Magicians of Gor

18 Our Wallets are in Order

"Here we are," I said.

We had been walking about for some time after the show, even past the time of curfew the constraints of which, because of our affixed armbands, as auxiliary guardsmen, we had not the least difficulty in circumventing. Challenged, we challenged back. Questioned, we questioned. And if our challenges and questions were satisfactorily met, we would proceed further, first volunteering, of course, in deference to alternative authority, our own names and missions in turn. If notes were to be later compared at some headquarters, as I did not expect they would be, some officers might have been astonished to learn how many sets of auxiliary guardsmen and diverse missions had been afoot that night. "This is the insula," I said, "at which resides the great Renato and his troupe."

"The magician?" said Marcus.

"Yes," I said. I had made inquiries into this matter prior to leaving the theater, Marcus waiting outside for me, pondering the wonders he was convinced he had beheld within.

"I would not keep the stripped, lashed Ubara of a captured city chained in a kennel such as this," he said.

"Surely you would do so," I said.

"Well, perhaps," he admitted.

Some believe such women should be prepared quickly for the collar and others that the matter may be drawn out, teasingly, until even she, trying to deny it to herself all the while, realizes what her eventual lot is to be.

"Not all folk in the theater and such live as well as they might," I said. "It seems they cannot make gold pieces appear from thin air," said Marcus. "Not without a gold piece to start with," I said.

"Getting one to start with is undoubtedly the real trick," he said.

"Precisely," I said. "Let us go in."

I shoved back the heavy door. It hung on its top hinge. It had not been barred. I gathered that not every one who lived within, interestingly, was necessarily expected back before curfew. On the other hand, perhaps the proprietor, or his manager, was merely lax in matters of security. The interior, the hall and foot of the stairs, was lit by the light of a tiny tharlarion oil lamp.

"Whew!" said Marcus.

At the foot of the stairs, as is common in insulae, there was a great wastes pot, into which the smaller wastes pots of the many tiny apartments in the building are emptied. These large pots are then carried off in wagons to the carnaria, where their contents are emptied. This work is usually done by male slaves under the supervision of a free man. When the wastes pot is picked up, a clean one is left in its place. The emptied pot is later cleaned and used again, returned to one insula or another. There is sewerage in Ar, and sewers, but on the whole these service the more affluent areas of the city. The insulae are, on the whole, tenements.

"This is a sty," said Marcus.

"Do not insult the caste of peasants," I said. "It is the ox on which the Home Stone rests." Thurnock, one of my best friends, was of that caste.

Not everyone is as careful as they might be in hitting the great pot. Lazier folks, or perhaps folks interested in testing their skill, sometimes try to do it from a higher landing. According to the ordinances the pots are supposed to be kept covered, but this ordinance is too often honored in the breach. Children sometimes use the stairs to relieve themselves. This is occasionally done, I gather, as a game, the winner being decided by the greatest number of stairs soiled.

"Ho there," said an unpleasant voice, from the top of the landing. We looked up into a pool of floating light, from a lifted lantern.

"Tal," I said.

"He is not here," said the fellow.

"Who?" I asked.

"Anyone," said the fellow.

"There is no one here?" I asked.

"Precisely," he said.

"We should like to rent a room," I said.

"No rooms," said he. "We are filled."

"I can be up the stairs in an instant," said Marcus, "and open him like a bag of noodles."

"Whom are you looking for?" asked the fellow, who perhaps had excellent hearing. "Renato the Great," I said.

"The villain, the fat urt, the rogue, the rascal?" asked the fellow.

"Yes," I said. "He."

"He is not here," he said.

I supposed the fellow was fond of him, and was concerned to protect him. On the other hand, perhaps he had not yet collected the week's lodging. That, in itself, might be a good trick.

"Do not be dismayed by our armbands," I said. "We do not come on the business of guardsmen."

"You are creditors then," he said, "or defrauded bumpkins intent upon the perpetration of dire vengeance."

"No," I said. "We are friends."

The pool of light above us seemed to shake with laughter.

I drew my blade and put it to the bowl of the lamp, on its small shelf in the hall. With a tiny movement I could tip it to the floor.

