John Norman: Players of Gor

I looked carefully under the bandages.

"Let it contain a hundred logs!" said Petrucchio. "No, a thousand!"

"That is a very nasty bump," I said, replacing the bandages, "but it is nothing serious."

"Oh?" asked Petrucchio.

"Yes," I said.

"I will live?" inquired Petrucchio.

"Yes," I said.

"I suppose it is just as well," mused Petrucchio.

"I think so," I said.

"You must live, dear friend," averred Andronicus.

" Very well," said Petrucchio, convinced.

"Logs are very expensive," said Lecchio.

"How did Petrucchio receive this injury?" I asked. "Did he perhaps slip on the steps of your wagon?"

"No," said Andronicus. "he was struck, unexpectedly, from behind."

"And what craven sleen stuck such a blow?" I asked, angrily.

"Well," said Andronicus, "if it must be known, it was I."

"You?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "He was preparing to set forth for Brundisium again, once more to rescue you."

"Well struck," I commended Andronicus.

"Thank you," he said.

"How did you escape form the city proceed?" inquired Lecchio.

"Very well," I said.

"Splendid," said Lecchio.

"To be sure," I said, "I did not realize the descent on the tarn wire, with the flanged wheel, would be that swift. I struck the wall of a building with great force."

"The most difficult part of the journey, of course," said Lecchio, "would be the section where the tarn wire, from the lower roofs, stretches over to the wall, that section where you could not simply use gravity and the flanged wheel."

"Some might have found it so," I admitted.

"Fortunately," said Lecchio, "it was a matter of only a hundred feet or so."

"A mere nothing," I admitted.

"Did anyone see you?" asked Lecchio.

"I did hear a couple of fellows shouting," I admitted.

"Did you resist the temptation to do a somersault on the wire for them?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"It is probably just as well," he said.

"I think so," I said.

"I am pleased you did so well," he said.

"I fell off seven times," I said. "Fortunately I managed to seize the wire each time. Finally I finished the journey hand over hand."

"You are probably not yet ready to do that sort of thing professionally," he said.

"No," I said. "I do not think so." I was pleased that I had not broken my neck. The descent from the wall, once I had reached it, was simple. I had looped coiled wire about a parapet projection and, protected by the leather gloves, had descended to the ground, some sixty feet below.

"Did you hear what happened to Temenides, and his men?" asked Boots.

"No," I said.

"They were found in the city, with their throats cut," he said. "Apparently their murder was to have been blamed on us, as such a rumor seems to have been intentionally spread. But others, perhaps not privy to the plot, cleared our name, noting the papers recording our departure from the city, papers signed at an Ahn when Temenides and his men were still alive. We found this out through Andronicus. He learned it when he was coming back out of the city, with Chino and Lecchio, with Petrucchio as his supposed prisoner."

"I see," I said. I recalled I had seen Belnar give orders to a fellow upon the departure of Temenides from the great hall. It had been their misfortune, it seemed, to have displeased him. He had, too, it seemed, intended to settle the blame for the projected murder on the company of Boots Tarsk-Bit. This stratagem would permit him not only to take action against plausible suspects, given the hostility between those of Ar and Cos, this perhaps diverting attention from he true murderers, those in the pay of the ubar, but would give him a convenient pretext for ridding himself of possibly dangerous strangers, strangers who might, sooner or later, inopportunely comment on the anomaly of one from Cos, Temenides, am ere player, seated at the high table in Brundisium. Belnar, of course, had not realized that the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit would not return to its quarters in the palace but, instead, would immediately flee the city.

"Even though your manes may be cleared," I said, "I do not think I would revisit Brundisium in the near future."

"No," said Boots, "we shall, for the time, cross it off our itinerary."

"Good," said Andronicus.

"It is their loss," said Boots.

"True," agreed Lecchio.

"I trust you are all well, and are soon to be about your business," I said.

"Yes," said Boots, "but I suspect we may soon have to find another brawny fellow, another chap of great strength and modest talent, to help us set op the platform and tents."

"I think so," I smiled.

"Perhaps I could take over the knife-throwing act," said Boots.

Rowena and Telitsia turned white.

"But who would pay to see knives thrown at a slave?" asked Chino.

"That is true," said Boots.

The slaves visibly relaxed.

"We shall miss you," said Andronicus.

"I shall miss you, too, all of you," I said.

"Doubtless we shall have to locate another player, too," said Boots.

"Yes," smiled Scormus of Ar. "I am returning to Ar."

"And doubtless a Bina, too," moaned Boots.

"Yes, Master," said Bina, kneeling beside Scormus.

"Do you think you will enjoy wearing your collar in Ar?" he asked her.

She looked up at him. "As long as you are my master," she said, "I would wear it joyfully in Torvaldsland or Schendi."

"Rowena! Telitsia!" said Boots.

The two slaves immediately knelt before us.

I regarded them, Rowena, with her long, yellow braids, and dark-haired, shapely Telitsia, once of the scribes, now merely a girl of Boots Tarsk-Bit.

"Are they not lovely?" said Boots.

"Yes," I said.

"Rowena," said Boots, "had the making of a marvelous Golden Courtesan and Telitsia, here, I am certain, will become my finest Brigella."

"Thank you, Master," said Rowena.

"Thank you, Master," said Telitsia.

"This slave here," said Boots, "the well-formed brunet," indicating Telitsia, "has begged permission o record our plays, to write them down. Is that not absurd?"

"Why would it be absurd?" I asked.

"Because they constantly change, being continually improved and refined, and because they are often being adapted to different venues and are often topical," he said. "Too, how could a mere literary image capture the essence of the living drama?"

"Too, they are not worth writing down," said Lecchio.

"I know you do not value my opinion in these matters," I said, "but I must disagree with Lecchio."

"You are more inclined to agree with me, then?" asked Boots.

"Yes," I said.

"Your opinion, the," said Boots, "is not without value."

"Even if these plays are not great dramas," I said, "of the sort of which perhaps Andronicus dreams, they are a genuine part of the vital and living theater. They are a place, whether at a crossroads or in a ubar's hall, where theater exists. In this sense they are not only a part of its tradition and history, but are, humanly, for all their vulgarity and bawdiness, rich and precious. It would be a tragedy if they were not, in one sense or another, however unworthily or inadequately, remembered."

"It is impossible that they should be lost," said Boots.

"I know of a world where they were," I said.

"At any rate," said Boots. "I did give her permission, and the materials, too, to make at least a few jotting pertinent to these matters."

"Excellent," I said.

"Do you think me weak?" asked Boots.

"No," I said. "It is a good idea." I looked to Telitsia, kneeling with Rowena before us. "Why did you want to do this?" I asked her.

"I have learned to love them," she said. "I found them precious. I did not wan them to perish."

"If giving her our permission in this matter bothers you," I said, "seeming to you perhaps a bit too indulgent, there exists an obvious remedy wherewith you may assuage your qualms."