“More food,” I said, returning to my place, “and clear this mess!” “Yes, Master,” said a naked brunette. “Yes, Master!” said a naked redhead. They hurried to serve, kneeling. They looked well in their collars. The collar accentuates the nudity and beauty of a slave, and, too, of course, it proclaims her bondage. I retrieved a large grape, about the size of a small plum, from the table, before they could clear it away. It lay near an overturned wine goblet, in a wine stain. It had rolled there, across the sparkling cloth, when it had been dislodged from its position in its shallow, golden bowl in the blonde’s transit. It was peeled and pitted, doubtless laboriously by female slaves. It was a Ta grape. One often associates them with the terraces of Cos, but they are grown, of course, in many other places, as well. I thrust it in my mouth. Then I gave my attention to the performance in progress between the tables, on a small, raised platform.
“Ho, varlets, craven churls, away!” cried lanky Petrucchio, drawing his great wooden sword from the preposterous sheath which dragged behind him. This took some time. “Away, away!” I say, he kept repeating, and at last had managed, bit by bit, yank by yank, to free the sword. He now waved it about, menacingly, seemingly almost as though it might decapitate anyone within a range of several feet. The three women seeming to cower behind him, covered from head to toe in robes of concealment, huddled together, ducking its great swings. Before Petrucchio, as though just having entered into the same area, the object of his attention, were Chino and Lecchio, in the garb of cloth workers, and with packs on their backs. “Back, even in your vast numbers, you warriors and foes,” cried Petrucchio, grimly, “lest I slice you like roast tarsk, lest I shred you like tur-pah and peel you like suls!”
Chino and Lecchio, understood as two simple travelers on the road, come unexpectedly on Petrucchio and his companions, looked at one another, wonderingly.
“Avaunt, speedily!” cried Petrucchio, swinging the great sword again, the girls behind him ducking once more.
“But, good sir,” called Chino, keeping his distance, “we are but two humble cloth workers!”
“Do not seek to deceive Petrucchio, captain of Turia!” cried Petrucchio. “To him your disguises, as brilliantly contrived as they may be to deceive others, are as flimsy and transparent as a veil of Anango!” The Petrucchio character, it might be noted, is commonly, in the northern hemisphere, portrayed as a captain from Turia, a city securely far away, off in the southern hemisphere. In the southern hemisphere, I have heard, he is usually presented as a captain from Ar. The important thing, apparently, is that he comes from a city which is large and impressive, and which tends to evoke a certain apprehension, or envy, and is far away. It is always easier to believe that folks far away are pretentious cowards. One has seldom met them in battle. Another advantage of choosing a distant city is that there are not likely to be citizens of that city in the audience, who might take exception to the performance, though, to be sure, most Goreans understand what is going on and tend to enjoy the farce immensely, even if the captain is supposed to be one of their own.
My own identity, incidentally, at least if one could believe my credentials, which had brought me into the feasting hall, was supposed to be of Turia. These credentials had been loaned to me by a fellow down whose throat I had stuffed enough Tassa powder to put a kailiauk under for several Ahn. To make sure I had also thrust him, tightly bound and effectively gagged, almost as perfectly as though he might have been a female slave, into a closet. He would presumably be found there tomorrow, or the day after, by a cleaning slave. The reference to a “veil of Anango,” of course, was a reference to the veil in a well-known farce, “The Veil of Anango,” performed by many companies. Indeed, it was one of the more frequently played items in the repertory of Boots’s company. The leading character in it, or the female lead, is played by the Brigella character. That role now, of course, was played by Boots’s slave, “Lady Telitsia.” It was a reference which would be understood by Gorean audiences. Too, of course, in this context, it was supposed to convey that Petrucchio regarded himself as a very clever fellow, certainly not one to be easily fooled.
“You see our garb,” protested Chino. “It is that of the cloth workers.”
“Yes,” insisted Lecchio.
