprising that female Kur agents were almost always quite beautiful. One intended to sell them later, and beautiful women tend to bring higher prices. Also, most Goreans, and Kurii, too, for that matter, despite their willingness to utilize such creatures, disapprove of liars, hypocrites, traitors, and such. Thus the fate to which the former Miss Wentworth was consigned was one intended for her from the very beginning. Sometimes such an agent, after her branding and collaring, is given to the male agent with whom she may have been associated. Usually, she is just sold in a market, commonly a low market where her sale is not likely to attract much attention. Miss Wentworth was intended, it seems, to answer to an item on a want list.

“And how may I be of service to you?” I had then inquired of Lord Nishida, in the pavilion.

“I understand you have commanded, in the far south,” said Lord Nishida.

“In the land of the Wagon Peoples, long ago,” I said, “I was honored to command a thousand, kaiila riders of the Tuchuks.”

“You are familiar, then,” said Lord Nishida, “with the tactics of a cavalry, its movements, its applications, and such.”

“Light cavalry,” I said. I had never commanded the massed, thundering, earth-shaking charges of war tharlarion.

“Excellent,” said Lord Nishida.

The riders of the Tuchuks were subtle clouds of war, almost impossible to close with, dangerous archers, with the short, horn bow, fit for clearing the saddle, to left or right. A thousand arrows could be loosed in an instant, like death rain, on a foe, and then the riders were gone. And then, again, the storm of death might appear on another horizon, tiny dots on the horizon, and then, in moments, be upon one again. And when the Tuchuk did close it was the quiva in flight, and the light, black temwood lance, thrusting and drawing back, and thrusting again, often against a foe on foot, fleeing, being ridden down.

The Tuchuk, all in all, was a subtle and dangerous foe. His tactics tended to be executed swiftly, and precisely. They might have been better known, had more survived to spread their fame. Even his flight might well be a ruse, for one of his favorite tactics was the backward flighted arrow, loosed from the platform of the smooth-gaited kaiila. Tuchuk war was characterized by deception and cunning. It was also ruthless.

“You did command on the 25th of Se’Kara,” said Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” I said.

However, I thought, what was done that day was surely unlike the clash of cavalries in the sky.

“You have an opponent in mind?” I asked.

“You understand, do you not,” he asked, “the drums, the synchronization, the ascents and descents, the circlings, the wheelings, to left and right?”

“You do not need me, great lord,” I said, “surely a thousand tarnsmen might serve you as well, or better.”

“But you understand such things?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” I said.

“Excellent,” he said.

“Perhaps others might serve as well,” said Thrasilicus, “a possibility which I lack the expertise to dispute, but the Priest-Kings have chosen you.”

“Someone it seems,” I said, “has chosen me.”

“Priest-Kings,” said Thrasilicus.

“Why?” I asked.

“Is that not lost in the wisdom of the Sardar?” asked Thrasilicus.

“Doubtless,” I said.

“Who would not wish these things to be in the hands of Bosk of Port Kar,” said Lord Nishida.

“I would suppose many,” I said. “And perhaps Priest-Kings.”

“The Priest-Kings,” said Thrasilicus, “command you to take Lord Nishida as your captain, to follow his instructions, and in all ways possible to abet his projects.”

“I understand,” I said.

Surely Kurii were well aware of my ambivalence toward Priest-Kings. With the new dynasty in the Nest had they not turned against me? Had I not been imprisoned in the holding capsule on the Prison Moon, in such a manner as to torture me, and jeopardize my honor?

Might I not, then, of my own will, so treated, have turned from the Sardar to the Steel Worlds?

“Our loyal servitor, Tajima,” said Lord Nishida, “will explain much to you, and will often attend upon you.”

I gathered the interview was then concluded, and I turned and left the pavilion, followed by Tajima.

Outside the pavilion I had turned to Tajima. “You are to spy on me?” I had asked.

“I fear so,” he had said, “Tarl Cabot, tarnsman.”

****

Tajima and I emerged from the path which led to a great plaza cleared in the forest.

