Swordsmen of Gor

“Perhaps then,” said Licinius, hopefully, “the sword?”

“It must take great courage to spy here, in such a camp,” I said.

“I was well paid,” he said.

“I think you are very brave,” I said.

“I wagered, I lost,” he said.

“I think,” I said, “you are an excellent swordsman.” I recalled the fellows in the stable, his own cohorts, whom I had set to secure him, one struck by a quarrel, but three felled by steel. The skills involved in such a display are rare. It is difficult for even a fine swordsman to defend himself against even two assailants, for one need only engage, setting the target, so to speak, and the other strike. I would not, comfortably, have set Tajima against him, who was skilled, as I had determined in the dojo. And I certainly would not, at his present level of training, have allowed him to engage Pertinax, certainly not singly.

“I would not have cared to conduct the dialogue in steel with Bosk of Port Kar,” he said.

It seemed he knew me.

I did not acknowledge this.

Tajima looked at me, puzzled. He had heard me referred to as Bosk of Port Kar, in the pavilion of Lord Nishida, but he knew me, primarily, surely, as Tarl Cabot, a tarnsman. I gathered he knew little or nothing of Bosk of Port Kar, or of the port itself.

“I accorded you an opportunity,” I said, “to come forth from the stable, disarmed, and depart in peace.”

“Surely it was a ruse,” he said.

“But you did not come forth,” I said.

“It seems the slave has value, after all,” he smiled.

“Every pretty slave has value,” I said. “This one might be worth as much as a silver tarsk.”

A tremor coursed the body of the slave. A man was conjecturing what might be her sales price, what might bring her into the hands of anyone, anyone whomsoever, who possessed the requisite coin or coins.

“Two,” suggested Licinius.

There are few things which so convince a woman that she is a slave, as to hear her value candidly discussed, in terms of prices, markets, and such. She then has a better sense of what she is worth, as what she is, as a collar property, to masters. A free woman, of course, is priceless, and thus, in a sense, without value. A slave, on the other hand, is not priceless, and thus has an actual value, a particular value, usually what men will pay for her. Slave girls, in their vanity, for they, as other women, are vain creatures, often compete on the slave block, each trying to bring a price higher than the others. Also, of course, there is a supposition that the higher the price the wealthier the master, and thus, hopefully, the easier and more comfortable will be the girl’s bondage. On the other hand, it is not unoften the case that the girl so purchased will find herself expected to do the work of, and supply the pleasure of, several slaves. It is not unusual, too, when a slave is introduced into a house, no matter what her purchase price may have been, that she will be bound and whipped, this to let her know that in that house she is truly a slave, and no more than a slave. Often, interestingly, the plainer girls purchased by the less well-fixed masters enjoy a bondage which, though strict and absolutely uncompromising, as is the Gorean way, might be the envy of many slaves who went for higher prices. The slave is grateful for the master, and the master is grateful for the slave. The relationship of female slave and male master, though one established, sanctioned, and enforced by law, is founded obviously on one common in nature, that of, so to speak, the conquered, possessed female and the conquering, possessing male. Indeed, legal bondage is an institutionalization of, and an enhancement of, a natural relationship, the male who, in a very real sense, owns, and the female who, in a very real sense, is owned, as much as a bow or spear. The rightfulness and naturalness of the relationship, so sanctioned by nature, and a thousand generations of selection, often leads to love. It is not unknown, accordingly, for a master and slave to discover, one day, and often sooner than later, that they are in love, that they are now love master and love slave. Let him beware now that he does not become easy with his girl. Indeed, she does not wish that, for her love for him is that of a slave.

“Surely you were not serious, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima. “This man would have slain Lord Nishida, he fled, he brought foes to our camp, he is a spy, he fought against us!”

“You would have permitted me to depart?” said Licinius.

“Yes,” I said.

“Surely not!” exclaimed Tajima.

“If so,” said Licinius, “I beg the sword, its quickness, its mercy!”

“No,” said Tajima.

“Will the knife do?” I asked Licinius.

“Surely!” he cried, gratefully.

“Never!” said Tajima. “What are you doing?” he said.

I had slashed away the straps binding the ankles of Licinius, and he struggled to his feet.

“Into the trees,” I instructed him, indicating the direction.

Gratefully he turned, stumbling toward the woods.

“Wait for the Ashigaru,” said Tajima.

“I dislike ugly deaths,” I said to him.

“Tajima’s hand was on the hilt of his gently curved sword.

“Would you draw against me?” I asked.

“No,” said Tajima. He removed his hand from the hilt of the sword.

I knew he did not fear to do so, even though he were newer to the roads of war than I. I was pleased he was unwilling to do so. How mighty, I thought, are the bonds of friendship. How sturdy stands, too, the banner of honor, even in the tempest, even on trembling ground.

“I must report this to Lord Nishida,” said Tajima.

“I know,” I said.

“Make it last,” said Tajima. “Let it be a thousand cuts. Perhaps Lord Nishida will be satisfied.”

“It is I who must be satisfied,” I said.

“He is your prisoner,” granted Tajima.

I then, the knife still in hand, followed Licinius into the darkness of the woods. He had not run, but was waiting for me.

“Thank you, Warrior,” he said. “Be swift, if you would.”

“You are unarmed,” I informed him. “You are far from villages, even huts. And you know not their locations, or your directions. There are larls in the woods but, hopefully, they are now well fed, and sleeping. You are without weapons and supplies. Many are the dangers in the forest. I do not expect you to survive.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, wonderingly.

“I am cutting you free,” I said.

“Free?” he whispered.

“Others will think you slain in the woods,” I said. “By the time they search for a body, you should be well away.”

He moved his arms, and rubbed his wrists.

“You would have let me depart in peace?” he said. “Truly?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I gave you my word,” I said.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“It is called honor,” I said. “Now, begone, quickly!”

“I will survive,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

He then turned and disappeared into the darkness, between the trees.

In a few moments I had returned to Tajima, Pertinax, and the slave.

“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “your knife is not bloody.”

“It seems not,” I said, and sheathed it.

“Perhaps you broke his back or neck, or strangled him,” said Tajima.

“Perhaps,” I said.