“Hah!” cried Petrucchio, skeptically, but he rested the point of the great wooden sword on the platform, and, with one hand, beneath that long-nosed halfmask, he characteristically began to twirl one half of that huge, fearsome mustache.
“And here are our packs!” cried Chino, exhibiting the packs.
“Doubtless filled with weapons,” surmised Petrucchio, twirling the fearsome mustache.
The girls in the robes of concealment, cowering behind Petrucchio, cried out in fear.
“Quiver not in such abject terror, my dears,” said Petrucchio, reassuringly. “Indeed, it is not even necessary to shudder, unless it should please you to do so. Indeed, you may even breathe calmly, if that should be your wish, for as much as though you were safe in your beds within your stone keeps, protected each by the vigilance of a thousand valiant guards, you are safe here, nay, safer, though even on a public road, for here you stand within the walls of my steel.”
“My hero!” cried the first girl.
“My hero!” cried the second.
“My hero!” cried the third.
Chino and Lecchio looked at one another.
Petrucchio, then, twirling his mustache, turned confidentially to the audience. “In case it is not altogether clear what is going on here,” he said, “I am Petrucchio, a captain from Turia, and have here, under my protection, three noble ladies, each of gentle birth and high station.”
There was much laughter here. The girls, of course, as the audience well knew, would all be slaves. They were, after all, upon a stage. They were, of course, Rowena, Lady Telitsia and Bina. There were only men in the audience. To be sure, there was an empty place at the right hand of Belnar, the ubar of Brundisium. I had seen him only once before, in a royal box, set among the tiers at the baiting pit. He was a corpulent, greasy-looking fellow. On his left hand sat Flaminius, who seemed in a glum mood this evening. Also about them were various officers and officials. Two or three cushions down, on Belnar’s left, was a fellow in the robes of the caste of players, Temenides, of Cos. It was interesting to me that a member of the caste of players should be seated at the first table, and particularly, in this city, one allied with Ar, one of Cos. To be sure, there tend to be few restrictions on the movements of players on Gor. They tend to travel about, on the whole, pretty much as they please. They tend to have free access almost everywhere, being welcomed, unquestioned, in most Gorean camps, villages, towns and cities. In this respect, they tend to resemble musicians, who generally enjoy similar privileges. There is a saying on Gor, “No musician can be a stranger.” This saying is sometimes, too, applied to members of the caste of players. The saying is somewhat difficult to translate into English, for in Gorean, as not in English, the same word is commonly used for both “stranger” and “enemy.” When one understands that, of course, it is easier to understand the saying in its full meaning.
“Is it true that you are,” inquired Chino, “as you suggested when first you called our attention to your perspicacity in penetrating disguises, Petrucchio?”
“Yes,” said Petrucchio.
“Who is Petrucchio?” asked Lecchio. “I have never heard of him. Surely you have not either.”
“The noble Petrucchio, the famed Petrucchio?” asked Chino.
“Chino,” protested Lecchio.
“Shhh,” said Chino, admonishing his companion.
“Yes,” said Petrucchio.
“The courageous Petrucchio?”
“Chino!” said Lecchio.
“Shhh,” said Chino, again admonishing his companion to silence.
“Yes,” said Petrucchio.
“The glorious and clever Petrucchio?”
“Yes,” said Petrucchio.
“He of Turia?�
�� inquired Chino.
“Yes,” said Petrucchio. “Quake, if you must. Quail, if you would rather.”
“Surely you have heard of this fellow, Lecchio,” said Chino to his companion.
“No,” admitted Lecchio, which response brought a swift kick in the shins. “Yes, yes!” cried Lecchio. “Of course, the great Petrucchio!”
“Was it not he who single-handedly carved broad swaths through the legions of ten cities in the seven meadows of Saleria?” asked Chino of Lecchio.
“I see that my reputation has preceded me,” said Petrucchio, twirling his mustache.
“And lifted the sieges of eleven cities?”
“Maybe,” said Lecchio.
“And breached the gates of fifteen?”
“Maybe,” said Lecchio.
