manners. Interestingly, though I suppose there must be exceptions to this generalization, the women of the “strange men” seem generally reconciled to the fact, and will even expect, that their males will seek gratifications beyond the walls of their own domiciles. Nothing culturally heinous seems to be associated with this matter. As many companionships are arranged between families, with considerations not of love, or even of attraction, paramount, but of wealth, prestige, status, and such, and the young people often being scarcely considered in the matter, this is, I suppose, understandable. The female companion’s complacency in this matter, or her understanding, or her tolerance, is, one gathers, quite different from what would be expected in the case of, say, a Gorean free companion, who, commonly, would find these arrangements outrageous and insufferable. For example, she would not be likely, resignedly, without question, to pay a bill arriving at her domicile from a pleasure house, pertaining to a pleasant evening spent there by her companion. In the light of these considerations, to the extent they might apply, then, it should be clear why the “contract women” would not be likely to concern themselves overly much with collar-girls. First, they regard the collar-girls as far inferior to themselves, and thus scarcely in the category of rivals, and, secondly, they share the general view, as I understand it, of the women of the “strange men,” namely that they have little or no hold over a male, and he may be expected to pick flowers, so to speak, where he pleases. If, however, a contract woman might find herself in love with a client, she, being quite human, and utterly helpless in her contractual status, might, understandably, resent his interest in, say, another contract woman, or, even, as absurd as it might seem, a collar-girl.
In any event, neither of the women, whom I took to be contract women, took much interest in Cecily, or gave her much attention. To be sure, they doubtless recognized that she was attractive, and might, accordingly, be of interest, even considerable interest, to men, but what would that, really, have to do with them? She was different. She was nothing. She was a collar-girl.
Lord Nishida turned to the fellow sitting beside him, to his right. “Two met our friend, Tarl Cabot, as planned, and brought him to the reserve, where contact took place between him and Tajima,” he said.
“Yes,” said the fellow with short-cropped blond hair.
“These two,” said Lord Nishida, “were selected suitably, as specified?” said Lord Nishida.
“One was selected with great care, following diligent inquiry, and exacting research, from amongst several, from over two hundred,” said the blond fellow, “according to your various specifications.”
“You made the selection yourself?” said Lord Nishida.
“I would trust it to no other,” said the fellow.
“The appropriate background, the appropriate characteristics, egotism, ambition, greed, a lack of scrupulosity, and such?”
“Yes,” said the blond fellow.
“And are my senses likely to be pleased?” inquired Lord Nishida.
“I think you will be pleased,” he said. “Indeed, two businessmen in our service concurred in my judgment.”
“Excellent,” said Lord Nishida.
“The other did not much matter,” said the blond fellow.
“True,” said Lord Nishida. “Tajima,” said Lord Nishida, quietly.
“Yes,” said Tajima.
“The other’s purpose was served, surely, when the reserve was reached,” said Lord Nishida. “Yet I understand he is in the camp. Why did you not kill him?”
“I was reluctant to stain my blade with inferior blood, that of a weakling,” said Tajima. “I would have left him behind, for animals, but Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, our guest, desired that he be permitted to accompany us.”
“I see,” said Lord Nishida. “You did right, then, to bring him to the camp.”
Tajima bowed his head, slightly, acknowledging this judgment of Lord Nishida.
“He may be disposed of later,” said Lord Nishida.
“I am sure,” I said, “he may prove of service.”
“There is no place in this camp,” said Lord Nishida, “for cowards or weaklings.”
“He may be neither,” I said.
“Summon him forth,” said Lord Nishida. “Put a sword in his hand, and put him against our servitor, Tajima.”
“He is less than unskilled,” I said. “He knows nothing of the sword.”
“Summon him,” said Lord Nishida.
“I protest,” I said.
“Summon him,” said Lord Nishida, not unkindly.
His attitude gave me pause.
In moments Pertinax was conducted within the pavilion. He had apparently been in the vicinity, which led me to believe that Miss Wentworth, too, must now be nearby, though perhaps not yet permitted within the pavilion.
One of the long, curved swords, with the large hilt, was placed in the hands of Pertinax, at which he looked, apprehensively. A colored cord dangled from the hilt, which terminated in a tufted blue tassel. Tajima then backed away from him, and, smoothly, drew forth his own weapon, which he gripped with two hands, and assumed what, for such a weapon, was apparently an on-guard position. The position seemed formal, and quite stylized, but there was no mistaking the readiness, or menace, of his attitude.
“You will fight,” said Lord Nishida. “One of you is to die. Prepare to fight.”
Pertinax cast me a look of bewilderment, and misery.
But he did not turn about, and run.
I was proud of him. Too, I did not think he would have made it to the exit of the pavilion.
Four fellows now stood there, two armed with glaives, two with swords.
Tajima moved toward Pertinax, and, twice, feinted toward him.
Pertinax lifted the blade, weakly, and then, putting down his head, in defeat, lowered it.
“You will now kill him,” said Lord Nishida to Tajima.
I recalled Tajima was in training.
Tajima turned away from Pertinax, and faced Lord Nishida. “Lord,” said he, “set me rather the slaughter of a tethered verr.”
Tajima had his back to Pertinax.
But, from my training, I knew his every sense was alert, on a knife’s edge of cold fire.
I trusted that Pertinax would not act.
Tajima seemed wholly at ease, even disgusted, certainly indolent. There was insult emblazoned in his very posture.
I trusted that Pertinax would not act.
In a moment it became clear to me that Pertinax would not seize his apparent opportunity.
I smiled to myself, and, suddenly, almost inaudibly, I moved my foot, quickly, in the dirt.
Instantly Tajima had whirled about, his sword ready to fend a blow.
His action was so quick that I, familiar with the reflexes of warriors, which often spell the difference between life and death, must admire it, and Pertinax, startled, gasped, his blade still haplessly lowered.
“He may be permitted to live,” said Lord Nishida, “for the time.”
One of the guards relieved Pertinax of the weapon.
“Well done!” I said to Pertinax.
“I did nothing,” he said.
“That is why you are still alive,” I said.
I turned to Lord Nishida.
“My thanks, great lord,” I said.
He inclined his head, a little.
Tajima returned his sword to his belt.
Pertinax stepped back, shaken.
“If I may,” I said to Lord Nishida, “I would now like to speak of matters of importance.”
There was much I wanted clarified.
What was going on here? Why had I been brought here? What was I to do here? What was expected of me?