"Be careful there," said the fellow. His concern was not without reason. Such accidents, usually occurring in the rooms, often resulted in the destruction of an insula. Many folks who lived regularly in insulae had had the experience of hastily departing from their building in the middle of the night. There was also the danger that such fires could spread. Sometimes entire blocks, and even districts, are wiped out by such fires.

"Summon him," I said.

"It is not my building," said the fellow. "It belongs to Appanius!"

"Ah, yes!" I said.

"You know the name?" asked Marcus.

"Yes," I said. "Do you not remember? He is the owner of Milo, the handsome fellow, the actor who played the part of Lurius of Jad in the pageant, and is an agriculturist, an impresario, and slaver. That explains, probably, his interest in this establishment, and his catering to a certain clientele." I looked up at the pool of light. "It is that Appanius, is it not?" I asked.

"Yes," said the fellow, "and a powerful man."

I lowered the blade. I had no wish to do anything which Appanius might find disagreeable, such as burn down one of his buildings. He was undoubtedly a splendid fellow, and, in any case, I might later wish to do business with him. I sheathed my sword.

"Appanius is not one to be lightly trifled with!" said the fellow, seemingly somewhat emboldened by the retreat of my blade.

Marcus' blade half left its sheath. "And what of heavily trifling with him?" he asked. "Or trifling with him moderately?" Marcus was still not well disposed toward most fellows from Ar, and did not seem prepared to make an exception in favor of the fellow on the landing. I pushed Marcus' blade back down in its sheath.

"This," I said, indicating a cord and bar to one side, "is undoubtedly the alarm bar, to be rung in the case of emergency or fire."

"Yes?" said the voice from the pool of light.

"I am pleased to see it," I said. "This will quite possibly save me burning down the building."

"Why do you wish to see Renato?" asked the fellow, nervously. I think he did not relish the thought of being on the landing if the occupants of the building should suddenly, in their hundreds, begin to stream forth in vigorous, or even panic-stricken, haste, down the stairs.

"That is our business," I said.

"You are not going to lead him off in chains, are you?" he asked. "He owes two weeks rent."

I surmised that more than an occasional lodging fee had in such a manner escaped the agent of Appanius.

"No," I said.

"Hah!" he suddenly cried.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"It is the same trick!" he said. "I see it now! The same trick!"

"What trick?" I asked.

"The rogue last year pretended to have himself arrested and led away, but it turned out to be by members of his own troupe, and thus they all escaped without paying the rent!"

"And you took him back in?" I asked.

"Who else would give such a rogue lodging but Appanius?" said the man. "But he made him pay double, and for the time before, too!"

"Interesting," I said. "But we wish to see him on business, now."

"We can force the doors, one after the other," said Marcus.

"There are at least a hundred rooms here," I said. "Perhaps more."

"Which is his room?" asked Marcus. "And we shall rout him out ourselves."

"I would have to consult the records," said the fellow. "He may not even be rooming here."

"But surely you have one or more of his slaves chained somewhere as a surety," I said.

The fellow made a tiny, angry noise above us.

I saw I had guessed right. The only slave of the ponderous fellow I had seen in the show had been the one he was now calling Litsia. I expected he had one or more elsewhere. For example, I had not seen a certain blonde about whom he often used in his dramatic farces, in various roles, such as that of the Golden Courtesan. She, and perhaps one or two others, I did not know, were in this very building, or elsewhere, chained or caged, as a surety for the lodging fees. If he wished to use one of them in some farce, or such, he would perhaps take that one, and leave another, say, Litsia, as he now called her, with the agent, or his men. Such women, being properties, may be used as sureties, to be taken over by the creditors of their former master's creditors. There are many variations on this sort of thing. For example, it is not unknown for one fellow, desiring the slave of another, to advance his fellow money, perhaps for gambling, in the hope that he may not be able to pay it back, in which case the creditor, in accord with the contractual arrangements, may claim the slave. Also, of course, it is not unusual, in serious cases, for a debtor's properties to be seized and auctioned, that his debts may be satisfied. These properties include, of course, his livestock, if any, which category includes slaves. Daughters, too, in some cities, are subject to such seizure and sale. Also, a female debtor, in many cities, is subject to judicial enslavement, she then coming rightlessly and categorically, identically with any other slave, into the ownership of the creditor.

"Shall I tell him that two guardsmen are asking after him?" asked the fellow. "No, just say, "two friends'," I said.

