Players of Gor

by Norman, John;

“You will, of course,” I said, “tell me that I am surrounded.”

  “I have men about, of course,” he said. “Some are stationed in the vicinity of the ubar’s box, and at other openings, known to me, of the passage from the tower. Do not think to escape that way. Other men I have outside, but at a distance, on the bridges, outside the gate to the garden.”

  “That,” I said, “the distance involved, would seem to be a flaw in your plan.” I moved my hand to the hilt of my sword.

  “I do not really think so,” he said. “We certainly would not want them present at just any conversation which we might choose to have, would we?”

  “I suppose not,” I said. “Have you also considered how you might save your life, before I can reach you?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “Come with me, to the front threshold,” he said. He turned about, exposing his back to me, to lead the way. I was intrigued. “You may come, too, Yanina,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Precede me, girl,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I followed Flaminius and Yanina through the house. I wanted them both in front of me. I was wary as we passed through doors and archways. Yanina, I could not help noting, was quite lovely.

  Her beauty, now as that of a slave, had a different ambiance from what it had had as a free woman. Not only is a slave different in fact from a free woman, but they appear different from a free woman, and this difference is easy to detect. It is evident in their appearance, attitudes, carriage, body language and deportment. Too, clad as a slave, so openly, so slightly and revealingly, the girl is much more aware of her body than would be a free woman, its appearance, its mien and its movements, and this can be reflected in anything from a shy gracefulness, appealing to many masters, to a frank, welcoming acceptance of herself as the merchandise she now knows herself to be, merchandise she hopes the master will come to treasure, and perhaps love.

  Most masters will not accept a brazen insolence in a slave, as in, say, her arrogantly flaunting her beauty, or seeming to do so, unless it is done by the master’s command, say, to torture a prisoner, or torment a weakling.

  The slave knows she is subject to the lash, should she be deemed displeasing.

  Accordingly she is concerned to be found pleasing.

  How different many men of Earth would find this from the petulant, unhappy, dissatisfied women they know.

  Of course, those women have not been put in collars.

  If there is a battle of the sexes, or war of the sexes, which must inevitably be the case amongst competitive pseudoneuters, or dimorphic partisans culturally engineered to repudiate one of most obvious facts of nature, the complementarity of sexualities, it has been resolved on Gor, at least amongst masters and slaves, in favor of masters. The biological sovereignty of the male is well understood in a natural world. Gorean men have not permitted themselves to be tricked out of their ancient birthright, inscribed in the charters of ancestry, documented in the very annals of the human genome. Gorean men have opted for pleasure and power over grief and misery. Let each make his own choice. Woman is not whole until she has been overcome. If there is a war of the sexes it is one that women cannot win without losing, and one in which only in losing can they win.

  It is one thing to look upon a woman as a free woman, when she is a free woman, and another thing to look upon her as a slave, when she is a slave. Not only is she then different, but one sees her differently, and anew.

  She walked well, doubtless conscious of being a slave before a free man.

  I felt a brief wave of gratitude to the fellows who wove, and designed, slave silk. It displays a female marvelously. It was sheer, tiny, and all she wore, except a close-fitting steel collar. She was barefoot. Whether or not she might have footwear was no longer her decision, but that of a master.

  Yes, one now saw her differently.

  Yes, I thought she would make an excellent slave.

  “See?” asked Flaminius, at the exterior threshold, that leading to the balcony garden.

  “What?” I asked.

  He raised his arm, signaling to some men on the other side of the garden gate, on the narrow bridge outside it.

  “No,” I moaned.

  His men lifted up, holding him by the arms, a tall, lanky figure, limp and bleeding, showing him to us.

  “He is your fellow, Petrucchio, I believe,” said Flaminius. “I encountered him on the bridge. Apparently, anticipating your interest in the quarters of the ubar, he had come here, to defend the bridge, to keep you safe. He had only his huge, silly sword. I felled him in an instant.”

  “He should have fled the city,” I said.

  “Apparently he turned back, hoping to be of assistance to you, or rescue you,” said Flaminius.

  I groaned. I could well imagine Petrucchio, poor noble, brave Petrucchio, Boots Tarsk-Bit’s “Captain,” on the bridge. What an absurd, frail, pathetic, splendid figure he must have cut there, with that silly sword and those fierce mustaches.

  “What a preposterous fool,” said Flaminius. “Can you imagine that? A mere player, a member of a troupe, daring to cross swords with me?”

  “You have done well against one untrained in arms,” I said, “one who dared to face you with only courage and a wooden sword. Prepare now to try the skills of another member of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, but one whose sword is of steel.”

  “I have no intention of meeting you with steel,” said Flaminius. “Do you think I do not know the reputation of Bosk of Port Kar? Do you think I am mad?”

  “Kneel then,” I said, “and bare your neck.”

  “I have your friend, Petrucchio,” said Flaminius.

  “I have you,” I said.

  “If I am slain,” said Flaminius, “Petrucchio, of course, will die.”

  “If Petrucchio dies,” I said, “you will be slain.”

  “Surely it is time to have a conversation,” said Flaminius.

  “Speak,” I said.

