Players of Gor (9 page)

Interestingly the man behind the board wore black robes and a hoodlike mask, alsso black, which covered his entire head. He did not wear the red-and-yellow-checked robes of the caste of players, he was not, thus, I assumed, of that caste. Had he been of the players he would doubtless have worn their robes. They are quite proud of their caste. His skills, howver, I conjectured, must be considerable. Apparently the arsenal champion, one of the best twenty or thirty players in Port Kar, had been not match for him. Perhaps he had engaged in illegal moves. That seemed more likely than the fact that he, a fellow like him, associated with actors and carnival folk, and such, could best the arsenal champion. It ws carnival time, of course. Perhaps the champion had been drdink.

"If the game is not interesting for htem, if they do not htink they are really playing, seriously, they will not want a second or a thrid game," said the paunchy fellow. "We want them to come back! We want the board busy! That is how we are making the money!"

The price for a game is usually something between a tarsk bit and and a copper tarsk. If the challenger wins or draws, the game is free. Someteimes a copper tarsk, or even a silver tarsk, is nailed to one of the poles of the booth. It goes to the challenger if he wins and the game is free, if he draws. This is because a skillful player, primarily by judicious exchanges and careful position play, can often bring about a draw. Less risk is involved in playing for a draw than a win, of course. Conservative players, ahead in tournament play, often adopt this stratagem, usuing it, often to the fury of the crowds and their opponents, to protect and nurse an established lead. A full point is scored for a win; in a draw each player obtains a half point.

"you must manage to lose once in a while," said the paunchy fellow. "That will bring them back! That way, in the the long run, we will make much more money!"

"I play to win," siad the fellow, looking at the board.

"I do not know why I put up with you!" said the paunchy fellow. "You are only a roustabout and vagabond!"

I noted the configuration of the pieces on the board. The hooded fellow had not begun from the opening position, arriving at the configuration after a series of moves. he had simply set the pieces up originally in that position. Something about the position seemed familiar. I suddenly realized, with a start, that I had seen it before. It was the position which would be arrived at on the seventeenth move of the Ubara's Gambit Declined, Yellow Home stone having been placed at Ubara's Builder One, providing red had, on the eleventh move, departed from the main line, transposing into the Turian line. Normally, at this point, one continues with the advancement of the Ubara's Initiate's Spearman, supporting the attack being generated on the adjacent file, that of the Ubara's Builder. he, however, advanced the Ubar's Initiate's Spearman in a two-square-option move, grining it to Ubar's Initiate Five. I wondered if he knew anything about kaissa. Then, suddenly, the move seemed interesting to me. It would, in effect, launch a second attack, and one which might force yellow to bring pieces to the Ubar's side of the board, thereby weakening the position of the Ubara's Builder's File, making it more vulnerable, then, of course, to the major attack. It was an interesting idea, I wondered if it had ever been seriously played.

"You must learn to lose!" said the paunchy fellow.

"I have lost," said the hooded fellow, "I know what it is like."

"You, Sir," siad the paunchy fellow turning to me, "do you play kaissa?"

"A little," I said.

"Hazard a game," he invited. "Only a tarsk bit!" he then glanced meaningfully at the hooded fellow, and then turned and again regarded me. "I can almost guarantee that you will win." he said.

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"Why is your player hooded?" I asked. It did not seem the kind of disguising that might be appropriate for carnival.

"It is something from infancy, or almost from infancy," said the paunchy fellow, shuddering, "from flames, a great fire. It left him as he is, beneath the mask. He is a disfigured monster. Free women would swoon at the sight. The stomachs of strong men would be turned. They would cry out with horror and strike at him. Such grotesquerie, such hideousness, is not to be tolerated in public view."

"I see," I said.

"Only a tarsk bit," the paunchy fellow reminded me.

"Do not fear that you will not win," said the hooded fellow, in fury, placing the pieces in position for the opening of play. He then, imperiously, removed his Ubar, Ubara, and his Builders and Physicians, from the board, six major pieces. He looked angrily at me, and then, too, he threw his tarnsmen into the leather bag, with drawstrings, at the side of the table. he spun the board about so that I might have Yellow, and the first move. Thus I would have the initiative. Thus I could, in effect, for most purposes, choose my preferred opening. "Make your first move," he said. "I shall then tip my Ubar and the game will be yours."

"Can you not be somewhat more subtle?" inquired the paunchy fellow of the hooded man.

"I would not consider playing under such conditions," I said.

"Why not?" aske dthe paunchy fellow, pained. "You could then say truthfully that you had won. Others need not know the sort of game it was."

"It is an insult to kaissa," I said.

"He is right," said the hooded fellow.

The slave girl, whimpered, looking up at me. The pastry, which she had been diminishing, bit by miniscule bit, flake by tiny, damp flake, with her tongue, was clutched in both her hands. As she ate thus, the palcement of her arms constituted a provocative modesty, on e terminable, of course, at my will. Similarly, her small, delicate wrists were close together, so close that they might have been linked by slave bracelets.

"Please, Master," she whimpered.

"Hazard a game," suggested the paunchy fellow.

I looked down into the eyes of the slave girl. She looked up at me, and slowly and sensuously, with exquisite care, licked at the sugary, white glazing on the pastry. She might be helpless with need, but I saw she had had training.

"I have another game in mind," I said.

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She looked up at me, flakes of the pastry and glazing about her mouth, and kissed me. "I want to love you," she said. I tasted the sugar on her lips.

"I can understand such games," said the paunchy fellow. "It is pleasant to have a naked islave in one's arms."

"Yes," I agreed.