About the edges of this area, which was better than a hundred yards in width, there were several structures. Most of these were rudely timbered, and most were windowless. Some, on the other hand, had an open wall, facing the area. Two seemed to be shops, with an open wall, one for metal workers, the other for leather workers. Some of these structures, it seemed, served as storehouses, for supplies and tack, such as saddles and harnessing, and others as shelters, for trainers and craftsmen, and doubtless, too, for those whom one might think of, in a way, as recruits. There was a larger building, too, which had a plank floor and an open wall. This, I would learn, was a dojo, or training hall. To one side there was a tank for water and there were several racks from which hung meat, probably tabuk, forest tarsk, and forest bosk. The greater forest tarsk, unlike the common tarsk, can be quite large. When I first came to Gor I saw a tapestry depicting the tarn hunting of such beasts, and, from the sizes involved, I had thought the tapestry to be based on some fantasy or myth. Only later did I discover that there were beasts of such a size. The common tarsk, on the other hand, is much smaller. When a slave, or even a free woman, is disparaged as a “she-tarsk,” the smaller animal, the common tarsk, is invariably in mind. Otherwise the metaphor would be unintelligible. Indeed, many Goreans have never seen the forest tarsk, and many do not know of its existence. The forest bosk tends to be territorial, and, as I have already suggested, it can be quite dangerous. Most interestingly to me were the cots in the area, of which there were several. These cots were mostly improvised, walled with rope nets strung between trees, and, too, large, heavy poles, doubtless from local trees, trimmed of bark and branches. Rope netting is used rather than wire to protect the birds. Tarn wire, for example, sometimes used to “roof a city,” to defend it from tarn attack, is almost invisible, and can easily cut the wing from a descending bird. A lighter form of wire is called “slave wire,” and it, too, is dangerous. A slave attempting to escape through such wire is likely to be found suspended within it, piteously begging for help, half cut to pieces. Two of the cots were large and conical. Their framing, formed of light metal tubing, fitted together, was not untypical of a form of cot found in open camps. I supposed it derived from Thentis, and might have been brought to the coast by wagon, and then north by ship, as doubtless was the case with many forms of supplies.

“There are many tarns here,” I said.

“There are more than a hundred and fifty now,” I was told, “and more are due to be delivered.”

“Who are the tarnsmen?” I asked.

“Some are tarnsmen,” he said, “but many of your people, and mine, must learn the tarn.”

Training was going on in the open area.

Between two sets of poles were slung ropes and a saddle, and in each saddle was a fellow who was being flung from side to side, and dropped, and lifted, and spun about, by others, and even, by ropes, on each side, being whirled about a vertical axis. Shortly both had been pitched into the sand some ten feet below. Their place was then taken by others. The two who had fallen were placed on a narrow plank, to the side, and forced to walk its length, while being screamed at, and execrated, from both sides. If one fell from the plank, in dizziness, he was struck with switches.

“The proper tarn saddle,” I said, “has a safety strap. There is no way one can lose the saddle if it is fastened.”

“True,” said Tajima. “But what if the safety strap is cut in battle?”

“One then seizes, as one can, if one is in danger of falling,” I said, “one of the saddle rings.”

“Yes,” said Tajima, “but he who just fell, it seems, missed the ring.”

“True,” I smiled.

“So let him improve his skills,” said Tajima.

“True,” I smiled. It was better to learn this while threatened with a ten-foot fall to the sand rather than a thousand-foot plunge to the ground.”

I saw another fellow, one of the people of Tajima, fall from the plank, and then submit, unprotestingly, to being shouted at and beaten.

“I was not trained like this,” I told Tajima.

“It was not necessary,” said Tajima. “Such training would have dishonored you.”

“How is that?” I asked.

“In your veins,” he said, “flowed the blood of warriors, of tarnsmen.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“No one,” he said, “teaches the tarn to fly, the kaiila to run.”

Elsewhere in the open area, which was, it seems, a training plaza, some tarns were out, some with wings bound, others, farther along in their training, hobbled, a heavy log chained to a taloned foot, and, in each case, held in ropes, so that if the tarn charged one trainer, it could be restrained by three or four others. The ropes were choke ropes.

“I see no tarn goads,” I said.

