Players of Gor

12 Conversations with a Monster; The Punishment of a Slave

"How did the accident occur?" I asked.

"What accident?" he asked.

There were fourteen pieces on the board, sic yellow, eight red. I was playing red.

I had now been with the company of Boots Tarsk-Bit for several weeks. In this time we had played numerous villages and town, sometimes just outside their walls, or even against them, when we had not been permitted within. Too, we had often set up outside mills, inns, graneries, customs posts and trade barns, wherever an audience might be found, even at the intersections of traveled roads and, on certain days, in the vicinity of rural markets. In all this time we had been gradually moving north and westward, slowly toward the coast, toward Thassa, the Sea.

"As I understand it," I said, "there was a fire."

He regarded me.

"You wear a hood," I said.

"Yes?" he said.

"That accident which destroyed or disfigured your face," I said, "that rendered it such, as I understand it, that women might run screaming from your sight, that even men, crying out, sickened and revolted, might drive you with poles and cudgels, like some feared, disgusting beast, from their own habitats and haunts."

"Are you trying to put me off my game?" he inquired.

"No," I said.

"It is your move," he said. "You next move."

I returned my attention to the board. "I do not think the game will last much longer," I said.

"You are right," he said.

"Out of the several hundred times we have played," I said, "never have I enjoyed so great an advantage in material."

"Do you have an advantage?" he asked.

"Obviously," I said. "More importantly I enjoy an immense advantage positionally."

"How is that?" he inquired.

"Note," I said. I thrust my Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubar's Initiate Eight. "If you do not defend, it will be capture of Home Stone on the next move."

"So it would seem," he said.

His Home Stone was at Ubar's Initiate One. It was flanked by a Builder at Ubar's Builder One. It was too late to utilize the Builder defensively now. No Builder move could now protect the Home Stone. Indeed it could not even, at this point, clear an escape route for its flight. He must do something with his Ubara, now at Ubara's Tarnsman Five. The configuration of pieces on the board was as follows: On my first rank, my Home Stone was at Ubar's Initiate One; I had a Builder at Ubar's Scribe One. On my second rank, I had a Spearman at Ubar's Builder Two, a Scribe at Ubara Two, and another Rider of the High Tharlarion at Ubara's Scribe Two. On my third rank, I had a Spearman at Ubar's Initiate Three and another at Ubar's Scribe Three. One of my Riders of the High Tharlarion, as I indicated earlier, was now at Ubar's Initiate Eight, threatening capture of Home Stone on the next move. On his eight rank he had a Spearman at Ubar's Builder Eight, inserted between my two Spearmen on my third rank. His Spearman at Ubar's Builder Eight was supported by another of his Spearmen, posted at Ubar's Scribe Seven. He had his Ubara, as I indicated earlier, at Ubara's Tarnsman Five. This was backed by a Scribe at Ubara's Scribe Four. this alignment of the Ubara and Scribe did not frighten me. If he should be so foolish as to bring his Ubara to my Ubar's Builder One, it would be taken by my Builder. His Scribe could recapture but he would have lost his Ubara, and for only a Builder. His last two pieces were located on his first rank. They were, as I indicated earlier, his Home Stone, located at Ubar's Initiate One, and a Builder, located at Ubar's Builder One. The Builder was his Ubar's Builder.

"How would you choose to defend?" he inquired.

"You could bring you Ubara over to your Ubar's Initiate Five, threatening the Rider of the High Tharlarion," I said.

"But you would then retreat to your Ubar's Initiate Seven, the Rider of the High Tharlarion then protected by your Scribe at Ubara Two," he said. "This could immobilize the Ubara, while permitting you to maintain your pressure on the Ubar's Initiate's File. It could also give you time to build an even stronger attack."

"Of course," I said.

He placed his Ubara at Ubara's Tarnsman Two.

"That is the better move," I said.

"I think so," he said.

Ubar's Initiate Nine, that square from which I might effect capture of Home Stone, was now protected by his Ubara.

"Behold," I said.

"Yes?" he said.

I now moved my Scribe from Ubara Two to Ubara's Tarnsman Three. This bought it onto the diagonal on which lay the crucial square, Ubar's Initiate Nine. he could not take it with his Ubara, of course, sweeping down his Ubara's Tarnsman File, because it was protected now by my other Rider of the High Tharlarion, that hitherto, seem9ingly innocent, seemingly uninvolved piece which had just happened, apparently, to be posted at Ubara's Scribe Two. now its true purpose, lurking at that square, was dramatically revealed. I had planned it well. "You may now protect your Home Stone," I said, "but only at the cost of your Ubara." I would now move my Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubar's Initiate Nine, threatening capture of Home Stone. His only defense would be the capture of the Rider of the High Tharlarion with his Ubara, at which point, of course, I would recapture with the Scribe, thus exchanging the Rider of the High Tharlarion for a Ubara, an exchange much to my profit. Then with my superior, even overwhelming, advantage in material, it would be easy to bring about the conclusion of the game in short order.

"I see," he said.

"And I had red," I reminded him. Yellow opens, of course. This permits him to dictate the opening and, accordingly, immediately assume the offensive. Many players of Kaissa, not even of the caste of players, incidentally, know several openings, in numerous variations, several moves into the game. This is one reason certain irregular, or eccentric, defenses, though often theoretically weak, are occasionally used by players with red. In this way the game is opened and new trails, even if dubious ones, must be blazed. If these irregular or eccentric defenses tend to be successful, of course, they soon, too, become part of the familiar, analyzed lore of the game. On the master's level, it might be mentioned, it is not unusual for red, because of the disadvantages attendant on the second move, to play for a draw.

"You still have red," observed my opponent.

"I have waited long for this moment of vengeance," I said. "M triumph here will be all the sweeter for having experienced so many swift, casual, outrageously humiliating defeats at your hands."

"Your attitude is interesting," he said. "I doubt that I myself would be likely to find in one victory an adequate compensation for a hundred somewhat embarrassing defeats."

"It is not that I am so bad," I said, defensively. "It is rather that you are rather good."

"Thank you," he said.

