Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Fourteen TAJIMA AND I HOLD CONVERSE

“You are quick,” said Tajima, lowering the wooden blade in the dojo.

“So, too, are you,” I said.

Several of the Pani sat about, cross-legged, at the interior wall of the open-walled, wooden-floored structure. It was, as might be recalled, at the far edge of the plaza of training.

Tajima and I bowed to one another, and then sat, side by side, cross-legged, toward the back wall.

Eight of the Pani then rose from their places and four of them, unarmed, faced the other four, similarly unarmed. They then bowed to one another, warily squared off and, shortly, engaged. Another of the Pani, an umpire or referee, or, better, I suppose, an adjudicator, began to observe and supervise the practice. He occasionally commented, even scolded. In this engagement no mortal blows were to be dealt, of course, and when a stroke which would have spelled death or disablement was held up short, the adjudicator pronounced his verdict, and one of the fellows would politely withdraw from the contest, in effect having been ruled dead or, one supposes, disabled. One-on-one combat can be stylized amongst the Pani, and may proceed rather formally, for all its sudden swiftness and violence, alternating with an almost unnatural stillness, reminiscent of a larl or panther, intent, immobile, subtly quivering, before its attack. Interestingly, although four were engaged on a side, when one was removed from the contest, his opponent did not then join with his fellows to overwhelm the survivors, but stood back. In effect, then, one had what seemed to amount to four one-on-one contests. In actual warfare, I trusted this civility would not be respected. Courtesy is one thing, but courtesy at the expense of victory seemed to me a dubious tactical election. Finally one fellow held the floor from one team, so to speak, and he was faced by three of the other group. He defeated two and was defeated by the third. The eight fellows then stood, exchanged bows, and resumed their places.

“May we speak?” I asked Tajima.

“Not now,” said Tajima, softly.

A large number of contests, of various sorts, took place in the dojo, most with weapons of wood. These were surrogates for several weapons, in particular the short sword, or companion sword, and the long sword. Some glaives without blades were used. An interesting variation on these surrogate weapons was supple poles, long, light, peeled, whiplike branches which might flash about, scarcely visible. These, I gathered, were less surrogate weapons than training devices, to quicken reflexes, and enhance skills. Occasionally steel was used, but, again, of course, the strokes were held up short. Sometimes one surrogate weapon was put against a different surrogate weapon. Sometimes an unarmed individual was to engage an individual armed, say, with a sheathed dagger. Understandably, a reasonable amount of care was taken in the dojo to reduce injury and, certainly, to prevent death, the holding of strokes, and such, but, nonetheless, bloodshed was not infrequent, and broken limbs, wrists, and arms, were not unknown. These injuries seemed to be accepted with equanimity, save where it was suspected that intent was involved. The Pani seemed to feel in such a case that something was out of balance, however slightly, and an adjustment was in order. A disharmony was in need of correction. In such case one slash reddening a wooden blade might be used to pay for another.

“Now?” I asked Tajima.

“No,” said Tajima.

The exercises and contests within the dojo were obviously intended to provide serious and detailed martial training, and I am sure they had great value in this regard. Why should they not? Indeed, had I not, long ago, in Ko-ro-ba, the Towers of the Morning, engaged in similar exercises, though commonly with actual weapons? But one can do only so much in such training, of course, whether with wood or steel. It is one thing to face a fellow with a wooden sword, say, who will hold his stroke, or try to do so, and quite another to face a fellow armed with finely edged steel who has every intention of killing you. In the latter case every corpuscle comes alive, and the whole business is commonly done within a flash or two of steel. There is no training, as it is said, which can compare with the dojo of blood.

Two days ago I had spoken to Lord Nishida, again in his pavilion, and he had been receptive to my recommendations, and I had, accordingly, sought out certain craftsmen in the camp, leather workers and metal workers, and certain suppliers, who might, over the next months, secure certain goods, formed to my specifications.