"Put them all in collars," he said. "Teach them what they are for, and about. No woman is worth antying until she is put in a collar. None of them have any worth until they are made worthless."

"What do you think?" I asked the slave.

"It is true, Master," she said.

"Now that fellow," said the paunchy fellow, gesturing to the hooded fellow, "is different from us. He lives only for kaissa. He does not so much as touch a woman. To be sure, it is probably just as well. They would doubtless faint with terror at the very sight of him."

"Do you wish to play, or not?" asked the hooded fellow, looking up at me.

"Under the conditions you propose," I said, "I would not accept a win from you, if you were Centius of Cos." Centius of Cos was perhaps the finest player on Gor. He had been the champion at the En'Kara tournaments three out of the last five years. IN one of those years, 10,127 C.A., he had chosen not to compete, giving the time to study. In that year the champion had been Terence of Turia. In 10,128 C. A., Centius had returned but was defeated by Ajax of Ti, of the Salerian Confederation, who had overcome Terence in the semifinals. In 10,129 C.A., last En'Kara, Centius had decisively bested Ajax and recovered the championship.

At the metnion of the name Centius of Cos, the hooded player had stiffened angrily. "I assure you I am not Centius of Cos," he said. He then, angrily, thrust the pieces intot he leather bag tied to his belt, put the board under his arm, and, limping, withdrew.

"It is still early!" called the paunchy fellow after the hooded man. "Where are you going?"

But the hooded fellow had disappeared between the booths, going somewhere to the rear.

"I am sorry," I said. "I did not mean to upset him."

"Do not worry about it," said the paunchy fellow. "It is always happening. He is a touchy fellow, impetuous, arrogant and reckless. Doubtless the ground should be grateful that he

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deigns to tread upon it. His kaissa, on the other hand, seems strong. It is probably too good, really, for what we need."

"Perhaps he should apply for membership in the caste of players," I suggested.

"He does not seem interested in that," he said.

"Oh," I said.

"Besides, he is a grotesque monster," he said. "Even the slaves fear him."

"I understand," I said.

"Too, if he were really any good, honestly speaking, between you and me, he would not be with us."

"I see," I smiled. To be sure, there was more moeny to be made in the kaissa clubs and on the high bridges. It was interesting to me that the fellow had limped. I had once known a kaissa player who had done that. To be sure, it was long ago.

"Have you, yourself, ever played him?" I asked.

"No," said the fellow. "I do not play kaissa."

"I see," I said.

"You are Boots Tarsk-Bit?" asked a voice.

The voice came from behind us. The paunchy fellow with me turned white.

I turned about.

"Greetings, Captain," siad the man.

"Greetings," I said to him. It was the officer of the Master of Revels. Behind him were the two members of the Council Guard.

"Hold," said the officer to the paunchy fellow, who, it seemed, had backed away, turned, and was bout to disappear between the stage and the kaissa booth.

"Did you call?" asked the paunchy fellow, pleasantly, turning.
 
A meaningful gesture from the officer, pointing to a spot in front of him, brought the puanchy fellow alertly back into our presence. "Yes," he inquired, pleasantly.

"I believe you are Boots Tarsk-Bit," siad the officer, "of the company of Boots Tarsk-Bit."

"He must be somewehre about," siad the paunchy fellow. "If you like, I shall attempt to search him out for you."

"Hold," said the officer.

The paunchy fellow returned to the spot in front of the officer.

"That is he," siad one of the guards wiht him.

"No offense meant, good sir," siad that paunchy fellow, "A mere jest!"

"You are Boots Tarsk-Bit," said the officer, consulting an

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inked handbill, clipped wiht other papers. "Actor, Entrepreneur, and Impresario, of the company of Boots Tarsk-Bit?"

"At your service," said the paunchy fellow, bowing low. "What may I do for you?"

The girl was now kneeling beside me, with her head down. She had assumed this position immediately upon the appearance of the officer and ghe guards.

"We are here in connection with the matter of a license," said the officer.

"Yes," said the paunchy fellow, Boots Tarsk-Bit, pleasantly.

"Do you have one?" asked the officer.

"Would you care to come to my quarters?" asked Boots. "We have some lovely larmas there, and perhaps you and your men would like to try my Bina and Brigella."

"In the license," said the officer, "there is the provision that girls associated with companies such as yours, if slaves, may be commanded to the apartments and service of whomsoever the council, or a delegated officer of the council, directs."

"I scarcely ever read all the provisions of the licenses," said Boots. "Such things are so tedious."

"Do you have a license?" asked the officer.

"Of course!" said Boots, indignantly. "They are required, as is well known. No fellow with the least sense of ethics would think of being without one."

"May I see your license?" inquired the officer.

"Certainly," said Boots, fumbling about in his robes. "It is right here-somewhere." He examined his wallet. "Somewhere," he assured the officer. "Alas," he said, after the second ransacking of his robes, and his third examination of the wallet. "it must be in my quarters, perhaps in the wardrobe trunk. I shall return in a nonce. I trust that I shall not discover that I have been robbed!"

"Hold," said the officer.

"Yes?" said Boots, turning back.

"According to our records," said the officer, "you have no license. You did not petition to perform, and you did not obtain a license."

"I remember distinctly obtaining the license!" said Boots.

The officer glared at him.

"Of course, it might have been last year," said Boots. "Or maybe the year before?"

The officer was silent.

"Could I have neglected such a detail?" asked Boots, horrified. "Could such a thing have slipped my mind? It seems impossible!"

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"It is not really so hard to believe," observed the officer. "It has happened three years in a row."

"No!" cried Boots, in horror.