Players of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “We are playing Kaissa,” said the monster.

  I noted that she had not knelt. She had not thrust her head to the ground. She had not asked for permission to speak. Her entire attitude was one of slovenly disregard for our status, that of free men. She was not my slave, of course. She belonged to Boots.

  “I can see that,” she said, biting again into the larma. The juice ran down the side of her mouth.

  Her foot was on the edge of the monster’s robes, as he sat before the board, cross-legged.

  “Who is winning?” she asked.

  “It does not matter,” I said. I was angry with her animosity towards the monster. It was not my intention to give her any occasion to receive gratification over his discomfiture. She wore light, leather slippers. Boots had permitted footwear to both Bina and Rowena. He was an indulgent master. To be sure, Lady Telitsia had not yet been permitted footwear, but then she had not yet been permitted clothing either, except for her collar, except when it was in the nature of costuming for her performances. “Do you play?” I asked.

  “I am a slave,” she said. “I cannot so much as touch the pieces of the game without permission without risking having my hands cut off, or being killed, no more than weapons.”

  “You do not know how to play, then?” I said.

  “No,” she said.

  “Do you understand anything of the game?” I asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “I see,” I said. That pleased me. It was just as well if she did not understand the dire straits in which my opponent now found himself. That would surely have amused the slinky little slut. Surely she knew her foot was on his robes. Surely he, too, must be aware of this.

  “I have offered to extend to you such permissions, and teach you,” he said.

  I thought that was interesting.

  Did he not realize she was a slave girl?

  “I despise you,” she said.

  “Your foot is on the robes of my antagonist,” I said.

  “Sorry,” she said. She stepped back a bit, and then, deliberately, with her slipper, kicked dust onto his robes.

  “Beware!” I said.

  “You do not own me!” she said. “Neither of you own me!”

  “Any free man may discipline an insolent or errant slave,” I said, “even one who is in the least bit displeasing, even one he might merely feel like disciplining. If she is killed, or injured, he need only pay compensation to her master, and that only if the master can be located within a specific amount of time and requests such compensation.” In virtue of such customs and statutes the perfect discipline under which Gorean slaves are kept is maintained and guaranteed even when they are not within the direct purview of their masters or their appointed agents. She turned white.

  “We are playing,” said my opponent. “Do not pursue the matter.”

  She relaxed, visibly, and regained her color. Then she regarded my opponent. “You should not even be with the troupe,” she said. “You do not bring us in enough coins to pay for your own suls. You are hideous. You are worthless! You are a fool and a contemptible weakling! All you do, all you can do, is play Kaissa. It is a stupid game. Moving little pieces of wood about on a flat, colored board! How stupid! How absurd! How foolish!”

  “Perhaps you have some duties to attend to elsewhere,” I speculated.

  “Leave the camp, Monster,” she said to my opponent. “No one wants you here. Go away!”

  I regarded the female.

  “Yes,” she said to me, angrily, “I have duties to attend to!”

  “Then see to them, female slave,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. She then tossed her head, and left.

  “An insolent slut,” I said, “muchly in need of the whip.”

  “Perhaps she is right,” he said.

  “In what way?” I asked.

  He looked down at the board. “Perhaps it is stupid, or absurd, or foolish, that men should concern themselves with such things.”

  “Kaissa?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Now,” I said, “you are truly being foolish.”

  “Perhaps that is all it is, after all,” he said, “the meaningless movement of bits of wood on a checkered surface.”

  “And love,” I said, “is only a disturbance in the glands and music only a stirring in the air.”

  “And yet it is all I know,” he said.

  “Kaissa, like love and music, is its own justification,” I said. “It requires no other.”

  “I have lived for it,” he said. “I know nothing else. In times of darkness, it has sometimes been all that has stood between me and my own knife.”

  “You did not wish for me to discipline the slave,” I said.

  “No,” he said.

  “Do you like her?” I asked.

  “I live for Kaissa,” he said.

  “She is a sexy little slut,” I said.

  “I know nothing of the management of women,” he said.

  “It is your move,” I said.

  “Do you wish to continue the game?” he asked.

  “If it is all right with you,” I said, “I would not mind it.”

  “I thought you might not wish to do so,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “It is all right with me.”

  “I will offer you a draw, if you like,” he said.

  “You are very generous,” I said.

  He inclined his head, graciously.

  “You are joking, of course,” I said.

  “No,” he said, puzzled.

  “I have a winning position,” I said.

  “Ah!” he said, suddenly. “So that is why you would not comment on the game in the presence of the slave. You wished to protect me from her scorn.”

  “Something like that,” I admitted, shrugging.

  “That was really very thoughtful of you,” he said. “I must insist that you accept a draw.”

  “With your permission,” I said, “I would prefer to play the game to its conclusion.”

  “This is the first time in my life,” he said, “that I have ever offered someone a draw as a gift.”

  “I am sure I am appreciative of the gesture,” I said.

  “But you do not accept?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “I have a winning position,” I said.

