Swordsmen of Gor

In a sense, it begins her day. Too, of course, it may be required at any time, say before meals, before serving wine, before bedding her, putting her to use, and so on.

I supposed Tajima had been interested in whether or not Sumomo might serve at such a feast.

She would not.

She was a contract woman, and above such vulgar applications.

Then, far off, several hundred yards away, we heard the bellowing of tharlarion.

The men of Lord Nishida had been methodically examining each structure in both the housing area and those surrounding the Plaza of Training.

“It seems urts have been discovered in the stable,” said Tajima.

“They are trying to cover their flight by stampeding tharlarion!” said Pertinax.

From where we stood we could see the lumbering bulks of crowded tharlarion, buffeting one another, moving from the stable. We saw Ashigaru in the vicinity with glaives. Another figure or two, also, was seen, mixed in with the tharlarion. One, I thought, fell, and was trampled.

“Margaret! Margaret!” cried Pertinax, wildly, and, turning about, ran toward the stable.

“With your permission?” I asked Lord Nishida.

“Certainly,” he said.

Tajima and I then, following Pertinax, hurried toward the stable. We were followed by some mercenaries, and glaive-bearing Ashigaru.

Chapter Nineteen

at the stable

“Wait!” I called to Pertinax, who would have rushed headlong into the confines of the stable.

He drew up short, sword drawn.

“Do not frame yourself in the threshold,” I said.

Lord Nishida had remained in the centrality of Tarncamp, directing officers and men. He spoke directly to Pani. He communicated with mercenaries through their officers.

There was much dust about, like gray clouds, settling slowly, from the movements of the tharlarion.

The stable had its strong, distinctive odor.

Men coughed.

Pertinax wiped his eyes.

Darkness would fall within the Ahn.

There were grooms about, and one of the Pani, a subaltern, set them to recover, as they could, frightened, confused tharlarion. Ashigaru accompanied them, lest fugitives be encountered. Some had surely escaped. To be sure, I was confident the last thing such fugitives would desire would be to encounter Lord Nishida’s Ashigaru. They would be more likely to dare the forests, and hungering beasts. Few, I suspected, would find their way back to their Home Stones, if Home Stones they had. Fortunately the gigantic draft beasts, disoriented, snorting and lumbering, had not been loosed amongst buildings, or much of the camp, where it was intact, might have been reduced to shambles. I had no doubt hundreds of the wands would now be uprooted. I trusted this would not result in an eventual, casual intrusion of larls into formerly secure areas. A small building of wood, as were most of the camp structures, would not fare well against the bulk and momentum of a distressed, uncontrolled, rapidly moving tharlarion. Indeed, the beast might scarcely notice the obstacle, almost ignoring it, thrusting through it as it might through brush or picketing. The inertia of a tharlarion is formidable. It cannot be turned and halted with the same ease as might, say, a kaiila, or horse, which may be instantly turned or halted, pulled up short, and so on. When the tharlarion has its own head it is difficult to control. Consider the difficulties of trying to communicate with, or control, a boulder tumbling down a mountainside. Draft tharlarion, of which variety these were, are normally driven slowly, and with care. War tharlarion, often larger than draft tharlarion, can be, and are, used in charges. There is little defense against them if encountered on unprepared, level ground. Open formations will try to let them pass, and attack them from behind. Closed formations seek uneven ground, use ditches, diagonally anchored, sharpened stakes, and such. If they become slowed, or are milling, they can be attacked by special troops, with broad-bladed axes, designed to disable or sever a leg. I have never much favored tharlarion in combat, as, if they are confused, or wounded, they become uncontrollable, and are as likely to turn about and plunge into their own troops as those of the enemy, thereby, indiscriminately, wherever they trod or roll, whether amongst friends or foes, spreading disorder and death. Some kaiila, incidentally, become hard to handle in the presence of tharlarion, if they are unfamiliar with them. The issue of more than one battle had turned on this seeming oddity. For this reason, the Tuchuks, and others of the Wagon Peoples, and, I suppose, others, accustom their kaiila to the sight and smell of tharlarion. In the case of the Wagon Peoples, these are usually taken from raided caravans.

Tajima looked at me.

“Not yet,” I said.

“Very well, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

The enemy which stampeded the tharlarion would have realized the value, if danger, of such a cover. I recognized their cunning, and understood their desperation. It was an excellent strategy. I could think of only one better, and it would have required the execution of the first.

“Do not enter the stable,” I warned Pertinax.

“What of Miss Wentworth?” he demanded.

“Saru!” I snapped. “The needful slave.”

“‘Needful’?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, irritably. He did not realize what had been done to the female, how she was now different, how she was now a slave.

“Surely it is safe,” said Pertinax. “The enemy has fled!”

“No,” I said.

“How so?” said he.

“Some flee,” I said. “One might suppose all have fled. Some remain, clever ones, in hiding, their presence unsuspected, to escape in the darkness.”

“Why do you think this?” asked Pertinax.

“Put yourself in the place of the most astute, the shrewdest, of your enemies,” I said. “What might you do, if you were they? Too, Saru is presumably within the stable, and, I am confident, alive, as she is a slave. One would no more kill her than any other domestic animal. But she has not called out to us. I infer she is being kept silent. If this is the case, one or more enemies are within.”

“I think that is true,” said a quiet, even voice, behind me. I knew the voice was Pani, but I could not place it.

I heard men gasp, and sensed them drawing back.

This was, I took it, a reverenced personage, one of whom lesser men stood in awe.

Who could this be?

I turned about.

I then saw before me one of the Pani, but one such as I had not seen before. Had a larl by some incantation taken the form of a man, I thought it might be such a man. He was not large, but I felt a largeness somehow within him. Although of the Pani his visage was bearded, thinly, roughly, uncut, save perhaps by the sword, and his hair was long, and unkempt. His clothing was soiled, and uncared for. He was barefoot. In his belt, blades uppermost, were the two swords, the companion sword and the longer blade. There was blood on his loose, short-armed robe. Some of it was spattered, and, in other places, he had apparently drawn his blades against the cloth, to clean the blade. I was startled to look upon him, for he seemed so different from the other Pani. He might, I supposed, be a hermit, or a recluse, one who lived by himself, with his thoughts. Perhaps he was a madman. That seemed to me possible, but then it seemed to me, rather, that there was a solidity about him, and a finely tempered, perhaps dangerous, rationality about him. I thought surely he was an unusual man, and one of perhaps a ferocious