Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Eight TAJIMA; A WOMAN OF EARTH IS TO BE PRESENTED TO LORD NISHIDA

It was now the next morning.

I had had the second watch.

“Do not disturb him,” I said.

“Does he know we are here?” asked Pertinax.

“Certainly,” I said. “Sit here, cross-legged, beside me.” I looked over my shoulder, to the girls. “Slaves, kneel,” I said.

Pertinax assumed the suggested position, and, behind us, Cecily and Constantina knelt down.

They were still bound.

The rope leashes dangled from their necks.

We spoke in whispers.

We were some twenty yards from the fellow, who was engaged, I supposed, in certain martial exercises, certainly of a rather stylized, formal nature. I had never seen anything exactly like this before. He was standing, and sometimes wheeled about, gracefully. He had two hands on an unusual sword, with which he described certain evolutions, thrusts, strokes, a return to guard, and so on. It seemed ritualistic, but he was certainly intent on what he was doing. I had the sense of a severe concentration.

I was reminded somewhat of the Pyrrhic dances of Gorean infantry, particularly of those infantries who specialized in the tactics of the phalanx, rather than the shifting, melting, forming, reforming tactics of the squares. Nothing stood against the phalanx on level ground. The squares, however, were more flexible, and better suited to an uneven terrain. The Pyrrhic dances were used primarily as training exercises, but also figured in parades and martial displays, men shouting, spears clashing rhythmically on shields, the spear hedge rising and falling, wheeling about, a thousand spears in unison, this all to music. It is very impressive. This fellow’s exercises, however, were done by a single man and, as nearly as I could determine, from the distance, in silence.

He wore a light, loose, white robe, which came about to his knees. It had wide, but short, sleeves.

“I have been told of such fellows,” said Pertinax. “He is Tuchuk.”

“I do not think so,” I said. He did not look Tuchuk to me. The Tuchuks are, on the whole, short and broad, strong fellows, agile riders. This fellow seemed a bit taller, and certainly thinner, more lithe, more pantherlike.

“Tuchuk,” said Pertinax.

“There is no facial scarring,” I said.

“Surely not all Tuchuks are disfigured,” said Pertinax.

“They do not think of it as disfigurement,” I said, “but, if anything, as enhancement.”

“Surely they are not all scarred,” said Pertinax.

“True,” I said. And, indeed, it was true that not all Tuchuks were scarred. The scars were not easily come by. They had to be earned, by success in war, and such.

As noted, I had had the second watch.

In the neighborhood of dawn I had seen him through the trees. He was bare-headed. He carried a single sword. I saw him, and he saw me. We did not exchange a greeting. He determined that most of our camp was asleep, and then withdrew, to wait. He sat cross-legged for a time, facing our camp. Then, after a time, he had risen, unsheathed his unusual sword, and commenced his exercises.

I had the sense he did not wish to disturb the camp, but thought it appropriate to wait until it was awake.

This, I took, somewhat to my surprise, as politeness.

To be sure, it is dangerous to come on a sleeping warrior, which he would presumably take Pertinax to be. Normally one makes certain, if one’s intentions are peaceful, that any approached camp is well aware of one’s approach, even to one’s singing, calling out, pounding on a shield, or such. A surreptitious advance is usually taken as an act of war.

He took little note of the girls, other, I suppose, than to note that their wrists were bound behind them, and each, by the neck, was fastened to a tree. They were, in effect, tethered, as might have been kaiila. From his vantage point, he would not have been much aware of their quality as females, for example, their value as properties. To be sure, Constantina was priceless, as she was a free woman.

When he had begun his exercises I had come forward to the point where I might sit, and watch. I was careful, of course, not to approach too closely.

When Pertinax awakened, he discovered my absence, doubtless to his considerable uneasiness, and had seemingly, swiftly, cast about to locate me, which event took place shortly. He then awakened the girls and freed their rope leashes from the respective trees to which they had been fastened, and approached me, followed by the girls, still bound, but the leashes now dangling from their necks.

After a time, the fellow sheathed his sword, bowed to the southeast, and turned to face us.

