Rebels of Gor by John Norman Page A

said Lysander.
    We were well to the south of the investing forces of Lord Yamada. We were a pasang east of the road lined with posts, each surmounted by a human head. Our proximity to this lengthy, dismal display, I did not doubt, made it easier to enlist informants amongst the local peasantry. In the fields little love was lost where the house of Yamada was concerned. His mercilessly imposed tyranny, wrought by the edge of the sword, was keenly resented. We had soon been apprised of the location of warehouses and the routes and schedules of supply trains. The warehouses in which I was particularly interested were the small, concealed warehouses, scattered about, whose location was apparently unknown even to many of the high officers in the command of General Yamada. Such secret repositories can obviously shorten supply lines and enable a variety of maneuvers and marches, both of advance and withdrawal. In the event of defeat or exile they provide a means of provisioning a flight or supporting an unexpected return and counterattack. A concern for such measures was apparently a characteristic of General Yamada. The other warehouses, large, sturdy structures, on the gates of which were emblazoned the insignia of the house of Yamada, might be left for later, and perhaps for the torch.
    “Captain san ,” said Ichiro, issued into my presence, come from the brush to the side. He commonly served as bannerman.
    “Report,” I said.
    “Disguised as a half-blind sutler,” he said, “I, together with others, peddlers, camp followers, and such, infiltrated the camp of Yamada. The camp is well-supplied.”
    “It will not be for long,” I said.
    “The morale of the men of Yamada is high,” he said. “The great onslaught is eagerly anticipated. Great Yamada delays, to make more certain of the incapacity of the garrison to defend itself.”
    “I thought he might,” I said.
    I thought him wise in the ways of war, a formidable tactician and leader. One seldom comes easily to the dais of a shogun.
    “And in the camp it is said that Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, has deserted the banner of Temmu, and that the tarn cavalry, what remained of it, is fled.”
    “Good,” I said.
    “They are muchly amused, and pleased,” said Ichiro.
    “Excellent,” I said.
    “I have news from the holding, as well,” he said. “Men grow stronger. No longer do they denounce Tarl Cabot, tarnsman. They feed, and rejoice.”
    “And the parapets are denied to all but trusted guards?” I asked.
    “It is so, Captain san ,” said Ichiro. “All others are turned away.”
    Thus, I thought, even though there be spies in the holding, it would now be difficult, and, hopefully, impossible, for them to communicate with General Yamada. Presumably signals, messages, and such, could no longer be transmitted from the parapets. I had full confidence in the tarn cavalry. And men did not come and go between the holding and the camp of General Yamada. Lord Temmu had seen to this. It was a capital offense to approach a gate without authorization.
    “You have done well, brave Ichiro,” I said.
    He lowered his head shyly.
    “It requires great courage to do what you have done,” I said.
    “It gives me great pleasure to be of service to my commander, and my daimyo, and shogun,” he said.
    “Few could have done this,” I said.
    “I am of the command of Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.
    “How is Tajima?” I asked.
    Ichiro looked up.
    “He is muchly recovered, and now resides in the holding,” said Ichiro. “He fears the onslaught, and would have it no other way.”
    I recalled that Tajima, suspecting, and I would suppose correctly, that he might more likely survive as a fugitive in the mountains than Ichiro, had, in the midst of the storming of the first encampment, turned his tarn over to Ichiro and ordered him to flee. I had subsequently feared, had Tajima perished in the mountains, that Ichiro might have had recourse to the ritual knife. To be sure, Tajima