Conspirators of Gor

by John Norman

  “Until it was burned, and I, and others, were sold in the Tarsk Market.”

  “That seems a suitable place to sell one such as you,” he said.

  “Doubtless,” I said.

  “In the house of chance,” he said, “there were games involving cards, were there not?”

  “In the back of the large room, at the far tables,” I said, “but I did not attend on those tables. Most of us attended on the gaming tables, with the wheels, and the dice, where most of the men were.”

  “But you must have heard things,” he said.

  “One always hears things,” I said, warily.

  “I am not an investigating magistrate,” he said, “with a rack in the next room.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Presumably,” he said, “those gambling on behalf of the house would wish to have some advantage in the matter.”

  “Otherwise,” I said, “they might lose money, unintentionally.”

  “‘Unintentionally’?” he smiled.

  “It is important,” I said, “for the patron to win occasionally, else he might abandon the game, or grow suspicious.”

  “And how,” he asked, “does the house obtain its advantage? Are there apertures in the ceiling through which an accomplice, perhaps with a glass, might somehow signal the house’s player, are there loitering observers nearby, in a position to read cards, and convey signals?”

  “I do not think so,” I said.

  “The advantage then,” he said, “lies in the cards themselves.”

  “That is my understanding,” I said. “But I did not, personally, attend on the far tables.”

  “There would be calls for new decks, sealed decks,” he said.

  “I think that decks were prepared, and then sealed,” I said.

  “The house’s player could recognize the nature and value of an opponent’s card from the back,” he said.

  “There were intricate designs on the back of the cards,” I said, “apparently identical on each card.”

  “But not identical,” he said, “for those who knew what to look for.”

  “I think the differences were subtle,” I said, “very subtle.”

  Desmond of Harfax then reached again into the leather envelope. He produced another sheet of paper. It was as unintelligible to me as the first, which had resembled, as I had been given to understand, the record, or annotation, of a kaissa game, but it was clearly different.

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

  “I cannot read,” I said.

  “This appears to be a list of cards,” he said. “But I am not sure what it actually is. I suspect a concealment is involved.”

  “Perhaps in the manner of the preceding concealment,” I said, “a different card standing for a different letter, more than one card for a single letter, perhaps some cards standing for nothing.”

  “Possibly,” he said. “But there are no doublings, or repetitions.”

  “That is important?” I asked.

  “I think so,” he said. “Surely it would severely restrict the potentiality for communication.”

  “Perhaps it is an inferior device,” I said.

  “We are not dealing with fools,” he said.

  I was silent.

  “In the case of the kaissa concealment,” he said, “we were fortunate enough to obtain, and later copy, crucial sheets, materials in virtue of which the message might be concealed, and then, later, revealed. But we have nothing similar here, no such sheets, no materials in virtue of which the message might be concealed or revealed.”

  “In the first case,” I said, “you may have been fortunate.”

  “I have a principal,” he said, “who is highly placed, who would have access to such things, if they existed.”

  “Perhaps not,” I said.

  “Yes, perhaps not,” he said.

  “I fear I can be of little help to Master,” I said.

  “Perhaps there is something simple here,” he said, “so simple we cannot see it.”

  “Perhaps a single explanatory sheet, to which we lack access?” I suggested.

  “Possibly,” he suggested, “but I do not think so.”

  He reached again into the leather envelope. He drew out a deck of cards. He handed me the deck. “I want you to examine these cards, and see if anything occurs to you.”

  “I suppose you have arranged the deck in the order prescribed by the sheet,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And that did not prove illuminating?”

  “No,” he said. “But I did not expect it to. It tells no more than the sheet itself.”

  “They are very plain,” I said. “If they are prepared in such a way as to admit reading their values from the back, it must be very subtly done.”

  “We are not concerned here with cheating at cards, but with concealed messages,” he said. “Does anything about the deck strike you as different, or unusual?”

  “No,” I said. “You are thinking of something like the kaissa concealment.” 1

  “That would be the initial conjecture,” he said, “but it seems unlikely, as each card is different.”

  “Then the order of the cards must be important,” I said.

  “I think so,” he said, “but what is the relevance of the order? What would it mean if, say, a Physician’s Vulo is succeeded by a Scribe’s Tarsk?”

  “Perhaps that would stand for an entire message,” I said, “something like ‘Meet at dawn’, ‘Bring gold’, ‘Depart on the morrow’, such things.”

  “That is far too complex in one sense,” he said, “for it would require a storeroom of messages, and too simple in another, as one might wish to express something not in the stock of messages.”

  “The arrangements of the cards would be limited,” I said.

  “That is not the problem,” he said. “You are dealing with sixty cards. Consider the matter. The formula is simple and involves diminishing multiplications. If there were two cards, there would be two arrangements, as in two times one; if three cards, six arrangements, as in three times two times one; if five cards, one hundred and twenty arrangements, as in five times four, times three, times two, times one. If there were ten cards, in this fashion, there would be over three million arrangements, and so on.”

