Players of Gor

by Norman, John;

  I said nothing. I was eager to see what he would say.

  “What do you make of them?” he asked.

  “I am interested in your opinion,” I said.

  “I see,” he said.

  “Are they games,” I asked. “Parts of games?”

  “They might appear to be so,” he said, “if not looked at closely.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Doubtless you have reconstructed the positions, or some of them,” he said.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “And what do you think?” he asked.

  “I think,” I said, “that it is highly unlikely that they are games, or parts of games.”

  “I agree,” he said. “They do not seem to be games, or parts of games. Indeed, it seems unlikely that that is even what they are supposed to be. Not only would the general level of play be inferior but much of it is outright gibberish.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I can be of no help to you.”

  “That is all right,” I said.

  “Where did you get them?” he asked.

  “I came on them,” I said.

  “I see,” he said.

  “You do not know what they are, then?” I said.

  “What they are,” he said, “seems to be quite clear.”

  “What do you think they are?” I asked.

  “Kaissa ciphers,” he said.

  “What are Kaissa ciphers?” I asked. I did not doubt that the papers contained enciphered messages. That conjecture seemed obvious, if not inevitable, given the importance attached to them by the Lady Yanina, she of Brundisium, and her colleague, Flaminius, perhaps also of Brundisium. I had hoped, of course, that the player might be able to help me with this sort of thing, that he, ideally, might be familiar with the ciphers, or their keys.

  “There are many varieties of Kaissa ciphers,” he said. “They are often used by the caste of players for the transmission of private messages, but they may, of course, be used by anyone. Originally they were probably invented by the caste of players. They are often extremely difficult to decipher because of the use of multiples and nulls, and the multiplicity of boards.”

  “What is the ‘multiplicity of boards,’” I asked.

  “Do you see these numbers?” he asked.

  He indicated small numbers in the left margins of several of the papers. These tiny numbers, in effect, seemed to divide the moves into divisions. In originally looking at the papers I had interpreted them simply as a device for identifying or listing the games or game fragments.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Those presumably indicate the ‘boards,’” he said. “Begin for example, with a Kaissa board, with its one hundred squares, arranged in ten ranks and ten files. Are you literate?”

  “Yes,” I said. Torm, my old friend, the Scribe, might have expressed skepticism at the unqualified promptness and boldness of my asseveration, as I had always remained somewhat imperfect in writing the alternate lines of Gorean script, which are written from the right to the left, but, clearly, I could both read and, though admittedly with some difficulty, write Gorean. Gorean is written, as it is said, as the ox plows. The first line is written left to right, the second, right to left, the third, left to right again, and so on. I had once been informed by my friend, Torm, that the whole business was quite simple, the alternate lines, in his opinion, at least, also being written forward, “only in the other direction.”

  “Begin then, on the first square,” said the player, “with the first letter of a word, or of a sentence, or even of a set of letters randomly selected. Proceed then as in normal writing, utilizing all available squares. When you come to the end of the initial entry, list all unused letters remaining in the alphabet, in order, again utilizing all available squares. When you have managed that, then begin with the first letter of the alphabet, Al-Ka, and continue writing the alphabet in order, over and over, once more on all available squares, until you arrive at the last square on the board. When you have done this, one board, in effect, has been completed.”

  “I think I understand,” I said. “If, in a given message, for example, the notation ‘Ubar to Ubara’s Tarnsman Two’ occurs, that could mean that, on the board in question, say, Board 7, the square Ubara’s Tarnsman Two was significant. On that board, then, we might suppose, given its arrangement, that the square Ubara’s Tarnsman Two might contain, say, the letter ‘Eta.’ Both the sender and receiver, of course, can easily determine this, as they both have the keys to construct the appropriate boards.”

  “Yes,” said the player.

  “The listing of the moves in an orderly sequence, of course, gives the order of the letters in the message,” I said.

  “Correct,” said the player.

  “I see how the multiples are effective,” I said. “For example, the letter ‘Eta,’ the most commonly occurring letter, would actually, on any given board, be capable of being represented by any of a number of appropriate squares, each different, yet each corresponding to an ‘Eta.’ Similarly, of course, one might skip about on the board, retreating on it, and so on, to utilize ‘Eta Squares’ in any fashion one chose. This would produce no confusion between the sender and the receiver as long as the enciphered notation was in orderly sequence.”

  “Precisely,” said the player.

  “But where do the nulls come in?” I asked.

  “In my exposition,” the player reminded me, “I mentioned ‘available squares.’ A board key will commonly consist of a given word and a list of null squares. The nulls may frequently occur in the enciphered message but they are, of course, immediately disregarded by the receiver.”

  “I see,” I said. The presence of nulls and multiples in a message, of course, makes it much more difficult to decipher, if one lacks the key.

  “The true power of the ciphers come in, in my opinion,” said the player, “not so much with the multiples and nulls but with the multiplicity of boards. Short messages, even in elementary ciphers, are often impossible to decipher without the key. There is often just not enough material to work with. Accordingly it is often difficult or impossible to test one’s deciphering hypotheses, eliminating some and perhaps confirming others. Often, in such a message, one might theoretically work out numerous, and often conflicting, analyses. The multiplicity of boards thus permits the shifting of the cipher several times within the context of one message. This obviously contributes to the security of the communication.”

