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

Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt Page 35

by Players of Gor [lit]

  the caste of players for the transmission of private messages, by they may, of

  course, be used by anyone. Originally they were probably invented by the caste

  of players. They are often extremely difficult to decipher because of the use of

  multiples and nulls, and the multiplicity of boards.”

  “What is the multiplicity of boards,” I asked.

  “Do you see these numbers?” he asked.

  He indicated small numbers in the left margins of several of the papers. These

  tiny numbers, in effect, seemed to divide the moves into divisions. In

  originally looking at the papers I had interpreted them simply as a device for

  identifying or listing the games or game fragments.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Those presumably indicate the ‘boards’,” he said. “Begin for example, with a

  Kaissa board, with its one hundred squares, arranged in ten ranks and ten files.

  Are you literate?”

  “Yes,” I said. Torm, my old friend, the Scribe, might have expressed skepticism

  at the unqualified promptness and boldness of my asseveration, as I had always

  remained somewhat imperfect in writing the alternate lines of Gorean script,

  which are written from the right to the left, but, clearly, I could both read

  and, though admittedly with some difficulty, write Gorean. Gorean is written, as

  it is said, as the ox plows. The first line is written left to right, the

  second, right to left, the third, left to right again, and so on. I had once

  been informed by my friend, Torm, that the whole business was quite simple, the

  alternate lines, in his opinion, at least, also being written forward, “only in

  the other direction.”

  “Begin then, on the first square,” said the player, “with the first letter of a

  word, or of a sentence, or even of a set of letters

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  randomly selected. Proceed then as in normal writing, utilizing all available

  squares. when you come to the end of the initial entry, list all unused letters

  remaining in the alphabet, in order, again utilizing all available squares. When

  you have managed that, then begin with the first letter of the alphabet, Al-Ka,

  and continue writing the alphabet in order, over and over, once more on all

  available squares, until you arrive at the last square on the board. When you

  have done this, one board, in effect, has been completed.”

  I think I understand,” I said. “If, in a given message, for example, the

  notation ‘Ubar to Ubara’s Tarnsman Two’ occurs, that could mean that, on the

  board in question, say, Board 7, the square Ubara’s Tarnsman Two was

  significant. On that board, then, we might suppose, given its arrangement, that

  the square Ubara’s Tarnsman Two might stand for, say, the letter ‘Eta’. Both the

  sender and receiver, of course, can easily determine this, as they both have the

  keys to construct the appropriate boards.”

  “Yes,” said the player.

  “The listing of the moves in an orderly sequence, of course, gives the order of

  the letters in the message,” I said.

  “Correct,” said the player.

  “I see how the multiples are effective,” I said. “For example, the letter ‘Eta’,

  the most commonly occurring letter, would actually, on any given board, be

  capable of being represented by any of a number of appropriate squares, each

  different, yet each corresponding to an ‘Eta’. Similarly, of course, one might

  skip about on the board, retreating on it, and so on, to utilize ‘Eta Squares’

  in any fashion one chose. This would produce no confusion between the sender and

  the receiver as long as the enciphered notation was in orderly sequence.”

  “Precisely,” said the player.

  “But where do the nulls come in?” I asked.

  “In my exposition,” the player reminded me, “I mentioned ‘available squares’. A

  board key will commonly consist of a given word and a list of null squares. The

  nulls may frequently occur in the enciphered message but they are, of course,

  immediately disregarded by the receiver.”

  “I see,” I said. The presence of nulls and multiples in a message, of course,

  makes it much more difficult to decipher, if one lacks the key.

  “The true power of the ciphers come in, in my opinion,” said the player, “not so

  much with the multiples and nulls but with the multiplicity of boards. Short

  messages, even in elementary

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  ciphers, are often impossible to decipher without the key. There is often just

  not enough material to work with. Accordingly it is often difficult or

  impossible to test one’s deciphering hypotheses, eliminating some and perhaps

  confirming others. Often, in such a message, one might theoretically work out

  numerous, and often conflicting analyses. The multiplicity of boards thus

  permits the shifting of the cipher several times within the context of one

  message. This obviously contributes to the security of the communication.”

  “These ciphers seem simple and beautiful,” I said, “as well as powerful.”

  “Too, if one wishes,” he said, “one need not, in filling out the boards, do so

  as in the fashion of normal writing. One might writ all one’s lines left to

  right, for example, or right to left, or write them vertically, beginning at one

  side or the other, and beginning at the top or bottom, or diagonally, beginning

  at any corner. One might use alternate lines, or left or right spirals from

  given points, and so on. Similarly, after the initial entry the remainder of the

  alphabet could be written backwards, or beginning at a given point, or reversing

  alternate letters, and so on. These variations require only a brief informative

  addition to the key and the list of null squares, if any.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I think you can see now,” he said, “why I cannot be of nay help to you. I am

  sorry.”