To be honest, I had never played with a better player. Many Goreans are quite skilled in the game, and I had played with them. I had even, upon occasion, played with members of the caste of players, but never, never, had I played with anyone who remotely approached the level of this fellow. His play was normally exact, even painfully exact, and an opponent's smallest mistake or least weakness in position would be likely to be exploited devastatingly and mercilessly, but, beyond this, an exhibition of a certain brilliant methodicality not unknown among high-level players, it was often characterized by an astounding inventiveness, an astounding creativity, in combinations. He was the sort of fellow who did not merely play the game but contributed to it. Further, sometimes to my irritation, he often, too often, in my opinion, seemed to produce these things with an apparent lack of effort, with an almost insolent ease, with an almost arrogant nonchalance.

It is one thing to be beaten by someone; it is another thing to have it done roundly, you sweating and fuming, while the other fellow, as far as you can tell, is spending most of his time, except for an occasional instant spent sizing up the board and moving, in considering the ambient trivia of the camp or the shapes and motions of passing clouds. If this fellow had a weakness in Kaissa it was perhaps a tendency to occasionally indulge in curious or even reckless experimentation. Too, I was convinced he might occasionally let his attention wander just a bit too much, perhaps confident of his ability to overcome inadvertencies, or perhaps because of a tendency to underestimate opponents. Too, he had an interest in the psychology of the game. Once he had put a Ubara 'en prise' in a game with me. I, certain that it must be the bait in some subtle trap I could not detect, not only refused to take it but, worrying about it, and avoiding it, eventually succeeded in producing the collapse of my entire game. Another time he had done the same thing with pretty much the same results. "I had not noticed that it was 'en prise'," he had confessed later. "I was thinking about something else." Had I dared to take advantage of that misplay I might not have had to wait until now to win a game with him. Yes, he was sometimes a somewhat irritating fellow to play. I had little doubt, however, that, in playing with him, my skills in Kaissa had been considerably sharpened.

"Do you wish to resign?" I asked him.

"I do not think so," he said.

"The game is over," I informed him.

"I agree," he said.

"It would be embarrassing to bring it to its conclusion," I said.

"Perhaps," he admitted.

"Resign," I suggested.

"No," he said.

"Do not be churlish," I smiled.

"That is a privilege of 'monsters'," he said.

"Very well," I said. Actually I did not want him to resign. I had waited a very long time for this victory, and I would savor every move until capture of Home Stone.

"What is going on?" asked Bina, coming up to us, chewing a larma.

"We are playing Kaissa," said the monster.

I noted that she had not knelt. She had not thrust her head to the ground. She had not asked for permission to speak. Her entire attitude was one of slovenly disregard for our status, that of free men. She was not my slave, of course. She belonged to Boots.

"I can see that," she said, biting again into the larma. The juice ran down the side of her mouth.

Her foot was on the edge of the monster's robes, as he sat before the board, cross-legged.

"Who is winning?" she asked.

"It does not matter," I said. I was angry with her animosity towards the monster. It was not my intention to give her any occasion to receive gratification over his discomfiture. She wore light, leather slippers. Boots had permitted footwear to both Bina and Rowena. He was an indulgent master. To be sure, Lady Telitsia had not yet been permitted footwear, but then she had not yet been permitted clothing either, except for her collar, except when it was in the nature of costuming for her performances. "Do you play?" I asked.

"I am a slave," she said. "I cannot so much as touch the pieces of the game without permission without risking having my hands cut off, or being killed, no more than weapons."

"You do not know how to play, then?" I said.

"No," she said.

"Do you understand anything of the game?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"I see," I said. That pleased me. It was just as well if she did not understand the dire straits in which my opponent now found himself. That would surely have amused the slinky little slut. Surely she knew her foot was on his robes. Surely he, too, must be aware of this.

"I have offered to extend to you such permissions, and teach you," he said.

"I despise you," she said.

"Your foot is on the robes of my antagonist," I said.

"Sorry," she said. She stepped back a bit, and then, deliberately, with her slipper, kicked dust onto his robes.

"Beware!" I said.

"You do not own me!" she said. "Neither of you own me!"

"Any free man may discipline an insolent or errant slave," I said, "even one who is in the least bit displeasing, even one he might merely feel like disciplining. I she is killed, or injured, he need only pay compensation to her master, and that only if the master can be located within a specific amount of time and requests such compensation." IN virtue of such customs and statutes the perfect discipline under which Gorean slaves are kept is maintained and guaranteed even when they are not within the direct purview of their masters or their appointed agents. She turned white.

"We are playing," said my opponent. "Do not pursue the matter."

She relaxed, visibly, and regained her color. Then she regarded my opponent. "You should not even be with the troupe," she said. "You do not bring in enough coins to pay for your own suls. You are hideous. You are worthless! You are a fool and a contemptible weakling! All you do, all you can do, is play Kaissa. It is a stupid game. Moving little pieces of wood about on a flat, colored board! How stupid! How absurd! How foolish!"

"Perhaps you have some duties to attend to elsewhere," I speculated.

"Leave the camp, Monster," she said to my opponent. "No one wants you here. Go away!"

I regarded the female.

"Yes," she said to me, angrily, "I have duties to attend to!"

"Then see to them, female slave," I said.

"Yes," she said. She then tossed her head, and left.

"An insolent slut," I said, "muchly in need of the whip."

"Perhaps she is right," he said.

"In what way?" I asked.

He looked down at the board. "Perhaps it is stupid, or absurd, or foolish, that men should concern themselves with such things."

"Kaissa?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Now," I said, "you are truly being foolish."

"Perhaps that is all it is, after all," he said, "the meaningless movement of bits of wood on a checkered surface."

"And love," I said, "is only a disturbance in the glands and music only a stirring in the air."

"And yet it is all I know," he said.

"Kaissa, like love and music, is its own justification," I said. "It requires no other."

"I have lived for it," he said. "I know nothing else… In times of darkness, it has sometimes been all that has stood between me and my own knife."

"You did not wish for me to discipline the slave," I said.

"No," he said.

"Do you like her?" I asked.

"I live for Kaissa," he said.

"She is a sexy little slut," I said.

"I know nothing of the management of women," he said.

"It is your move," I said.

"Do you wish to continue the game?" he asked.

"If it is alright with you," I said, "I would not mind it."

"I thought you might not wish to do so," he said.

"No," I said. "It is all right with me."

"I will offer you a draw, if you like," he said.

"You are very generous," I said.

He inclined his head, graciously.

"You are joking, of course," I said.

"No," he said, puzzled.

"I have a winning position," I said.

"Ah!" he said, suddenly. "So that is why you would not comment on the game in the presence of the slave. You wished to protect me from her scorn."

"Something like that," I admitted, shrugging.