  “These ciphers seem simple and beautiful,” I said, “as well as powerful.”

  “Too, if one wishes,” he said, “one need not, in filling out the boards, do so as in the fashion of normal writing. One might write all one’s lines left to right, for example, or right to left, or write them vertically, beginning at one side or the other, and beginning at the top or bottom, or diagonally, beginning at any corner. One might use alternate lines, or left or right spirals from given points, and so on. Similarly, after the initial entry the remainder of the alphabet could be written backwards, or beginning at a given point, or reversing alternate letters, and so on. These variations require only a brief informative addition to the key and the list of null squares, if any.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I think you can see now,” he said, “why I cannot be of any help to you. I am sorry.”

  “But you have been of help,” I said. “You have made it a great deal clearer to me what may be involved here. I am deeply appreciative.”

  “Such ciphers are, for most practical purposes, impossible to decipher without the appropriate keys, null-square listings, and so on.”

  “I understand,” I said. It seemed, as I had feared, that it might be difficult or impossible to decipher the messages without pertinent keying materials. These materials, presumably, would exist in Brundisium, and of course, in Ar, if indeed that were the intended destination of the messages. I was now prepared to believe that it was likely they were not messages i
ntended for Priest-Kings.

  First, Flaminius, it seemed, who was to have received the messages from the Lady Yanina, had apparently intended to deliver them not to the Sardar, but to some party in Ar.

  Secondly, I did not think it likely that messages which were to be transmitted to the Priest-Kings, or among their agents, would be likely to be in a Kaissa cipher. Such ciphers seemed too intrinsically, or idiosyncratically, Gorean for Priest-Kings. Priest-Kings, as far as I knew, were not familiar with, and did not play, what Goreans often speak of simply as “the Game.” This suggested to me then that the messages might be transmissions of a sort which might occur among the agents of Kurii.

  I recalled one message from Kurii or their agents, to Samos of Port Kar, which had been written on a scytale, disguised as a girl’s hair ribbon. The girl who had originally worn it to his house, a blond-haired, blue-eyed Earth girl, was now one of his slaves. She had been named “Linda.”

  I recalled another message, too, which we had intercepted, a well-disguised but simple substitution cipher. It had been recorded in the ordering of a string of slave beads. It had been carried, too, in its way, by a slave. She had been a poetess, and a lovely, curvaceous wench, one obviously born for the collar. I think she, too, had been of Earth origin, though little of that had remained in her when I saw her. As I recall, her name was “Dina.” At that time, at least, she had been owned by Clitus Vitellius, a warrior of Ar.

  The nature of the messages, then, in a native-type Gorean cipher, suggested to me that there might be some sort of linkage between Kurii, and their agents, and Brundisium and Ar. This would be natural enough, I supposed, because close relations reputedly existed between the two cities. This would make travel and communication between them practical in a world where strangers are often regarded with suspicion, indeed, a world on which the same word is generally used for both “stranger” and “enemy.” Kurii, then, I suspected, must control Brundisium, or be influential there. It might be an outpost for them or a base of operations for them, perhaps, as, I gathered, Corcyrus had been, in the recent past. The Lady Yanina had been of the household of the Ubar of Brundisium, a fellow named Belnar. This suggested that he himself, as she seemed to be in his employ, might well be in league with Kurii. The keying materials for the messages, I suspected, would lie in the palace in Brundisium, perhaps even in the private chambers of her Ubar himself, Belnar. I myself was now in hiding from Priest-Kings, presumably to remain under cover until Samos had resolved certain matters with the Sardar, or until some new developments might be forthcoming. I was not now pleased with Priest-Kings. I did not now, any longer, really consider myself as being of their party. At best I had, even in the past, served them or not, as my inclinations prompted. I was perhaps less of a pledged adherent in their wars than a free sword, a mercenary of sorts, one who accepted one cause or another, as it might please him to do so.

  Still, I recognized that it was the power of Priest-Kings which, in its way, protected both Gor and Earth from the onslaught of lurking Kurii, concealed in their steel worlds, hidden among the orbiting stones and mountains, the small worlds and moons, of the asteroid belt. There was some point, then, in my being at least somewhat well disposed toward their cause. If Brundisium were in league with Kurii, I did not suppose it would do Samos any harm to learn of it. Yes, upon reflection, it now seemed quite likely that Brundisium was in league with Kurii, that there was some sort of connection between the palace at Brundisium and the subtleties and machinations of the denizens of the steel worlds. More importantly, I was curious to know the content of those secret messages. Their keys might well lie in the private chambers of Belnar. Perhaps I could pay them a visit. It might be difficult, of course, to gain access to the palace. But perhaps it could be somehow arranged.

