Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt

by Players of Gor [lit]

  “I know nothing of the management of women,” he said.

  “It is your move,” I said.

  “Do you wish to continue the game?” he asked.

  “If it is alright with you,” I said, “I would not mind it.”

  “I thought you might not wish to do so,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “It is all right with me.”

  “I will offer you a draw, if you like,” he said.

  “You are very generous,” I said.

  He inclined his head, graciously.

  “You are joking, of course,” I said.

  “No,” he said, puzzled.

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  “I have a winning position,” I said.

  “Ah!” he said, suddenly. “So that is why you would not comment on the game in

  the presence of the slave. You wished to protect me from her scorn.”

  “Something like that,” I admitted, shrugging.

  “That was really very thoughtful of you,” he said. “I must insist that you

  accept a draw.”

  “With your permission,” I said, “I would prefer to play the game to its

  conclusion.”

  “This is the first time in my life,” he said, “that I have ever offered someone

  a draw as a gift.”

  “I am sure I am appreciative of the gesture,” I said.

  “But you do not accept?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “I have a winning position,” I said.

  “Do you really think so?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “I have a protected Rider of the High Tharlarion at Ubar’s Initiate Eight. When

  I move him to Ubar’s Initiate Nine you can prevent capture of Home Stone only by

  giving up your Ubara. After that the outcome of the game is a foregone

  conclusion.”

  He regarded me, not speaking.

  “It is your move,” I said.

  “That is what you seem to have forgotten,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  He swept his Ubara down the board, removing the Spearman I had posted at my

  Ubar’s Initiate Three.

  “That Spearman is protected,” I said, “by the Spearman at Ubar’s Builder Two.”

  “Threat to Home Stone,” he said. To be sure, his Ubara now threatened the Home

  Stone.

  “I will permit you to withdraw the move,” I said.

  “Threat to Home Stone,” he said.

  “That move costs you your Ubara,” I said. “Further, you are losing it for a mere

  Spearman, not even a Rider of the High Tharlarion. Further, when I remove it

  from the board, my Rider of the High Tharlarion is but one move from capture of

  Home Stone.”

  “Threat to Home Stone,” he said.

  “Very well,” I said. I removed his Ubara from the board, replacing it with the

  Spearman I had previously had at Ubar’s Builder Two. The move was forced, of

  co8urse. I could not move

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  the Home Stone to Ubar’s Builder One because that square was covered by his

  Scribe at Ubara’s Scribe Four. “My Rider of the High Tharlarion is but one move

  from capture of Home Stone,” I reminded him.

  “But it is my move,” he said.

  He then advanced his Spearman at Ubar’s Builder Eight to Ubar’s Builder Nine.

  This was now possible, of course, because I had had to open that file, taking

  the Spearman from it to capture his Ubara, the move forced in the circumstances.

  One must, as long as it is possible, protect the Home Stone.

  “Threat to Home Stone,” he observed.

  His advancing Spearman, a mere Spearman, now forked my Home Stone and Builder.

  The Spearman is not permitted retreat. It, after its initial move, may move only

  one space at a time. This move may be directly or diagonally forward, or

  sideways. It, like the chess pawn, can capture only diagonally.

  I could not move my Home Stone in front of the Spearman, even if I had wished to

  do so, because of his Scribe’s coverage from afar of that square, Ubar’s Builder

  One. Similarly, even if I had had the option in the circumstances, which I did

  not, I could not have brought my Builder to that square for defensive purposes

  without exposing it to the attack of the same piece. I now began to suspect that

  what I had thought had been a rather weak, easily averted threat of capture of

  Home Stone, the earlier alignment of his Ubara and Scribe on that crucial

  diagonal, might actually have had a somewhat different, more latent, more

  insidious purpose. Similarly, even if his Scribe had not been placed where it

  was, it would not have been rational in this specific game situation, though it

  would have been a possible move, to place my Home Stone at Ubar’s Builder One.

  If I had done so this would have permitted the diagonal move of the Spearman to

  his War’s Initiate Ten, my Ubar’s Initiate One, at which point it would

  doubtless have been promoted to a Rider of the High Tharlarion, thusly effecting

  capture of Home Stone. The defense of my Builder, on which I was relying, would

  in such a case have been negated by the placement of my own Home Stone, which

  would then have been inserted between it and the attacking piece. But, as it

  was, because of the Scribe’s coverage of Ubar’s Builder One, my move was forced.