"That was really very thoughtful of you," he said. "I must insist that you accept a draw."

"With your permission," I said, "I would prefer to play the game to its conclusion."

"This is the first time in my life," he said, "that I have ever offered someone a draw as a gift."

"I am sure I am appreciative of the gesture," I said.

"But you do not accept?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Very well," he said.

"I have a winning position," I said.

"Do you really think so?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Interesting," he said.

"I have a protected Rider of the High Tharlarion at Ubar's Initiate Eight. When I move him to Ubar's Initiate Nine you can prevent capture of Home Stone only by giving up your Ubara. After that the outcome of the game is a foregone conclusion."

He regarded me, not speaking.

"It is your move," I said.

"That is what you seem to have forgotten," he said.

"I do not understand," I said.

He swept his Ubara down the board, removing the Spearman I had posted at my Ubar's Initiate Three.

"That Spearman is protected," I said, "by the Spearman at Ubar's Builder Two."

"Threat to Home Stone," he said. To be sure, his Ubara now threatened the Home Stone.

"I will permit you to withdraw the move," I said.

"Threat to Home Stone," he said.

"That move costs you your Ubara," I said. "Further, you are losing it for a mere Spearman, not even a Rider of the High Tharlarion. Further, when I remove it from the board, my Rider of the High Tharlarion is but one move from capture of Home Stone."

"Threat to Home Stone," he said.

"Very well," I said. I removed his Ubara from the board, replacing it with the Spearman I had previously had at Ubar's Builder Two. The move was forced, of co8urse. I could not move the Home Stone to Ubar's Builder One because that square was covered by his Scribe at Ubara's Scribe Four. "My Rider of the High Tharlarion is but one move from capture of Home Stone," I reminded him.

"But it is my move," he said.

He then advanced his Spearman at Ubar's Builder Eight to Ubar's Builder Nine. This was now possible, of course, because I had had to open that file, taking the Spearman from it to capture his Ubara, the move forced in the circumstances. One must, as long as it is possible, protect the Home Stone.

"Threat to Home Stone," he observed.

His advancing Spearman, a mere Spearman, now forked my Home Stone and Builder. The Spearman is not permitted retreat. It, after its initial move, may move only one space at a time. This move may be directly or diagonally forward, or sideways. It, like the chess pawn, can capture only diagonally.

I could not move my Home Stone in front of the Spearman, even if I had wished to do so, because of his Scribe's coverage from afar of that square, Ubar's Builder One. Similarly, even if I had had the option in the circumstances, which I did not, I could not have brought my Builder to that square for defensive purposes without exposing it to the attack of the same piece. I now began to suspect that what I had thought had been a rather weak, easily averted threat of capture of Home Stone, the earlier alignment of his Ubara and Scribe on that crucial diagonal, might actually have had a somewhat different, more latent, more insidious purpose. Similarly, even if his Scribe had not been placed where it was, it would not have been rational in this specific game situation, though it would have been a possible move, to place my Home Stone at Ubar's Builder One. If I had done so this would have permitted the diagonal move of the Spearman to his War's Initiate Ten, my Ubar's Initiate One, at which point it would doubtless have been promoted to a Rider of the High Tharlarion, thusly effecting capture of Home Stone. The defense of my Builder, on which I was relying, would in such a case have been negated by the placement of my own Home Stone, which would then have been inserted between it and the attacking piece. But, as it was, because of the Scribe's coverage of Ubar's Builder One, my move was forced. I could move only to, and must move to, Ubar's Initiate Two. It appeared I must lose my Builder. I eyes my Rider of the High Tharlarion at Ubar's Initiate Eight. I needed only a respite of one move to effect capture of Home Stone.

"Your Home Stone is under attack," he reminded me.

"I am well aware of that," I said.

"You have one and only one possible move," he pointed out.

"I know," I said. "I know."

"Perhaps you should make it," he suggested.

"Very well," I said. I moved my Home Stone to Ubar's Initiate Two. A Spearman who attains the rear rank of the enemy has the option of being promoted, if promotion is desired, to either a Tarnsman or a Rider of the High Tharlarion. The Tarnsman is generally regarded as the more valuable piece. Indeed, in many adjudication procedures the Tarnsman is valued at eight points and the Rider of the High Tharlarion at only two. I did not think he would directly advance his Spearman to Ubar's Builder Ten, even though it was now protected, the file opened behind it, by his Builder at Ubar's Builder One. I now began to suspect that the placement of his Builder on that file might not have been an accident, no more than the rather irritating placement of his Scribe at Ubara's Scribe Four. If he did advance it in that fashion, promoting it presumably to a Rider of the High Tharlarion, to bring the Home Stone under immediate attack, and prevent me from advancing my own Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubar's Initiate Nine, finishing the game, I would take it with my Builder. He would then, of course, retake with his Builder. On the other hand, this exchange would sacrifice his advanced Spearman. I expected him rather, then, to take the Builder and then, with impunity, promote his Spearman to a Tarnsman at his Ubar's Scribe Ten, my Ubar's Scribe One. If he did this, however, it would give me the move I needed to effect capture of Home Stone, by advancing my Rider of the High Tharlarion to the coveted Ubar's Initiate Nine. I mopped my brow. He had miscalculated. The game was still mine!

"Spearman to Ubar's Initiate Ten," he said, moving the Spearman neither to Ubar's Building Ten, nor to Ubar's Scribe Ten, taking the Builder. This placed it behind my Home Stone. "Rider of the High Tharlarion," he said, replacing the Spearman now with the appropriate piece. "Threat to Home Stone," he then said.

"I can take it with my Builder," I said.

"Indeed," he said, "you must do so. You have no other move."

I swept my Builder to my left, capturing the new Rider of the High Tharlarion at my Ubar's Initiate One. His career, it seemed, had been a brief one. There was no way he could, in this situation, recapture. It seemed he had done nothing more than deliver his new Rider of the High Tharlarion promptly, and for nothing, into my prison pit. I could not move the Home Stone to either Ubar's Builder One, Two or Three because of the coverage of these squares, all of them being covered by his Builder at his Ubar's Builder One, and Ubar's Builder One being additionally covered by his Scribe, that posted at Ubara's Scribe Four.

"Builder to Ubar's Builder Nine," he said.

I regarded the board.

"Capture of Home Stone," he said.

"Yes," I said.

