“Those may not be their true names,” said Lord Nishida.
I nodded. Many Goreans, particularly those limited to the First Knowledge, have “use names” to conceal their real names, for fear the real names might somehow be used against them, perhaps in spells. Too, it should be noted that the names given were not unusual on Gor. I had known others who bore those names, particularly Quintus and Fabius. Those names are common in Ar. The names might have been altered, too, of course, simply to obtain the convenience of an alias.
“I wanted you to meet them,” he said.
“Yes?” I said.
“At least one is a spy,” said Lord Nishida.
“Which?” I asked.
“I do not know,” said Lord Nishida. “What do you think I should do?”
“I do not know,” I said.
“I could kill them all,” he said.
“Some would do that,” I said.
“Would you?”
“I do not think so,” I said. “I would probably dismiss them, send them away, on some pretext or other.”
“Might that not arouse their suspicion?” he asked.
“Perhaps not, if it were subtly done,” I said, “perhaps mixing them with others, but it would doubtless prompt the spy or spies to act.”
“Or the assassin to strike?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I will proceed differently, with patience,” said Lord Nishida. “A detected spy may be of value. A spy regarded as undiscovered is not a spy to be replaced. Too, it is a spy who may be used to convey misinformation, lies, deceits, false plans, and such, to an enemy.”
“Lord Nishida is indeed subtle,” I said.
“I am troubled by one thing,” said Lord Nishida.
“What is that?” I asked.
“One,” he said, “is of the dark caste.”
“The Assassins,” I said.
“I fear so,” smiled Lord Nishida.
“Then,” I said, “dismiss them all, and the sooner, the better.”
“I think not,” he said.
“Do not sup with an ost,” I said.
“Many do, and know it not,” said Lord Nishida. “I have the advantage of them, for I know that in one of five places before me, at my own table, tiny, curled in one of five cups, there lurks an ost.”
“Beware you do not lift that cup,” I said.
“One must lift the cup,” he said. “Else the ost will know its presence is suspected.”
“I do not like it,” I said.
“The ost listens, is attentive, and patient,” smiled Lord Nishida. “It will not strike until it is ready.”
“It may be ready now,” I said.
“I do not think so,” said Lord Nishida. “Remember the five. You may have to kill one, or more.”
“I see,” I said.
“Have you ever crossed swords with an Assassin?”
“Once,” I said, “long ago.”
“And you survived,” smiled Lord Nishida. “You must be skilled.”
“They are men, like any other,” I said.
“Not like any other,” said Lord Nishida.
“True,” I said. “Not like any other.”
“Finish your sake,” suggested Lord Nishida.
I threw it down, which brought a slight tremor of surprise, and distaste, or, perhaps better, disappointment, to the fine features of the daimyo, for sake is not to be so drunk. Perhaps kal-da or paga, but not sake.
“You are a refined, civilized individual, one of taste,” I said. “Perhaps you do not realize the risks with which you bedeck your environs.”
“Nor you yours,” responded Lord Nishida, quietly.
“I see,” I said.
” Sake is to be sipped,” said Lord Nishida.
“I do not know why I was brought to the forests,” I said, “or who saw to my bringing, but I have formed your cavalry, for whatever purpose it might serve, and others, Torgus, Lysander, Tajima, Ichiro, might now command it. My work here, I take it, is done.”
“You have forged a sword, and are not curious as to its purpose?” asked Lord Nishida.
“One wonders,” I said.
“I assure you, it has one,” said Lord Nishida.
“Not here?”
“No, not here.”
“Far away?”
“Quite far.”
“I would be curious to see a far shore,” I said.
“I thought so,” he said.
I recalled the wands, and the larls. “Too,” I said, “I think few would choose to withdraw from your service.”
“It would be an unwise choice,” said Lord Nishida.
In the shadows I sensed that Kurii might lurk. But, too, it might be Priest-Kings.
“I do not serve beasts,” I said.
“Or Priest-Kings?” he asked.
“Nor Priest-Kings,” I said.
“We all serve beasts,” he said. “What are we, or others?”
“Whom do you serve?” I asked.