“No,” said Tajima. “The mechanism might malfunction, the charge might fail. A discipline wand may be used, or even a branch, with a blow to the cheek or beak. Too, the strike of the goad, with its shower of sparks, might attract attention at night.”

In another area I saw a fellow mounted on a bird, the bird prevented from flying, hobbled, as were several others in the area. Its beak was strapped shut, so it could not turn and seize the rider. When it flung its head about, it was struck a terrible blow on the side of the head. Another fellow, further along, had the harnessing in place, with the rings and straps, by which he moved the head of the bird, back, or down, or to the sides.

“I note no slave girls here,” I said. “I thought they might be used, to content the men, to cook, to fill the tank with water, such things.”

“In the vicinity of tarns,” said Tajima, “it is best for women to be hooded and bound.”

“Doubtless on the whole,” I said. It was true that most women were terrified of tarns, and with good reason, particularly the more imaginative, intelligent women, well aware of the danger of the bird and their own slightness, weakness, and vulnerability. Indeed the only experience many women had with tarns was to be slung naked as one of a pair, one on each side, fastened to a saddle ring, or to be, if a single quarry, hauled aloft by a tarnsman’s braided, leather rope and then, their clothing cut from them, to be put on their back across the saddle, before their captor, their wrists crossed and bound to one ring, their ankles crossed and bound to another, their first writhing then, and crying out, to take place on the saddle, under the idle caresses of their captor, on the long flight back to his city or camp. It was less terrifying, of course, to be bound in a tarn basket, slung beneath a tarn, usually a draft tarn. “Some slaves work in the cots, in the cities,” I said. “They grow accustomed to tarns.”

“They are rather like stable sluts?” asked Tajima.

“Yes,” I said. I thought of the former Miss Wentworth. She was now, technically, a stable slut.

“The men,” said Tajima, “are brought food by tharlarion wagon, and, if they wish, they may visit the cook houses in the main camp.”

“Some relief is provided, I trust,” I said, “for the ferocity of other hungers, as well.”

“For slave hunger, of course,” said Tajima. “In the slave houses there are mats aligned, a row on each side, and each mat has its ring and chain, and slave. As the house is dark one carries a taper within, and picks out a slave. When one enters one is given a switch, which may be used, if one is not pleased, the switch being surrendered upon one’s exit.”

I supposed that some of the slaves brought in by Torgus and his fellows, whom I had encountered on the beach, former free women of Ar, might, if not yet disposed of to private masters, be found on the mats of the slave house. Far were such now, surely, traitresses, profiteers, and collaborators, from their jewels and palanquins, from their delicate viands and sweet wines, from their balcony gardens and lofty tower apartments. Muchly had their lives changed, and doubtless that of many others, as well, following the rising in Ar. So let their necks be closely and well encircled in slave steel, and let them lie in the darkness, waiting to be illuminated by a taper, thence to their knees and the kissing of feet, and beggings to be found pleasing.

My attention was then drawn to an area of the training plaza where a fellow was standing quietly before a hobbled tarn. Its beak was unbound. It lifted its unhobbled taloned foot as though to rake the fellow from head to foot. It opened and closed its large, razor like beak. In a tarn strike on a tabuk the animal’s back is usually broken by the strike, and then the beak, like a shearing engine, slashes through the back of the neck. The fellow had no disciplinary wand, no branch, no club in his grasp. He was defenseless if the bird were to attack. I would not have wished to be placed in that position. The tarn screamed hideously, menacingly. Then it made a hissing sound. That sound is intended to intimidate. It is not uncommon in intraspecific aggression. At that sound the smaller bird, or younger bird, or less aggressive bird, usually backs away. That response has presumably been selected for. Had it not been presumably there would be commonly but one male in a flock. The male which retreats one day, of course, may not retreat another day, and then a fight to the death, or to the disabling of the defeated, is likely to take place. Eventually the younger bird will grow stronger and fiercer and the older bird weaker and less fierce, and, sooner or later, a new Ubar, over the body of its torn, quivering foe, will scream its conquest, and its claiming of the flock.

But the fellow menaced by the tarn did not move.

“He will be a tarnsman,” I said.

“I think so,” said Tajima.