With respect to weaponry the Gorean warrior is commonly trained in the blade, shield, and spear. The blade is commonly the gladius, which is quick, light, and double-edged, suitable for both the thrust and the slash. It is an excellent infantry weapon. On tarnback, naturally, there is little call for it. Similarly, the saber, which might be used with some efficacy from, say, horseback is of little use from either kaiilaback or tarnback. The kaiila, a lofty, silken beast, stands too high at the shoulder to warrant a saber. The Tuchuks, for example, use the temwood lance, which is long, light, tough, and supple. It has no difficulty in engaging an opponent on foot. The Tuchuks also use the quiva, or saddle knife, which is balanced for throwing. I thought we might substitute for the quiva the Anangan dart, a weighted, metal dart, some eighteen inches in length, which is flung overhand and, because of its fins, requires less skill than the quiva. It would be, I supposed, primarily an auxiliary weapon, to which recourse might be had in special circumstances, those, for example, in which, on the ground, one might employ the quiva. Such circumstances, those in which the quiva might be used, would commonly be in the swirl of close combat, where even the bow might be impractical. The typical Gorean shield is heavy, large and round, of layered leather bound with metal stripping. It may shield a soldier but it cannot, even given its size, protect a tarn. More practical on the whole, I thought, everything considered, would be the metal buckler, smaller and easily managed, with one hand, rather than an entire arm. It could turn a spear thrust, whereas a thrust or thrown spear would be likely to anchor itself in the common shield. Indeed, a common infantry tactic is to disable the opponent’s shield by penetrating it with one’s spear. This, in effect, renders the shield not only ineffective but a liability, as the attack then proceeds with the gladius. The buckler I had in mind was not only easily manageable but would have two additional features of interest. First, it might be easily slung at the saddle, freeing the tarnsman’s hands, for a purpose which will soon be obvious, the use of the bow, and, second, as in some arena bucklers, it would have a bladelike edge, thus allowing it to be used to cut at an opponent’s body, ideally the throat. I did not expect there would be much call for this latter feature unless the tarnsman was on foot, but sometimes tarnsmen do lock in combat, even on tarnback, as the birds, spinning about, buffeting one another, screaming and twisting about, do grapple in the sky. The buckler, too, though with less efficacy than the larger shield, would provide some defense against flighted quarrels, at least for the most vulnerable areas of the body, those most frequently targeted. Lastly, its lightness, compared to the usual infantry shield, would to some extent, if only one rather negligible, increase the speed and maneuverability of the tarn.

Given the size of the tarn, the beating of its wings, and such, there is no simple way to protect it from arrow fire, either aerial fire or fire from the ground. When I had first come to Gor war tarns had often been lightly armored and the beak and talons sheathed with steel. The armor, light as it was, encumbered and slowed the bird, considerably decreasing not only its speed but its maneuverability. It also, in its alien aspects, tended to make the bird harder to manage. Lastly the enhancement of the beak and talons proved of little merit for two reasons. First, in most tarnflight, the beak and talons do not come into play, and, second, when they do come into play they are formidable weapons in themselves, as in, say, tearing at the eyes and vitals of an enemy bird, far above the ground. Evolution, on whatever world might be that of the tarn’s origin, had armed it well. Whatever world that was, I suspected, it had been a high-gravity world, one with a deep gravity well, for the strength of the tarn was considerable, far beyond what one would normally expect of an avian creature of a more typical world, such as Earth or Gor. I have always referred to the tarn as a bird, and will continue to do so, for it is surely that, at least in a sense, given its ecological place, its feathering, its wings, and such, but, zoologically, one supposes, it is something rather different from what are normally taken as birds, either on Earth or Gor, or, perhaps better, one should say it is an unusual bird. Its massive size and wing spread may not be its only remarkable features. It does nest and reproduce itself oviparously. Indeed, I would soon learn numerous items of unusual value were stored in the warmth of certain of the sheds at the plaza of training.

The average Gorean spear is some seven feet in length, with a socketed bronze blade some fourteen to eighteen inches in length. It is a formidable weapon on the ground, but, on tarnback, in resisting an aerial tarn attack, I thought that the light, slender temwood lance, favored by the Tuchuks, would be more formidable, being quicker, with its lightness, and longer, as well, giving the advantage of a greater reach. Too, it was also more secure, given the wrist strap. Obviously, to lose a lance from kaiilaback is a serious matter. One cannot not well, in the midst of battle, dismount and retrieve it. And, of course, if one is aflight, a lost lance is highly unlikely to be recovered.

It might be recalled that the usual missile weapon, if one were carried, of the tarnsman was the crossbow, either of the ratchet or stirrup variety. The mighty peasant bow, because of its size, obviously, could not be well used from the saddle. Too, the rate of fire of both these weapons was lamentably slow, particularly that of the ratchet variety, which not only limited the number of missiles which could be launched in a given period of time, but placed the archer, did he not withdraw, in the interval between firing and reloading, in considerable jeopardy. Too, of course, the archer might be pursued and brought down in the interval. The obvious recourse then would seem to be something like the Tuchuk saddle bow, which could easily clear the saddle to left and right, and could even be used, the rider turning in the saddle, to backward flight arrows. The saddle bow lacked the power of the peasant bow but it was practical from the saddle, and could match the rate of fire of the larger weapon.

