John Norman: Players of Gor

"Yes, Master," she said, her head to the floor.

"Are you here for the same reason that I am?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he said.

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 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.

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.

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 the 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?"