My Home Stone had been maneuvered to Ubar's Initiate Two. There he had used my own men to trap it and hold it helplessly in position. Then he had swept down the opened file with his Builder, to Ubar's Builder Nine, to effect its capture.

"Every one of your moved was forced," he said. "You never had an alternative."

"True," I said.

"An elementary Ubara sacrifice," he remarked.

"Elementary?" I asked.

"Of course," he said.

"I did not see it," I said, "at least until it was too late."

"I gathered that," he said. "Otherwise you might have resigned several moves ago, thereby perhaps saving yourself a bit of embarrassment."

"I thought I was winning," I said.

"I think you were under a grave misapprehension as to just who was attacking," he said.

"Apparently," I said.

"Undoubtedly," he agreed, unnecessarily, in my opinion.

"Are you sure the Ubara sacrifice was 'elementary, " I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"I thought it was brilliant," I said.

"Those such as you," he said, "particularly when they find themselves their victims, commonly salute as brilliancies even the most obvious trivialities."

"I see," I said.

"Do not be despondent," he said. "Among those who cannot play the game, you play very well."

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome," he said. "Would you care to play again?"

"No," I said. "Not now."

"Very well," he said. He began to put the pieces back in a large leather wallet.

"Would you care to wrestle?" I asked.

"No," he said, pleasantly enough.

"That Ubara sacrifice was not really all that bad, was it?" I asked.

"No," he said, "it was actually not all that bad. In fact, it was rather good."

"I thought so," I said.

I watched the player replacing the pieces in the leather wallet. He was in a good mood. Just as I had thought, that Ubara sacrifice had not been all that straightforward, or elementary. That, at least, gave me some satisfaction. This moment, it then seemed to me, might be a good time to speak to him. I had been wanting to speak to him for several days. I had been awaiting only a judicious opportunity, one in which the topic might seem to be broached naturally, in such a way as to avoid arousing his curiosity or suspicion. He drew the strings on the wallet, closing it. Yes, this seemed like an excellent time to take action. I would arrange the whole business in such a way that it would seem quite natural. It would be easy. Yes, I thought, I could manage this quite nicely.

"I wish that I had recorded the game," I said.

"I can reiterate the moves for you, if you wish," he said.

"From memory?" I asked.

"Of course," he said. "It is not difficult."

I drew forth from my wallet some papers and a marking stick. Among some of these papers, which I would apparently use as a backing surface for the sheet on which I intended to record the moves, were the papers I had taken, long ago, from the Lady Yanina near the fair of En'Kara.

"Ah," said the player. "I see."

"What?" I asked.

"Am I not, now, supposed to say, 'What have you there? or is that to come later?"

"I do not understand," I said.

"We must have played a hundred games," he said. "Never before have you seemed interested in recording one. Now you seem interested. Why, I wonder. Now you draw forth papers from your wallet. Some of these are papers obviously covered with the notation of Kaissa. Am I not to express curiosity? And are you not then, almost inadvertently, to ask me some question, or questions, in which you are interested?"

"Perhaps," I said, hesitantly.

"Are you really interested in the game?" he asked.

"I am interested in it, as a matter of fact," I said, "but, to be sure, as you seem to have detected, it is possible I have an ulterior motive in mind."

"The moves of the game were as follows," he said. He then repeated them for me, even, occasionally, adding in some useful annotational remarks. There were forty-three moves in the game.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome," he said. "Now what are those other papers?"

I handed them to him.

He looked at them, briefly, flipping through them. They appeared to be covered with the notation of Kaissa, as though various games, or fragments of games had been recorded on them.

"Do you have some question, some specific questions, about these?" he asked.

"I am wondering about them," I said.

"I thought you were giving me these in connection with some specific question having to do with Kaissa," he said, "perhaps with respect to the analysis of a position or a suggested variation on a lesser-known opening. I thought perhaps they might be Kaissa puzzles, in which a forced capture of Home Stone in some specified number of moves must be detected."

I said nothing. I was eager to see what he would say.

"What do you make of them?" he asked.

"I am interested in your opinion," I said.

"I see," he said.

"Are they games," I asked. "Parts of games?"

"They might appear to be so," he said, "if not looked at closely."

"yes," I said.

"Doubtless you have reconstructed the positions, or some of them," he said.

"Yes," I admitted.

"And what do you think?" he asked.

"I think," I said, "that it is highly unlikely that they are games, or parts of games."

"I agree," he said. "They do not seem to be games, or parts of games.Indeed, it seems unlikely that that is even what they are supposed to be. Not only would the general level of play be inferior but much of it is outright gibberish."

"I see," I said.

"I am sorry," he said. "I can be of no help to you."

"That is all right," I said.

"Where did you get them?" he asked.

"I came on them," I said.

"I see," he said.

"You do not know what they are, then?" I said.

"What they are," he said, "seems to be clear."

"What do you think they are?" I asked.

"Kaissa ciphers," he said.

"What are Kaissa ciphers?" I asked. I did not doubt that the papers contained enciphered messages. That conjecture seemed obvious, if not inevitable, given the importance attached to them by the Lady Yanina, she of Brundisium, and her colleague, Flaminius, perhaps also of Brundisium. I had hoped, of course, that the player might be able to help me with this sort of thing, that he, ideally, might be familiar with the ciphers, or their keys.

"There are many varieties of Kaissa ciphers," he said. "They are often used by the caste of players for the transmission of private messages, by they may, of course, be used by anyone. Originally they were probably invented by the caste of players. They are often extremely difficult to decipher because of the use of multiples and nulls, and the multiplicity of boards."

"What is the multiplicity of boards," I asked.

"Do you see these numbers?" he asked.

He indicated small numbers in the left margins of several of the papers. These tiny numbers, in effect, seemed to divide the moves into divisions. In originally looking at the papers I had interpreted them simply as a device for identifying or listing the games or game fragments.

"Yes," I said.

"Those presumably indicate the 'boards'," he said. "Begin for example, with a Kaissa board, with its one hundred squares, arranged in ten ranks and ten files. Are you literate?"

"Yes," I said. Torm, my old friend, the Scribe, might have expressed skepticism at the unqualified promptness and boldness of my asseveration, as I had always remained somewhat imperfect in writing the alternate lines of Gorean script, which are written from the right to the left, but, clearly, I could both read and, though admittedly with some difficulty, write Gorean. Gorean is written, as it is said, as the ox plows. The first line is written left to right, the second, right to left, the third, left to right again, and so on. I had once been informed by my friend, Torm, that the whole business was quite simple, the alternate lines, in his opinion, at least, also being written forward, "only in the other direction."