Metal workers could fashion Anangan darts.

I set them to such work.

I also dealt with leather workers at the plaza of training. What I needed from them were adjustable stirrups. In long flights one might use the common stirrups, for one’s ease of riding. On the other hand, if one were to use the bow, it was better for the stirrups to be shortened, so one could easily rise in the stirrups, if one wished, for firing over the head of the bird, over its wings, and so on. Tuchuks regularly use shortened stirrups, but my fellows were not Tuchuks, not trained for years to the saddle. Indeed, it is not uncommon for a Tuchuk to be tied in the saddle as soon as he can sit up, even before he can walk.

I also ordered the production of weighted nets. Nets are familiar on Gor. There are, for example, war nets, so to speak, such as the nets of the “fishermen” in the arena, who are armed with net and trident, and capture nets, such as are used by hunters for small animals and by slavers for women. Such a net, well cast, I hoped, might entangle an enemy tarn or its rider in the sky, interfering with the bird’s flight or the rider’s capacity to engage. They might also be used, I supposed, from a low-flying tarn in support of ground forces.

To bring some of these things together then, I envisioned the tarnsman not so much as a mounted infantryman, so to speak, either a spearman or a crossbowman, than as something different, a new form of warrior, a component, so to speak, in a unified weapon system, that of man and tarn.

Lord Nishida had declined to inform me of the likely applications of this projected tarn cavalry, so I had designed it for more than reconnaissance and attack from the air on ground targets. I designed it also for aerial combat, tarnsman to tarnsman, tarn to tarn.

Interestingly, that Lord Nishida had declined to inform me of the projected applications of this arm convinced me that, though nothing was said to this effect, one must be prepared for both forms of war.

That these men of the Pani, such as Lord Nishida and Tajima, and their fellows, so unusual to continental Gor, or even the western islands, should be here, whether in Brundisium to the south, or here in the northern forests, was to me, at the time, inexplicable. In this matter I suspected the hand of Priest-Kings, or Kurii. To be sure, here in Tarncamp I had counted no more than some two hundred to two hundred and fifty of the Pani. In Tarncamp and, I suspected, elsewhere, say at the end of the mysterious road to the southeast, there were far more Goreans, of a familiar sort, than Pani. I had gathered from Pertinax that hundreds had beached in the north, following, say, the rising in Ar, and, clearly, there were not that many in Tarncamp itself, though, as mentioned, there were several in Tarncamp, and they would, if counted, have considerably outnumbered the Pani in the area.

In summary, the tarnsman, as I envisioned him, would be primarily an archer, and his bird would carry a large number of arrows, far more than might be carried in the common quiver. The temwood lance and Anangan darts would be at hand for close combat, should that arise. For defense, primarily, a light buckler might defend against the spear, and, possibly, some arrow fire. One could assess the probable arrival of the quarrel from the reaction of the archer, the stock pounding back against his shoulder, and the distance involved. Its knifelike, circular edge might also, in some situations, enable it to function not only as a defensive weapon, but one of offense, as well. I was not sure of the practicality of the net in aerial combat but its use in handicapping opponents and snaring prey was well established on the ground. And the usual kit of the tarnsman would include such items, of course, as binding fiber and slave bracelets, for in Gorean warfare the taking of female slaves is common. Indeed, the Gorean woman is well aware that outside the compass of her Home Stone, outside a certain circuit of civility, beyond comfortable environs in which her loftiness, nobility, and preciousness are unquestioned, she is likely to be viewed not so much as an esteemed fellow citizen and an untouchable, lovely adornment to a grateful polity than as booty, quarry, prey, and prize, an item to be seized, branded, and collared, and then kept or sold, as a master might please.

“We will need two hundred bows, at least, saddle bows, thousands of arrows,” I had informed Lord Nishida.

“They will be supplied,” he had said, quietly.

“There will be other things needed, as well,” I had said.

“You will receive them,” he had said.

The audience had then been concluded.

Outside the dojo I spoke to Tajima.

“Your training,” I said, “extends well beyond the dojo.”

He did not respond.

“I have noted, upon occasion,” I said, “that you have frequented the area of the warm pool, where some bathe, far from the tubs.”

His taciturnity could sometimes be annoying.

“Too, I have seen some others frequent that area, and I do not think for the warmth of the waters.”

We continued on, toward the hut I occupied with Cecily.

“I have seen some carrying food,” I said.

“Oh?” said Tajima.

“As I suspect you yourself do, as well, sometimes,” I said.

“Is it not I who am to spy on you?” asked Tajima.