He approached to within about fifteen feet of us, and Pertinax and I, which seemed appropriate, rose to our feet. In this way, though I do not think Pertinax was aware of this, we showed him honor. For us to have remained recumbent, so to speak, would have made it seem rather as though he was an inferior, reporting to us. “Remain kneeling,” I cautioned the girls. Cecily, of course, well aware that she was in the presence of a male, and one presumably free, had not stirred. Constantina, however, had seemed on the point of rising. At my word, of course, though she was not much pleased about it, she remained on her knees.

I lifted my right hand. “Tal,” I said. I hoped he spoke Gorean.

He seemed surprised that I had greeted him first. As he had come, presumably, to render us a service, to conduct us somewhere, his station, quite possibly, would have been subordinate to ours. I had never, however, put great store in protocol. I am English, but I was not derived, as far as I knew, at least recently, from strata in English society where such formalities or precedences much mattered. Too, I had lived for several months in the colonies, so to speak, and, as is well known, they tend be careless in such matters, even to the point of embarrassment. I sensed, however, that proprieties of one sort or another might be not only extremely important to this fellow, but might, to a large extent, govern his life.

“Tal,” he said.

“Tal,” said Pertinax. “I gather you have come to meet us. You are the first Tuchuk I have met.”

The fellow looked puzzled.

I was reasonably certain he was not Tuchuk. The Tuchuk face is commonly swarthy and broad. This fellow’s face, a subtle yellowish brown, was narrower than would be common with the Tuchuk. He did have high cheekbones. He did have the epicanthic fold.

I had little doubt this was a fellow of the sort of whom I had heard yesterday on the beach, the sort spoken of as “strange men.”

“How are the bosk?” I said to him.

“Some are in the forest,” he said, uncertainly, “outside the reserve.”

He would be referring to wild bosk, which can be surly and territorial. In forested areas, they are substantially forward horned, and attack, head down, directly. The Tuchuk bosk, on the other hand, usually have wide, spreading horns. When angered they attack, a bit to the side, to tear the enemy. They also hook nicely, and, if one is caught on the horn, one can be hurled a hundred feet. They are large and powerful. The straighter horns of the forest bosk are presumably an adaptation to the arboreal environment. The plains bosk are, as suggested, usually more widely horned.

“Are the quivas sharp?” I asked.

“I do not know the word,” he said.

“It is important to keep the axles of wagons greased,” I said.

He regarded me, strangely. “I would suppose so,” he said. “The wagoners attend to such matters.”

“Forgive me,” I said to him.

“It is a test?” he said.

“In a way,” I said.

He seemed troubled. “Have I failed?” he asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “You have done splendidly.” I then turned to Pertinax. “He is not Tuchuk,” I said.

“Very well,” said Pertinax.

Although there can be some variation in these matters I had rehearsed a common formal greeting often exchanged amongst Tuchuks. In response to my first question, a Tuchuk would most likely have informed me that the bosk were doing as well as might be expected; to my second question, that one tries to keep them that way, namely, sharp. The quiva is a Tuchuk saddle knife. Usually there are seven to a saddle. They are balanced, for throwing. In response to my third question, a Tuchuk would have been expected to agree, amicably, with some remark such as, “Yes, I believe so,” or “Yes, I think so.”

“Is one called Tarl Cabot, a tarnsman, amongst you?” he asked.

“I am Tarl Cabot,” I said.

“I am honored,” he said, “to greet a two-name person.”

I did not respond, as I did not understand what he had in mind.

“I am Tajima,” he said. “I am a one-name person, but I hope, one day, to be a two-name person.”

“It is my hope, as well,” I said, “that you will one day be a two-name person.” I was not sure, frankly, what I was doing here, but I gathered it must have been right, for he bowed, graciously. I bowed back, not sure of what was going on.

“We have located Cabot and brought him here,” said Pertinax. “Conduct us to your superior.”

“I will do the talking,” said Constantina, rising to her feet. “Untie me! Take this horrid rope off my neck.”

Tajima seemed startled.

“Who is the yellow-haired collar-girl?” he asked.

“I am Margaret Wentworth,” she said. “I am in command here. Tarl Cabot has identified himself. My colleague is Gregory White. Untie me! Free me of this disgusting tether.”

“She is a free woman?” said Tajima.

“Yes,” said he whom I had thought of as Pertinax.

“What of the dark-haired collar-girl?” asked Tajima.

“She is a slave,” I informed him.