  “Do you really think so?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “I have a protected Rider of the High Tharlarion at Ubar’s Initiate Eight. When I move him to Ubar’s Initiate Nine you can prevent capture of Home Stone only by giving up your Ubara. After that the outcome of the game is a foregone conclusion.”

  He regarded me, not speaking.

  “It is your move,” I said.

  “That is what you seem to have forgotten,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  He swept his Ubara down the board, removing the Spearman I had posted at my Ubar’s Initiate Three.

  “That Spearman is protected,” I said, “by the Spearman at Ubar’s Builder Two.”

  “Threat to Home Stone,” he said. To be sure, his Ubara now threatened the Home Stone.

  “I will permit you to withdraw the move,” I said.

  “Threat to Home Stone,” he said.

  “That move costs you your Ubara,” I said. “Further, you are losing it for a mere Spearman, not even a Rider of the High Tharlarion. Further, when I remove it from the board, my Rider of the High Tharlarion is but one move from capture of Home Stone.”

  “Threat to Home Stone,” he said.

  “Very well,” I said. I removed his Ubara from the board, replacing it with the Spearman I had previously had at Ubar’s Builder Two. The move was forced, of course. I could not move the Home Stone to Ubar’s Builder One because that square was covered by his Scribe at Ubara’s Scribe Four. “My Rider of the High Tharlarion is but
one move from capture of Home Stone,” I reminded him.

  “But it is my move,” he said.

  He then advanced his Spearman at Ubar’s Builder Eight to Ubar’s Builder Nine. This was now possible, of course, because I had had to open that file, taking the Spearman from it to capture his Ubara, the move forced in the circumstances. One must, as long as it is possible, protect the Home Stone.

  “Threat to Home Stone,” he observed.

  His advancing Spearman, a mere Spearman, now forked my Home Stone and Builder. The Spearman is not permitted retreat. It, after its initial move, may move only one space at a time. This move may be directly or diagonally forward, or sideways. It, like the chess pawn, can capture only diagonally.

  I could not move my Home Stone in front of the Spearman, even if I had wished to do so, because of his Scribe’s coverage from afar of that square, Ubar’s Builder One. Similarly, even if I had had the option in the circumstances, which I did not, I could not have brought my Builder to that square for defensive purposes without exposing it to the attack of the same piece. I now began to suspect that what I had thought had been a rather weak, easily averted threat of capture of Home Stone, the earlier alignment of his Ubara and Scribe on that crucial diagonal, might actually have had a somewhat different, more latent, more insidious purpose. Similarly, even if his Scribe had not been placed where it was, it would not have been rational in this specific game situation, though it would have been a possible move, to place my Home Stone at Ubar’s Builder One. If I had done so this would have permitted the diagonal move of the Spearman to his Ubar’s Initiate Ten, my Ubar’s Initiate One, at which point it would doubtless have been promoted to a Rider of the High Tharlarion, thusly effecting capture of Home Stone. The defense of my Builder, on which I was relying, would in such a case have been negated by the placement of my own Home Stone, which would then have been inserted between it and the attacking piece. But, as it was, because of the Scribe’s coverage of Ubar’s Builder One, my move was forced. I could move only to, and must move to, Ubar’s Initiate Two. It appeared I must lose my Builder. I eyed my Rider of the High Tharlarion at Ubar’s Initiate Eight. I needed only a respite of one move to effect capture of Home Stone.

  “Your Home Stone is under attack,” he reminded me.

  “I am well aware of that,” I said.

  “You have one and only one possible move,” he pointed out.

  “I know,” I said. “I know.”

  “Perhaps you should make it,” he suggested.

  “Very well,” I said. I moved my Home Stone to Ubar’s Initiate Two. A Spearman who attains the rear rank of the enemy has the option of being promoted, if promotion is desired, to either a Tarnsman or a Rider of the High Tharlarion. The Tarnsman is generally regarded as the more valuable piece. Indeed, in many adjudication procedures the Tarnsman is valued at eight points and the Rider of the High Tharlarion at only two. I did not think he would directly advance his Spearman to Ubar’s Builder Ten, even though it was now protected, the file opened behind it, by his Builder at Ubar’s Builder One. I now began to suspect that the placement of his Builder on that file might not have been an accident, no more than the rather irritating placement of his Scribe at Ubara’s Scribe Four. If he did advance it in that fashion, promoting it presumably to a Rider of the High Tharlarion, to bring the Home Stone under immediate attack, and prevent me from advancing my own Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubar’s Initiate Nine, finishing the game, I would take it with my Builder. He would then, of course, retake with his Builder. On the other hand, this exchange would sacrifice his advanced Spearman. I expected him rather, then, to take the Builder and then, with impunity, promote his Spearman to a Tarnsman at his Ubar’s Scribe Ten, my Ubar’s Scribe One. If he did this, however, it would give me the move I needed to effect capture of Home Stone, by advancing my Rider of the High Tharlarion to the coveted Ubar’s Initiate Nine. I mopped my brow. He had miscalculated. The game was still mine!

