John Norman: Players of Gor

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "this one once stood high in Ar. She was of high caste and noble blood. She was of gentle birth, of delicate breeding, a creature of the most refined upbringing and careful nurture, and of acknowledged and established station. She was among the loftiest of the free women of the city. On such festivals as the Planting Feast it was even she who was sometimes permitted to honor the Home Stone, sprinkling upon it the richest Ka-la-na, and the finest of Sa-Tarna grains. She was the daughter of Marlenus, ubar of Ar."

"I have heard of her," I said.

Then she fell into disgrace, having been enslaved, thereby no longer having a Home Stone. Then, for having begged to be purchased, an act confessing the propriety of her bondage, sworn she was from her father's blood."

"I have heard something of it," I said.

"In recent years, freed, but with no Home Stone, in disgrace and seclusion, she has lived in Ar."

I nodded.

"Now, it seems," said he, "she is somehow implicated in a plot to overthrow Marlenus, that she is among the ring leaders in an insidious betrayal and projected revolt, that she is a prominent figure in a treason that could open the very gates of Ar to its enemies. It is intended, it seems, that it should then be she who sits upon the throne of Ar, attentive to the counsels of Cos and Tyros."

"The armies of Ar," I said, "will destroy the forces of Cos and Tyros."

"I do not think that is so clear," said Scormus. Again we looked out to sea. It seemed covered with ships. I had never before, anywhere, seen the marshaling of so many ships. Sails, even now, continued to appear over the horizon.

"No," I said. "The armies of Ar will destroy those of Cos and Tyros."

"Your confidence exceeds mine, particularly in the present circumstances," said Scormus.

I shrugged.

"Should that occur, however, and the traitors be found out, doubtless they would be dealt with most harshly."

I stepped away from the grassy height from which we surveyed the vast, distant fleet. I took the papers from my tunic. I went to the small fire in the camp, among the wagons. With stick I stirred it. I threw the papers on the fire. I watched them burn.

"Did you make a copy of the papers?" I asked Scormus.

"No," he said. "But I have seen them. I am familiar with their contents. Am I now to be killed, or something?"

"No," I said. "Of course not."

"What am I to do?" he asked.

"Do whatever you think best," I said.

"Even if I had the papers," he said, "I would have no way to prove their authenticity."

I nodded, watching the last pieces of paper blacken and curl.

"Too," he said, "to whom could I, or you, report what we have found? We do not know who is privy to the plot and who is not."

"That is true," I said. With the stick I prodded the charred remains of the papers, crumbling them to black powder in the ashes.

"This is not like you," said Scormus.

"What?" I asked.

"This," he said.

"What?" I asked, angrily.

"I do not think you can so easily rid yourself of unwelcome realities, my friend," said Scormus, "whatever you might esteem them to be."

I did not respond.

"Do you think to put the torch to truth?" he asked.

I did not answer him.

"I cannot be done," he said.

"Many manage," I said. Indeed, I knew a world predicated on lies and the perversion of nature. It was called Earth.

"Perhaps," he said.

I jabbed down, angrily, at the ashes. Then I threw away the stick.

"But," he said, "I doubt that you would be very good at it."

"No," I said. "I do not think I would be very good at it."

"You cannot even walk a tightrope," observed Lecchio.

"True," I said.

"However these matters fall out," said Scormus, "they have now begun." He then walked back to the height of the clifflike side of the hill, that with the crashing waves at its foot. I joined him there, with the others, my friends, whom I must soon leave. WE all looked out to sea. IT was a vast fleet. The first ships had already come to the harbor of Brundisium.

"It has begun," said Scormus.

"Yes," I said. "It has begun."