  We were now less than five hundred pasangs from Brundisium. I must soon, in the performances, I feared, hood the Lady Yanina, or perhaps, better, sell the wench to someone bound in another direction, and replace her altogether with another girl, presumably a slave, whom I might purchase somewhere, a girl it would be safer to take into Brundisium, one not from that city, one to whom the city would be unfamiliar and strange, one in which she could not even find her way around, one in which she would find herself, absolutely, only another slave.

  “You are not really a roustabout, or vagabond, are you?” asked the player.

  “I am a member of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, actor, promoter and entrepreneur,” I said.

  “So, too, am I,” said the player.

  “I thought so,” I said.

  “We shall leave it at that, then,” said the player.

  “Yes,” I said.

  We stood up. It was now near supper. It was being prepared tonight by Rowena and Lady Yanina, in her sack. It amused me that she should be used to perform the labors of a slave. I could see Boots returning now, from a nearby village, to which he had gone to purchase some food and advertise our show. Behind him, barefoot and naked, bent under the burden of his purchases, which were strapped to her back, her legs filthy to her thighs with dust from the road, came one of his girls, Lady Telitsia. I could also see the insolent Bina approaching. She was coming from the stream, bearing on her shoulders a yoke, from which swung two buckets.

  “I see that you are a bearer of burdens,” I said.

  She cast a scornful glance at the player. “Yes,” she said to me. “I am a slave.” She then continued on her way to the cooking fire where Rowena and the Lady Yanina were busying themselves. Rowena had been appointed first girl in the camp. We had also made it clear to the Lady Yanina that she, even though she was a free woman, must obey Rowena in all things, she, by our decision, having been placed in power over her. The least waywardness in behavior while under the commands of Rowena, or hesitancy in obeying her orders, or insolence shown towards her, we had assured her would constitute an occasion for discipline, and severe discipline, precisely as though she herself might be naught but a mere slave. We had also informed the Lady Yanina that she was, too, under obedience-command to the Bina. Thus, in effect, we had given her two mistresses to strive to please. The orders of the Bina could be countermanded by Rowena, should she wish to do so, as she was first girl. It is common practice to appoint a “first girl” to assign tasks, adjudicate differences, and keep discipline in a household where there is more than one female slave; masters do not, on the whole, much care to involve themselves in the squabbles of slaves, who has access to a comb, and such; it is beneath them; authority lines in a Gorean household are seldom unclear.

  “Thank you for the games,” I said. We had played five games this afternoon. To be sure, four of them had not taken very long.

  “You are very welcome,” he said.

  “May I not pay you for them?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “Surely you can use the coins,” I said.

  “We are both members of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit,” he said.

  “True,” I smiled.

  “Actor, promoter and entrepreneur,” he added.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Boots was now, his girl, Lady Telitsia, behind him, quite near the camp. Doubtless she would be pleased to be soon relieved of her burdens. Bina was near the cooking fire. She had brought water for the kettles. Lady Yanina, kneeling before a pan of water, under the supervision of Rowena, who was tending the fire, was washing and scraping garden vegetables, mostly onions, turnips and suls. These would later be used in a stew.

  “Your Kaissa,” I said, “is the finest of anyone with whom I have played.”

  “You have probably not played with skilled players,” he said.

  “I have sometimes played with members of the caste of players,” I said.

  He said nothing.

  “I think,” I said, “that you could play in the same tournaments as Scormus of Ar.”

  “Upon occasion,” he said, “I have done so.”

  “I had thought you might have,” I said.

  “
You have a very active mind,” he said.

  “Perhaps you might even, upon occasion, beat him,” I said.

  “I do not think that is very likely,” he said.

  “Nor do I,” I said.

  “Do not speak to me of Scormus of Ar,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Scormus of Ar,” said he, “is a traitor to his city.”

  “How is that?” I asked.

  “He failed his city,” he said, “and was disgraced.”

  “In what way did this occur?” I asked.

  “He lost in the great tournament, in 10,125 Contasta Ar,” he said, “to Centius, of Cos.”

  “Centius is a fine player,” I said. The tournament he referred to was doubtless the one held at the Sardar Fair, in En’Kara of that year. It had occurred five years ago. It was now 10,130 C.A., Contasta Ar, from the Founding of Ar. In the chronology of Port Kar, it was now Year Eleven, of the Sovereignty of the Council of Captains. I had been fortunate enough to have been able to witness that game. In it Centius of Cos, one of Gor’s finest players, indeed, perhaps her finest player, had, for the first time, introduced the defense which came subsequently to be known as the Telnus Defense. Telnus was the home city of Centius of Cos. It is also the capital of that island ubarate.

  “That makes no difference,” said the player.

  “I would think it would make a great deal of difference,” I said.

  “No,” he said, bitterly. “It does not.”

  “Do you know Scormus of Ar?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, angrily. “I do not know him.”

  “I think that is true,” I said. “I think you do not know him.”

  “I do not think we need bother playing again,” he said.

  “As you wish,” I said.

  “Are you still here?” asked Bina, come from the side of the cooking fire. She carried a pan of water. It was that in which the Lady Yanina had been washing the vegetables. The water was now rather dirty, and in it there floated numerous scrapings from various vegetables. Presumably she was on her way to empty it, outside the camp.