"Begin then, on the first square," said the player, "with the first letter of a word, or of a sentence, or even of a set of letters randomly selected. Proceed then as in normal writing, utilizing all available squares. when you come to the end of the initial entry, list all unused letters remaining in the alphabet, in order, again utilizing all available squares. When you have managed that, then begin with the first letter of the alphabet, Al-Ka, and continue writing the alphabet in order, over and over, once more on all available squares, until you arrive at the last square on the board. When you have done this, one board, in effect, has been completed."

I think I understand," I said. "If, in a given message, for example, the notation 'Ubar to Ubara's Tarnsman Two' occurs, that could mean that, on the board in question, say, Board 7, the square Ubara's Tarnsman Two was significant. On that board, then, we might suppose, given its arrangement, that the square Ubara's Tarnsman Two might stand for, say, the letter 'Eta'. Both the sender and receiver, of course, can easily determine this, as they both have the keys to construct the appropriate boards."

"Yes," said the player.

"The listing of the moves in an orderly sequence, of course, gives the order of the letters in the message," I said.

"Correct," said the player.

"I see how the multiples are effective," I said. "For example, the letter 'Eta', the most commonly occurring letter, would actually, on any given board, be capable of being represented by any of a number of appropriate squares, each different, yet each corresponding to an 'Eta'. Similarly, of course, one might skip about on the board, retreating on it, and so on, to utilize 'Eta Squares' in any fashion one chose. This would produce no confusion between the sender and the receiver as long as the enciphered notation was in orderly sequence."

"Precisely," said the player.

"But where do the nulls come in?" I asked.

"In my exposition," the player reminded me, "I mentioned 'available squares'. A board key will commonly consist of a given word and a list of null squares. The nulls may frequently occur in the enciphered message but they are, of course, immediately disregarded by the receiver."

"I see," I said. The presence of nulls and multiples in a message, of course, makes it much more difficult to decipher, if one lacks the key.

"The true power of the ciphers come in, in my opinion," said the player, "not so much with the multiples and nulls but with the multiplicity of boards. Short messages, even in elementary ciphers, are often impossible to decipher without the key. There is often just not enough material to work with. Accordingly it is often difficult or impossible to test one's deciphering hypotheses, eliminating some and perhaps confirming others. Often, in such a message, one might theoretically work out numerous, and often conflicting analyses. The multiplicity of boards thus permits the shifting of the cipher several times within the context of one message. This obviously contributes to the security of the communication."

"These ciphers seem simple and beautiful," I said, "as well as powerful."

"Too, if one wishes," he said, "one need not, in filling out the boards, do so as in the fashion of normal writing. One might writ all one's lines left to right, for example, or right to left, or write them vertically, beginning at one side or the other, and beginning at the top or bottom, or diagonally, beginning at any corner. One might use alternate lines, or left or right spirals from given points, and so on. Similarly, after the initial entry the remainder of the alphabet could be written backwards, or beginning at a given point, or reversing alternate letters, and so on. These variations require only a brief informative addition to the key and the list of null squares, if any."

"I see," I said.

"I think you can see now," he said, "why I cannot be of nay help to you. I am sorry."

"But you have been of help," I said. "You have made it a great deal clearer to me what may be involved here. I am deeply appreciative."

"Such ciphers are, for most practical purposes, impossible to decipher without the appropriate keys, null-square listing, and so on."

"I understand," I said. It seemed, as I had feared, that it might be difficult or impossible to decipher the messages without pertinent keying materials. These materials, presumably, would exist in Brundisium, and of course, in Ar, if indeed that were the intended destination of the messages. I was now prepared to believe that it was likely they were not messages intended for Priest-Kings.

First, Flaminius, it seemed, who was to have received the messages from the Lady Yanina, had apparently intended to deliver them not to the Sardar, but to some party in Ar.

Secondly, I did not think it likely that messages which were to be transmitted to the Priest-Kings, or among their agents, would be likely to be in a Kaissa cipher. Such ciphers seemed too intrinsically, or idiosyncratically, Gorean for Priest-Kings. Priest-Kings, as far as I knew, were not familiar with, and did not play, what Goreans often speak of simply as "the Game." this suggested to me then that the messages might be transmissions of sort which might occur among the agents of Kurii.

I recalled one message from Kurii or their agents, to Samos of Port Kar, which had been written on a scytale, disguised as a girl's hair ribbon. The girl who had originally worn it to his house, a blond-haired, blue-eyed Earth girl, was now one of his slaves. She had been named "Linda."

I recalled another message, too, which we had intercepted, a well-disguised but simple substitution cipher. It had been recorded in the ordering of a string of slave beads. It had been carried, too, in its way, by a slave. She had been a poetess, and a lovely, curvaceous wench, one obviously born for the collar. I think she, too, had been of Earth origin, though little of that had remained in her when I saw her. As I recall, her name was "Dina." At that time, at least, she had been owned by Clitus Vitellius, a warrior of Ar.

The nature of the messages, then, in a native-type Gorean cipher, suggested to me that there might be some sort of linkage between Kurii, and their agents, and Brundisium and Ar. This would be natural enough, I supposed, because close relations reputedly existed between the two cities. This would make travel and communication between them practical in a world where strangers are often regarded with suspicion, indeed, a world on which the same word is generally used for both «stranger» and "enemy." Kurii, then, I suspected, must control Brundisium, or be influential there. It might be an outpost for them or a base of operations for them, perhaps, as, I gathered, Corcyrus had been, in the recent past. The Lady Yanina had been of the household of the Ubar of Brundisium, a fellow named Belnar. This suggested that he himself, as she seemed to be in his employ, might well be in league with Kurii.

The keying materials for the messages, I suspected, would lie in the palace in Brundisium, perhaps even in the private chambers of her Ubar himself, Belnar. I myself was not in hiding from Priest-Kings, presumably to remain under cover until Samos had resolved certain matters with the Sardar, or until some now developments might be forthcoming. I was not now pleased with Priest-Kings. I did not now, any longer, really consider myself as being of their party. AT best I had, even in the past, served them or not, as my inclinations prompted. I was perhaps less of a pledged adherent in their wars than a free sword, a mercenary of sorts, one who accepted one cause or another, as it might please him to do so.

