Blood Brothers of Gor

Chapter 30 SARDAK

Thrusting and stabbing we cut through soldiers.

"Kaiila! Friends!" I cried, lance uplifted.

"Tatankasa! Cuwignaka!" cried a man.

The thin, ragged, linear oval of warriors, some hundred yards in length, opened, admitting us. Within it, crowded, were women and children, and kaiila.

Mahpiyasapa and his lieutentants, with their cries, the movements of battle staffs, the blasts of war whistles, had succeeded in forming fresh lines, constructing a defensive perimeter.

We wheeled our kaiila about, taking our place in the lines.

Arrows from soaring Kinyanpi fell amongst us.

Here and there, at points on our perimeter, Yellow Knives and soldiers, in firece, brief exchanges, tested our strength.

"No man is to flee until Mahpiyasapa gives the signal," said a man.

"We must hold out until darkness," said another.

"We must then, sheltering the women and the young, try to break through their lines."

"I understand," I said.

"The night is overcast," said another. "It will be difficult for the Kinyanpi to follow us."

"It will soon be dark," said a man.

"Wait for the signal of Mahpiyasapa," cautioned another.

Hci drew his kaiila back from the lines, and turning it about, brought it alongside of Cuwignaka's beast.

"I did not think you would come back," he said.

"I am Kaiila," said Cuwignaka.

Hci then returned to his place in the lines.

"I think we can hold these lines until dark," I said to Cuwignaka.

"I think so," said Cuwignaka. "Otherwise it will be a slaughter."

Suddenly we heard the shaking of rattles, the beating of small hand drums. The Yellow Knives opened their lines. The soldiers, too, drew back. In theorridor then formed, in the gloom, their bodies painted, brush tied about their wrists and ankles, chanting, stomping, turning about and shuffling, came dancers. They wore masks.

"Yellow Knives," said a man, frightened.

"They are making medicine," whispered another.

The masks they wore were large, almost as broad as their shoulders. I could see their faces, painted with yellow stripes, through the mouth holes of the masks. The masks themselves were painted. They were made of wood and leather.

"They are calling on medicine helpers!" said a man, terrified.

Such masks, to the red savage, are not simply masks. They are themselves objects fearful with power. The visions recorded on such masks might, in the lore of the red savages, derive from the medicine world itself.

Men shifted uneasily on their kaiila. One or two of the beasts backed from the line.

"Hold your places!" said Mahpiyasapa. "We do not fear wood and leather!"

I smiled to myself. The remark of Mahpiyasapa, it seemed to me, smacked of heresy. On the other hand, it was certainly not in the best interests of his position to promote the plausibility of Yellow-Knive medicine.

"It is false medicine!" called Mahpiyasapa. "Do not fear it! It is only wood and leather.!"

I smiled again to myself. Mahpiyasapa had made a suitable adjustment, implicitly drawing a distinction between true and false medicines, the medicine of the Kaiila presumably being true medicine, and that of the Yellow Knives false. A more typical distinction would have been not between true and false medicines, but between weaker and stronger medicines. The red savage is usually quite willing to grant that the enemy has medicine; it is his hope, however, of course, that his medicine will prove stronger. On the other hand, if the medicine of the Yellow Knives was false medicine altogether, then what had he to fear?

The test for the stronger medicine, incidentally, implicitly appears to be victory or success. The matter is perhaps rather similar to the claim that the will always acts on the stronger motive, the stronger motive being implicitly defined as that motive on which the will acts. In a crature priding itself on its rationality this penchant for irrefutable fables is, at least at first glance, somewhat remarkable; scrutanized more closely, however, it appers that such fables, in may cases, play psychologically significant roles; this perhaps explains their prevalance in all, or most, cultures, and their apperance in all, or most, human beings; allegiance to such fables, for example, it is clear, can be conducive to thribality; tribality, in turn, is often conductive to group servival. It is thus possible, interestingly, that a readiness to subscribe to ideologies, with no particular regard for their nature, has been selected for. Clearly, however, those belief systems must be at least of certain general sorts; for example, a belief that individuals could drink sand would not be likely to achive an impressive longevity; it might last approximately seventy-two hours.