"I am not his friend," said Marcus.

"One friend," I called.

"I see," said the fellow from above, carefully. "There are two fellows calling for him, who do not wish him to know they are guardsmen, one of whom is his friend, and one of whom is not, and both of whom are armed, and seem ready to unsheath their weapons at a moment's notice, if not earlier."

"I am sure he is here," I said. "So do not return and tell us he is not in."

"Shall I go up with him?" asked Marcus.

"No, no!" said the fellow above, quickly.

"You realize," said Marcus, "that the fellow may elude us, over the roofs, or climb out on a ledge, and fall to his death, or lower himself by means of a rope to the alley from the room?"

"Or disappear into thin air?" I asked.

"Possibly," grumbled Marcus, who had not yet, I fear, been persuaded to an attitude of skepticism in such matters."

"I have it," I said. Then I called up to the fellow on the landing. "Tell him," I said, "that the world's worse actor desires to speak with him."

"That seems a strange request," said the fellow with the lantern.

"Not so strange as you might think," I said.

"Very well," he said. He then turned about and began to climb the flights of stairs upward, toward the least desirable, hottest, most dangerous levels of the insula. We watched the flickering light of the lantern making its way irregularly up the walls on either side of the staircase, and then, eventually, saw it fade and disappear.

"He whom you seek is now doubtless making his exit," said Marcus.

An urt hurried down the stairs and darted along the side of the wall and through a crack in the wall.

Marcus swiftly drew his sword.

"No," I said, staying his hand. "That is not he."

"Are you sure?" asked Marcus.

"Pretty sure," I said.

"Perhaps we should wait out back," said Marcus. "Perhaps he can see in the dark."

"It's dark out there," I said.

In a moment, however, we heard the stairs shaking and creaking, from flights above, and then, in a bit, apparently feeling his way by the walls at the sides of the stairs, down came the bulk of the large fellow, his paunch swaying, his robes flying behind him.

"He moves with great rapidity," said Marcus. "Perhaps he can see in the dark?"

"No," I said.

"Perhaps he is part sleen," he said.

"Some have claimed more than a part," I said.

Marcus whistled softly, to himself.

"He knows the stairs," I said, somewhat irritably. "So, too, would you, if you lived here."

Then the great bulk was on the floor of the hall, rushing toward me.

Without a moment's hesitation it seized me in a great embrace.

Then we joyfully held one another at arm's length.

"How did you know it was me?" I asked.

"It could be no other!" he cried, delightedly.

"Who is this?" he asked, regarding Marcus.

"My friend, Marcus," I said, "of Ar's Station."

"The state of knaves, traitors, and cowards?" inquired the ponderous fellow. I restrained Marcus.

"I am pleased to meet you!" said the ponderous fellow, extending his hand. "Beware," I said to Marcus, "or he will have your wallet!"

"Here is yours," said the fellow, handing mine back to me.

"That was neatly done," I said. I was genuinely impressed. "Is there anything left in it?"

"Almost everything," said the fellow.

Gingerly, standing back, Marcus extended his hand.

The ponderous fellow seized it and shook it vigorously. It was Marcus' sword hand. I trusted it would not be injured. We might have need of it.

"How did you know where to find me?" asked the ponderous fellow.

"Inquiries, and a couple of silver tarsks, at the theater," I said.

"It is good to know one has friends," he said.

"Do you do your wonders by magic or trickery?" asked Marcus.

"Most often by trickery," said the fellow, "but sometimes, I admit, when I am tired, or do not wish to take the time and trouble required for tricks, by magic."

"See!" said Marcus to me, triumpantly.

"Really, Marcus," I said.

"It is as I told you!" he insisted.

"If you would like a demonstration," said the large fellow, solicitously, " I could consider turning you into a draft tharlarion."

Marcus turned white.

"Only temporarily, of course," the fellow assured him.

Marcus took another step back.

"Do not fear," I said to Marcus. "There is not enough room in the hall for a draft tharlarion."

"You are as practical as ever!" said the large fellow, delightedly. Then he turned to Marcus. "When a wagon would be stuck in the mud, it was always he who would first discover it! When there wasn't enough to eat, it would be he who would be the first to notice!"

I did have a good appetite, of course.