“She is your slave?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I was told to expect two free men and a slave,” said Tajima, “but I find two free men, and two slaves.”

“I brought a slave,” I said.

“I am not a slave!” said she whom I had thought of as Constantina.

“Lord Nishida,” said Tajima, “is fond of yellow-haired collar-girls.”

“I am not a collar-girl!” she snapped.

I supposed that, in a sense, Miss Wentworth had been a slave for some time, perhaps from the time she had been entered on certain records, or acquisition lists, at least from the point of view of slavers. They tend to regard such entries as effecting embondment, though, to be sure, there are various details to be later attended to, branding, collaring, and such. If one does not accept the slavers’ view of these matters, one would understand, at least, that the selectees had been designated for bondage.

I wondered if this “Lord Nishida” had put in a request for a yellow-haired collar-girl, if one had been included in, say, his “want list.”

“Miss Wentworth,” said Pertinax, for I shall continue to refer to him by this name, as it is familiar, and convenient, and as it would become his Gorean name, “is in disguise. As free women are apparently seldom, if ever, in this locality, we were advised to conceal her identity, to pretend that she might be naught but a mere, degraded slave, a low-value slave, such as might be brought hither.”

“‘Low-value’!” said Miss Wentworth.

“Whilst I myself,” said Pertinax, “assumed a disguise as a simple forester, assigned to the reserves of Port Kar.”

“Release me!” demanded Miss Wentworth.

Pertinax went to untie the wrists of Miss Wentworth.

“Wait, please,” said Tajima.

“Wait,” I told Pertinax.

“If there is a confusion in this matter,” said Tajima, “it will be clarified, three days from today, at the camp.”

“‘Three days’!” exclaimed Miss Wentworth!

“Two days with men,” said Tajima, “three days with females.”

“What camp?” I said.

“That of Lord Nishida,” he said, “in which men, some men, will learn the tarn.”

“‘Some men’?” I asked.

“We expect to lose several,” he said.

“See here,” said Pertinax, who, I am afraid, took the courteous attitude of our guide as timidity or diffidence, and as legitimating an occasion for aggressive, peremptory discourse, “Miss Wentworth and I have discharged our part of the bargain. We have delivered Cabot here, as specified. We are now to return to the coast, be met by a ship, receive our wages, and be returned home, to Earth.”

“‘Earth’?” said Tajima.

“A place far away,” I said. I did not know if Tajima was familiar with the Second Knowledge, or only the First, or, indeed, even if these distinctions were appropriate in his case. In any event, the place, “Earth,” as nearly as I could tell at the time, did not seem familiar to him.

“Our home, you fool,” said Pertinax.

I detected a brief flicker of displeasure in the eyes of Tajima, but his countenance, almost instantly, resumed its attitude of almost solicitous attention. I did not know Tajima, nor was I familiar with his background, but I sensed that he was of a sort which might be acutely sensitive, perhaps pathologically so, to the way in which he was treated. Rougher, bluffer fellows might have discounted or dismissed Pertinax’s rudeness as mere tastelessness or stupidity, or even found it amusing, but I did not think that this would be the case with Tajima. He did not seem to me to be the sort of person whom it would be wise to treat with contempt. Such things might be taken more seriously by him than other fellows, might rankle with him, might fester within him, might eat away at his pride, might not be forgotten, might seem to require attention.

“He is tired, and upset,” I said to Tajima. “Please do not mind him. He was thoughtless. He did not mean what he said. I apologize for him, and ask that you forgive him. He is sorry, very sorry.” Then I said to Pertinax, in English, “You are asking for your head to be cut off. Apologize, quickly.”

“He is a servant,” said Pertinax to me, in English.

“No matter,” I said to him, in English. I supposed there were formalities to be observed amongst these “strange men,” and that amongst them there might obtain extremely complex human relationships, which would be culturally articulated, quite possibly in considerable detail. I suspected he came from a hierarchical society, as that had been suggested by his demeanor, and his concern with one-name and two-name individuals, and so on. In such a society rigid protocols would doubtless obtain between superiors and inferiors, each, in his way, showing due respect, in some mutually understood fashion, to the other. Protocol, and courtesy, I suspected, would be important to them.

“I am sorry,” said Pertinax to Tajima. “It is only that I am anxious to return to the coast, meet our ship, and return home. Please forgive me.”