The most successful belief systems normally have two significant properties in common; first they have noting to do with the real world and, secondly, they claim to have a great deal to do with it. The second property seems to be important in encouraging people to take it seriously and the first in assuring that it need never collapse in the face of facts, regardless of what the facts turn out to be. The real role of such belief systems, thus, is not to tell people about the world, for they are actually irrelevant to the world, but to supply them with psychological and social benefits. To simply see such a belief systems as false or meaningless is perhaps to fail to understand what one is dealing with. They are not libraries but fortresses. It is an interesting question whether or not such competitive belief systems can be replaced with truth; truth, like the belief systems, is irrefutable, but its irrefutability is not a function of emptiness, of cognitive vacuity, but of its rectitude.

Truth, you see, has reality on its side. Truth's problems do not derive primarily from the complexity of nature but from the simplicity of people. It is always more convenient to adopt a slogan than conduct an inquiry. Too, the often cold and flinty nature of truth may, to many people, understandably, consitute a poor substitute for the comforts of self-deception. Harmless lies, perhaps, improve the quality of human life. They do not, of course, imporve its nobility or grandeur. I suppose a choice, as in many matters, must be made. Some will sleep late. Others will seek the stars.

"Fear nothing," cried Mahpiyasapa. "The medicine of the Yellow Knives is false medicine!"

"What manner of medicine beasts are they, those portrayed on the masks?" asked a man.

"I do not know," said another, uneasily.

"I have never seen such things," said a man.

"Surely such things could exist only in the medicine world," said a man.

"Such things would surely be fearful and invincible medicine helpers," said a man, shuddering.

"The medicine of the Yellow Knives is false medicine," said a man, "Mahpiyasapa is right."

"Suppose it is not," said another man.

"Such things do not exist," said another man. "They do not exist even in the medicine world."

"Whence, then, came the visions for such masks?" asked another, uneasily.

"If they did exist in the medicine world," said the first man, "they would not favor the Yellow Knives."

"True," said another man.

"What if they did?" asked another.

"Then," said the first man, "we would be doomed."

I leaned forward on the kaiila. I could now see, resonably well, the visages portrayed on the masks. The hair on the back of my neck rose. The visages, clearly, were those of Kurii.

"Hold your lines," I begged the men about me. "Hold your lines, no matter what happens!"

"Your medicine is false," cried Mahpiyasapa to the Yellow Knives, though doubtless they could not understand him. "We do not fear it. It is only wood and leather!"

A horrifying sound came then from the ranks of the Yellow Knives and soldiers. It was a long, howling cry. It must have struck terror, too, into the hearts of the Yellow Knives and soldiers. The sound was unmistakable. I had heard it on the rocky slopes of Tovaldsland, on the sands of the Tahari, in the jungles of the Ua.

Emerging then from the ranks of the enemy came a gigantic Kur, some nine feet in height, some nine hundred pounds in weight. It carried a huge shield and lance, the accouterents of a man. Behind it, on each side, similarly armed, came others.

"Aiii!" cried a man, turning his kaiila.

"Hold your lines!" cried Mahpiyasapa.

But the lines, men screaming, kaiila wheeling about, were shattered. Fear became flight, and flight rout, and rout slaughter. Yellow Knives and soldiers pressed in. Women and children screamed.

"Run!" cried Mahpiyasapa. "Run!"

Men fled. Women and children sought the free kaiila which had been brought for them.

I lowered my lance. I trained it on the heart of the gigantic Kur. It was Sardak, the leader of the death squad from the steel worlds. Then soldiers came between us and I could not reach him. A woman on a kaiila, a child before her, clutching her, bounded past.

"Cuwignaka!" I called.

"I am here!" he cried.

I saw him, afoot. He had discarded his lance. He thrust a second child, behind the first, to the back of his kaiila. "Run little brothers!" he cried, slapping the kaiila sharply. Squealing, it bounded away.

"Come!" I cried to him. "Come! Ride behind me!"

He shook his head."There are not enough kaiila!" he said.