  “Let us step back inside, away from the door,” he said.

  “Very well,” I said.

  We withdrew into the room. He closed the door.

  “You may kneel, Yanina,” he said, “head to the floor.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Speak,” I said.

  “Belnar, and other members of the high council,” he said, “have been conducting negotiations with individuals in various states, in particular, Cos and Ar. I do not fully understand all that is transpiring, but I have some idea. These negotiations, I gather, are generally in cipher. I would like to guarantee the security of those ciphers. One set of cipher keys, at least, is doubtless somewhere here. If you have found them, turn them over to me. Too, surrender yourself to me, to be bound as a prisoner.”

  “What if I agree?” I asked.

  “You must agree,” he smiled. “You have really no choice, at least no honorable alternative.”

  “You would trap a man by his honor?” I asked.

  “Or by his greed, or his ambition, or whatever proves itself useful,” said Flaminius.

  “I see,” I said.

  “Comply with my wishes,” said Flaminius, “and Petrucchio goes free.”

  “And what of me?” I asked.

  “Your disposition will be determined by others,” said Flaminius. “Who knows? You might even be permitted to live, perhaps as a blinded, tongueless slave chained to the bench of a Cosian galley.”

  “Cosian?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” he smiled.

  I hesitated.

  “Petrucchio bleeds,” he said. “I have given orders that his wound not be bound. He does not appear overly strong. It is quite conjectural how long he can survive without care.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Your sword, Captain?” he asked.

  I reached to the sword, to surrender it.

  There was, however, at that moment, a
great, authoritative pounding on the door.

  “I gave orders that we were not to be disturbed,” said Flaminius, angrily.

  “Open in the name of Saphronicus, General of Ar!” I heard. “Open in the name of the alliance!”

  “A general of Ar, here?” said Flaminius.

  I stepped back, my hand on the hilt of my sword.

  There was then a repetition of that fierce pounding. It seemed any delay in opening that portal would not be lightly brooked.

  Flaminius looked at me. I shrugged. “Perhaps you should open it,” I said.

  Flaminius hurried to the door and opened it. A tall, broad-shouldered, imposing, caped figure stood there. “I am Saphronicus, general of Ar, envoy from the state of Ar,” it said. “I have entered the city only within the Ahn, immediately ordering the city captain to report to me. Here I find slaughtered ubars, chaos and fire! I have assumed command in the city until the high council appoints a new ubar. I was told by the city captain that he received his orders from some fellow named Flaminius, and that he might be here. Who is this Flaminius?”

  “I am Flaminius, who was confidant to Belnar,” said Flaminius. “I was appointed to deal with the emergency, delegating secondary authority to the city captain, by Belnar. His authority is now done, of course. My sword is at your service.”

  “The city is in flames,” said the fellow.

  “They are difficult to control,” said Flaminius. “We have been fighting them through the night.”

  “I have heard,” said the figure, sternly, “that hundreds of men, who might better have been used in protecting the city, have been spent in fruitless searches for some fugitive!”

  “Not fruitless, General!” cried Flaminius. “He is here! That is he! I have captured him!”

  “I would not be too sure about that, if I were you,” I said. I was curious to see how the arrival of this new fellow might alter matters, if at all.

  “He does not appear to be bound,” observed the new fellow. “He still carries his sword.”

  “I have him helpless, General,” Flaminius assured him. “I have his friend in my power, whose life is forfeit, does he not surrender.”

  “That would not be that tall, thin fellow, the one with a wooden sword, would it?” asked the caped figure.

  “Yes, General!” said Flaminius.

  “I have had my men bring him to the garden,” said the caped figure. “He was wounded, and his wound had not been attended to, an astounding evidence of inhumane barbarism. He is now being seen to by my men.”

  Flaminius turned white. “Where are my men, General?” he asked, uneasily.

  “I ordered them to withdraw,” said the caped figure. “I put them where they should be at this time, about their proper business, fighting fires in the city.”

  “Where then are your men?” asked Flaminius, fearfully.

  “Do not fear,” said the stern figure. “They are just outside.”

  Flaminius relaxed, visibly.

  “One is juggling larmas,” said the caped figure. “The other is walking back and forth on the tarn wire strung between two bridges.”

  “What?” asked Flaminius, aghast.

  The caped figure removed his helmet.

  “Publius Andronicus!” I cried.

  “‘The Imperious General,’” said Publius Andronicus, “is one of my best roles.”

  “You can act!” I cried.

  “Of course,” he said, “did not Boots Tarsk-Bit tell you that?”

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “To be sure,” said Andronicus, “I choose my roles with care.”

  I seized Flaminius by the neck and pushed him back against a wall.

  “Oh, no, my dear,” said Andronicus, seizing the bolting Yanina by an arm and returning her to her knees, trembling, on the floor, “you are not going anywhere, at least not yet.”

  “Bring Petrucchio in,” I said. “We must see to him.”

  * * * *

  “Alas,” cried Petrucchio, “I die!”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “It is only a scratch.”

  “Let a great pyre be built of hundreds of logs,” cried Petrucchio.

  “You are not entitled to such a funeral,” said Chino. “You are only a player.”