  I could move only to, and must move to, Ubar’s Initiate Two. It appeared I must

  lose my Builder. I eyes my Rider of the High Tharlarion at Ubar’s Initiate

  Eight. I needed only a respite of one move to effect capture of Home Stone.

  “Your Home Stone is under attack,” he reminded me.

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  “I am well aware of that,” I said.

  “You have one and only one possible move,” he pointed out.

  “I know,” I said. “I know.”

  “Perhaps you should make it,” he suggested.

  “Very well,” I said. I moved my Home Stone to Ubar’s Initiate Two. A Spearman

  who attains the rear rank of the enemy has the option of being promoted, if

  promotion is desired, to either a Tarnsman or a Rider of the High Tharlarion.

  The Tarnsman is generally regarded as the more valuable piece. Indeed, in many

  adjudication procedures the Tarnsman is valued at eight points and the Rider of

  the High Tharlarion at only two. I did not think he would directly advance his

  Spearman to Ubar’s Builder Ten, even though it was now protected, the file

  opened behind it, by his Builder at Ubar’s Builder One. I now began to suspect

  that the placement of his Builder on that file might not have been an accident,

  no more than the rather irritating placement of his Scribe at Ubara’s Scribe

  Four. If he did advance it in that fashion, promoting it presumably to a Rider

  of the High Tharlarion, to bring the Home Stone under immediate attack, and

  prevent me from advancing my own Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubar’s Initiate


  Nine, finishing the game, I would take it with my Builder. He would then, of

  course, retake with his Builder. On the other hand, this exchange would

  sacrifice his advanced Spearman. I expected him rather, then, to take the

  Builder and then, with impunity, promote his Spearman to a Tarnsman at his

  Ubar’s Scribe Ten, my Ubar’s Scribe One. If he did this, however, it would give

  me the move I needed to effect capture of Home Stone, by advancing my Rider of

  the High Tharlarion to the coveted Ubar’s Initiate Nine. I mopped my brow. He

  had miscalculated. The game was still mine!

  “Spearman to Ubar’s Initiate Ten,” he said, moving the Spearman neither to

  Ubar’s Building Ten, nor to Ubar’s Scribe Ten, taking the Builder. This placed

  it behind my Home Stone. “Rider of the High Tharlarion,” he said, replacing the

  Spearman now with the appropriate piece. “Threat to Home Stone,” he then said.

  “I can take it with my Builder,” I said.

  “Indeed,” he said, “you must do so. You have no other move.”

  I swept my Builder to my left, capturing the new Rider of the High Tharlarion at

  my Ubar’s Initiate One. His career, it seemed, had been a brief one. There was

  no way he could, in this situation, recapture. It seemed he had done nothing

  more than deliver his new Rider of the High Tharlarion promptly, and for

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  nothing, into my prison pit. I could not move the Home Stone to either Ubar’s

  Builder One, Two or Three because of the coverage of these squares, all of them

  being covered by his Builder at his Ubar’s Builder One, and Ubar’s Builder One

  being additionally covered by his Scribe, that posted at Ubara’s Scribe Four.

  “Builder to Ubar’s Builder Nine,” he said.

  I regarded the board.

  “Capture of Home Stone,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  My Home Stone had been maneuvered to Ubar’s Initiate Two. There he had used my

  own men to trap it and hold it helplessly in position. Then he had swept down

  the opened file with his Builder, to Ubar’s Builder Nine, to effect its capture.

  “Every one of your moved was forced,” he said. “You never had an alternative.”

  “True,” I said.

  “An elementary Ubara sacrifice,” he remarked.

  “Elementary?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “I did not see it,” I said, “at least until it was too late.”

  “I gathered that,” he said. “Otherwise you might have resigned several moves

  ago, thereby perhaps saving yourself a bit of embarrassment.”

  “I thought I was winning,” I said.

  “I think you were under a grave misapprehension as to just who was attacking,”

  he said.

  “Apparently,” I said.

  “Undoubtedly,” he agreed, unnecessarily, in my opinion.

  “Are you sure the Ubara sacrifice was ‘elementary,’” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I thought it was brilliant,” I said.

  “Those such as you,” he said, “particularly when they find themselves their

  victims, commonly salute as brilliancies even the most obvious trivialities.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Do not be despondent,” he said. “Among those who cannot play the game, you play

  very well.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Would you care to play again?”

  “No,” I said. “Not now.”