Still, I recognized that it was the power of Priest-Kings which, in its way, protected both Gor and Earth from the onslaught of lurking Kurii, concealed in their steel worlds, hidden among the orbiting stones and mountains, the small worlds and moons, of the asteroid belt. There was some point, then, in my being at least somewhat well disposed toward their cause. If Brundisium were in league with Kurii, I did not suppose it would do Samos any harm to learn of it. Yes, upon reflection, it now seemed quite likely that Brundisium was in league with Kurii, that there was some sort of connection between the palace at Brundisium and the subtleties and machinations of the denizens of the steel worlds. More importantly, I was curious to know the content of those secret messages. Their keys might well lie in the private chambers of Belnar. Pe4haps I could pay them a visit. It might be difficult, of course, to gain access to the palace. But perhaps it could be somehow arranged.

We were now less than five hundred pasangs from Brundisium. I must soon, in the performances, I feared, h ood the Lady Yanina, or perhaps, better, sell the wench to someone bound in another direction, and replace her altogether with another girl, presumably a slave, whom I might purchase somewhere, a girl it would be safer to take into Brundisium, one not from that city, one to whom the city would be unfamiliar and strange, one in which she could not even find her way around, on I which she would find herself, absolutely, only another slave.

"You are not really a roustabout, or a vagabond, are you?" asked the player.

"I am a member of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, actor, promoter and entrepreneur," I said.

"So, too, am I," said the player.

"I thought so," I said.

"We shall leave it at that, then," said the player.

"Yes," I said.

We stood up. It was now near supper. It was being prepared tonight by Rowena and Lady Yanina, in her sack. It amused me that she should be used to perform the labors of a slave. I could see Boots returning now, from a nearby village, to which he had gone to purchase some food and advertise our show. Behind him, barefoot and naked, bent under the burden of his purchases, which were strapped to her back, her legs filthy to her thighs with dust from the road, came one of his girls, Lady Telitsia. I could also see the insolent Bina approaching. She was coming from the stream, bearing on her shoulders a yoke, from which swung two buckets.

"I see that you are a bearer of burdens," I said.

She cast a scornful glance at the player. "Yes," she said to me. "I am a slave." She then continued on her way to the cooking fire where Rowena and the Lady Yanina were busying themselves. Rowena had been appointed first girl in the camp. We had also made it clear to the Lady Yanina that she, even though she was a free woman, must obey Rowena in all things, she, by our decision, having been placed in power over her. The least waywardness in behavior while under the commands of Rowena, or hesitancy in obeying her orders, or insolence shown towards her, we had assured her would constitute an occasion for discipline, and severe discipline, precisely as though she herself might be naught but a mere slave.

"Thank you for the games," I said. We had played five games this afternoon. To be sure, four of them had not taken very long.

"You are very welcome," he said.

"May I not pay you for them?" I ask3ed.

"No," he said.

"Surely you can use the coins," I said.

"We are both members of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit," he said.

"True," I smiled.

"Actor, promoter and entrepreneur," he added.

"Yes," I said.

Boots was now, his girl, Lady Telitsia, behind him, quite near the camp. Doubtless she would be pleased to be soon relieved of her burdens. Bina was near the cooking fire. She had brought water for the kettles. Lady Yanina, kneeling before a pan of water, under the supervision of Rowena, who was tending the fire, was washing and scraping garden vegetables, mostly onion, turnips and suls. These would alter be used in a stew.

"Your Kaissa," I said, "is the finest of anyone with whom I have played."

"You have probably not played with skilled players," he said.

"I have sometimes played with members of the caste of players," I said.

He said nothing.

"I think," I said, "that you could play in the same tournaments as Scormus of Ar."

"Upon occasion," he said, "I have done so."

"I had thought you might have," I said.

"You have a very active mind," he said.

"Perhaps you might even, upon occasion, beat him," I said.

"I do not think that is very likely," he said.

"Nor do I," I said.

"Do not speak to me of Scormus of Ar," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Scormus of Ar is a traitor to his city," he said.

"How is that?" I asked.

"He failed his city," he said, "and was disgraced."

"In what way did this occur?" I asked.

"He lost in the great tournament, in 10,125 Contasta Ar," he said, "to Centius, of Cos."

"Centius is a fine player," I said. The tournament he referred to was doubtless the one held at the Sardar Fair, in En'Kara of that year. It had occurred five years ago. It was now 10,13 °C.A., Contasta Ar, from the Founding of Ar. In the chronology of Port Kar, it was now Year Eleven, of the Sovereignty of the Council of Captains. I had been fortunate enough to have been able to witness that game. In it Centius of Cos, one of Gor's finest players, indeed, perhaps her finest player, had, for the first time, introduced the defense which came subsequently to be known as the Telnus Defense. Telnus was the home city of Centius of Cos. it is also the capital of that island ubarate.

"That makes no difference," said the player.

"I would think it would make a great deal of difference," I said.

"No," he said, bitterly. "It does not."

"Do you know Scormus of Ar?" I asked.

"No," he said, angrily, "I do not know him."

"I think that is true," I said. "I think you do not know him."

"I do not think we need bother playing again," he said.

"As you wish," I said.

"Are you still here?" asked Bina, come from the side of the cooking fire. She carried a pan of water. It was that in which the Lady Yanina had been washing the vegetables. The water was now rather dirty, and in it there floated numerous scrapings from various vegetables. Presumably she was on her way to empty it, outside the camp.

"Obviously," he said, looking down upon her.

"I thought I told you to go away," she said.

"I did not do so," he said.

"Are you being insolent?" she asked.

"I am a free man," he said. Insolence, if I choose, is my prerogative."

"Well, I, too, can be insolent, if it pleases me," she said.

"An insolent female slave?" I inquired.

"I am not speaking to you," she said. Boots, by now, had returned to the camp.; I was certain that the girl did not realize this. I saw that Boots, who had been sorting through his purchases, from the village, now looked up, in surprise. Lady Telitsia, now unburdened and relieved of the carrying straps, their marks still on her body, lay in the shade near the wheel of his wagon, gasping. It had been a long trek back to the camp from the village and the burdens under which she must struggle, bearing them for her master, had been quite heavy.

"I do not want you in camp," said Bina to the player. "I told you to go away. Having you about makes us sick! You are too ugly. None of us want you here. Go away! You repulse all of us! Go away!"

"You speak boldly to a free man," he said. The player, too, I think, did not realize that Boots had returned to the camp. I could see him from where I stood. He was back, between two wagons, at the side of his.

