“There are several decks on the ship,” Aëtius was explaining to me, outlining, in general, their housings, functions, stores, and such, but I was not listening.
“What is wrong?” he inquired.
“I would see the daimyo, Lord Okimoto,” I said.
“You shall,” said Aëtius.
“Now,” I said.
Aëtius turned then away from the great frame, in which rested the ship of Tersites, like a mountain of fitted wood, a shaped, swelling geometry of tiered planking, and summoned three or four fellows to him, large, burly fellows, artisans I supposed, perhaps dock workers. He indicated me. “Seize and bind him,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-One
I HEAR OF THE SELECTIONS
“We anticipated your reluctance, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida. “But you must try to understand.”
“Some things,” I said, “are not to be understood.”
“Do not judge where you do not yet understand,” he said.
“I understand what I am asked to understand,” I said, “but I choose not to understand.”
“You refuse?” asked Lord Nishida.
“Yes,” I said.
“Of course,” he said. “The codes.”
We sat across from one another, cross-legged, the small, low table between us.
“I expected it,” said Lord Nishida.
“You must intervene,” I said.
“Lord Okimoto is cousin to the shogun,” said Lord Nishida.
My bonds had been removed, but I had been kept in confinement, in a shed near the river.
“Pertinax, even Tajima, and Ichiro, and others, have objected,” said Lord Nishida.
I was silent.
“They have been reprimanded,” said Lord Nishida.
“Tortured, crucified?” I asked.
“Certainly not,” said Lord Nishida. “They are of value, even Pertinax. His skills increase. They will not be involved in the selections.”
“What of Nodachi, swordsman?” I asked.
“He is outside,” said Lord Nishida. “He is not involved.”
“I see,” I said.
“Too,” said Lord Nishida, “who could stand against him?”
“True,” I said.
“The selections will take place tomorrow,” said Lord Nishida.
“I will not participate,” I said.
“You will not be expected to participate,” said Lord Nishida. “You, and others, are outside the selections.”
“These men have fought for you,” I said.
“They are mercenaries,” said Lord Nishida, “and the dregs of such, chosen for skill and venality, brought from a hundred cities, from the ruins and rubble of Ar, from the alleys of Besnit and Harfax, from the wharves of Brundisium and Schendi, men without Home Stones, thieves, outlaws, murderers, outcasts, ronen, men carried by the currents, men whose word is worthless, men of no lords, save a stater or tarn disk of gold.”
“They have fought for you,” I said.
“No one needs fight who does not wish it,” said Lord Nishida. “The matter is simple, pairs will be matched, and a golden tarn disk to the survivor, and a berth on the great ship.”
“Perhaps, with a tarn disk of gold in his purse, a fellow may decline such a berth.”
“That would be unfortunate,” said Lord Nishida.
“How many do you expect to die?” I asked.
“Some five hundred,” said Lord Nishida.
“What if some choose not to fight?” I asked.
“They are mercenaries,” said Lord Nishida. “They will cut their brother’s throat for a silver tarsk, so why not that of a stranger for a disk of gold?”
“And who,” I asked, “will preside over this slaughter?”
“Lord Okimoto, of course,” said Lord Nishida.
“He is a greater name, a greater daimyo, than you, I take it,” I said.
“He is cousin to the shogun,” said Lord Nishida.
“Dissuade him from this madness!” I urged.
“The selections,” said Lord Nishida, rising, “take place tomorrow.”
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.