"I do not wish to be turned into a draft tharlarion," said Marcus.

"Not even temporarily?" I urged.

"No!" said Marcus.

"Have no fear," said the fellow. "I couldn't do that if I wished."

"But you saida€”," said Marcus.

"I said I could consider turning you into a draft tharlarion," he said, "and that is quite easy to do, considering such a matter. The difficulty arises in accomplishing it."

"Am I mocked?" asked Marcus.

"Actually his name is "Marcus'," I said.

Marcus regarded me, startled.

"I see that your wit is as sharp as ever!" said the ponderous fellow.

"Thank you," I said. I thought the sally had been deft. I am not sure Marcus knew what to do in the presence of two such fellows as we.

"And what do you do?" the fellow asked Marcus. "Do you juggle, do you walk a tightrope? Our friend, Tarl here was excellent at clinging to a wire with great tenacity. It was one of his best tricks."

It was not my fault if I were no Lecchio.

"I am of the warriors," said Marcus.

"How unfortunate," said the fellow, "our military roles are all filled. We already have our captain, our imperious general, and two spearmen."

"I am not an actor," said Marcus.

"That has never been essential for success on the stage," he was assured. It might be noted also, of course, that unusual talent did not guarantee success either. For example, I had not been notably successful on the stage.

"Consider the fabulous Milo," said the fellow to Marcus.

Marcus looked at me, with a malicious grin. He did not much approve of Milo. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say that he did not much approve of Phoebe's approving of him.

"I think Milo is an excellent actor," I said.

"You see?" asked the fellow of Marcus.

"Yes," said Marcus.

"Did you see him in the pageant about Lurius of Jad?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "It was on the basis of that performance that my opinion was formed."

"I see," I said. How ugly, I though, professional jealousy can be.

"Milo," he said, "has the flexibility, the range, the nuance of a block of wood!"

"Most folks fine him impressive," I said.

"So is the fountain of Hesius," said the fellow, "but it can't act either."

"He is thought to be the most handsome man in Ar," I said. "Or among the most handsome," I added, reflectively.

"Your qualification is judicious," said the fellow.

"Certainly," said Marcus, apparently also giving the matter some thought. I said nothing more then, modestly. Nor, as I recall, did they.

"Have you lost any Home Stones lately?" the fellow asked Marcus.

Marcus' eyes blazed.

"Beware," I said. "Marcus is a touchy fellow, and he is not over fond of those of Ar."

"He does not know what noble, good-hearted, jolly fellows we are," said the large fellow.

"Why have you changed your name?" I asked.

"There are various warrants out for me," he said. "By changing my name that gives the local guardsmen on Show Street an excuse for taking my bribes with a good conscience."

"The others, too, have changed their names?" I said.

"For now," he said.

"His Litsia was once "Telitsia'," I said to Marcus.

"That is not much of a change," he said.

"But then she had not changed much," said the large fellow.

"Litsia', in any case, is a shortened form of "Telitsia'. It would not be unusual to take a name such as "Telitsia' which is most often a free woman's name and give it a shortened form, a more familiar form, perhaps one more fitting for a well-curved, delicious slave animal. The names of slaves, of course, may be given and taken away at will, as the names of other sorts of animals.

"It is my hope that I can be of service to you," said the fellow. "But unfortunately as we are not now on the move, there is little current scope available for the exercise of your special talents."

"What special talents?" asked Marcus.

"He can lift a wagon single-handedly on his back," said the fellow. "He can thrust in the pegs of a temporary stage with the heel of his hand!"

"He jests merrily," I informed Marcus. It was not that I could not do such things, depending on the weight of the wagon and the various ratios involved, those of the diameters of pegs and holes, and such, but I did not want Marcus to get the wrong impression. I did not wish him to think that my theatrical talents might be limited to such genre of endeavor.

"But nonetheless," he said, "we are eager that you should share our kettle, and for as long as you wish."

"Thank you," I said.

"The others, too, will be delighted to see you," he said. "For example, Andronicus complains frequently of the burdens of manual labor."