"You are a monstrosity," she said. "Go away!"

"You are insolent," he observed.

"Yes," she said, "I am insolent!"

"I would not advise you to speak generally in this way to free men," I said.

For a moment she turned pale, but then, as I made no move to correct her behavior, perhaps stripping her and throwing her to her belly, kicking her, thrusting her face into the dirt, or tying her to an elevated, spinning wagon wheel, she turned, again, boldly, to the player. Boots, of course, unbeknownst to either of them, was observing all this.

"Yes," she said to him, "I am insolent! I am insolent to you! I may be insolent to you with impunity, for you are not a man! You are too weak to punish me! You are only a beast, a monster, a cringing, wretched, pathetic, ignoble, spineless, monster! You are not a man at all! You are only some kind of monster, some kind of monstrosity, some kind of contemptible weakling!"

I wondered if she thought she was speaking to a man of Earth, and not a Gorean male.

"Weakling!" she cried. "Weakling!"

She was very small, looking up at him. I considered her angry, curvaceous little form. How inappropriate seemed her anger, given the smallness, the softness, of her body. How absurd it seemed that the little animal should so boldly address itself to the larger, st4ronger brute. On what artifices, on what weaknesses, did it count? How bravely tiny animals may conduct themselves in the presence of caged larls! But how stupid are larls who will lock themselves in cages, being told to do so. But what if the larl should free itself?

"Weakling!" she cried.

Did she not know she was a female? Did she not know she wore a collar?

"Weakling!" she cried.

How the little animals would scurry if the larl emerged from its cage! Did she not know how easy it would be for her to be stripped and returned to her place in nature, at his feet? Did she in her heart fear the larl might one day say, "The joke is finished. It is enough." Or did she long for that day?

"Weakling!" she screamed.

The player regarded her, not speaking.

"Go away!" she screamed. "Go away!"

"Have you finished?" he asked.

"Your robes have dust on them," she said. This was, of course, the residue of dust remaining on them, after she had, earlier in the afternoon, kicked dust upon them. "I am a slave. Let me clean them for you!" She then suddenly, angrily, flung the pan of water upon him, drenching his robes from the chest down.

"Kneel, Slave!" cried Boots, in fury, coming up behind her. "Head to the ground!"

Startled, she cried out with misery. Then, immediately, in terror, she dropped the pan and assumed the prescribed position. "Master," she cried, trembling, "I did not know you had returned!"

"Apparently," said Boots.

"Forgive me, Master!" she begged. The other members of the troupe, now, and the slaves, and Lady Yanina, in her gown fashioned from a Sa-Tarna sack, gathered around. Lady Telitsia was white-faced. She had her hand before her mouth. She, now well acquainted with her own condition, that of the collared, female slave on Gor, was terrified as to what might be done to the errant Bina. Rowena, too, trembled.

"What is going on?" asked Boots.

"I suggest that you ask the slave to give an accounting," I said, "completely."

"The monster," she said, swiftly, "was mocking you, abusing you with may insults, Master. I could stand it no longer! I took it upon myself, risking my own life, to stop him, to defend your honor!"

"Is this true?" inquired Boots of the player.

How clever was the little she-sleen. She knew the possible penalties for what she had done. She counted on the player to support her story, to protect her from the horrifying repr9isals almost certain to be visited on a helpless slave in her position. I wondered how weak he was.

"Is it true?" asked Boots.

"No," said the player.

"Aiii!" she wept, in misery.

"Speak," said Boots.

"I failed to kneel in the presence of free men," she sobbed. "I have spoken without permission. I stepped on the robes of a free man. I kicked dust upon them. I have been insolent."

"Continue," said Boots.

"I spilled water on a free man," she wept.

"Spilled?" asked Boots.

"I threw water on a free man," she sobbed.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Master?" she asked.

"Surely you remember at least one more thing," he said.

"I lied to my master!" she sobbed, trembling. "I lied to my master!"

"And were these various things done inadvertently," asked Boots, "or deliberately?"

"Deliberately, Master," she sobbed.

Certain of these things, such as failing to kneel in the presence of a free man, may be regarded as a capital offense on the part of a Gorean slave girl, even if it is inadvertent. It intent is involved in such an omission, it can be an occasion for death by torture.

"Mercy, Master!" she cried.

"What shall be done with you?" asked Boots. "Shall you be sold for sleen feed? Shall we contrive exquisite tortures for you, say, cutting off bits of your body and cooking them, and forcing you to eat them, until from the loss of blood and tissue, you die, or should we bind you and sew you in a sack, your head exposed, with rabid urts, or shall we merely cut your throat swiftly, in disgust, and be done with it?"

"Please, Master," she wept, throwing herself to her belly before him, clutching at his ankle, putting her forehead down to his foot, "please, please, master!"

"Perhaps we should be merciful, sparing your miserable life," said Boots, angrily, "and just throw you on your belly under a wagon, your ankles up and projecting out through the spokes, tied there, in order that your fee6t may be cut off?"

She sobbed, lying before him.

"You are a frigid little slave, and worthless," he cried.

"Spare me, Master!" she begged. "I will become hot, dutiful and subservient!"

"What would be a suitable punishment, for a meaningless, nasty little slut like you?" he asked. "Death? A thousand lashes?"

"I beg to be permitted to become a perfect slave, in al things!" she w3ept.

"Who begs?" he demanded.

"Bina begs!" she wept. "Bina begs!"

"What does Bina beg?" he demanded.

"Bina begs to be permitted to become a perfect slave, in all things!" she wept.

"I know what I shall do," said Boots.

"Master!" she wept.

"I shall ask someone to decide what your punishment is to be," said Boots, "he whom you have most offended, our hooded friend, the player."

"NO, Master," she sobbed, "not he, please, not he!"

"Player?" asked Boots.

He looked down upon the prone slave.

She crawled suddenly to him, desperately, sobbing, and lay before him on her belly. She took his sandaled foot in her small hands and, putting her head down, placed it on her head. "Bina begs the forgiveness of master," she wept. "Bina is sorry. Bina lies on her belly before master! Bina is only a slave! Be kind to Bina! Please be kind to Bina!"

"The robes will dry," said the player. "I can clean them later."

"What is her punishment to be?" inquired Boots.

"The matter is unimportant," said the player. "I am not concerned with it. It is nothing."

Bina lay quietly, trembling, startled, beneath his foot.

