I found this of interest. Surely members of the caste of players do not commonly travel about with a military escort.
Belnar shrugged.
Temenides, triumphantly, turned about, looking about the hall.
“I cannot believe the great Belnar is serious,” said the player. “Are soldiers of Cos within the walls of Brundisium to receive an official sanction to steal from citizens of Ar? Is that the meaning of our alliance?”
Belnar put another grape in his mouth.
“Ubar?” asked Temenides.
“I have a much better idea,” said Belnar, smiling. “He is a player. You will play for her.”
The player folded his arms and regarded Temenides.
“Ubar!” protested Temenides. “Consider my honor! I play among the high boards of Cos. This is a mountebank, a player at carnivals, no member even of the caste of players!”
Belnar shrugged.
“Do not think to suggest that I should dishonor my caste by stooping to shame this arrogant cripple. Far nobler it would be to set your finest swordsmen upon some dimwitted bumpkin brandishing a spoon. Let him rather be driven from the hall with the blows of belts like a naked slave for his presumption!”
“Would the court not find such a contest amusing?” inquired Belnar.
Several of the men slapped their shoulders in encouragement. Others called out for a game. I gathered that among those present this discomfiture of Temenides, matching him with so unworthy and preposterous an opponent, might not be unwelcome. In its nature it would be a prank, a practical joke, perhaps a somewhat cruel one, at the least a broad Gorean jest.
“Ubar,” said Temenides, “do not call for this match. I have no desire to humiliate this deformed freak more than I have already done. Order the female suppliantly to me.”
Bina, terrified, threw herself to her stomach before the player on the platform. She kissed the wood twice before his feet. Then, lifting herself on the palms of her hands, she looked piteously up at him. “Risk not so much in this hall, I beg of you, Master,” she wept. “Permit me to crawl suppliantly to him, proposing myself for his pleasures.”
“Strip,” snarled the player.
Instantly Bina tore away the scarf knotted about her hips, that which had formerly been tied about her throat, concealing her collar.
The player continued to regard her.
She now knelt weeping, trembling, before him, at his mercy, owned, slave naked.
“Now,” said the player, “what did you say?”
“Permit me to crawl suppliantly to him, proposing myself for his pleasures,” she whispered, frightened.
The player suddenly, angrily, kicked her to her side. She cried out with pain and twisting, frightened, a spurned and disciplined slave, turned to look at him. On her left wrist there was a use bracelet. On her neck there was a collar. On her thigh was a brand.
“You belong to me,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“It seems,” said Belnar to Temenides, amused, “that the player is disinclined to extend to you the female’s use.”
“Do not seek to force a match between us, Ubar,” said Temenides. “I will not consider a match with such a fellow, not with a creature of such outrageous deformity, not with one such as he, one who is, by all reports, at best naught but a harrowingly disfigured monster.”
“The slave is exquisite,” said Belnar. “Apparently you do not wish to have her yielding helplessly, passionately, obediently in her collar, in your arms.”
“Ubar,” said Temenides, in protest.
“Play,” said Belnar.
“Forcing me to such an extremity,” said Temenides, “could well be construed as a state insult in the lofty chambers of Cos.”
This remark surprised me. How could such a trivial thing as a joke in Brundisium, one having to do with a mere member of the caste of players, the fellow, Temenides, involve relations among thrones?
“Very well,” said Belnar, agreeably, “but forgo then the woman.”
Temenides’ fists clenched. He regarded Bina, who shrank back from his gaze.
“Play, play!” urged more than one man.
Temenides looked about himself, angrily. Then he regarded the player.
“Perhaps the great Temenides, who holds a high board in Cos, fears to enter into a banquet’s friendly game, or, say, an evening’s casual tourney, with one who is a mere mountebank, a monster,” suggested the player.
There was laughter at this suggestion. Temenides turned red.
“Could it be?” asked the player.
“I do not play bumpkins,” said Temenides.
“I, on the other hand,” said the player, “am obviously willing to do so.”
This remark brought a roar of laughter from the crowd. Even Belnar chuckled. Temenides turned even more red, and clenched his fists savagely. His mood was turning ugly.
Near the feet of the player, Bina trembled, head down.
Temenides rose to his feet. In his movement, studied and unprecipitate, there was resolution and menace. “Very well,” said he. “I shall play you, but it shall be but one game, and upon one condition, that the game may be worth my while.” The hall was suddenly quiet. Temenides spoke softly and clearly. In his words there was an exactness, and a chill. His anger now was like the stirring of a beast beneath ice, whose shape may be vaguely seen below, giving some hint of the force and danger lurking in the depths. “We shall play,” said he, “not for the mere use of the female, but for her ownership, to see whose collar it will be that shall be locked upon her throat. Further, the life of he who loses shall be forfeit to the victor, to be done with as he pleases.”
Several of those in the hall gasped. “But he is a free man,” protested one. It is one thing to play for a female, of course, for Goreans tend to regard such as fit for spoils and loot, particularly if they should be, to begin with, naught but properties, mere chattels, but it is quite another to set free males at stake.
Temenides did not respond to this protest.
“And,” asked the player, “if you should win, and claim, this forfeit, what might I expect to be your pleasure?”
