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.”
