might be found things you would just as soon not see. He who writes poetry and sips tea, and waits expectantly for a flower to blossom, may, in a frenzy, on the field of battle, take head after head.
In any event, it is unwise to take mountains for granted. They may conceal volcanoes.
“I am commander, I am captain,” I told Tajima.
“This man is a coward,” said Tajima.
“No,” I said, “he is not.”
It seemed to me that the act he contemplated was sufficient evidence of that.
“He fled from a tarn,” said Tajima.
“He will not do so again,” I said.
“Do not interfere,” said Tajima. “You can make no difference. He will simply complete the act later, when you are not present.”
“No, he will not,” I said.
“Why not?” asked Tajima, genuinely interested.
“Because I forbid it,” I said. “I will have no more of this amongst men who will dare the tarn.”
“It is our way,” said Tajima.
“Who is captain?” I asked.
“You, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.
“It is not my way,” I said.
“You are captain,” said Tajima, quietly.
“I will not lose men in this fashion,” I said.
“It is better to lose such men,” said Tajima.
“If you want to die,” I said to the kneeling figure on the platform, “do so under the talons of the tarn.”
“It is wrong for you to interfere in this, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima. “One must recover honor.”
“One recovers honor in life,” I said, “not in death. If he lives, he may begin again, and gain honor.”
“That is not our way,” said Tajima.
“But it is a way,” I said.
“Doubtless,” said Tajima.
“And it is my way,” I said.
“Yes,” said Tajima. “It is your way.”
“And I am captain,” I said.
“Yes,” said Tajima. “You are captain.”
“Return to your training,” I told the fellow kneeling on the platform. “You are late.”
“Yes, Captain San,” he said.
Stumbling, shaken, he made his way toward the barracks.
“I will see that your views on this matter are conveyed to all,” said Tajima.
I then bowed to the fellow with the sword. “Thank you for your attendance,” I said to him, “but your honorable assistance is no longer required.”
He returned my bow, sheathed the sword, and left.
“This pertains only to your command, you understand,” said Tajima.
“At least now,” I said, “you have something interesting to report to Lord Nishida.”
“That is true,” smiled Tajima.
Chapter Thirteen
It was night.
I entered the slave house and received a lighted taper and a switch.
Others, similarly accoutered, were in the slave house, as well, perhaps seven or eight. The house was more than a hundred feet long, and built of thick logs, with a roof of branches and thatch. The structure was some twenty feet in width, and windowless. Its ceiling was some eight feet from the flooring. On each side there were aligned some twenty-five to thirty mats. These mats were some three to four inches in thickness, and something like a yard wide. They were sewn of heavy, striped canvas, and stuffed with straw. When I had entered I heard tiny sounds in the darkness, whimperings, small noises of fear, here and there the movement of a body on the straw-filled mat, the rustle of a chain.
I was interested in a particular slave.
I moved slowly down the aisle, lifting the taper first to the left, and then the right.
Each slave was chained by the neck, to a ring anchored in the floor, to the left of her mat, as she would look toward the aisle. Each had some four feet of chain.
As I lifted the taper one slave, kneeling, head down, crouched down, and tried to cover herself.
Surely she knew that was not permitted.
I did not strike her.
Another lay on her side and drew up her legs, and, bent at the waist, held her arms, too, tightly, frightened, about her.
That, too, was not permitted.
Nor did I strike her.
Both were dismayed, and terrified. I gathered they had not been long on the mats.
Torgus, the mercenary leader whom I had met on the beach earlier, had rented some of these, former high women of Ar, to the house.
I had ascertained those he had sold, either to the loggers, or craftsmen, or suppliers, or trainers, and such, or to the Pani themselves, and she whom I sought was not amongst those.
Accordingly I sought her here.
Several of the mats were empty, but I conjectured there might be some sixty or so girls in the house.
I lifted the taper again.
A girl, illuminated, but much in shadows, too, shrank back, half kneeling, half lying.
“Do not be afraid,” I told her, and went on.
Surely several of these were new to the mats, unfamiliar with being illuminated in the darkness by tapers, fearful of the chain on their necks, wary of the switches of masters, women who knew themselves no longer free but did not yet fully understand what it was to be a slave, an understanding which would be soon and perfectly achieved.
She whom I sought, and had considered buying for Pertinax, was she whom I had noted on the chain of Torgus, on the beach, kneeling with others, neck-chained, in the surf and sand, she who had seemed most ready or needful, she whom I thought would be the first to plead for a man’s touch. Sometimes a woman’s igniting ensues as soon as she feels a collar put on her neck, one she cannot remove. Other times it may be a thing as simple as stripping her and binding her wrists behind her body. Sometimes it may be as simple as finding herself slave-naked, on her knees, before a man. Sometimes it may be when she first licks and kisses the feet of a man, when she feels the weight of a chain on her body, and so on. These things in themselves, interestingly, are often no more than keys which open a door which has long imprisoned a distressed and yearning slave. She has in her heart desired to be taken, owned, and mastered. She has never been more free than when most his.
I lifted the taper again, and one of the slaves scrambled, frightened, to her knees, and put her head to the mat, assuming first obeisance position. Her hair seemed sweaty. There were welts on her back.
Her response was in the vicinity of what was expected of her, but was not what it should have been.
When the slave is illuminated, she is to display herself as provocatively as possible. This can vary from girl to girl. Many are the suitable posings of the female slave. Indeed when a woman is put through slave paces, whether leashed or not, what is this but an exhibition, a detailed and sometimes tormentingly lovely display of property? If the fellow with the taper lingers, or seems interested, she then goes to first obeisance position, and begs to be found pleasing. Interestingly there was no coin box on the necks of the slaves, as would be the case with “coin