“That you be boiled alive in the oil of tharlarion,” said Temenides.
“I see,” said the player. Bina moaned.
“There will now be no game,” said one of the fellows at the Ubar’s table.
“Well, fellow?” inquired Temenides.
“Agreed,” said the player.
Several of those in the hall, free men and naked slaves alike, gasped. “No, no, Master, please!” cried Bina.
“Be silent,” said the player.
“Yes, Master,” she wept.
“Secure the female,” said Belnar. “Let a board and pieces be brought.”
Bina’s hands were thonged tightly together before her body. A ring, on a rope, one of several, was lowered from the ceiling. These rings, when lowered, hung a few feet above the floor, some six or seven feet above it, in the open space between the tables. These rings may serve various purposes, such as the display of disgraced females destined for slavery, most likely debtors, or the public punishment of errant slaves, but their number is largely dictated by the occasional use of displaying captured, stripped free women of enemy cities. These women, during the course of a victory feast, are caressed by whips, or beaten by them, until they beg, though free, to serve the tables as slaves. After they have so served, Ahn later, they are taken below. There they will be properly branded and collared, and will begin to be taught the lessons, intimate and otherwise, appropriate to their new condition in life. The lowered ring dangled near the center of the hall, in the space between the tables. Bina was dragged to the ring and her bound wrists tied over her head to it. She was tied in such a way that her heels were slightly off the floor. She was beautiful then, her legs extended, her heels slightly lifted from the floor, her back straight, her stomach flat, her small breasts arched, the entire line of her slim, lovely body lifted by her upr
aised wrists, helpless under the duress of the thongs and ring, tied in place, displayed as stake.
A table was brought and placed near the ring. Too, a board and pieces were brought. Bina looked down upon it with a lack of understanding. Once or twice, long ago when she had been haughty and cruel, before she had come to learn her slavery properly, the player would have been willing to teach her the moves of the game but after she had come into his use, his attitude towards her had significantly changed. He was then no longer interested in trying to please her. It had then been up to her to try and please him, and perfectly. Their relationship had completely changed. She was then to him only as slave to master. It was perhaps just as well. Bina did not have the sort of intellect that lent itself naturally to the game, nor the patience for it.
Her intelligence, which was considerable, tended to find its most natural expression in a different domain, in the modalities of the sensuous. Indeed, she had proved herself extremely gifted in matters of sexuality and love. Clearly the collar belonged on her neck. Perhaps it was just as well that the player had not tried to force her to become a player, an activity for which she was not naturally suited, and in which she would have, at best, after years of work, achieved only a hard-won and mediocre success, but had instead forced her to become that for which she was most deeply suited and that which, ultimately, she was and wished to be, a profoundly marvelous female. At any rate, whatever might be the truth and falsity in such matters, poor Bina would not now be permitted to so much as touch the pieces of the game. She was a slave. She looked down at the board without understanding, but with misery. On it her ownership would be decided.
Her placement, standing, near the board, of course, was not a mistake. It is thought amusing to place the slave in this position. The informed slave, perhaps once a free woman who has some comprehension of the game, may thus observe fearfully the careful processes that will determine her disposition; and even the uninformed slave, such as Bina, who in her fearful, agonized observation of the board may understand next to nothing, not even being certain often who is winning, may sense such things as the shifting tides of battle and the removals of pieces from the board; in both cases, of course, the reactions of the slaves, tied as they are, are available for the delectation of the crowd. The major reason, however, for tying the slaves in this position is doubtless that the game’s stakes and their value, so prominently displayed, may be properly considered and appreciated.
The player, and Temenides, of Cos, came to the board. “You may surrender the woman, and withdraw,” said Temenides.
“Temenides is generous,” said the player.
Temenides nodded, and then he said, “Cut down the woman, and take her to my place at the table.”
“No,” said the player.
“No?” asked Temenides, startled.
“Let the pieces be put in place,” said the player.
“You are a fool,” said Temenides. “You will pay dearly for your folly.”
The pieces, with the exception of the Home Stones, were marshaled on the board. They were tall, and of weighted, painted wood. The two Home Stones cannot be placed on the board before the second move nor later than the tenth.
“Who will move first?” asked the player.
“You may move first,” said Temenides.
“No,” said Belnar, Ubar of Brundisium.
“Come now, Ubar,” said Temenides. “Let the fool extend the game, if he can, by two or three moves.”
“He of Cos is our guest,” said Belnar. “He will move first.”
“Spearmen might be chosen,” said a man.
“Yes,” said another.
There are many ways in which this can be done. If the pieces are small enough a red Spearman can be held in one hand and a yellow Spearman in the other. He not holding the Spearmen then guesses a hand. If the guesser guesses the hand in which the yellow Spearman is held, he moves first. If he guesses the hand in which the red Spearman is held he moves second. Yellow, of course, moves first, red, second. Another common way of doing this is to place the two pieces behind a cloth or board, or to wrap them in two opaque clothes, the guessing proceeding similarly.
“I will conceal the pieces,” volunteered Boots Tarsk-Bit, helpfully.
“No,” said the player.
