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

by Players of Gor [lit]

  I had returned by way of the passage behind the ubar’s box in the baiting pit.

  Once here, I had begun my search, in various rooms, for obvious, unconcealed

  paraphernalia, of a sort that might be germane to kaissa, such things as boards

  and pieces, books, sheafs of papers, and records. I had, of course, in my

  return, lifted the dropped iron gate separating the private room, giving access

  to the passage, from the rest of the area. This was not difficult from the

  passage side. It had taken only a moment to locate the appropriate apparatus. I

  had then freed the lock bolts, which keep the gate in place once it has dropped,

  and, by means of a wheel, associated with chains and counterweights, raised the

  gate. The gate is freed, incidentally, by a small lever. Its fall is gravity

  controlled. The fall, though swift, is not destructive. The speed of its descent

  is controlled largely by the counterweights.

  I had found what I had been looking for in a room apparently devoted to kaissa,

  in the midst of what were apparently merely the records of games, jotted on

  scraps of paper. Among those records, fitted in with them, were other papers.

  There was little doubt these were what I had sought. On one paper was a numbered

  list of names, names of well-known kaissa players. That, even, of Scormus was

  among them. On another paper there was what purported to be a list of tournament

  cities, and on

  page 369

  another list of names, of individuals supposedly noted for their craftsmanship

  in the skill and design of kaissa boards and pieces. There were also, on other

  papers, numbered, too, the representations of boards.

  Arranged in various ways on these boards were letters, sometimes beginning from

  a word, sometimes from a random, or seemingly random alignment of letters. These

  were all, I took it, keys to kaissa ciphers of one level of complexity or

  another. In a very simple case, for example, a given word, say, “Cibron,” the

  name of a wood worker of Tabor, might occur. This key, then, in a simple case,

  without variations, would presumably be used in the following manner: the

  deciphering individual would write “C-I-B-R-O-N” in the first six spaces at the

  top of a kaissa board, moving from left to right, then following with the other,

  unused letters of the alphabet, moving from right to left on the second line,

  and so in, as “the ox plows,” as standard Gorean is written. In this fashion

  each square of the board, with its name, such as “Ubar Five,” and so on, would

  correspond to a letter, and some spaces, of course, would correspond to the same

  letter, thus providing cipher multiples. When one comes to the end of the

  originally unused letters, one begins anew, of course, starting then with the

  first letter of the alphabet, writing the full alphabet in order, and then

  continuing in this fashion.

  Some of the lists had small marks after some of the words, seemingly casual,

  meaningless marks. These, however, depending on the slants and hooks, indicating

  direction, would indicate variations in letter alignments, for example. “Begin

  diagonally in the upper-left-hand corner,” and such. Those keys on which the

  entire board appeared usually possessed complex, or even random, alignments, of

  letters, and several nulls, as well as the expected multiples. A Gorean “zero”

  was apparently used to indicate nulls.

  I had thrust these papers in my pouch. The hastily opened coffer, which had

  seemed so momentous, and inaccessible, before, of course, had been only a

  diversion. The true concealment of the papers, one assuredly calculated to

  deceive those individuals who might have some just notion of their value, one

  worth of Belnar’s brilliance, was to have them lying about, almost casually,

  mixed in, and seemingly belonging with, papers of no great importance. This

  subterfuge, was, so to speak, the disguise of unexpected obviousness. In this

  manner, too, of course, they would tend to be safe from common thieves, whose

  investigations presumably would be directed more toward the breaking open of

  strong boxes and the search for secret hiding places.

  page 370

  Given their relative accessibility and their apparent lack of value common

  thieves would not be likely to find them of interest.

  If Belnar had erred here, I think it was in a very subtle matter. The pieces in

  the kaissa room, and the boards there, did not indicate frequent usage. The wood

  was not worn smooth and stained with the oil of fingers; the surface of the

  boards showed little sign of wear, or use, such as tiny scratches or even the

  subtle indications, the small rubbing marks, of polishings. Belnar, like most

  Goreans, was doubtless familiar with kaissa. On the other hand, it did not seem

  he often played. That being the case the abundance of hand-written notes and

  records about, seemingly related to the game, must, at least to some observers,

  appear something of an anomaly. It was at this point that I heard a subtle noise

  behind me. I had spun about.

  “No,” he said. “Do not draw.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Do you expect to leave this place alive?”

  “Of course,” he said. He made no move to remove his blade from its sheath.

  “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.

  page 371

  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 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.

  “See?” asked Flaminius, at t
he 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 mist 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.

  page 372

  “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, toungueless slave chained

  to he 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

  alliance!”

  page 373

  “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 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 to 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.

  page 374

  “I ordered them to withdraw,â�
�� 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.

  page 375

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