“My shogun,” he said.
“And he is a beast?”
“Surely.”
“And you?”
“Of course.”
“And I?”
“Of course.”
The tapestries of existence are darkly woven. What hand, or paw, I wondered, jerks tight the knots of destiny.
But might not the blade of will, no matter how foolishly, lash out at the cords, and slash them, though the fabric itself be disfigured?
Or is the slashing, the weeping, and grief, the anger, the fear, the resentment, only another element in the design?
No, I thought, no.
“It is the third watch,” I said. “I shall make some rounds, and see that all is well.”
“Splendid,” said Lord Nishida.
“You have given me much to think about,” I said.
“That was my intention,” said Lord Nishida.
I rose to my feet, bowed, and turned away.
“Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.
“Yes?” I said.
” Sake,” he said, “is to be sipped.”
“I shall remember,” I said.
I then left the double tent.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A LANTERN WILL FAIL TO CONVEY ITS SIGNAL IN DUE COURSE;
I AM INVITED TO AN INTERVIEW
Outside the tent I stopped, and lifted my head, and looked up, into the night, to the stars.
They are very bright in the Gorean night.
Many on Earth, I supposed, had never seen stars so.
I took some deep breaths, that I might be steadied.
I wanted to clear my head, of the lingering whispers of paga, and the fumes of confusion and fear.
I touched the shoulder strap of the scabbard. I was fond of leather, steel, the cry of the tarn, the softness of slaves. Such things were comprehensible to me. I did not care for what had occurred in the tent of Lord Nishida. I did not care for the ambiguities of men, the opacities of motivation, the secret springs which governed the engines of diplomacy and policy. I did not care for the veils with which reality so frequently chose to clothe herself, nor for the thousand mirrors, with their ten thousand reflections and images, each claiming that the truth is here, the ten thousand reflections and images, mirages, betraying belief and hope.
I began to make my way through the camp, having no destination clearly in mind.
It was the third watch.
I had spoken of rounds to Lord Nishida. One post or another might be passed. I wanted time to think.
The night was warm.
“How goes the night?” I asked a fellow.
“Well, Commander,” he said.
I was not pleased with what had occurred in the tent of Lord Nishida. I had been manipulated, easily, expertly. I supposed it was well that I had learned what I had, but truth can draw blood. Many men, I supposed, were better off without it. Lord Nishida was brilliant, and cunning. I did not dare to suppose that I understood him. Some men move others with words, as others move the pieces on the red and yellow board of kaissa. I thought Lord Nishida such a man. I did not know if he spoke truth to me, or if he spoke to me merely what he wished me to take for truth. I wondered if others understood him. He must, in his own heart, I thought, have been much alone. Perhaps he wished it that way. I did not know. Seldom are the burdens of command easily borne, particularly if one is possessed of a conscience. Many in power, I suspected, did not labor under that handicap. I suspected Lord Nishida, for better or for worse, did not. I suspected that he would pursue a project without reservation or hesitation. I thought him purposeful, and probably unscrupulous, and perhaps cruel. If one did labor so, handicapped with a conscience, I suspected it likely that others, not so slowed, not so burdened, would be before him, be first to seize the scepter, sit upon the throne, and place about their necks the medallion of the Ubar. I wondered if Lord Nishida was truly loyal to his shogun, and, if so, I wondered if his shogun was such as to deserve such loyalty, or might he, rather, in his way, regard lightly the feudal pledges which would bind a lord and vassal. Did Lord Nishida covet the shogunate? Is not power the drug of all drugs, the most dangerous of all, transcending the trivialities, the banalities, of chemistry, to which even the most professedly humble and self-effacing might be irremediably addicted? But perhaps he was loyal. There are such men, men to whom the treasure of their word, once given, however foolishly, commands the single irrepudiable allegiance. What of his own status? Was it secure? Perhaps there were others who aspired to the pavilion of the daimyo. Did not Lord Nishida himself, as daimyos and shoguns, as Ubars, and tyrants, and kings and princes, sit uneasily beneath the sword of Damocles? Men were men, I thought, whether of Ar, or Cos, or Schendi, or of the Pani.