“Not Nodachi,” said Tajima.
“Nodachi is not as other men,” I said.
“No,” said Tajima, “he is not as other men.”
“He must desire something,” I said.
“Perhaps,” said Tajima.
“What?” I asked.
“The recovery of honor,” said Tajima. “Why else do you think he is here, with Lord Nishida?”
I was then silent, sensing that this matter might best be left unaddressed.
“What do we do now?” asked Pertinax. He had remained with me, and had not participated at the slaughter within the nets.
“We keep the fires lit,” I said. “We arrange watches. Arrows are to remain at the string. And we wait until morning.”
“What if any remain within and sue for quarter?” asked Pertinax.
“There is no quarter,” said Tajima. “It is the law of Lord Nishida.”
“I have heard nothing from within, of Miss Wentworth,” said Pertinax, and then he corrected himself, “of the slave, Saru.”
“She may be dead,” I said.
“I would know,” he said.
“In the morning we will know,” I said.
“I would know now,” he said, angrily.
“Remain where you are,” I said.
“And if I do not?” he asked.
“Then I will have you killed,” I said.
“I hate you,” he said.
“I accept that,” I said. “It is a familiar hazard of command.” I then turned to Tajima. “Tajima,” I said, “set watches, and see that most of the men at any given time are at rest. In the morning they must be fresh. Food must be brought before dawn.”
“Yes, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.
“What will you do now?” asked Pertinax.
“Sleep,” I said.
“You can sleep?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I recommend that you do the same.”
“I think I shall stay awake for a bit,” he said.
I turned to two of my fellows at hand, mercenaries. I indicated Pertinax. “Bind him,” I said, “hand and foot.”
Pertinax struggled, but was subdued, and soon trussed. He struggled, futilely, and glared at me.
“I do not really want to have you killed,” I said.
“But you would?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “It is a matter of orders, of maintaining discipline.”
“I see,” he said.
“Get some sleep,” I advised him.
He struggled, fiercely.
“Do not bother,” I said. “You have been bound by Goreans. You are now as helpless as a trussed vulo, or, should we say, a bound slave girl, a nicely tethered
“Tarsk,” he cried, “tarsk!”
“Good,” I said. “You are becoming more Gorean by the day.”
His struggles subsided. He would wait, helplessly. He had been bound by Goreans.
I lay down and thought of the hundreds, nay thousands, of slave girls I had seen on Gor, many of them deliciously helpless, fully at a man’s mercy, roped, braceleted, chained, collared, and such. How incredibly beautiful, I thought, are women. It is no wonder men desire to own them. Indeed, what male would not desire to own one? What could give a man more delight and pleasure than the owning of a lovely, well-mastered slave?
How beautiful they are, I thought, that most exquisite form of domestic animal. And how abundant they are on Gor! I had seen them tunicked in the cities, laboring in the fields, and so on. I had seen them in markets, awaiting their sale, and during their sale; I had seen them trekked in coffle, transported in slave wagons, reclining in cages, looking out at men who might buy them; I had seen them hurrying in the streets, bargaining with vendors, busy on the quays, laughing, and teasing, and running about; I had seen them kneeling, laundering at the public troughs; I had seen them chained to the side in matches, even kaissa matches, waiting to be awarded to victors; I had seen them belled in paga taverns, serving their master’s customers; I had seen them, serving quietly, demurely, in their masters’ houses; I had seen them dancing in the firelight, in camps, to the rhythms of the czehar, the kalika, the flute, and tabor.
Yes, I thought, what could give a man more delight and pleasure than the owning of a lovely, well-mastered slave.
It is said that there is only one thing more miserable than a master without a slave, and that is a slave without a master.
I hoped that Saru was still alive.
Then I slept.
Chapter Twenty
It was near dawn.
Some bread was handed to me.
I had taken the report of the last watch, and no one had exited the stable. The six fires had been tended during the night, and the net had been raised and anchored to posts. The fires would shortly, with the coming of light, be extinguished.
“Free him,” I said to a nearby mercenary, indicating Pertinax.
“Did you sleep?” I inquired.
“There was little else to do,” he said.
“I see you are in good humor,” I said.
“I was a fool last night,” he said. “Forgive me.”
“It is nothing,” I said. “If any remain within I feared you would die in the darkness, or, if there was a lamp, constitute a target which would be difficult to miss at the range.”
“I am grateful,” he said.
“Rub your wrists and ankles,” I said. “Exercise your limbs, move about. Then eat, but not much.”
“You are going to enter the stable,” he said.
“We will enter together,” I said.
“I, too,” said Tajima. His blade was already in his hand.
“Of course,” I said.
“This is not the work for a commander,” said Tajima.
“Lord Nishida, and some others,” I said, “are commanders, ones less dispensable.”
“The cavalry,” said Tajima.
“The substance of my work there is done,” I said, “the organization, the training. You, Torgus, Lysander, and others, could command her.”
“You forged the weapon,” said Tajima.
“Others may now wield it,” I said.
“Why will you enter the stable?” asked Tajima.