"It is your recommendation, then," asked Boots, "that she be permitted to live?"

"Yes," he said.

"What punishments, in lieu of death, then, do you suggest for her?" asked Boots.

The player lifted his foot from her head, and stepped away from her, smoothing his robes. She put her head up, the palms of her hands in the dust, looking at him; then she again lowered her head, trembling.

"As I suggested," he said, "It is not an important matter. I am no longer concerned with it. It is, accordingly, acceptable to me that she go unpunished."

Bina sobbed with relief.

"It is not acceptable to me," said Boots, "that she go unpunished."

The girl looked suddenly, wildly, frightened, at Boots.

"She is yours," said the player. "You may, of course, do with her as you please."

"Kneel her, before me, Slave," said Boots.

"Swiftly the girl knelt before him.

"The player has shown you incredible mercy, girl," said Boots.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"I, on the other hand, shall not be so merciful," he said.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"Hear your punishment, slave," said Boots.

"Yes, Master," she whispered, trembling.

"First," said Boots, "you will surrender your slippers."

"Yes, Master," she said, delightedly, and, sitting down, slipped them from her feet. She then knelt again before him, and handed him the slippers. IN a different situation, of course, this might have constituted a suitable and humiliating punishment, involving a public reduction in her status, particularly before other girls. The removal of her footwear might have served to punish her for some flaw in her performance, such as a crookedly sewn seam or a poorly served meal, or might, say, have indicated some fall on her part from the favor of the master. Similar punishments can involve the changing of a woman's clothing or its removal altogether. In this situation, of course, such punishment, the removal of her right to footwear, was almost absurdly trivial. Indeed, most Gorean slaves are not permitted footwear at all. They are commonly kept barefoot.

"Your second punishment," said Boots.

"Yes, Master?" said the girl, somewhat apprehensively.

"You have been insolent," he said, "and seem to have forgotten that you are a salve."

"Yes, master," she said, frightened, putting her head down.

"Accordingly," said Boots, "you are herewith instructed to remove a panel of material, four horts in width, and curved at the top, near your waist, from the skirts of your slave tunics at the sides, thus well revealing both thighs to the waist, or almost to the waist. In this fashion, in a balanced manner, your thighs will be exposed to the view of free men. In this fashion, too, of course, your brand will be always clearly visible. Perhaps in this way you will be more likely to keep it in mind that you wear it, and what it means."

"Yes, Master!" she said.

In my opinion, this constituted little, or no, punishment at all. Many slaves are kept in the common camisk, a narrow, poncholike garment, little more than a long, narrow rectangle of cloth, generally cheap cloth, with an opening for the head. It is drawn on over the head and is normally belted snugly with a double loop of binding fiber. It is, of course, open-sided. Many other girls learn swiftly to be grateful for as little as a strip o cloth suspended from a knotted string about heir waist. Many other slaves, particularly in their master's houses, are kept naked. Lady Telitsia, for example, in or own camp, had not yet even been permitted clothing. Yes, her punishment, if punishment it was, seemed light indeed.

"Hereafter," said Boots, "you will be expected to mend your ways."

"Yes, Master," she said, humbly, her head down. But I saw her smile, slyly. How easily she had gotten off! How light had been her punishment! I saw her sneak a scornful, victorious glance at the player. He had been too soft, too weak, to have his vengeance on her. He had been too stupid, too weak, it seemed, to seize his opportunity to discipline her. How successful, too, had been her placatory efforts with her master! How indulgent he was! Was he not too easy with his slaves? Did he not spoil them? It seemed now she could do as she pleased with impunity. What had she to fear? She had won!

"There is one other thing," said Boots.

"Yes, Master?" she said.

"Regard the monster," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

She looked at the «monster». He, hooded, garbed in black, tall, straight, his arms folded, was, too, looking upon her. She was a nasty little female, but she was a pretty one, too; that could not be denied.

"Until further notice," said Boots, "your use is his."

"No!" she screamed, wildly. "No! No!"

The other slaves, and even Lady Yanina, gasped, and shrank back in horror.

"No, Master, please!" cried Bina.

"You will cook, sew and wash for him, and perform for him all the other duties of the female slave. You will be to him in all things as his own slave. You will serve him in all ways, intimate or otherwise, and perfectly, as he may wish or direct."

"Please, no, Master!" she wept.

"It has been said," said Boots.

"Thank you," said the player.

"It is nothing," said Boots.

"Do I also have full discipline and whip rights over her?" asked the player.

"Of course," said Boots.

"Good," said the player, approvingly.

The girl put her head in her hands and began to sob, hysterically.

"Go now, slave, to the wagon of your use master," said Boots to the girl, "and close yourself inside, awaiting him."

"Yes, Master," she wept and, springing up, hurried to the player's wagon. The other girls looked after her, with horror. None of them, I think, had expected that her punishment would be so grievous.

"The rest of you females," said Boots, clapping his hands sharply, "get back to your work!"

Swiftly the girls scattered from his sight, seeking various labors. Even the Lady Yanina fled from his sight, as promptly as though she, too, might have been only a common slave.

"I will need her, of course, for the performances," said Boots to the player. "I hope that is understood."

"Of course," said the player.

"Do you think little Bina now knows she is a slave?" asked Boots.

"Yes," I said. "I think she now knows it well."

Boots then turned away, making his way back to his wagon.

"Congratulations," I said to the player.

He shrugged.

"You are pleased, surely?" I said.

"I have never even had a woman," he said.

"Try them," I said. "I am sure you will enjoy them."

"Perhaps," he said.

"They make splendid recreations," I said.

"Perhaps," he said.

"They are absolutely delicious properties," I said. "They are the loveliest thing a man can own."

"What has she to do with Kaissa?" he asked.

"Very little, I would suppose," I said.

"In my life, hitherto," he said, "I have been concerned primarily with Kaissa."

"Perhaps you could broaden your interests," I suggested.

"What shall I do with such a woman?" he asked.

"For most practical purposes," I said, "she is yours. I would do with her, then, if I were you, whatever I pleased."

"That seems a splendid suggestion," he said.

"You know the sort of woman she is," I said. "Make her grovel, and crawl, and be perfect for you."

"I will," he said.

"Are you strong enough to punish her?" I asked.

He looked across the area of the camp to his wagon. He looked at the door of the wagon, reached by climbing the flight of steps at the back of the wagon. The door was now shut. The girl would be behind it, awaiting him.

"Yes," he said.