  “On my former world,” I said, “I left such things to others.”

  “You doubtless left many things to others.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You were substantially useless, were you not?” he asked.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “But one can find uses for such women,” he said, “whether of your former world or of Gor, when they are collared.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. On Gor I had found myself owned, under discipline, and put to work. On Gor women such as I were good for something, indeed many things. Masters saw to it. And one of the things a slave was to be good for, indeed usually the most important thing, was to give her master incredible pleasure. Surely she was expected to do more than cook and clean, shop, fetch sandals on all fours, bringing them to a fellow in her teeth, and such. Why then, I wondered, with all his opportunities, even in the slave wagon on a blanket, had he never put the slave, Allison, to use, full slave use, in the fullest sense that is understood on Gor. Ah yes, I thought, honor, honor! Mina, at least, I thought, had the reassurance and comfort of her shackle at a slave ring. To be sure, there was a difference. Trachinos had bought her.

  Sometimes it is hard to be a slave. One is so much at the mercy of the free. May one be clothed? Will one be caressed, will one be given a sweet? Will one be allowed to crawl, begging, to the feet of the master?

  “But even so,” he said, “even with so many possibilities, it is almost certain one would often wish to express something new or different.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “More importantly,” he said, “Kleomenes, in the camp, I am sure, conveyed something secretly to Pausania
s by means of cards, furnishing him with instructions, directions, or such. Surely Kleomenes had no bundles of messages to rummage through, in the saddle bags of his tharlarion, looking for a card equivalent, nor had Pausanias a wagon load of card equivalents by means of which he might locate messages.”

  “I do not think so,” I said.

  “So there must be something simple here, so simple that it is hard to see, so obvious that it is not noticed.”

  “Perhaps you do not have the right deck,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Yet this deck was furnished by my principal.”

  “Can he not explain these things?” I asked.

  “He is as baffled as we,” said Desmond of Harfax. “He has tortured himself to make sense of the possible meaning of the list, the meaning of the individual cards, their order, and such.”

  “Perhaps there is no meaning,” I said.

  “Are you serious?” he asked.

  “Perhaps the cards are a diversion, a false trail, a distraction of sorts, something to consume time, while the actual messages are conveyed in some other way, as by the kaissa concealments.”

  “That seems unlikely,” he said, “for, as far as we know, the conspirators feel themselves unidentified and secure at present. Into whose hands would they wish such a thing to fall, and for what purpose, at present?”

  “Perhaps into your hands,” I said, “and that of your principal.”

  “If we were suspected,” he said, “I do not think we would find ourselves at liberty.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, “it is not that the cards are meaningful, but that they are not yet meaningful, that they might become meaningful.”

  “They must now be meaningful,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because we have the list,” he said, tapping that small sheet of paper on the table.

  “I thought poorly,” I said.

  “No, no,” he said. “Any thought is welcome.”

  “Why am I here?” I asked.

  “You served in a house of chance,” he said. “I thought you might be helpful.”

  “The door is bolted,” I said. “Was there no other reason?”

  “No,” he said.

  I put my cheek on his knee. “I am uncomfortable,” I said. “My body whispers to me.”

  “Do not tell me that the little barbarian’s slave fires have begun to burn,” he said.

  “Men have done things to me,” I said.

  “The cards,” he said, “the deck, the order. Think, think!”

  “My presence here has been unavailing,” I said.

  “Tell me about the tables, the play, everything,” he said.

  “I know nothing,” I sobbed. “They invite men to the tables, some seek them by themselves, games are suggested, drinks are brought, decks are produced, and opened, men divide the decks, disarrange the cards, distribute them to the players in certain fashions, depending on the game. Other cards may be drawn, such things.”

  “Of course!” he said.

  “Master?” I said.

  “That is it!” he said. “You have it!

  “What?” I asked.

  “It is so simple, so deceptively simple!”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “We were looking for the wrong things in the wrong places!” he said. “We were too sophisticated, too devious, too clever, too stupid! It was there before us, all the time!”

  “What?” I asked.

  “The list is the preparation for a message, not the message,” he said. “You were right. It is not that the cards are meaningful, but that they might become meaningful, and easily so.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “Remind me to give you a sweet,” he said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “You have solved our problem,” he said.

  “How?” I asked.

  “‘How’?” he asked.

  “Yes, how?” I asked.

  “I thought you were intelligent, Allison,” he said.

  “It seems not, Master,” I said.

  “Nonetheless,” he said, “you remain of slave interest.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  He rose and went to the door, unbolted it, and held it open.

  “Return to the slave quarters,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  I paused in the threshold. “Master finds Allison of slave interest?” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “Allison is pleased,” I said.