Then the fellow put his hand out, on the bird’s beak, which touch the bird, as though puzzled, suffered without protest. It is hard not to show fear in the presence of the tarn, but it is extremely dangerous to do so, for the tarn, as many animals, can sense fear, and this stimulates its aggression. The fellow, of course, was not another bird, or a tabuk, or verr, but a different life form, the human, which is not an unknown form of prey for a tarn, but it is certainly not its customary prey. Too, the tarn commonly attacks from the air. It is not unknown for tabuk to graze in its presence, if it has alighted. The fellow then embraced, as he could, its large head. The bird’s eyes gleamed, brightly, wickedly, but it did not pull away. The fellow then began to groom the bird, smoothing its feathers. The tarn raised its crested head to the sky, and then lowered its head, again, for the pleasure of the fellow’s touch. I could not hear, but I supposed the fellow was speaking to it, soothingly. Human speech, even a soft crooning, can settle a restless tarn. The girls who tend tarn cots sometimes, in the evening, after the feeding, sing to their charges. It is sometimes hard to know when the tarn is asleep as it, as many birds, sleeps with its eyes open. To be sure, interestingly, it apparently does not see then, although the eye is open. It seems to be something like a window through which no one at the time is looking. Occasionally in its sleep the tarn moves uneasily, and tosses its head, and a taloned foot will move, sometimes marking the floor of the cot. One supposes that the bird is dreaming, doubtless of flight, perhaps of the hunt. Some human beings, incidentally, occasionally sleep with their eyes open. This tends to be somewhat unnerving, for an observer. To be sure, sleepwalkers sleep with their eyes open, as well, but, clearly, they are seeing at the time, given their avoidance of obstacles, and such.

“I wanted you to see the training area, and the tarns,” said Tajima. “There is little for you to do now, though you are welcome, as you wish, and whenever you wish, to visit this area. The training will continue. Also, we are awaiting the arrival of more leather for saddles and harnessing. Once we have a hundred or more men who have flighted a tarn and lived, we will begin a more disciplined endeavor, and will try to form riders, with such skills as they will then have, into prides, which you may then form into a cavalry.”

The expression ‘pride’, in this context, was a metaphor, of sorts, taken from the usual grouping of larls, such a group being commonly called a pride. The term is Gorean, but, like a great many terms in Gorean, not surprisingly, given the voyages of acquisition, it is taken from another language, in this case, English.

“I am anxious to begin work,” I said. I had considered, for a long time, possible innovations in the tactics of tarn attack, and the armament of riders. Too long, in my view, had the common tarnsman been too much of a mounted foot soldier, too long had he been the passenger of the mount, rather than a component in a single, unified weapon. An analogy, though quite imperfect, might have been the early transition from cavalry as a supportive arm, used to reconnoiter, harass, and ride down stragglers, to a central arm, a shock arm, of stirruped lancers fit to strike, split and disrupt serried ranks. The latter role on Gor, of course, belonged to war tharlarion. But I thought much might be done with tarn cavalries. For example, it seemed to me that much might be learned from the almost evanescent appearing and disappearing of Tuchuk cavalry. Too, the usual missile weapon of the tarnsman, as the longbow, or peasant bow, was impractical, was the crossbow, but it was difficult to reload from the saddle, and its rate of fire, accordingly, was slow. Usually one quarrel would be discharged, and then the crossbowman was well advised to withdraw from action until it was possible to ratchet back the cable for another load, or, if a foot stirrup was used, which was quicker, but gave less power, to haul it back with two hands, get it over the catch, and then, with an additional operation, set another missile in the guide. In either case, the rate of fire was, in my view, prohibitedly slow.

“I am pleased,” said Tajima. “So, too, I am sure, will be Lord Nishida.”

“I must speak to him soon,” I said, “for there is much to be done.”

“What of the riders?” asked Tajima.

“We do not know, now, who will be the riders,” I said, “who will survive the training.”

“True,” said Tajima. “And I fear the larls will have much hunting to do.”

“When the riders are well asaddle,” I said, “I will speak to them, but not before.”

“So it will be,” said Tajima.

I was then prepared to leave the plaza, but, in turning about, I saw a sight which, to me, if not to Tajima, and his people, seemed exceedingly odd.