"I can imagine," I said. Andronicus was a sensitive fellow, with a delicate sense of what was fitting and unfitting for an actor of his quality. He had been one of the bearers of the palanquin. The others had been Petrucchio, Lecchio and Chino. Also, in spite of his considerable stature, he regarded himself as somewhat frail. Were I a member of the troupe I had no doubt but what he might have been persuaded to step aside, withdrawing from the role of bearer in my favor. I think I could have pulled it off. The ponderous fellow had once assured me that he had seldom seen anyone do that sort of thing as well.

"You will come up?" asked the fellow. "And the knave from Ar's Station, home of traitors and cowards, is welcome as well, of course."

"Back, Marcus!" I said. "No," I said. "Our renewed acquaintance must be kept secret from the others."

"But surely you wish to hide out with us?" said the ponderous fellow.

"No," I said.

"The authorities are seeking you?"

"Not exactly," I said.

"We could conceal you," he said. "We have all sorts of boxes and trunks which could serve the purpose quite well."

Marcus shuddered.

"No," I said.

"You are not fleeing from authorities?"

"No," I said.

"This is a social visit?" he asked.

"Not really," I said.

"Business?"

"Yes," I said.

"Secret business?"

"Yes," I said.

"Dire business?" he asked.

"Pretty dire," I admitted.

"Speak," he said.

"We have a job for you and I suspect you are one of the fifty or so in Ar who might accomplish it."

"Is it a dangerous job?" he asked.

"It is one involving great risk and small prospect of success," I said. "It is also one in which, if you fail, you will be apprehended and subjected to ingenuous, lengthy and excruciating tortures, to be terminated doubtless only months later with the mercy of a terrible death."

"I see," he said.

"Are you afraid?" I asked.

"Of course not," he said. "Beyond what you describe there is little to fear."

"It is a dire business, truly," said Marcus, grimly.

I hoped that Marcus would not discourage him.

"Moderately dire, at any rate," the fellow granted him.

"I know that you always claim to be a great coward, and act as one at every opportunity," I said to him, "but long ago I discerned the foolhardy hero hidden beneath that clever pose."

"You are perceptive," said the fellow.

"I myself would never have guessed it," said Marcus, awed.

"You are interested, aren't you?" I asked. I now had him intrigued.

"You should consider a future in recruiting," said the fellow, "say, one of those fellows who recruits for the forbidden arena games, held secretly, those in which almost no one emerges alive. At the very least you should consider a future in sales."

"Would you care to hear what we have in mind?" I asked.

"If there are some fifty or so fellows in Ar," said the fellow, "who could do this, why didn't you ask one of them, or perhaps you have already asked them."

"No," I said. "And you are the only one of those fellows I know. Besides you are my friend."

He clasped my hand warmly.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Upstairs, to bed," he said. "Telitsia will be moaning by now."

"But you have not yet heard our proposition," I pointed out.

"Have you considered what my loss to the arts might mean?" he asked.

"I had not viewed the matter from that perspective," I admitted.

"Do you wish to see the arts plunged into decline on an entire world?"

"Well, no," I said.

"A decline from which they might never fully recover?"

"Of course not," I said.

"I wish you well," he said.

"Let him go," said Marcus. "He is right. The task we have in mind is no task for a mere mortal. I consented to have the subject broached only because I still suspected he was a true magician."

"What's that?" asked the paunchy fellow, swinging about.

"Nothing," said Marcus.

"What you have in mind you regard as too difficult for one such as I to accomplish?"

"Not just you, any ordinary man," said Marcus.

"I see," said the fellow.

"Forgive me," said Marcus. "I meant no offense."

"Ah, yes," I said, suddenly. "Marcus is right, of course. No ordinary person could hope to perform this task. It would require brilliance, dash, flair, subtlety, skill, even showmanship. It would require a master to pull it off. Nay, a master of masters."

"And what do you think I am?" asked the fellow.

"This task," I said dismally, "would require flexibility, range and nuance." It seemed I had heard these words recently. They seemed useful at the moment. I seized upon them.

"But I am a master of flexibility," said the fellow, "I have enormous range, from one horizon of the theater to another. I have a grasp of nuance that would shame the infinite shades of the spectrum, in all their variations in brilliance, saturation and hue!"

"Truly?" asked Marcus.

"Of course!" said the fellow.

"We really need an army," he said.

"In my youth," said the fellow, "I was a one-man army!" In Gorean theater armies are usually represented by a fellow carrying a banner behind an officer. In the pageant we had seen earlier in the year, of course, hundreds of actors had been on the stage in the great theater.