I dismounted, next to him. Two kaiila, bearing Yellow Knives, charged past. All was confusion. Men fought here and there about us.

"Get on your kaiila, you fool!" cried Cuwignaka. "Ride! Run!"

"Look!" I said.

Hci sat on his kaiila, almost as though stunned. He seemed paralyzed, frightened, immoveable.

"Look out!" I cried. I saw a Yellow Knife wheel his kaiila about and drop his lance into the attack position.

"Look out!" I cried.

Hci turned, seeing the man. The Yellow Knife, the advantage of suprise lost, pulled back on the jaw rope of his kaiila. The animal almost back to its haunches. Then it was on its feet again. The man, the point of his lance moving slightly, studied Hci. Hci regarded him.

"Beware!" I cried.

It was almost as though Hci did not see the man, almost as though he was looking through him, almost as though the very real man, and the physical point of the lance, of sharp bronze, were little more than tokens or emblems of something he feared far more.

Hci did not bring his kaiila about. He did not set himself to repel the charge.

The Yellow Knife hesitated, frightened, puzzled. This inactivity, so unexpected, so unnatural, so eerie, unsettled him.

Did he see a man before him or something else, perhaps a guest from the medicine world, something through which he might charge, touching nothing, something that might disappear like smoke behind him?

Then Hci cried out in anguish. His shield began to rise. It seemed, for a moment, that he tried to struggle with it, but, inexporably, as though with a will of its own, it rose.

The Yellow Knife aligned his lance.

Hci, resigned, no longer fighting, calmly, not moving, sat astride his kaiila, his arms lifted to the moons of Gor.

"Look out!" I cried.

The Yellow Knife's lance took him low in the left side, hurling him from the kaiila, and then the Yellow Knife, with a whoop of victory, whirled away.

"His shield would not defend him," said Cuwignaka, in horror. "HIs shield betrayed him! I have heard of such things. I never saw it until now!"

A soldier, on a kaiila, bolted past. His lance was black in the dust.

I seized a woman running past. I caught her wrist before she could drive the knife into me. With a cry of pain she dropped it. I slapped her. I threw her on the back of my kaiila. Cuwignaka took the child who had been with her and threw him to the back of the beast, behind her.

"You will not go?" asked Cuwignaka of me.

"I will not leave without you," I said.

"Go!" said Cuwignaka, slapping the kaiila sharply. "Go!" It bounded away in the darkness, darting through the confusion.

A tarn's wings smote the air above us, not twenty feet over our heads. Dust swirled up from the ground. I was buffeted from my feet by the forequarters of a runny kaiila. I climbed tomy feet. I wiped dust from my eyes.

"I am here," said Cuwignaka, seizing me by the arm. "Come with me."

"Kinyanpi," I said, "they will be patrolling the outskirts of the camp. They will be searching the fields for fugitives."

"That is why we must stay in the camp," said Cuwignaka.

We made our way then, through the shadows, sometimes running, sometimes crouching down, somtimes crawling, from the scene of the slaughter. In a few moments we had hidden ourselves in one of the lodges. A short time later we heard the thunder of the kaiila paws leaving the camp.

"They are mounting a pursuit," I said.

"They are tenacious," said Cuwignaka.

"It is the discipline of the soldiers and the beasts," I said.

"Probably," said Cuwignaka.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"He may not be dead," said Cuwignaka.

"Hci?" I asked.

"Of course," said Cuwignaka.

"You are going back?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"I will come with you," I said.

"You ned not do that," said Cuwignaka.

"I will come with you," I said.

"It will be dangerous," he said.

"It will be less dangerous for two than for one," I said.

"Mitakola," said Cuwignaka.

"MItakola," I said. This, in the language of the Kaiila, means 'my friend'.

I did not find it necessary to tell Cuwignaka that I myself had intened to return for Hci. Before we had left the center of the camp I had seen him move.

We left the lodge stealthily. Our business must be done soon, before the return of the Yellow Knives and the soldiers. After their return the discipline would be at an end. Then would be the time of the falling upon the slain, the time of the knives, the time of the trophies.