  “And run!” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said, hurrying through the portal. If one runs quickly enough, it is unlikely that one will be caught, and one’s thigh marked. It is easy to mark a thigh, of course, when one is in a camisk. Sometimes one’s leg is held. The writing is then boldly visible, for all to see. In this way it is clear to everyone that the girl has been reserved for that evening, and also clear who has reserved her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “You know the master named Desmond, do you not?” asked Nora. She sounded frightened.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said. “I was even in his keeping, on the journey to the Crag of Kleinias.”

  Nora clutched a small package in her hands. “I have been instructed by him to deliver this to Master Kleomenes,” she said.

  “That is understandable enough,” I said, “as you are frequently called to the slave ring of Master Kleomenes.”

  “This Desmond of Harfax,” she said, “knows you. Why would he not have you deliver it to Master Kleomenes?”

  “I do not know,” I said, though I could easily speculate as to a possible motivation.

  “It is clear the matter is sensitive,” said Nora. “If you were to deliver it, it might be noted. Curiosity might be aroused.”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “I am afraid,” she said.

  “I would not disobey a master,” I said.

  “I do not want my tongue slit, or removed,” she said.

  “No,” I said. I recalled such threats were made once to her by Desmond of Harfax. Since then she had lived in fear of him. It pleased me, somehow, that Nora, so proud, severe, and magisterial with us, so imperious and exacting a first girl, was no more than a cringing slave before Desmond of Harfax. I recalled her in the small slave cage into which he had forced her, kneeling, naked, clutching the bars, looking up at him in fear.

  “What is in the package?” she asked.

  “It is loosely wrapped,” I said. “There seems no secret about it. Why not look, and see?”

  We turned back the wrapper.

  “It is a deck of cards,” she said.

  “You see,” I said, “there is nothing to worry about.”

  She almost fainted with relief.

  “May I see it?” I asked.

  I took the deck of cards in my hand, and moved the cards about a little. I detected no slips of paper hidden amongst the cards, nor anything on the cards that was foreign to the expected designs and markings. As far as I could tell, it was a normal deck of cards. Perhaps, I thought, there is nothing more here than what appears to be here. Might this not be innocent? Perhaps Kleomenes had expressed an interest in play, which interest had come to the attention of Desmond of Harfax, who had somehow located and supplied a suitable means for exploring this interest? Certainly they knew one another from the time of the caravan. Kleomenes had been twice at a camp of ours, when we first met him and his hunters, and, second, when he had visited us after his hunt, the night the tharlarion had been driven away. The one difference in this deck of cards from the deck which I had earlier seen in the keeping of Desmond of Harfax was the attractive speckling on the edges of the deck, a sort of design with which I was familiar from the house of chance. Goreans tend to be fond of beauty and color, in garments, architecture, paving stones, utensils, tableware, and such. Often even the cords and straps, the binding fiber, and such, and sometimes even the chains with which sl
aves are bound, are colorful.

  I closed the wrapper.

  “You had best deliver it,” I said.

  “Perhaps you would like to do so,” she said.

  “Are you prepared to disobey a master?” I asked.

  “No!” she said.

  “Have you ever disobeyed a master?” I asked.

  “Once,” she said, “in the training house. I never dared to do so again.”

  “You have never disobeyed Master Kleomenes?” I said.

  “I do not want to disobey him,” she said.

  “What would happen if you did?” I asked.

  “He is not man of Earth,” she said. “I am a slave. He is a Gorean master.”

  “You would be punished?” I said.

  “Of course,” she said. “If it were not the case, how could I yield to him with the trembling helplessness of the eager slave?”

  “You had best deliver the package,” I said.

  She sped from the slave quarters. It pleased me to see the proud Nora, whom I remembered from Earth, running as a slave.

  She was well submitted, I gathered, to Master Kleomenes. I was sure he well knew what to do with a woman.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “I have explained to you my understanding of things,” said Desmond of Harfax.

  There were eleven men in the room, and four slaves, the three who had been in the party of the Lady Bina, Jane, Eve, and myself, who had either prepared or copied the kaissa sheets, and Mina, formerly the Lady Persinna of Ar, who had been purchased by Trachinos. Amongst those in the room were Astrinax, Lykos, Trachinos, and Akesinos.

  “Astrinax!” I had said, seeing him in the room.

  I had inquired after the Lady Bina.

  “She is essentially a prisoner,” said Astrinax. “For some reason they are holding her.”

  “Is the throne of a Ubara still in her thoughts?” I asked.

  “If so,” he said, “she no longer expects it from Kurii. Her rations have been reduced, and she is no longer treated with the respect with which she was originally received.”

  “She has been repudiated by Grendel,” I said, “whose true feelings have now been revealed. She served his purpose as a pretext for hesitation in allying himself with Kurii, to win himself a more estimable offer of wealth and power. That received, she is no longer of use to him.”