"You could never manage it," I said.

"You are craftier than a battering ram," he said, "and your subtlety would put to shame that of most tharlarion of my acquaintance but this young man is serious."

Marcus looked at him, puzzled.

"Do you not know who I am?" he asked.

"A wondrous magician?" asked Marcus, hopefully.

"The least of my accomplishments," said the fellow.

"If anyone could accomplish the task, I would suppose it must be on such as you," said Marcus.

"Do you wish to know what the task is?" I asked.

"Not now," he said. "Whatever it is, I shall undertake it speedily and accomplish it with dispatch."

Marcus regarded him with awe.

"What is it?" asked the fellow. "You wish the Central Cylinder moved? You wish the walls of Ar rebuilt overnight? You wish a thousand tarns tanned in one afternoon?"

"He is a magician!" said Marcus.

"You wish Ar to escape the yoke of Cos?" I asked the fellow.

"Certainly," he said.

"What we have in mind may help to bring that about," I said.

"Speak," he said.

"You know that Ar refused to support Ar's Station in the north and that her loyalty to the state of Ar cost her her walls and her Home Stone?"

"Yes," he said. "I know that, but I am not supposed to know that."

"Ar owes fidelity and courage of Ar's Station much," I said.

"Granted," he said.

"Would you like to pay back a part of the debt which Ar owes Ar's Station?" I asked.

"Certainly," he said.

"And would you like to take a trip to the north with your troupe, a trip which might eventually bring you to the town of Port Cos, on the northern bank of the Vosk?"

"They are staunch supporters of the theater there, are they not?" he asked. "It is a rich town," I said.

"Staunch enough," he said.

"In which, if you accomplish this task, you will be hailed as heroes," I said. "We are already heroes," he said. "It is only that we have not been hailed as such."

"If you undertake this task," I said, "you will be indeed a hero."

"Port Cos?" he said.

"Yes," I said.

"That is where the survivors of Ar's Station are, is it not?" he asked.

"Many of them," I said.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked.

"The Delta Brigade," I said, "is restoring courage and pride to Ar. The governance of the city, under the hegemony of Cos, wishes to discredit the Brigade by associating it in the popular mind with Ar's Station, which the folks of Ar have been taught to despise and hate."

"That has been clear to me for some time," said the fellow, "at least since noon yesterday."

"Do you think most folks in Ar believe, at least now, that Ar's Station is behind the Delta Brigade?" I asked.

"No," he said. "It is supposed almost universally that it is an organization of delta veterans."

"What do you think would happen," I asked, "if the Home Stone of Ar's Station would disappear, from beneath the very noses of the authorities?"

"I do not know," he said, "but I suspect it would be thought that the Delta Brigade, the veterans, rescued it, and this might give the lie to the official propaganda on the subject, and even vindicate Ar's Station in the eyes of the citizenry, that the Delta Brigade chose to act on her behalf. At the least, the disappearance of the stone would embarrass the governance of the city, and Cos, and cast doubt on their security and efficiency. Its loss could thus undermine their grasp on the city."

"I think so, too," I said.

"You wish me to obtain the Home Stone of Ar's Station for you?" he asked. "For Ar," I said, "for Ar's Station, for the citzenry of Ar's Station, for Marcus."

"No," he said.

"Very well," I said. I stepped back. I had not wish to urge him. Nor had Marcus. "You misled me," he said.

"I am sorry," I said.

"You told me that the task was difficult, that it was dangerous," he said, scornfully.

I was puzzled.

"Do you not know that the stone is now on public display," he asked, "for Ahn a day?"

"Yes," I said. "We know that."

"It is in the open!" he said.

"In a way," I said.

"It is not locked in a tower, encircled with a moat of sharks, behind ten doors of iron, ringed by deadly osts, circled by maddened sleen, surrounded by ravening larls."

"No," I said. "Not to my knowledge."

"I shall not do it!" he said.

"I do not blame you," I said.

"Do you hold me in such contempt?" he asked.

"Not at all," I said, puzzled.

"Do you ask me, me, to do such a thing?"

"We had hoped you might consider it," I said.

"Never!" he said.

"Very well," I said.