“Tell him,” I said to Pertinax, in English, “that it is not he who was the fool, but you.”

“I am the fool,” said Pertinax to Tajima, in Gorean, “not you. You are not a fool. It is I who am the fool, not you. I am sorry.”

Tajima, interestingly, looked to me.

“He is sorry, genuinely sorry,” I said. “Please accept his apology.”

Tajima turned to Pertinax. He inclined his head, briefly.

“Your apology,” I said to Pertinax, “has been accepted.” I thought it well to be clear on that. If it was not accepted, or was accepted with certain reservations, that would presumably be very important to know. Honor, I was sure, was somehow entangled in these matters.

“I am not a fool,” said Tajima to Pertinax.

“Of course not,” said Pertinax.

“There is no ship,” said Tajima.

“What?” said Pertinax.

“What!” exclaimed Miss Wentworth.

“No ship,” said Tajima.

“I do not understand,” said Pertinax.

“It is you who are the fools,” said Tajima.

“Where is our money, our gold?” asked Pertinax.

“If it exists,” said Tajima, “it is being applied elsewhere, otherwise than to fill purses such as yours.”

“Take us to your superior!” said Miss Wentworth.

“I shall,” said Tajima. “That is why I am here.”

“We shall see about this!” said Miss Wentworth. “I have suffered indignities enough. My disguise is now at an end.”

“That is possible,” said Tajima, politely.

“You are a dolt,” said Miss Wentworth. “This will all be explained to you by Lord Nishida. He will clarify everything.”

“I am sure he will,” said Tajima, politely.

It was interesting to me that Tajima seemed to take no umbrage whatsoever at the attitude and words of Miss Wentworth. It had been quite different with Pertinax. Tajima seemed to consider her insult as nothing to be dealt with within the context of honor, though perhaps, I supposed, it might be dealt with, and suitably, outside of that context, perhaps as one might see fit to deal with the behavior of a small, naughty animal.

“You have been unaccommodating, even insolent,” said Miss Wentworth to Tajima. “I will have you punished by Lord Nishida.”

“Your dress is quite short,” observed Tajima, as politely as ever.

“Beast!” she said.

She then faced me. “You, Cabot,” she snarled, “are responsible for much of this! You, too, will answer for my shame, my humiliation! I will inveigh with Lord Nishida to see to it that you, too, are punished. Tie my hands! Hood me! Lead me about, on a leash, like a slave! We shall see about such things! I am a free woman, a free woman!”

I did not respond to her.

I did not think I had much to fear, at least now, from Lord Nishida, whoever he might be. I had been brought to the northern forests for some reason. I was not yet fully clear on what, ultimately, that might prove to be.

“Present me to Lord Nishida, as soon as possible,” said Miss Wentworth. “I will be very pleased to see him!”

“I think he will be pleased to see you, as well,” said Tajima.

“I hope so,” she said, acidly.

“Yes,” said Tajima, “I think you should hope that.”

“I do not understand,” she said, uncertainly.

“It will not go well with you, if he is disappointed,” said Tajima.

“I do not understand,” she said.

Tajima then turned to Pertinax. “You are no longer needed,” he said. “You are free to go.”

“Go,” said Pertinax. “Where?”

“Anywhere you wish,” said Tajima.

“I am unarmed,” said Pertinax. “You cannot just leave me here.”

He was clearly, and justifiably, alarmed. He was not skilled with weapons, nor in woodcraft, as far as I knew. Gor was a beautiful, but a dangerous, perilous world. Surely it was muchly different from the world he knew, and, in a variety of ways, it could be unforgiving, and merciless. It had to be met on its own terms, with courage, and steel. Too, he was not Gorean. He knew not the ways of Gor. He had no clan, no caste, no Home Stone.

“Accompany us,” I said to him.

“Yes, yes!” said Pertinax. “Then we can explain matters to his superior.”

“As you wish,” said Tajima to Pertinax.

“This prerogative of departure is extended to me, as well, surely,” said Miss Wentworth.

“No,” said Tajima.

“‘No’?” she said.

“No,” he said.

Then Tajima turned to me. “Perhaps you would present the girl to Lord Nishida? I am sure he would look kindly on one who presents her.”

