"That seems impossible," said Samos.
"It is true," said Bosk. "Further, over sixty percent of the language consists of those five letters plus Ar, Ina, Shu and Homan."
"We could still try all possible combinations," said Samos.
"True," said Bosk, "and, in a short message, which this appears to be, we might produce several intelligible possibilities. Short messages, particularly those which do not reflect statistical letter frequencies, can be extremely difficult to decipher, even when the cipher used is rudimentary."
"Rudimentary?" asked Samos.
"There are many varieties of cipher," said Bosk, "both of the substitution and transposition type. I suspect we have before us, in this necklace, a simple substitution cipher."
"Why?" asked Samos.
"It was interpreted almost instantly by the man called Belisarius," said Bosk. "A more complicated cipher, indexed to key words or key numbers, would presumably have required a wheel or table for its interpretation."
"Can all codes be broken?" asked Samos.
"Do not confuse a code with a cipher," said Bosk. "In a code, a given character, or set of characters, will commonly correlate with a word, as opposed to a letter. Codes require code books. Codes, in effect, cannot be broken. If the code book can be captured, of course, the code is useless. Codes are vulnerable in one way, ciphers in another."
"Do you feel the enemy would risk a code book, or code device, on Gor?" asked Samos.
Bosk smiled. "It seems unlikely," he said.
"Are there Unbreakable ciphers?" asked Samos.
"Yes," said Bosk, "both from a practical and theoretical point of view. From the practical point of view, if a cipher is used briefly and for a given short message, it may be impossible to break. There is just not enough material to work with. From the theoretical point of view, the unique-sequence cipher cannot be broken. It utilizes key words or numbers, but each message is further altered in a prearranged, random manner. Each message is thus unique, but decipherable in its position in the sequence of messages.
Both sender and receiver know, for example, that message six will be randomized in manner six, and so on."
"This is complex," said Samos.
"It requires that both sender and receiver have the deciphering tables at hand," said Bosk. "Thus, although it is more convenient than a code book, it shares some of the vulnerability of the code book."
Samos looked down at the necklace on the table before him. "Why should this be a simple substitution cipher?" he asked.
"I think that it is," said Bosk. "from the ease with which Belisarius read the message. I find it not implausible that it should be a simple substitution cipher because of the simplicity and convenience of such a cipher."
"Is it as secure?" asked Samos.
"The security of this cipher," smiled Bosk, "lies not in itself, as a cipher, but rather, as is common, that it is not understood as a cipher. It is not, for example, a strange message written upon a scrap of paper, calling attention to itself as a secret communication, challenging the curious to its unraveling, but apparently only an innocent necklace, beaded with wood, common, vulgar and cheap, fit only for the throat of a lowly female slave."
Samos lifted the necklace. I did not know what secret it contained.
"Further," said he who was called Bosk of Port Kar, "the slave herself did not understand the nature of her role in these matters. She did not, for a long time, even understand that she bore the message. Great security was achieved, too, in the manner of releasing the behavior of stringing the beads and in the counter-suggestion that she be unable to recall the order of the beads without the appropriate trigger structure being reconstructed." Bosk smiled. "Add to this," said he, "the convenience of a simple substitution cipher, the absence of the necessity for a code book, the lack of need for cipher wheels or deciphering tables, and you have an arrangement of circumstances which maximizes not only security but, under the appropriate conditions, ease of communication."
"Worthy of the enemy," said Samos.
"I think so," said Bosk.
"Could we not seize this Belisarius?" asked Samos.
"We do not know where he is," said Bosk. He looked at Iskander, of the Physicians. "If we should be able to seize him who is spoken of as Belisarius, do you think we could derive the cipher key from him?"
"Perhaps," said Iskander, "but I suspect that a spoken word, uttered by Belisarius himself, would, by suggestion, remove the cipher key from his mind."
"Could the enemy be so subtle?" asked Samos.
Iskander, of the Physicians, pointed to me. "I think so," said he. "You see what their power is in such matters."
I looked down.
"Could we, by the use of drugs, obtain it?" asked Samos.
"Perhaps," said Iskander, "but presumably we would encounter numerous keys. Who knows?"
Samos looked at Bosk. "Can you read the cipher?" he asked.
"I do not know," said Bosk. "See the repetitions of the beads. There are several repetitions, to compose the entire necklace. The message itself is thus short."
"It may be impossible to rend?" asked Samos.
"Yes," said Bosk.
Samos looked at me. "I wonder," said he, "why, when finished with this wench, they did not cut her throat?"
I shuddered.
"They apparently feared little," said Bosk. "Their security, they deemed, was impregnable."
"May I speak, Masters?" I asked.
"Yes," said Samos.