“And alone stormed the ramparts of twenty cities, reducing them to rubble?” asked Chino.
“I think so,” said Lecchio, uncertainly.
“And when set upon by ten thousand Tuchuks in their own country routed them all?”
“Eleven thousand,” said Petrucchio.
“Yes,” cried Lecchio. “It was he!”
“None other,” said Petrucchio.
“What brings you to these lands, noble captain?” inquired Chino. “Is it your intention to bring them to devastation, perhaps for some fancied slight to your honor?”
“No, no,” said Petrucchio, modestly.
“Is it then the sacking of a few cities you are up to?”
“No,” admitted Petrucchio.
“Not even the defeating of a small army?”
“No,” he said.
“Not even the burning of a few fields, the seizure of a piddling harvest or two?”
“No,” said Petrucchio.
“What then, possibly, could you be doing here?” inquired Chino.
“I am, as you may have by now surmised, Petrucchio,” said Petrucchio, “a captain of Turia, and have here,” and here he indicated the women behind him, “under my protection, for which services I have taken fee, three noble ladies, each of gentle birth and high station.”
“They are, then, all free women?” asked Chino.
“Of course!” responded Petrucchio, somewhat huffily, seemingly prepared, at the drop of an innuendo, to take umbrage, with all the fearsome consequences which that might entail for a hapless offender.
“How fortunate they are to be under the care of one so skilled and courageous, as well as wise,” said Chino, adding, seemingly sotto voce, to Lecchio, “or so it would seem.”
“What, ho!” cried Petrucchio. “What means this ‘or so it would seem’?”
“His hearing,” said Chino to Lecchio, who was sticking his finger in his ear and shaking his head, as though to restore his sense of hearing after having been partially deafened, “is more acute than that of the prowling sleen!” Then he said to Petrucchio, “Oh, it is nothing, I suppose.”
“And what, good sir,” demanded Petrucchio, “might be the meaning of this guarded ‘I suppose’?”
“Why, it, too, is nothing,” said Chino, adding, “—I suppose.”
“Do you doubt my capacity to defend these damsels to the death, against even armies?” asked Petrucchio.
“Not at all,” said Chino, hastily. “I was merely wondering if such extreme exertions on their behalf might, under the possible circumstances, be fully justified.”
“I do not take your meaning, sir,” said Petrucchio, warily.
“They are, of course, free women,” said Chino, reassuring himself of the point.
“Of course,” said Petrucchio.
“Then my fears are groundless,” said Chino, relieved.
“What fears?” asked Petrucchio.
“From what rich, high city might you be coming?” he asked, as though it mattered naught, but, obviously, secretly, as though it might matter a great deal.
“Why from the high towers of Pseudopolis,” said Petrucchio. There is no such city or town, of course. It was invented for the purposes of the play. Too, there is no really good translation into English for the town. Similar English inventions might be such things as “Phonyville” or “Bamboozleberg.”
“It is as I feared,” groaned Chino, supposedly merely to Lecchio.
“It is?” asked Lecchio.
“Yes,” said Chino, dismally.
“Here, here,” called Petrucchio. “What is going on there?”
“No,” said Chino, firmly. “It is impossible. The very thought is absurd.”
“What are you talking about?” pressed Petrucchio.
“It is nothing, Captain,” said Chino. “Though, to be sure, if it were not for my confidence in your acuity and unerring judgment, I would suspect there might be cause for serious alarm.”
“Speak clearly, fellow,” demanded Petrucchio.
“You have, of course, been paid in advance for your troubles?” asked Chino.
“Of course,” said Petrucchio.
“In authenticated gold, naturally,” added Chino.
“Authenticated gold?” asked Petrucchio.
“Of course,” said Chino. “If you have not had the coins authenticated, my friend, Lecchio, here, is certified by the caste of Builders to perform the relevant tests.”
“We assure you, good sir,” said one of the women, Rowena, “that our gold is good!”