"What slandering scoundrels you are, both of you," he said, angrily.

"How so?" I asked.

"It is too easy!" he said, angrily.

"What?" I asked.

"It is too easy," he said. "It is unworthy of me! It is beneath my attention. It would be an insult to my skills! There is no challenge!"

"It is too easy?" I asked.

"Would you come to a master surgeon to have a boil lanced, a wart removed?" he asked.

"No," I admitted.

"To a scribe to read the public boards!"

"No," said Marcus. I myself was silent. I sometimes had difficulty with the public boards, particularly when cursive script was used.

"Let me understand this clearly," I said. "You think the task would be too easy?"

"Certainly," he said. "It requires only a simple substitution."

"Do you think you could manage it?" asked Marcus, eagerly.

"Anyone could do it," he said, angrily. "I know of at least one, in Turia."

"But that is in the southern hemisphere," I pointed out.

"True," he said.

"Then you will do it?" I said.

"I will need to get a good look at the stone," he said. "But that is easily accomplished. I will go and revile it tomorrow."

Marcus stiffened.

"It is necessary," I said to Marcus. "He will not mean it."

"Then," he said, "once I have every detail of the stone carefully in mind I shall see to the construction of a duplicate."

"You can remember all the details?" I asked.

"Taken in in an glance," he assured me.

"Remarkable," I said.

"A mind such as mine," he said, "occurs only once or twice in a century."

Marcus had hardly been able to speak, so overcome he was.

"Do you, lad, know the stone fairly well?" he was asked by the paunchy fellow. "Yes!" said Marcus.

"Good," said the paunchy fellow.

"Why do you ask that?" I asked.

"In case I forget the color of it, or something," he said.

"You do realize, do you not," I asked, "that the stone is under constant surveillance."

"It will not be under surveillance for the necessary quarter of an Ihn or so," he said.

"You will use misdirection?" I asked.

"Unless you have a better idea, or seventy armed men, or something."

"No," I said.

"There will be many guards about," said Marcus.

"I work best with an audience," said the ponderous fellow.

I did not doubt it. On the other hand he did make me a bit nervous. I trusted he would not try to make too much of a show of it. The important thing was to get the stone and get it out of the city, and, if possible, to Port Cos.

"Sir!" said Marcus.

"Lad?" asked the ponderous fellow.

"Even though you should fail in this enterprise and die a horrible death, I want you to know that you have the gratitude of Ar's Station!"

"Thank you," said the fellow. "The sentiment touches me."

"It is nothing," Marcus assured him.

"No, no!" said the fellow. "On the rack, and under the fiery irons and burning pincers, should such be my fate, I shall derive much comfort from it."

"I think you are the most courageous man I have ever known," said Marcus. "Twice this evening," said the fellow, turning to me, "it seems my well-wrought sham of craven timidity, carefully constructed over the period of a lifetime, has been penetrated."

"Do you plan to seize the Home Stone by trickery or magic?" asked Marcus. "I haven't decided," said the fellow. "Which would you prefer?"

"If it does not the more endanger you," said Marcus, grimly, "I would prefer trickery, human trickery."

"My sentiments, exactly," said the fellow. "What do you think?"

"Whatever you wish," I said.

"By using trickery," said Marcus, earnestly, "we are outwitting Ar, making fools of them, accomplishing our objective within the rules, winning the game honestly."

"True," said the fellow. "I have nothing but contempt for those magicians who stay safe in the towers of their castles, consulting their texts, uttering their spells and waving their magic wands about, spiriting away valuable objects. There is no risk there, no glory! That is not fair. Indeed, it is cheating."

"Yes," said Marcus. "It would be cheating!"

"You have convinced me," said the fellow. "I shall use trickery and not magic."

"Yes!" said Marcus.

"There is danger," I said to the ponderous fellow.

"Not really," he said.

"I am serious," I said.

"If I thought there were the least bit of danger involved in this, surely you do not think I would even consider it, do you?"

"I think you might," I said.

"It all depends on the fellow involved," he said. "If you were to attempt to accomplish this, with your particular subtlety and skills, there would indeed be danger, perhaps unparalleled peril. Indeed, I think I would have the rack prepared the night before. But for me, I assure you, it is nothing, no more than a sneeze."