  “But you have been of help,” I said. “You have made it a great deal clearer to

  me what may be involved here. I am deeply appreciative.”

  “Such ciphers are, for most practical purposes, impossible to decipher without

  the appropriate keys, null-square listing, and so on.”

  “I understand,” I said. It seemed, as I had feared, that it might be difficult

  or impossible to decipher the messages without pertinent keying materials. These

  materials, presumably, would exist in Brundisium, and of course, in Ar, if

  indeed that were the intended destination of the messages. I was now prepared to

  believe that it was likely they were not messages intended for Priest-Kings.

  First, Flaminius, it seemed, who was to have received the messages from the Lady

  Yanina, had apparently intended to deliver them not to the Sardar, but to some

  party in Ar.

  Secondly, I did not think it likely that messages which were to be transmitted

  to the Priest-Kings, or among their agents, would be likely to be in a Kaissa

  cipher. Such ciphers seemed
too

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  intrinsically, or idiosyncratically, Gorean for Priest-Kings. Priest-Kings, as

  far as I knew, were not familiar with, and did not play, what Goreans often

  speak of simply as “the Game.” this suggested to me then that the messages might

  be transmissions of sort which might occur among the agents of Kurii.

  I recalled one message from Kurii or their agents, to Samos of Port Kar, which

  had been written on a scytale, disguised as a girl’s hair ribbon. The girl who

  had originally worn it to his house, a blond-haired, blue-eyed Earth girl, was

  now one of his slaves. She had been named “Linda.”

  I recalled another message, too, which we had intercepted, a well-disguised but

  simple substitution cipher. It had been recorded in the ordering of a string of

  slave beads. It had been carried, too, in its way, by a slave. She had been a

  poetess, and a lovely, curvaceous wench, one obviously born for the collar. I

  think she, too, had been of Earth origin, though little of that had remained in

  her when I saw her. As I recall, her name was “Dina.” At that time, at least,

  she had been owned by Clitus Vitellius, a warrior of Ar.

  The nature of the messages, then, in a native-type Gorean cipher, suggested to

  me that there might be some sort of linkage between Kurii, and their agents, and

  Brundisium and Ar. This would be natural enough, I supposed, because close

  relations reputedly existed between the two cities. This would make travel and

  communication between them practical in a world where strangers are often

  regarded with suspicion, indeed, a world on which the same word is generally

  used for both “stranger” and “enemy.” Kurii, then, I suspected, must control

  Brundisium, or be influential there. It might be an outpost for them or a base

  of operations for them, perhaps, as, I gathered, Corcyrus had been, in the

  recent past. The Lady Yanina had been of the household of the Ubar of

  Brundisium, a fellow named Belnar. This suggested that he himself, as she seemed

  to be in his employ, might well be in league with Kurii.

  The keying materials for the messages, I suspected, would lie in the palace in

  Brundisium, perhaps even in the private chambers of her Ubar himself, Belnar. I

  myself was not in hiding from Priest-Kings, presumably to remain under cover

  until Samos had resolved certain matters with the Sardar, or until some now

  developments might be forthcoming. I was not now pleased with Priest-Kings. I

  did not now, any longer, really consider myself as being of their party. AT best

  I had, even in the past, served them or not, as my inclinations prompted. I was

  perhaps less of a pledged adherent in their wars than a free sword, a mercenary

  of

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  sorts, one who accepted one cause or another, as it might please him to do so.

  Still, I recognized that it was the power of Priest-Kings which, in its way,

  protected both Gor and Earth from the onslaught of lurking Kurii, concealed in

  their steel worlds, hidden among the orbiting stones and mountains, the small

  worlds and moons, of the asteroid belt. There was some point, then, in my being

  at least somewhat well disposed toward their cause. If Brundisium were in league

  with Kurii, I did not suppose it would do Samos any harm to learn of it. Yes,

  upon reflection, it now seemed quite likely that Brundisium was in league with

  Kurii, that there was some sort of connection between the palace at Brundisium

  and the subtleties and machinations of the denizens of the steel worlds. More

  importantly, I was curious to know the content of those secret messages. Their

  keys might well lie in the private chambers of Belnar. Pe4haps I could pay them

  a visit. It might be difficult, of course, to gain access to the palace. But

  perhaps it could be somehow arranged.