“I will hold them,” said Belnar.
“Ubar,” acceded Temenides.
Belnar then, disdaining subterfuge, picked up two yellow Spearmen. There were gasps in the audience. Bina moaned, in her ropes. Even she knew this much, that her champion was to be categorically denied the privilege of the initial move, with its weight and influence in determining the nature of the game. “Choose,” said Belnar, to Temenides. Temenides shrugged. “Choose,” said Belnar. Temenides, angrily, pointed to Belnar’s right hand.
Belnar, grinning, lifted up the yellow Spearman in his right hand, showing it to the crowd. Then he put the pieces down.
“You have won the guess,” observed the player. “Congratulations.”
“I was willing to show you mercy, if only to protect my honor,” said Temenides. “But now I shall destroy you, swiftly and brutally.”
“I, on the other hand, will take my time with you,” said the player.
“Arrogant sleen!” cried Temenides. “Recall my conditions, and intentions!”
“I do,” said the player.
“The mountebank grows tiresome,” said Belnar. “Let a vat of tharlarion oil, suitable for the immersion of a human being, be prepared.”
“Yes, Ubar,” said a soldier.
“With stout neck ropes,” said Belnar.
“Yes, Ubar,” said the man, turning about, to leave the hall. The purpose of the neck ropes, stretched from holes drilled near the top of the vat, is to hold the victim, whose hands are usually bound behind him, in place, preventing him not only from attempting to leave the vat but also from trying to drown himself. The oil is heated slowly.
“Play,” said Belnar, turning to the player and Temenides.
“I beg you once more, Ubar,” said Temenides, “not to perpetrate this farce.”
“Play,” called men, standing about. Bina moaned.
“Play,” said Belnar.
“Ubar’s Spearman to Ubar Five,” said Temenides, angrily.
A man made the move.
“Ubara’s Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubara’s Builder Three,” said the player.
“Have you ever played before?” asked Temenides.
“Occasionally,” said the player.
“Do you understand the moves of the pieces?” asked Temenides.
“Somewhat,” said the player.
“That is an absurd move,” said Temenides.
“I believe it is a legal move,” said the player.
“I have never seen anything like it,” said Temenides. “It violates all the orthodox principles of opening play.”
“Orthodoxy is not invariably equivalent to soundness,” said the player. “Your great master, Centius of Cos, should have taught you that. Besides, from whence do you think orthodoxy derives? Does it not blossom from the root of heresy? Is it not true that today’s orthodoxy is commonly little more than yesterday’s heresy triumphant?”
“You are mad,” said Temenides.
“Similarly,” said the player, “the more orthodox your play the more predictable it will be, and thus the more easily exploited.”
“Sleen!” hissed Temenides.
The player’s move brought Temenides’ Ubar’s Spearman under immediate attack by the player’s Ubara’s Initiate. This might lure Temenides into wasting a move, advancing the Spearman again, perhaps overextending his position, or even, perhaps, defending prematurely. Still, I did not think I would have made the move.
“To be sure, if I respected you more highly,” said the player, “I might have selected a different opening move.”
“Sleen! Urt!” said Temenides.
“It is your move?” asked a man of the player.
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�Yes,” said the player.
The man moved the piece.
“Thank you,” said the player.
“I think this fellow may not be such a fool as we thought,” said Belnar.
“Nonsense,” said Temenides, angrily. “He is a mountebank, a bumpkin!”
“It is warm in here,” said the player. He casually opened the light, dark robe he wore. Beneath it, as I had suspected, was the robe of the players, the red-and-yellow-checked robe that marked those of that caste. I think it must have been years since he had worn it openly. There were cries of astonishment. Bina looked at him, startled, her hands twisting in the cruel thongs that confined them.
“He is of the players,” gasped a man.
“I had suspected it,” said Belnar. “He did not seem truly insane.”
“It matters not,” said Temenides. “I hold a high board in Cos. I shall destroy him. It means only that the game may be somewhat more interesting than I had originally anticipated.”
“Are you truly of the players?” asked the man.
“It is my caste,” said the player. The hair on the back of my neck rose up. I think in that moment the player had come home to himself.
“And in what minor ranks of the players do you locate yourself?” asked Temenides, scornfully. Rankings among players, incidentally, resulting from play in selected tournaments and official matches, are kept with great exactness.
“I was a champion,” said the player.
“And of what small town, or village?” inquired Temenides, scornfully.
“Of Ar,” said the player.
“Ar!” cried Temenides. “Ar!” cried others.
“Perhaps you have heard of it,” said the player.
“Who are you?” whispered Temenides, fearfully.
The player reached to the mask, that dark hood, which he wore. He suddenly tore it from his head. Bina closed her eyes, wincing. Many were the cries of astonishment in the hall, from free men and slaves alike. Bina opened her eyes. She cried out, startled, wonderingly. No longer did the player wear that dark concealing hood. He looked about himself, regally. His visage bore no ravages, either of the terrors of flames or of the instruments of men. On it there was not one mark. It was a proud face, and a severe one, at this moment, and one expressive of intellect, and power and will, and incredibly handsome. “I am Scormus of Ar,” he said.
Players of Gor Page 43