“You have traveled far,” I said. “You are, I take it, a loyal and trusted retainer of Lord Nishida. Therefore it seems to me that it would be more appropriate if it was you who presented her to your lord.”

“I serve,” said Tajima. “Are you the friend of the one who may go?”

“I wish him no harm,” I said.

“Then,” said Tajima, “I think it would be well for him to present her to Lord Nishida. Lord Nishida may then look upon him with kindness, perhaps even favor.”

“And might be inclined to spare his life?” I said.

“Precisely,” said Tajima.

I turned to Pertinax. “Do you agree to present Miss Wentworth to Lord Nishida?”

“— Yes,” he said.

“What is going on here?” said Miss Wentworth. “Untie me! Free me!”

I regarded her. She was pretty, in her way, so angry. I wondered if she knew how she looked, so helpless, so futile, so lovely.

“What are you looking at!” she snapped.

It was true. I fear I had not been looking at her in a way appropriate to look at a free woman.

“I agree with our friend,” I said. “Your dress is quite short.”

“I am a free woman!” she cried. “Untie my hands! Take this degrading rope from my neck!”

“If would be better if they were hooded,” said Tajima.

“Yes,” I said.

In moments the hoods were in place.

“Turn them about,” said Tajima.

This was done, both to the left and right, a number of times, as though randomly.

Soon, almost immediately, long before we were finished, both women were thoroughly disoriented. Neither would have the least idea of where she was being taken. When our destination was reached, wherever it was, neither would know how they had come there, nor where they were.

I picked up Cecily’s leash.

“Take Miss Wentworth’s leash,” I said to Pertinax. “It is, after all, you who are to present her to Lord Nishida.”

He picked up the leash.

“You do not mind having her on your leash, do you?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

He pulled twice on the leash, and she pulled back, angrily, in indignation.

“Things have muchly changed, have they not?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He then drew twice more on the leash, quickly, firmly, and his hooded charge stumbled toward him. They were then standing quite close to one another. She must have sensed his nearness, for she trembled. She was, after all, a woman, quite close to a male. This doubtless made her uneasy. Too, he was a large male, and, indeed, one considerably larger than she. Then she steeled herself, with the stiffness of the free woman. He coiled the leash, and then held it, some four inches from her throat, and jerked her chin up, so that her head was lifted to him. Had she not been hooded and had dared to open her eyes, she would have found herself, close on the leash, looking into his eyes.

“Wait!” she said to him. “Wait! I shall see to it that you are punished, as well.”

Pertinax then loosened the leash, and stepped back from her, some seven or eight feet away.

“Yes,” she said, sensing his withdrawal, “keep your distance!”

The leash looped up from his hand to her neck.

She stood there, confident, now that he had retreated.

“They are right,” said Pertinax to her.

“What?” she said.

“Your dress is quite short,” he said.

She cried out with rage.

“She has pretty legs, does she not?” asked Pertinax.

“Yes,” I said. “They are very nice.” Indeed, that was one of the reasons I had shortened her tunic on the beach. Certainly that would improve her disguise, would it not? Too, slave girls often have lovely legs. That is doubtless one of the things slavers have in mind when they select them.

“We should be on our way,” said Tajima.

I joined him, keeping a soft hand on Cecily’s leash. I also allowed her a comfortable margin of slack. In this fashion, the slave is nicely guided, and she is, of course, never out of the control of the master. A hard hand on the leash is normally used only with a captured free woman or a new slave. The leash is considerably shortened, of course, if there is danger in the vicinity, say, animals, or uneven ground, or water about, or one is in a crowd, or such. In cities, sometimes display leashes are used, of colored leather, of beaded, even jeweled, leather, or of light, closely meshed lengths of chain, sometimes of silver or gold. Most leashes, on the other hand, are little more than functional, and usually of brown or black leather. Metal leashes are common if one wishes to chain the girl to a slave ring, a convenience with which Gorean buildings and streets are usually well furnished. The typical leash is long enough to permit the binding of the slave, if one should desire to do that. In walking a slave, particularly on the promenades, it is common to make certain that the leash describes a graceful curve, from the master’s hand up to the slave’s collar.

“You are from Earth,” said Tajima.

“Yes,” I said. “It is far away.”

“It is another planet,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

And it was only a moment later that I realized he had spoken in English.