"Belisarius," said I, "said that others would not understand the message, even if they might read it, that it would be meaningless to them."
Samos looked to Bosk. "Captain," said he, "begin work."
"I shall, Captain," smiled Bosk. He turned to the slave girl, Luma. "Copy down," said he, "on your paper the order of the beads, in widely spaced rows. Give me then your marking stick and your paper."
"Yes, Master," she said.
In moments her quick hands had accomplished this business and she surrendered to Bosk of Port Kar both the paper and the marking stick.
"We shall begin," said Bosk, "by supposing that the sequence of blue and red corresponds to Eta. The next most common sequence is orange and red. We shall, tentatively, suppose that corresponds to Tau."
I leaned back on my heels, and watched. No one spoke. Samos and Clitus Vitellius were intent. Bosk worked swiftly, but, upon occasion, he seemed angry. More than once, for certain letters, he altered his initial hypothesis of correspondence, substituting another, and sometimes yet another and another.
At last he laid down the marking stick, and, ruefully, viewed the paper before him.
"I have the message," he said, soberly.
Samos turned to the two slave girls who knelt to one side. "Begone, Slaves," he said. Swiftly, in their silk, they fled from the room, commanded by a man.
Bosk looked to Luma. "Yes, Master," she whispered. She, too, rose to her feet and, in her brief, blue tunic, hurried from the room. Under the command of masters, slave girls do not dally.
"Would you wish me to withdraw?" inquired Clitus Vitellius.
Samos looked at Bosk of Port Kar. Then Samos said, "Remain, if you would, Clitus Vitellius, Captain of Ar."
Clitus Vitellius nodded.
I knelt as before, a naked, captive slave.
Bosk looked angrily at the words on the paper before him. "It makes no sense," said he.
"What is the message?" asked Samos.
He called Bosk of Port Kar read from the paper before him:
"Half-Ear Arrives," he said. Then he added, "It is meaningless."
"No," whispered Samos, his face white. "It is not meaningless."
"What is the meaning?" asked Bosk of Port Kar.
"When did you give this message, Slave Girl?" demanded Samos of me.
"In the last passage hand, Master," I said.
"I took her from two men near the country of the Salerian Confederation," said Clitus Vitellius, "in the early spr
ing."
Since that time I had been the slave of Clitus Vitellius, of Thumus of Tabuk's Ford, of the Keep of Stones of Turmus, and of the Belled Collar. I had been owned, too, by Elicia Nevins and had labored, too, in the Chatka and Curla.
"It is too late," said Samos, miserably.
"In what way?" asked Bosk of Port Kar.
"Doubtless Half-Ear, even now, is upon the surface of Gor," said Samos, grimly.
"Who is Half-Ear?" asked Bosk of Port Kar.
"We do not know his true Kur name," said Samos. "He is only known upon Gor as Half-Ear."
"Who is he?" asked Bosk of Port Kar.
"He is a great war general of the Kurii," said Samos.
"Is his arrival on Gor significant?" asked Bosk of Port Kar.
"He has doubtless come to Gor to take charge of the operations of Kurii upon this world."
I did not understand this talk of Kur and Kurii. They were, I gathered, the enemy.
"That he should come to Gor at this time is significant?" asked Bosk.
"I fear terribly so," said Samos. He seemed shaken. This surprised me, for he seemed generally so stern and strong. It must be a dire intelligence indeed conveyed by the simple message, to disturb to such an extent so mighty a man.
"What does it mean?" pressed Bosk of Port Kar.
"It means, I fear," said Samos, "the invasion is imminent."
"Invasion?" asked Clitus Vitellius.
"There are enemies," said Samos.
"Of Ar?" asked Clitus Vitellius, angrily.
"Of Ar, and of Port Kar, and of Cos and Tarna, and of a world," said Samos.
"Half-Ear," said Bosk of Port Kar, musingly. "I should like to meet him."
"I, too!" cried Clitus Vitellius.
"I know something of him," said Samos of Port Kar. "I do not think I would care to make his acquaintance."
"We must locate him!" said Bosk of Port Kar.
"We have no clue," said Samos. "No clue." Samos looked down at the necklace, which lay again now upon the table before him. "We know only," said he, dismally, "that somewhere upon Gor Half-Ear is among us."
I could hear the oil crackling in the bowl of the tiny lamp on its stand near us.
Samos looked at me, absently. Then he said to the guards behind me, "Take her to the pens and chain her heavily."
26
I Return To Ar; What Was Done To Elicia Nevins, My Mistress
"Your bath is ready, Mistress," I said, kneeling, head down, in brief white slave tunic, before the Lady Elicia of Ar, of Six Towers.