  “You will be lucky if people remember to throw you in a garbage dump,” said Lecchio.

  “I tell you it is only a scratch,” I said.

  “Oh?” asked Petrucchio.

  “Yes,” I said, replacing the bandages. “It would scarcely discomfort a neurotic urt.”

  “Was my sword recovered?” asked Petrucchio.

  “Yes,” said Chino. “We picked it up.”

  “There were hundreds of them,” Petrucchio assured me. “I fought like a larl. On it, at one time, I spitted eleven men!”

  “That is a large number,” I admitted.

  “The story of how Petrucchio held the bridge will be long remembered,” said Petrucchio.

  “I am sure it will,” I said.

  “And of how he fell at last, bloodied beneath the blades of frenzied, hostile brigades!”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Petrucchio suddenly slumped in my arms.

  “He is dead!” cried Chino.

  “Petrucchio,” I said.

  “Yes?” he said, opening his eyes.

  “Do not do that,” I said.

  “Did I play it well?” Petrucchio asked Andronicus, his mentor in such matters.

  “Splendidly, old friend,” said Andronicus.

  “It was nice of you to come looking for me,” said Petrucchio.

  “It was nothing,” Andronicus assured him.

  “Not that I needed help,” said Petrucchio.

  “Of course not,” said Andronicus.

  “If the sheaf of notes on acting hints, those on the detailed deportment of the head and hands, prepared for you by Publius Andronicus, had not somewhat turned the blade of Flaminius, it might have been a different matter,” I told Petrucchio.

  “Perhaps,” he admitted, generously. “I had thought that perhaps such theory might one day prove its value.”

  “Petrucchio,” said Andronicus, warningly.

  “You must get him out of here,” I told Andronicus. “I think you can manage it in your guise as a visiting general.”

  “I fear it will be more difficult for you to leave the city,” said Andronicus. “It seems every guardsman in Brundisium is on the lookout for you. Some who can recognize you, slaves, courtiers, and such, will be, I suspect, at every gate.”

  “I will leave the city as originally planned,” I said. “It seems the only practical way.”

  “Do you still have the device I gave you?” asked Lecchio.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And where it no longer suffices,” he said, “you must make do otherwise.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Remember not to look down at your feet,” he said, “for you will not be able to react that quickly, but to look ahead of you, where you are going.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You must think, too, with your feet and body, with its slightest sensations.”

  “I remember your training,” I said.

  “So do I,” he said. “Thus I urge you to be careful.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Do you have the other material, as well?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Perhaps we should be on our way,” said Andronicus, “before those of Brundisium begin to gather their wits about themselves.”

  “Take these papers,” I said to Andronicus. “They are important. Give them to Scormus. He will know what to do with them. He has the other papers, too, that are pertinent to these matters.”

  “Where will we meet you?” asked Andronicus.

  “At the prearranged place,” I said, “if all goes well.”

  “I wish you well,” said Andronicus.

  “I wish you well, too, all of you,” I said.

&nb
sp; In a moment, then, Andronicus had again placed his helm over his features. He did so majestically. He straightened his body, regally. He was again a general.

  “Come, men,” said he, “and bring the prisoner, he who is wanted in Ar.”

  He was quite impressive.

  “Not bad, eh?” asked Andronicus.

  “No,” I said.

  “Do not forget my sword,” said Petrucchio.

  “We will pick it up on the way out,” Lecchio assured him.

  “Come, men!” said Andronicus, again the general. He then exited, somewhat grandly, followed by Chino and Lecchio, supporting Petrucchio between them.

  “I did not know Petrucchio was wanted in Ar,” Lecchio was saying, in character.

  “Be quiet!” Chino was cautioning him, grunting, and not altogether amused.

  I watched them, to make certain they did not get into any trouble, at least as far as I could follow them visually. Then I took my way back through the apartments to where we had secured the prisoners. We had tied them, stripped, standing, their backs to the bars, their arms lifted and spread, wrists tied back to the bars, ankles, too, to the barred gate, then again dropped, which had originally prevented me from immediately following Belnar. We had used it because it resembled a slaver’s grid, to which slaves may be bound at a master’s pleasure in an almost infinite variety of attitudes, and positions, ranging from quite standard to exquisitely exotic. We had lowered the gate this time from the outside, from the apartment side, by means of a cord which we attached to the drop lever and then passed through the bars. In this fashion, it could be dropped from the front, rather than the rear. We had then only to fasten our prisoners, in whatever manner we chose, to it.

  “Do not kill me!” cried Flaminius, twisting in the cords, seeing me approaching through the apartments, the steel of my sword bared. “Please, no, Master!” cried Yanina, pulling helplessly at the restraints that held her back against the bars. “Please have mercy on a slave! Please do not kill me!” They had both hoped, doubtless, desperately, that we had all taken our leave. But I had come back.

  I put the point of the sword to the throat of Flaminius. He began to sweat. “Don’t kill me,” he whispered. Then I lowered the sword. “No,” he said, “please, no.”

  I turned the blade toward Yanina.

  “Yes,” Flaminius encouraged me. “Kill her.”