  “Spearman to Ubar’s Initiate Ten,” he said, moving the Spearman neither to Ubar’s Builder Ten nor to Ubar’s Scribe Ten, taking the Builder. This placed it behind my Home Stone. “Rider of the High Tharlarion,” he said, replacing the Spearman now with the appropriate piece. “Threat to Home Stone,” he then said.

  “I can take it with my Builder,” I said.

  “Indeed,” he said, “you must do so. You have no other move.”

  I swept my Builder to my left, capturing the new Rider of the High Tharlarion at my Ubar’s Initiate One. His career, it seemed, had been a brief one. There was no way he could, in this situation, recapture. It seemed he had done nothing more than deliver his new Rider of the High Tharlarion promptly, and for nothing, into my prison pit. I could not move the Home Stone to either Ubar’s Builder One, Two or Three because of the coverage of these squares, all of them being covered by his Builder at his Ubar’s Builder One, and Ubar’s Builder One being additionally covered by his Scribe, that posted at Ubara’s Scribe Four.

  “Builder to Ubar’s Builder Nine,” he said.

  I regarded the board.

  “Capture of Home Stone,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  My Home Stone had been maneuvered to Ubar’s Initiate Two. There he had used my own men to trap it and hold it helplessly in position. Then he had swept down the opened file with his Builder, to Ubar’s Builder Nine, to effect its capture.

  “Every one of your moves was forced,” he said. “You never had an alternative.”

  “True,” I said.

  “An elementary Ubara sacrifice,” he remarked.

  “Elementary?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “I did not see it,” I said, “at least until it was too late.”

  “I gathered that,” he said. “Otherwise you might have resigned several moves ago, thereby perhaps saving yourself embarrassment.”

  “I thought I was winning,” I said.

  “I think you were under a grave misapprehension as to just who was attacking,” he said.

  “Apparently,” I said.

  “Undoubtedly,” he agreed, unnecessarily, in my opinion.

  “Are you sure the Ubara sacrifice was ‘elementary,’” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I thought it was brilliant,” I said.

  “Those such as you,” he said, “particularly when they find themselves their victims, commonly salute as brilliancies even the most obvious trivialities.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Do not be despondent,” he said. “Among those who cannot play the game, you play very well.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Would you care to play again?”

  “No,” I said. “Not now.”

  “Very well,” he said. He began to put the pieces back in a large leather wallet.

  “Would you care to wrestle?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, pleasantly enough.

  “That Ubara sacrifice was not really all that bad, was it?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, “it was actually not all that bad. In fact, it was rather good.”

  “I thought so,” I said.

  I watched the player replacing the pieces in the leather wallet. He was in a good mood. Just as I had thought, that Ubara sacrifice had not been all that straightforward, or elementary. That, at least, gave me some satisfaction. This moment, it then seemed to me, might be a good time to speak to him. I had been wanting to speak to him for several days. I had been awaiting only a judicious opportunity, one in which the topic might seem to be broached naturally, in such a way as to avoid arousing his curiosity or suspicion. He drew the strings on the wallet, closing it. Yes, this seemed like an excellent time to take action. I would arrange the whole business in such a way that it would seem quite natural. It would be easy. Yes, I thought, I could manage this quite nicely.

  “I wish that I had recorded the game,” I said.

  “I
can reiterate the moves for you, if you wish,” he said.

  “From memory?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “It is not difficult.”

  I drew forth from my wallet some papers and a marking stick. Among some of these papers, which I would apparently use as a backing surface for the sheet on which I intended to record the moves, were the papers I had taken, long ago, from the Lady Yanina near the fair of En’Kara.

  “Ah,” said the player. “I see.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Am I not, now, supposed to say, ‘What have you there?’ or is that to come later?”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “We must have played a hundred games,” he said. “Never before have you seemed interested in recording one. Now you seem interested. Why, I wonder. Now you draw forth papers from your wallet. Some of these are papers obviously covered with the notation of Kaissa. Am I not to express curiosity? And are you not then, almost inadvertently, to ask me some question, or questions, in which you are interested?”

  “Perhaps,” I said, hesitantly.

  “Are you really interested in the game?” he asked.

  “I am interested in it, as a matter of fact,” I said, “but, to be sure, as you seem to have detected, it is possible I have an ulterior motive in mind.”

  “The moves in the game were as follows,” he said. He then repeated them for me, even, occasionally, adding in some useful annotational remarks. There were forty-three moves in the game.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Now what are those other papers?”

  I handed them to him.

  He looked at them, briefly, flipping through them. They appeared to be covered with the notation of Kaissa, as though various games, or fragments of games had been recorded on them.

  “Do you have some question, some specific questions, about these?” he asked.

  “I am wondering about them,” I said.

  “I thought you were giving me these in connection with some specific question having to do with Kaissa,” he said, “perhaps with respect to the analysis of a position or a suggested variation on a lesser-known opening. I thought perhaps they might be Kaissa puzzles, in which a forced capture of Home Stone in some specified number of moves must be detected.”