She seated herself on her great couch, and extended her feet, one alter the other, to me. I, kneeling, removed her sandals, kissing each and laying it aside. She stood up and I, rising and standing behind her, lifted away her robe. I kissed it, and put it upon the couch.
She smiled, approvingly. "Perhaps I shall yet make a serving slave of you, Judy," she said.
"It is my hope that I will be pleasing to my mistress," I said. She gestured and I brought the towel, kissing it, which I then wrapped about her head, that her hair not be dampened.
She then went to the edge of the sunken bath, and slipped her toe within the water, and then stepped down into the bath and reclined, leaning back. "Excellent, Judy," she said.
"Thank you, Lady Elicia, my Mistress," I said. I had well judged the temperature of the water, mixing the water from the cistern with other water, heated in the tempering vessel on its iron tripod. The temperature was acceptable. I would not be whipped.
I served her as she wished, with absolute perfection. I glanced at the beaded, feminine slave whip, hanging by its loop upon the wall. I had no wish to feel it.
I looked at the mistress luxuriating in her warm bath, beautiful in the multicolored foams of beauty.
I was Judy, her house and serving slave. I kept her compartments, dusting and cleaning. I cooked and washed. I did all trivial, unpleasant and servile work for her. It was a great convenience to her to own me. Often she would send me shopping, my hands braceleted behind my back, a leather capsule, a cylinder, tied about my neck, containing her order and coins. The merchant would then fill her order, tie the merchandise about my neck, put the change in the leather capsule, close it and, sometimes with a friendly slap, dismissing me, reminding me that I was pretty, regardless of being a woman's slave, send me back to my mistress. At other times my mistress would shop and I would follow her, deferentially, to carry her purchases, eyes cast down, lest I should be caught so much as looking upon a man. A handsome male slave had once smiled at me and I, inadvertently, had reddened and basked in his pleasure. I had been turned about and marched home, to be put under the whip. The Lady Elicia, as I soon discovered, and had earlier suspected, despised and hated men. Yet, too, she found them, somehow, intensely fascinating and intriguing. Often she asked me questions which a slave girl might respond to intimately and easily if asked by another slave girl, but which were difficult to respond to if asked by a free woman. She would ask questions about the tethering and chaining of slaves, and their feelings, and what men made them do and how they were expected to speak and behave. She wanted to know intimate details of such things as what it was like to be a peasant's girl and what men exacted of girls in a paga tavern. I tried to answer her honestly. She would profess rage and indignation. "Yes, Mistress," I would murmur, putting my head down. "How pleased you must be, Judy," she sometimes said, "to have been rescued from all that, to be a woman's slave." "Oh, yes, Mistress," I would say. How could I tell her the joys of a slave girl, obeying the uncompromising, dominant male and writhing in his arms?
She lifted one fair limb, her left arm, from the foam, and washed it slowly with her right hand, regarding it approvingly.
Like many frigid women she was incredibly vain of her beauty. Did she not understand that it, and she, were biologically meaningless, if not seized in the arms of a master?
"How rude and despicable men are, Judy," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
Often, in the bath, for some reason, she would speak of men and her contempt for them.
"Today," she said, "in the market, I saw a man beating a slave girl, tied to a ring. It was terrible."
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I wondered what the girl had done. I supposed she had been displeasing. I had not accompanied her today to the market. I had been left at home, chained to the ring at the foot of her couch.
"Afterwards," she said, "the miserable girl covered his feet with kisses."
"Terrible, Mistress," I said. I supposed the girl was at-tempting to placate her master, and express her gratitude, her joy, at his reassertion of his dominance over her.
"Yes, terrible!" said the Lady Elicia of Ar, my mistress, of Six Towers.
"Too," she said, "my errand took me, inadvertently, near the Street of Brands."
"Oh, Mistress?" I asked. Sometimes, when she went on errands, I did not accompany her.
"There," she said, "I saw a chain of girls, stripped, in the open, men looking upon them. Disgusting!"
"Yes, Mistress," I agreed.
She lifted one leg, her right, gracefully from the water. Foam and water fell from it. Her toes were pointed. Her leg was shapely.
"Do you think I am beautiful, Judy?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. She often asked me this.
"Truly?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. It was indeed true. My mistress was an incredibly beautiful young woman. She was clearly more beautiful than I.
"Do you think that men might find me pleasing?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"Do you think," she laughed, as though jesting, "that I would bring a high price?"
"Yes, Mistress," I said. She had asked me this sort of thing before. I had answered her truthfully before, and I answered her truthfully now. I wondered at her curiosity concerning such matters. I had no doubt that Elicia Nevins, on the block, naked, under the auctioneer's whip, would sell for at least a piece of gold.
She finished washing her legs, one after the other, dreamily.
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