“It might not hurt to check on the matter, I think,” speculated Petrucchio, suspiciously, “especially as we have here at our disposal one qualified to conduct the assays.”
“Unnecessary!” cried Rowena.
“Insulting!” cried Lady Telitsia.
“Absurd!” cried Bina.
“It seems they are not eager for the coins to be tested,” observed Chino, meaningfully, adding, “even though there would be no charge for the service. I wonder why?”
“No charge, you say?” asked Petrucchio.
“Not between friends, such as we,” said Chino.
“By all means, then,” cried Petrucchio, and, with difficulty, he sheathed his great sword, and drew three pieces of gold-colored metal from his wallet, stage coins, handing them to Lecchio.
Lecchio held the coins up, one by one, holding up also, behind them, one or two fingers, as though he would see if he could peer through them.
“How are they?” asked Chino.
“So far, they seem good,” Lecchio muttered, “but many forgeries pass the first test.” He then drew from his pack a glass of the Builders, used for identifying distant objects. “Oh, oh,” he muttered, darkly.
“What is it?” asked Petrucchio, eagerly.
“It is too early to tell,” said Lecchio, replacing the glass of the Builders in his pack. “I must be sure.”
“Surely things are all right,” said Chino, optimistically.
“Doubtless,” said Lecchio. “Doubtless.” But he seemed a bit uncertain about it.
In a moment now he was clinking the coins carefully together. He listened to these small sounds intently, professionally. Then he spit on each coin and, with his index finger, carefully rubbed the moisture into small, exact circles, observing their appearance. He then lifted his index finger up, his eyes closed, holding it first turned to the wind, and then away from the wind, and then, his eyes opened, repeated the test, studying his finger intently. He then commenced his final doubtless decisive round of tests. He bit into one of the coins. Then he drew forth from his pack a small vial filled with white crystals which he sprinkled on the coins. “What is that?” asked Petrucchio. “They are best with salt,” said Lecchio. He then repeated the test, and bit each of the coins carefully, thoughtfully, expertly, not hurrying, as a connoisseur might sample varieties of Bazi tea or fine wines.
“Yes, yes?” asked Chino.
Lecchio’s face was drawn and grim.
“Yes, yes!” pressed Petrucchio.
“False,” announced Lecchio, grimly.
“No!” cried Rowena.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Petrucchi
o to the women, sternly.
Lecchio dropped the coins into his wallet.
“If there should be anything wrong with the coins,” said Rowena, “I assure you we have no knowledge of it. Further, if anything, in spite of our intentions and care in these matters, should prove to be truly amiss, perhaps because of some oversight or subtle inadvertence, have no fear but what it will be promptly corrected.”
“Let us see your other coins,” said Lecchio.
“Sir!” cried Rowena.
“That we may see if they be genuine,” he said, menacingly.
“I assure you that they are,” said Rowena.
“Let them be examined,” said Lecchio, “that a determination on the matter may be made.”
“He is certified by the Builders,” Chino reminded them.
“Will it be necessary to remove them from you by force, for the tests?” asked Lecchio.
“No,” said Rowena. She, then, and the others, handed over their purses to Lecchio, under the watchful eye of the suspicious Petrucchio.
“Now then, too,” said Lecchio, grimly, “your secret purses those concealed in your clothes, those strapped to your left thighs.”
The girls, protesting, squeaking with outrage, turned away from the men, bending over and thrusting about under their cumbersome robes of concealment. More purses and packets were delivered to Lecchio.
“And now, ladies,” said he, “your most secret purses.”
“No!” they cried, outraged.
“Or we must make our own probes,” he said.
“Oh, oh!” they cried in misery, and turned away again. Three more coins were produced for Lecchio. The women then, angrily, smoothed down their garments.
“Do you have any more?” asked Chino, in assistance to Lecchio.
“No!” said Rowena.
“Are you sure?” asked Chino.
“Yes!” cried Rowena. “We are now as coinless as slaves!”
Players of Gor Page 39