“Surely,” I said, “you do not object to a reciprocity in such matters.”

“That would be churlish of me,” he admitted. “How may I be of service to you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman?” he asked.

“In the forest,” I said, “though doubtless within the wands, there is further training, a teacher, a master, for some particular few, amongst whom I would suppose yourself.”

“You are perceptive,” he said.

“To be sure,” I said, “perhaps you are merely sneaking off for a secret rendezvous with the lovely Sumomo.”

“You have noted my interest in her,” observed Tajima.

“Your expression betrays little,” I said, “but the pupils of your eyes much.”

“It is hard to control such things,” said Tajima. “The movements of contract women are closely supervised. Collar-girls have much more freedom, as would domestic sleen or scavenging tarsks. Besides, she scorns me.”

“Perhaps she has a pretty body,” I said, “which would look well in a collar.”

“She is a contract woman,” said Tajima.

“Surely, wherever you come from, which I suspect is faraway, you have collar-girls.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And I suppose they are not all light-skinned or dark-skinned.”

“No,” said Tajima, “but they are not of the Pani.”

“How is that?” I asked.

“Because as soon as they are collared, they are no longer of the Pani, but only slave beasts.”

“I see,” I said.

“There are many such slave beasts,” he said. “War is frequent amongst the Pani.”

“And would not Sumomo,” I asked, “look pretty as such a slave beast?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I cannot afford her contract.”

“What if you could?” I asked.

“An interesting thought,” he said.

“And she would then be yours to do with as you wished, would she not?” I asked.

“There are expectations, customs, and such,” he said, “but, yes, she would then be mine to do with as I wished.”

“Absolutely?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Absolutely.”

“And do you not think she might look pretty as a slave beast?”

“Yes,” said Tajima, “I would think so.”

“With whom do you train in the forest?” I asked.

“Nodachi,” he said.

“He is not a two-name person?” I asked.

“That is not his name,” said Tajima. “His name is secret. He conceals it. He is called ‘Nodachi’. That is merely a name for a battle sword, one to be used in the field.”

“I understand little of this,” I said.

“He is ronen,” said Tajima. “A fellow of the waves, as it is said, one with no home, one carried by the current, one with no master, no captain. There are many such.”

“A mercenary?” I suggested.

“Ah, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “how little you know of these things.”

“Doubtless,” I said.

“Loyalty,” said Tajima, “is required of the warrior. His lord must be dead, or imprisoned. Or it may be he was betrayed by his lord, or that his lord proved unworthy of his devotion. It is lonely to be of the ronen. One remembers. One does not forget. Over the ice a cloud drifts. The bird clings to the cold branch. It cries its pain in the night.”

I said nothing more, but, after a time, we arrived.

“Your weapons, your skills, your talents, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “are not ours.”

“I would like to meet with he with whom you train,” I said, “but not to learn his weapons.”

“There are more than weapons,” said Tajima. “There is the thought, the way.”

“I would seek his help,” I said, “not for me but for my friend, Pertinax. He is not allowed in the dojo.”

“He is a weakling,” said Tajima.

“He has grown strong,” I said.

“Not all strength,” said Tajima, “is of the body.”

“Some is,” I said, “and, I assure you, as you are slight, and he is large and strong, he could break you in two.”

“Only if I permitted it,” said Tajima. “The tusks of the forest tarsk, too, could tear me in two, and I could be rent by the horns of the forest bosk, but, like the wind, I do not intend to put myself beneath their tusks or horns.”

“But such beasts are dangerous,” I said.

“Not to the wind,” he said.

“Beware,” I said, “that the wind is not caught in a box, and the lid snapped shut.”

“The wind,” smiled Tajima, “does not enter boxes with lids.”

“Pertinax is different now from what you remember,” I said.

“I could kill him, easily,” said Tajima.

“Now,” I said.

“Yes,” said Tajima, “now.”

“I would that you brought Pertinax to the school of Nodachi, and inquire if he might accept him,” I said.

“So that his skills might one day equal or exceed mine?” asked Tajima.

“Certainly,” I said.

“I do not think that would happen,” said Tajima.

“Quite possibly not,” I said.

“You ask much, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said he.

“There must be balance, harmony,” I said, “and so I offer something in return.”

“Sumomo?” he asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “She is a mere female, and belongs in a collar. I offer you something of far greater value.”

“What?” he asked.

“The tarn,” I said. “You will be taught the tarn.”

“I am afraid of tarns,” he said.

“So are we all,” I said.

“Fear is not acceptable,” said Tajima.

“Fear is acceptable,” I said. “Cowardice is not.”

“I will speak to Nodachi,” he said.