  “Very well,” he said. He began to put the pieces back in a large leather wallet.

  “Would you care to wrestle?” I asked.

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  “No,” he said, pleasantly enough.

  “That Ubara sacrifice was not really all that bad, was it?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, “it was actually not all that bad. In fact, it was rather good.”

  “I thought so,” I said.

  I watched the player replacing the pieces in the leather wallet. He was in a

  good mood. Just as I had thought, that Ubara sacrifice had not been all that

  straightforward, or elementary. That, at least, gave me some satisfaction. This

  moment, it then seemed to me, might be a good time to speak to him. I had been

  wanting to speak to him for several days. I had been awaiting only a judicious

  opportunity, one in which the topic might seem to be broached naturally, in such

  a way as to avoid arousing his curiosity or suspicion. He drew the strings on

  the wallet, closing it. Yes, this seemed like an excellent time to take action.

  I would arrange the whole business in such a way that it would seem quite

  natural. It would be easy. Yes, I thought, I could manage this quite nicely.

  “I wish that I had recorded the game,” I said.

  “I can reiterate the moves for you, if you wish,” he said.

  “From memory?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “It is not difficult.”

  I drew forth from my wallet some papers and a marking stick. Among some of these

  papers, which I would apparently use as a backing surface for the sheet on which

  I intended to record the moves, were the papers I had taken, long ago, from the

  Lady Yanina near the fair of En’Kara.

  “Ah,” said the player. “I see.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Am I not, now, supposed to say, ‘What have you there?’ or is that to come

  later?”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “We must have played a hundred games,” he said. “Never before have you seemed

  interested in recording one. Now you seem interested. Why, I wonder. Now you

  draw forth papers from your wallet. Some of these are papers obviously covered

  with the notation of Kaissa. Am I not to express curiosity? And are you not

  then, almost inadvertently, to ask me some question, or questions, in which you

  are interested?”

  “Perhaps,” I said, hesitantly.

  “Are you really interested in the game?” he asked.

  “I am interested in it, as a matter of fact,” I said, “but, to be

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  sure, as you seem to have detected, it is possible I have an ulterior motive in

  mind.”

  “The moves of the game were as follows,” he said. He then repeated them for me,

  even, occasionally, adding in some useful annotational remarks. There were

  forty-three moves in the game.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Now what are those other papers?”

  I handed them to him.

  He looked at them, briefly, flipping through them. They appeared to be covered

  with the notation of Kaissa, as though various games, or fragments of games had

  been recorded on them.

  “Do you have some question, some specific questions, about these?” he asked.

  “I am wondering about them,” I said.

  â
€œI thought you were giving me these in connection with some specific question

  having to do with Kaissa,” he said, “perhaps with respect to the analysis of a

  position or a suggested variation on a lesser-known opening. I thought perhaps

  they might be Kaissa puzzles, in which a forced capture of Home Stone in some

  specified number of moves must be detected.”

  I said nothing. I was eager to see what he would say.

  “What do you make of them?” he asked.

  “I am interested in your opinion,” I said.

  “I see,” he said.

  “Are they games,” I asked. “Parts of games?”

  “They might appear to be so,” he said, “if not looked at closely.”

  “yes,” I said.

  “Doubtless you have reconstructed the positions, or some of them,” he said.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “And what do you think?” he asked.

  “I think,” I said, “that it is highly unlikely that they are games, or parts of

  games.”

  “I agree,” he said. “They do not seem to be games, or parts of games. Indeed,

  it seems unlikely that that is even what they are supposed to be. Not only would

  the general level of play be inferior but much of it is outright gibberish.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I can be of no help to you.”

  “That is all right,” I said.

  “Where did you get them?” he asked.

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  “I came on them,” I said.

  “I see,” he said.

  “You do not know what they are, then?” I said.

  “What they are,” he said, “seems to be clear.”

  “What do you think they are?” I asked.

  “Kaissa ciphers,” he said.

  “What are Kaissa ciphers?” I asked. I did not doubt that the papers contained

  enciphered messages. That conjecture seemed obvious, if not inevitable, given

  the importance attached to them by the Lady Yanina, she of Brundisium, and her

  colleague, Flaminius, perhaps also of Brundisium. I had hoped, of course, that

  the player might be able to help me with this sort of thing, that he, ideally,

  might be familiar with the ciphers, or their keys.

  “There are many varieties of Kaissa ciphers,” he said. “They are often used by