The Players

by Everett B. Cole

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  THE PLAYERS

  BY EVERETT B. COLE

  _A Playboy is someone with power, too much time on his hands, and too little sense of a goal worth achieving. And if the Playboy happens to belong to a highly advanced culture...._

  Illustrated by Solo

  Through the narrow streets leading to the great plaza of Karth, swarmeda colorful crowd--buyers, idlers, herdsmen, artisans, traders. From alldirections they came, some to gather around the fountain, some toexplore the wineshops, many to examine the wares, or to buy from themerchants whose booths and tents hid the cobblestones.

  A caravan wound its way through a gate and stopped, the weary beastsstanding patiently as the traders sought vacant space where they mightopen business. From another gate, a herdsman guided his living waresthrough the crowd, his working animals snapping at the heels of theflock, keeping it together and in motion.

  Musa, trader of Karth, sat cross-legged before his shop, watching thescene with quiet amusement. Business was good in the city, and his waspleasingly above the average. Western caravans had come in, exchangingtheir goods for those eastern wares he had acquired. Buyers from thecity and from the surrounding hills had come to him, to exchange theircoin for his goods. He glanced back into the booth, satisfied with whathe saw, then resumed his casual watch of the plaza. No one seemedinterested in him.

  There were customers in plenty. Men stopped, critically examined thecontents of the displays, then moved on, or stayed to bargain. One ofthese paused before Musa, his eyes dwelling on the merchant rather thanon his wares.

  The shopper was a man of medium height. His rather slender, finelyfeatured face belied the apparent heaviness of his body, though hisappearance was not actually abnormal. Rather, he gave the impression ofbeing a man of powerful physique and ascetic habits. His dress was thatof a herdsman, or possibly of an owner of herds from the northernGalankar.

  Musa arose, to face him.

  "Some sleeping rugs, perhaps? Or a finely worked bronze jar from theEast?"

  The stranger nodded. "Possibly. But I would like to look a while if Imay."

  Musa stepped aside, waving a hand. "You are more than welcome, friend,"he assented. "Perhaps some of my poor goods may strike your fancy."

  "Thank you." The stranger moved inside.

  Musa stood at the entrance, watching him. As the man stepped from placeto place, Musa noted that he seemed to radiate a certain confidence.There was a definite aura of power and ability. This man, the traderdecided, was no ordinary herdsman. He commanded more than sheep.

  "You own herds to the North?" he asked.

  The stranger turned, smiling. "Lanko is my name," he said. "Yes, I comefrom the North." He swept a hand to indicate the merchandise on display,and directed a questioning gaze at the merchant. "It seems strange thatyour goods are all of the East. I see little of the West in all yourshop."

  * * * * *

  Normally, Musa kept his own council, assuming that his affairs were notpublic property, but his alone. There was something about this man,Lanko, however, which influenced him to break his usual reticence.

  "I plan a trading trip to the Eastern Sea," he confided. "Of course, tocarry eastern goods again to the East would be a waste of time, so I amreserving my western goods for the caravan and clearing out the thingsof the East."

  Lanko nodded. "I see." He pointed to a small case of finely workedjewelry. "What would be the price of those earrings?"

  Musa reached into the case, taking out a cunningly worked pair of shelland gold trinkets.

  "These are from Norlar, a type of jewelry we rarely see here," he said."For these, I must ask twenty balata."

  Lanko whistled softly. "No wonder you would make a trip East. I wagerthere is profit in those." He pointed. "What of the sword up there?"

  Musa laughed. "You hesitate at twenty balata, then you point out that?"

  He crossed the tent, taking the sword from the wall. Drawing it from itsscabbard, he pointed to the unusually long, slender blade.

  "This comes from Norlar, too. But the smith who made it is still fartherto the east, beyond the Great Sea." He gripped the blade, flexing it.

  "Look you," he commanded, "how this blade has life. Here is none of yoursoft bronze or rough iron from the northern hills. Here is a livingmetal that will sever a hair, yet not shatter on the hardest helm."

  Lanko showed interest. "You say this sword was made beyond the GreatSea? How, then, came it to Norlar and thence here?"

  Musa shook his head. "I am not sure," he confessed. "It is rumored thatthe priests of the sea god, Kondaro, by praying to their deity, areguided across the sea to lands unknown."

  "Taking traders with them?"

  "So I have been told."

  "And you plan to journey to Norlar to verify this rumor, and perhaps tomake a sea voyage?"

  Musa stroked his beard, wondering if this man could actually readthoughts.

  "Yes," he admitted, "I had that in mind."

  "I see." Lanko reached for the sword. As Musa handed it to him, heextended it toward the rear of the booth, whipping it in an intricatesaber drill. Musa watched, puzzled. An experienced swordsman himself hehad thought he knew all of the sword arts. The sword flexed, singing asit cut through the air.

  "Merchant, I like this sword. What would its price be?"

  * * * * *

  Musa was disappointed. Here was strange bargaining. People just didn'twalk in and announce their desire for definite articles. They feignedindifference. They picked over the wares casually, disparagingly. Theylooked at many items, asking prices. They bargained a little, perhaps,to test the merchant. They made comments about robbery, and about thethings they had seen in other merchants' booths which were so muchbetter and so much cheaper.