“What is going on there?” I asked.

“One is preparing to recover his honor,” said Tajima.

On a small platform, in a white kimono, one of Tajima’s people, which I will now refer to as the Pani, as that is their word for themselves, knelt. His head was bowed, and before him, on the platform, was a curved wooden sheath, which contained, doubtless, a knife. Near the fellow, also clad in a rather formal kimono, white, stood a fellow with an unsheathed sword, of the longer sort.

“Do not intrude,” said Tajima.

“What is the fellow with the sword doing?” I asked.

“It is sometimes difficult to perform the act,” said Tajima. “If it cannot be well completed the swordsman will assist. There is no loss of honor in that.”

“Stop!” I called.

“Do not interfere!” cried Tajima, whose suave placidity was for once not at his disposal.

I thrust Tajima back and strode to the figure on the platform, who had now loosened his robe and drawn forth a small dagger from the sheath.

The man with the sword stood to one side, two hands on the hilt of the weapon. He regarded me. He did not seem resentful, outraged, or such. Rather, he seemed puzzled. He had not expected this intrusion, nor had the fellow on the platform.

The fellow on the platform gripped the knife. I thought blood had drained from his hand. He looked up, not fully comprehending this disruption. He had already, I understood, given himself to the knife, and all that remained now was to finish the deed.

“Allow him dignity!” begged Tajima.

“I will not allow this,” I said.

“Who are you to stop it?” asked Tajima, once again in command of his emotions. The Pani are an extremely emotional, passionate race, as I would learn, and the calmness of their exterior demeanor, their frequently seeming impassibility, even seeming apathy, was less of a disposition than an achievement.

Civility is not an adornment, but a necessity. Is the beast not always at one’s elbow? Behind the facade of a painted screen a larl may lurk. Every chain can snap, every rope break. Savagery lies close to the precincts of civilization. The borderland between them is narrow and easily traversed. Courtesy, or politeness, you see, must not always be understood as a lack, a debility, or insufficiency. One must not recklessly part curtains. Behind them might be found things you would just as soon not see. He who writes poetry and sips tea, and waits expectantly for a flower to blossom, may, in a frenzy, on the field of battle, take head after head.

In any event, it is unwise to take mountains for granted. They may conceal volcanoes.

“I am commander, I am captain,” I told Tajima.

“This man is a coward,” said Tajima.

“No,” I said, “he is not.”

It seemed to me that the act he contemplated was sufficient evidence of that.

“He fled from a tarn,” said Tajima.

“He will not do so again,” I said.

“Do not interfere,” said Tajima. “You can make no difference. He will simply complete the act later, when you are not present.”

“No, he will not,” I said.

“Why not?” asked Tajima, genuinely interested.

“Because I forbid it,” I said. “I will have no more of this amongst men who will dare the tarn.”

“It is our way,” said Tajima.

“Who is captain?” I asked.

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

“It is not my way,” I said.

“You are captain,” said Tajima, quietly.

“I will not lose men in this fashion,” I said.

“It is better to lose such men,” said Tajima.

“If you want to die,” I said to the kneeling figure on the platform, “do so under the talons of the tarn.”

“It is wrong for you to interfere in this, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima. “One must recover honor.”

“One recovers honor in life,” I said, “not in death. If he lives, he may begin again, and gain honor.”

“That is not our way,” said Tajima.

“But it is a way,” I said.

“Doubtless,” said Tajima.

“And it is my way,” I said.

“Yes,” said Tajima. “It is your way.”

“And I am captain,” I said.

“Yes,” said Tajima. “You are captain.”

“Return to your training,” I told the fellow kneeling on the platform. “You are late.”

“Yes, Captain San,” he said.

Stumbling, shaken, he made his way toward the barracks.

“I will see that your views on this matter are conveyed to all,” said Tajima.

I then bowed to the fellow with the sword. “Thank you for your attendance,” I said to him, “but your honorable assistance is no longer required.”

He returned my bow, sheathed the sword, and left.

“This pertains only to your command, you understand,” said Tajima.

“At least now,” I said, “you have something interesting to report to Lord Nishida.”

“That is true,” smiled Tajima.