Swordsmen of Gor

Chapter Thirty-Two THE SELECTIONS

The sun was bright at the beach.

One could hear the cry of birds, the lapping of the Alexandra at the sand, and about the pilings of river wharves.

I was not bound, but was in theory in the keeping of two of Lord Okimoto’s Ashigaru. I had little doubt that I might have eluded them easily, would not two swift, unexpected blows have sufficed, but there were others about, many others. Lord Okimoto himself sat cross-legged, on a woven mat, on the platform behind me. At his right hand sat Lord Nishida. Pertinax, Tajima, Ichiro, and some others stood with me. All were unarmed, as I was. There were many Ashigaru and officers about, both of the commands of Lord Nishida, many of whom I recognized, and many others, I took it, of Lord Okimoto.

Matters had been explained by crier to hundreds of mercenaries. Many others, drovers, tarnsters, skilled artisans, and such, were not permitted on the beach. My men, of the cavalry, were not in evidence either. The place of killing was the beach, a corridor between the soft flow of the Alexandra and the platform, on which were found Lords Nishida and Okimoto, with its fronting and flanking, extended mass of armed observers, almost wholly Pani. Some mercenaries, I supposed, who did not die on the beach, would be forced back, wading, fighting, into the river, to die there and be washed downstream.

A blast was blown, this on a large conch trumpet.

This trumpet is called a horagai. It is sometimes used in Pani warfare as a battle horn, a signaling device to regulate the movements of troops. I had trained the cavalry, it might be recalled, to respond to the notes of such a device, a war horn. These, however, in the usual Gorean fashion, were formed of metal.

In response to this signal a long column of men, in rows of ten, mercenaries, armed and accoutered, came about the platform, made its way to the beach, spread itself along the water’s edge, in five rows of pairs, and then turned, so that these rows of pairs, of which there was a large number, faced the platform.

Between the mercenaries and the platform, some yards between the first row of mercenaries and the platform, there was a table of sorts, formed of planks mounted on two trestles. On this table, by two men, there was placed a small, apparently quite heavy, iron-bound coffer. A fellow of the Pani opened the lid, let it fall back, and, with two hands, lifted tarn disks above the coffer, better than a foot or so, and then opened his hands and let them spill back into the container. He did this several times. The sun caught the falling, showering metal, again and again, and it was as a rainfall of gold. One could easily hear the weight of the falling metal, even yards away. I had little doubt that there was not one fellow there at the river’s edge who might not kill for even one of those prizes. There were many markets in which even one of those coins might purchase a tarn, five kaiila, ten lovely slaves. Many Goreans had never touched such a coin, let alone owned one.

“They are ready, Lord,” said Lord Nishida to Lord Okimoto.

Lord Okimoto was shorter than Lord Nishida, and, on the platform, seemed immobile, almost somnolent, like a sack of sand. He was very stocky, even obese. He wore a yellow kimono, with a reddish belt. He carried the companion sword, with tasseled hilt, in the belt, blade uppermost. He had a rolled knot of hair at the back of his head, as did Lord Nishida. In this I gathered they shared some status, or station. Lord Okimoto had small, narrow eyes, and they squinted out, from between rolls of fat. Lord Nishida was straight, lean like a blade, imperturbable. When one looked upon him one had the sense of a quiet, coiled spring, or, perhaps better, that of a clever, cunning, coiled, watchful ost. Yet I somehow did not discount Lord Okimoto, or see him as negligible or ineffectual. One might despise his exterior, thinking it pathetic, swollen, and sluggish, that it housed no more than something fat, sly, and ugly, something complacent with power, something which might idly toy with cruelty, but, at the same time, one sensed that somewhere within that mound of flesh something wise and dangerous prowled, as might a larl, impatient, curious, waiting in its lair, not yet emerged to address itself to its hunt, and its fang work.

I would not dismiss Lord Okimoto.

He was, after all, a daimyo of the Pani. Doubtless some might have come to such a position by inheritance, but few, I supposed, would be likely to long retain its prestige, and its apparent harrowing might, coveted by others, by such means. Though many who receive gifts prove too weak to keep them, I did not think Lord Okimoto was of their number.

One of the Pani, of the entourage of Lord Okimoto, advanced before the platform and addressed the assembled, massed pairs, reiterating the terms of the contest, that each pair would do battle to the death, and the survivor would receive a tarn disk of gold.

So simply, I thought, does Lord Nishida, and Lord Okimoto, select amongst skills, and divest themselves of superfluous minions.

In any event, no one, I was sure, was to be permitted to return to the lower latitudes.

I recalled the wands, and the larls.

Lord Okimoto, without turning his head, said something to Lord Nishida, which I could not hear, and Lord Nishida lifted his hand slightly, signaling the fellow of the Pani, who was serving as herald.

“Begin!” called the herald.

Aëtius was standing near me.

No man moved.

“Fight!” cried the herald. “Begin! Fight! The gold, the gold!”

Then a thousand blades were drawn forth, as though with a single flash of sound, from a thousand sheaths. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

“Fight!” called the herald.

Then each of the thousand, in their ranks, their back to the river, faced the platform.

“Good!” I said, aloud.

Aëtius smiled.

Hundreds of Pani stirred, looked to the platform, uneasy. Glaives, the long-shafted, curved-bladed naginata, were grasped.

From behind the platform, Pani archers rushed forth, standing between the platform and the mercenaries. Arrows were set to the strings of the Pani longbow, arrows which are released at the bow’s lower third, muchly different from the release point of either the peasant or saddle bow.

“They do not fight!” called the herald, in consternation.

I thrust my two Pani attendants to one side and went to stand before the platform, facing the seated Lord Okimoto. Lord Nishida rose to his feet. I became aware then, suddenly, that Tajima, Pertinax, Ichiro, and others, stood with me.

“They will not fight!” complained the herald to the platform.

Pani, both wielders of the glaive and graspers of the bow, looked to the platform.

“No,” I said to Lord Okimoto, “they will not fight. They are sword brothers.”

“They are mercenaries,” cried the herald.

“And sword brothers,” I said.

Lord Okimoto said something to Lord Nishida, which I could not hear, and then, slowly, ponderously, assisted by servitors, he rose to his feet and retired from the platform.

“What did he say?” I asked Lord Nishida, who had remained on the platform, standing.

“He said,” said Lord Nishida, “’these are the men I would have with me.’”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“It has been a test, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said. “Many men will kill for gold, selling their sword to one for a silver tarsk, to a higher bidder for two, and so on. Of such men we have no need. We have need of men who will place steel before gold, honor before advancement, whose service, once pledged, is inalterable, men whose loyalty is not for sale, men who cannot be divided, and cannot be bought. Many men can, you see, but these are not amongst them. They are the sort of men we need. Our cause deserves them.”

“What is your cause?” I inquired.

“You will learn,” he said. Then he spoke to the herald, “Give each a tarn disk of gold, and dismiss them.”

“There are a thousand tarn disks in the coffer?” I said.

“Of course,” said Lord Nishida. “We did not know what the outcome would be.”

“We hoped,” said Aëtius, “that it would be thus.”

“What if they had fought?” I asked Lord Nishida.

“Then,” said Lord Nishida, “regrettably five hundred would be dead.”

“And what of the survivors?” I asked.

“Each,” he said, “would have been given his golden tarn disk, as promised, and then each,” and here he indicated the glaivesmen and archers about, “would have been killed.”

“I see,” I said. “And what of the limited number of berths on the great ship?”

Lord Nishida smiled. “There is much room,” he said. “Of such men we could use an additional thousand.”

I watched the mercenaries filing past the coffer, each receiving his coin.