  Slowly, and with the greatest reluctance, did the normal shopperapproach the object he coveted.

  Then, here was this man.

  "_Well_," Musa told himself, "_make the most of it_." He shrugged.

  "Nine hundred balata," he stated definitely, matching the frankdirectness of this unusual shopper, and incidentally doubling his price.

  Lanko was examining the hilt of the sword. He snapped a fingernailagainst its blade. There was a musical _ping_.

  "You must like this bit of metal far better than I," he commentedwithout looking up. "I only like it two hundred balata worth."

  Musa felt relief at this return to familiar procedure. He held up hishands in a horrified gesture.

  "Two hundred!" he cried. "Why, that is for the craftsman's apprentices.There is yet the master smith, and those who bring the weapon to you.No, friend, if you want this prince of swords, you must expect to payfor it. One does not--" He paused. Lanko was sheathing the weapon, hiswhole bearing expressing unwilling relinquishment.

  Musa slowed his speech. "Still," he said softly, "I am closing out myeastern stock, after all. Suppose we make it eight hundred fifty?"

  "Did you say two hundred fifty?" Lanko held the sheathed sword up,turning to the light to inspect the leather work.

  The bargaining went on. Outside, the crowds in the street thinned, asthe populace started for their evening meals. The sword was inspectedand re-inspected. It slid out of its sheath and back again. Finally,Musa sighed.

  "Well, all right. Make it five hundred, and I'll go to dinner with you."He shook his head in a nearly perfect imitation of despair. "May thewineshop do better than I did."

  * * * * *

  "Housewife, this is Watchdog. Over."

  The man at the workbench looked around. Then, he laid his tools aside,and picked up a sma
ll microphone.

  "This is Housewife," he announced.

  "Coming in."

  The worker clipped the microphone to his jacket, and crossed the room toa small panel. He threw a switch, looked briefly at a viewscreen, thensnapped another switch.

  "Screen's down," he reported. "Come on in, Lanko."

  An opening appeared in the wall, to show a fleeting view of a bleaklandscape. Bare rocks jutted from the ice, kept clear of snow by theshrieking wind. Extreme cold crept into the room, then a man swept inand the wall resumed its solidity behind him.

  He stood for an instant, glancing around, then shrugged off a light robeand started shedding equipment.

  "Hi, Pal," he was greeted. "How are things down Karth way?"

  "Nothing exceptional." Lanko shrugged. "This area's getting so peacefulit's monotonous." He unsnapped his accumulator and crossed to the powergenerator.

  "No wars, or rumors of wars," he continued. "The town's gettingmoral--very moral, and it's developing into a major center of commercein the process." He kicked off his sandals, wriggled out of the baggynative trousers, and tossed his shirt on top of them.

  "No more shakedowns. Tax system's working the way it was originallyintended to, and the merchants are flocking in."

  He walked toward the wall, flicking a hand out. An opening appeared, andhe ducked through it.

  "Be with you in a minute, Banasel," he called over his shoulder. "Liketo get cleaned up."

  Banasel nodded and went back to the workbench. He picked up a smallpart, examined it, touched it gently a few times with a soft brush, andreplaced it in the device he was working on.

  He tightened it into place, and was checking another component when aslight shuffle announced his companion's return.

  "Oh, yes," said Lanko. "Met your old pal, Musa. He's doing right wellfor himself."

  Banasel swung around. "Haven't seen him since we joined the Corps.What's he doing?"

  "Trading." Lanko opened a locker, glancing critically at the clothingwithin. "He set up shop with the load of goods we gave him long ago, anddid some pretty shrewd merchandising. Now, he's planning a trip over theEastern Sea. He hinted at a rumor of a civilization out past Norlar."

  "Nothing out there for several thousand kilos," growled Banasel, "exceptfor a few little islands." He jerked a thumb toward the workbench. "Ican't show you right now, because the scanner's down for cleaning, butthere isn't even an island for the first couple thousand K's. Currentsare all wrong, too. No one could cross without navigational equipment."

  "I know," Lanko assured him. "We haven't checked over that way for along time, but I still remember. I didn't put it exactly that way, ofcourse, but I did ask Musa how he planned to get over the Eastern. And,I got an answer." He paused as he gathered up the garments he haddiscarded.

  "It seems there's a new priesthood at Norlar, who've got something," hecontinued. "It's all wrapped up in religious symbology, and they don'tlet any details get out, but they are guiding ships out to sea, andthey're bringing them back again, loaded with goods that neveroriginated in the Galankar, or in any place accessible to theGalankar." He hung up the last article of clothing and turned, asheathed sword in his hand.

  "Musa sold me this," he said, extending the hilt toward Banasel. "Inever saw anything like it on this planet. Did you?"

  * * * * *

  Banasel accepted the weapon, drawing it from its scabbard. He examinedthe handwork on the hilt, then snapped a fingernail against the blade.As he listened to the musical _ping_, the technician looked at theweapon with more interest. Gently, he flexed it, watching for signs ofstrain. Lanko grinned at him.