"He is a magician," Marcus reminded me.

"But he is only planning on using trickery," I reminded Marcus, somewhat irritably.

"True," said Marcus, thoughtfully.

"Would you wait outside, Marcus?" I asked.

"Certainly," he said, exiting.

"A nice lad," said the fellow.

"There are serious risks involved," I said to the fellow.

"For you perhaps," he said. "Not for me."

"We have gold," I said, "obtained in the north."

"And you do not know better than to try futilely to force this wealth upon me, even against my will?" asked the fellow.

"I would like you to consider it," I said.

"That is the least I can do for a friend," he said "It will help to defray the expenses of the troupe in the north," I said. "It is then a contribution to the arts?" asked the fellow.

"Certainly," I said.

"And you would be grievously offended if I did not accept it?"

"Certainly," I said.

"Under those you leave me no choice."

"Splendid," I said.

"The amount, of course, I leave to your well-known generosity."

"Very well," I said.

"It should be commensurate, of course, as you are the patron, with your concept of the risks involved and not mine."

"So much gold," I said, "is not in Gor."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Then I trust that my estimate of the risks involved is a good deal more accurate than yours."

"It is my fervent hope," I said.

"Do you think an entire gold piece, say, a stater, or a tarn disk, would be too much in a cause to perpetuate and enhance the arts on an entire world?"

"Not at all," I said.

"What about two gold pieces?"

"It can be managed," I assured him.

"In that case perhaps you can return the young fellow's wallet to him." He handed me Marcus' wallet. I felt quickly for my own. It was still in place. "It is all there," he said, "what there was."

"Very well," I said. Marcus and I did not carry much money about with us. "Be careful," I said to him.

"If I were not careful," he said, "there would be a great deal more than eleven warrants out on me, and I would have a great deal more creditors than the twenty-two who know where to fine me."

I was silent.

"I must go upstairs now," he said, "and content Telitsia. Since she has become a slave she is quite different from the free woman you once knew."

"I am sure of it," I said.

In bondage, the once proud, arrogant Telitsia, of Asperiche, had learned slave arousal. I could imagine her upstairs now, probably chained by the neck to a ring, probably stripped, given the heat of the higher apartments, probably lying on the floor, where she had been put, near the ring, her small hands on her neck chain, or her fingers on the ring, now and then moaning, and turning about, or squirming, with a movement of chain, awaiting the return of her master.

"I wish you well," I said.

"I wish you well," he said.

He then turned about and, with considerably less speed than he had manifested in his descent, began to climb the stairs. In a moment or two, as he was not carrying a light, he had disappeared in the darkness. I listened, however, for some time, to his climbing. I then went outside and rejoined Marcus.

"Do you know who that was?" I asked.

"A magician," he said.

"Here is your wallet," I said.

"Ai!" said Marcus, slapping at his belt.

"Supposedly its contents are unrifled, or at least intact."

"It was wafted away by magic," said Marcus.

"Sometimes I believe him to be more light-fingered than is in his own best interest," I said.

"No," said Marcus. "I felt nothing. It was magic. He is a true magician!"

"Perhaps he is a bit vain of his tricks," I said.

I could well imagine many Goreans leaping upon him with a knife under such circumstances, or, at any rate, looking him up later with that in mind, having discovered their loss in the meantime.

"Perhaps we should exchange him to use magic in his attempt on the Home Stone," said Marcus. "I would not wish him to be torn to shreds on the rack."

"His mind is made up," I said. "He would not hear of it."

"Such courage!" said Marcus.

"Do you know who he is?" I asked.

"Renato, the Great," said Marcus.

"That is not his real name," I said.

"What is his real name?" I said.

"In an instant you would know it, if I told it to you," I said. "You would be astonished that such a fellow has deigned to help us. He is known far and wide on Gor. He is famous. His fame is spread throughout a thousand cities and a hundred lands. He is known from the steaming jungles of Schendi to the ice packs of the north, from the pebbly shores of Thassa to the vast, dry barrens east of the Thentis range!"

"What is his name?" inquired Marcus, eagerly.

"Boots Tarsk-Bit!" I said.

"Who?" asked Marcus.

"Put your wallet away," I said.

"Very well," he said.

I also checked my own wallet, again. It was in place, and its contents were in order.