  We were now less than five hundred pasangs from Brundisium. I must soon, in the

  performances, I feared, h ood the Lady Yanina, or perhaps, better, sell the

  wench to someone bound in another direction, and replace her altogether with

  another girl, presumably a slave, whom I might purchase somewhere, a girl it

  would be safer to take into Brundisium, one not from that city, one to whom the

  city would be unfamiliar and strange, one in which she could not even find her

  way around, on I which she would find herself, absolutely, only another slave.

  “You are not really a roustabout, or a vagabond, are you?” asked the player.

  “I am a member of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, actor, promoter and

  entrepreneur,” I said.

  “So, too, am I,” said the player.

  “I thought so,” I said.

  “We shall leave it at that, then,” said the player.

  “Yes,” I said.

  We stood up. It was now near supper. It was being prepared tonight by Rowena and

  Lady Yanina, in her sack. It amused me that she should be used to perform the

  labors of a slave. I could see Boots returning now, from a nearby village, to

  which he had gone to purchase some food and advertise our show. Behind him,

  barefoot and naked, bent under the burden of his purchases, which were strapped

  to her back, her legs filthy to her thighs with dust from the road, came one of

  his girls, Lady Telitsia. I could also see the insolent Bina approaching. She

  was coming

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  from the stream, bearing on her shoulders a yoke, from which swung two buckets.

  “I see that you are a bearer of burdens,” I said.

  She cast a scornful glance at the player. “Yes,” she said to me. “I am a slave.”

  She then continued on her way to the cooking fire where Rowena and the Lady

  Yanina were busying themselves. Rowena had been appointed first girl in the

  camp. We had also made it clear to the Lady Yanina that she, even though she was

  a free woman, must obey Rowena in all things, she, by our decision, having been

  placed in power over her. The least waywardness in behavior while under the

  commands of Rowena, or hesitancy in obeying her orders, or insolence shown

  towards her, we had assured her would constitute an occasion for discipline, and

  severe discipline, precisely as though she herself might be naught but a mere

  slave.

  “Thank you for the games,” I said. We had played five games this afternoon. To

  be sure, four of them had not taken very long.

  “You are very welcome,” he said.

  “May I not pay you for them?” I ask3ed.

  “No,” he said.

  “Surely you can use the coins,” I said.

  “We are both members of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit,” he said.

  “True,” I smiled.

  “Actor, promoter and entrepreneur,” he added.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Boots was now, his girl, Lady Telitsia, behind him, quite near the camp.

  Doubtless she would be pleased to be soon relieved of her burdens. Bina was near

  the cooking fire. She had brought water for the kettles. Lady Yanina, kneeling

  before a pan of water, under the supervision of Rowena, who was tending the

  fire, was washing and scraping garden vegetables, mostly onion, turnips
and

  suls. These would alter be used in a stew.

  “Your Kaissa,” I said, “is the finest of anyone with whom I have played.”

  “You have probably not played with skilled players,” he said.

  “I have sometimes played with members of the caste of players,” I said.

  He said nothing.

  “I think,” I said, “that you could play in the same tournaments as Scormus of

  Ar.”

  “Upon occasion,” he said, “I have done so.”

  “I had thought you might have,” I said.

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  “You have a very active mind,” he said.

  “Perhaps you might even, upon occasion, beat him,” I said.

  “I do not think that is very likely,” he said.

  “Nor do I,” I said.

  “Do not speak to me of Scormus of Ar,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Scormus of Ar is a traitor to his city,” he said.

  “How is that?” I asked.

  “He failed his city,” he said, “and was disgraced.”

  “In what way did this occur?” I asked.

  “He lost in the great tournament, in 10,125 Contasta Ar,” he said, “to Centius,

  of Cos.”

  “Centius is a fine player,” I said. The tournament he referred to was doubtless

  the one held at the Sardar Fair, in En’Kara of that year. It had occurred five

  years ago. It was now 10,130 C.A., Contasta Ar, from the Founding of Ar. In the

  chronology of Port Kar, it was now Year Eleven, of the Sovereignty of the

  Council of Captains. I had been fortunate enough to have been able to witness

  that game. In it Centius of Cos, one of Gor’s finest players, indeed, perhaps

  her finest player, had, for the first time, introduced the defense which came

  subsequently to be known as the Telnus Defense. Telnus was the home city of

  Centius of Cos. it is also the capital of that island ubarate.

  “That makes no difference,” said the player.

  “I would think it would make a great deal of difference,” I said.

  “No,” he said, bitterly. “It does not.”

  “Do you know Scormus of Ar?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, angrily, “I do not know him.”

 

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