  "Go ahead," he invited, "get rough with it. That's a sword you'reholding, Chum, not one of those bronze skull busters."

  Banasel extended the sword, whipping it violently. The blade bent, thenstraightened, and bent again, as it slashed through the air.

  "Well," he murmured. "Something new."

  He put the sword on the workbench and took an instrument from a cabinet.For a few minutes, he busied himself taking readings and tapping outdata on his computer. He sat back, looking at the sword curiously. Atlast, he glanced at the computer, then put the test instrument he hadbeen using back in the cabinet, taking another to replace it. Aftertaking more readings, he looked at the computer, then shook his head,turning to Lanko.

  "This," he said slowly, "is excellent steel. Of course, it could be anaccidental alloy, but I wouldn't think anyone on this planet could havedeveloped the technology to get it just so." He held the sword away fromhim, looking at it closely. "Assuming an accidental alloy, an accidentin getting precisely the right degree of heat before quenching, andsomeone who ground and polished with such care as to leave the temperundisturbed, while getting this finish--Oh, it's possible, all right.But 'tain't likely. Musa told you this came from overseas?"

  "To the best of his knowledge. He got it from a trader who claimed tohave been on a voyage across the Eastern Sea."

  Banasel leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. "You must havehad quite a talk with Musa. Did he remember you?"

  Lanko shook his head. "Don't be foolish," he grunted. "You and I wereblotted out of his memory, remember? So are quite a few of the thingsthat happened around Atakar, way back when. He's got a complete past, ofcourse, but we're not part of it.

  "No, he had a booth in the Karth market. I came through, just lookingthings over, and recognized him. So, I picked an acquaintance. Beat himdown to about half the asking price for this sword, still leaving him awhopping profit. He went to dinner with me, still bewailing the rookingI'd given him. Told you, he's a trader. We had quite a talk, certainly.But we were strangers."

  "Yeah." Banasel looked off into space. "Seems funny. You and I were bornon this planet. We were brought up here, and a lot of people once knewus. But they've all forgotten, and we don't belong any more. I'mbeginning to see what they mean by 'the lonely life of a guardsman.'"

  He was silent for a time, then looked at his companion.

  "Do you think these priests at Norlar might be in our line of business?"

  "Could be," nodded Lanko. "There's a lot of seafaring out of Konassa,and there are several other busy seaports we know of. But no one in anyof them ever heard of navigation out of sight of land, let alone tryingit. There's nothing but pilotage, and even that's pretty sketchy. And,there's this thing." He crossed to the workbench, picked up the sword,and stroked its blade.

  "Normally," he mused, "technical knowledge gets around. Part of it'sdeveloped here, part there. Then someone comes along and puts ittogether. And someone else adds to it. And so on.

  "Then, there are other times, when there's an abnormal source, or wherethere are unusual conditions, and knowledge is very closely guarded.This might be one of those cases, and those priests might be frontingfor someone very much in our line of business." He broke off.

  "Any maedli hot?"

  "Sure." Banasel picked a pot from the heater and poured two cups.

  "Think we should set up a base near Norlar and have a look?"

  "Probably be a good idea." Lanko accepted a cup, took a sip, and shookhis head violently.

  "Ouch! I said hot, not boiling." He blew on the cup and set it aside tosteam itself cool.

  "These mountains were an excellent base," he continued, "but this areaseems to be developing perfectly. There's no outside interference, alltraces of former interference have been eliminated, and there's verylittle excuse for us to hang around." He picked up the cup again,cautiously sampling its contents. "And it's about time we moved aroundand checked on the rest of the planet."

  Banasel turned back to the workbench. "Good idea," he agreed. "I'll getthis scanner set up again, and we'll be ready to load out." He picked uphis tools. "As I remember, Norlar has a mountainous backbone where noone ever goes. We should be able to set up right on the island."

  * * * * *

  On the eastern slope of the Midra Kran, a
cloud of dust paced a caravan,which wound up the trail, through a pass. The treachery of the narrowpath was testified to by an occasional slither, followed by a startledcurse.

  Musa stood in his stirrups, looking ahead at the long trail whichtwisted a little farther up, then dropped to the wide Jogurthan plateau.Far ahead, over the poorly marked way, he knew, was another range, theSoruna Kran, which blocked his way to the Eastern Sea.

  He looked back at the straggling caravan.

  "Better get them to close up, Baro," he remarked. "We'd be in a lot oftrouble if a robber band caught us scattered like this."

  The other trader nodded and turned his mount. Then, he paused as shoutscame from the rear of the line. Mixed with the shouting was the clatterof weapons.

  "Come on," cried Musa. "It's happened."

  He kicked his mount in the ribs, and swung about, starting up the steepbank. The bandits would have bowmen posted to deal with anyone who mighttry to get back along the narrow path, and he had no desire to test theaccuracy of their aim.

  As his beast scrambled up the bank, Musa saw a man standing on apinnacle, alertly watching the center of the caravan. His guess had beenright. The