"Alas," moaned the other. "I have only verr."
"Larls" would be maximum highs, say, double highs, if two dice were being used, triple highs if three dice were in play, and so on. The chances of obtaining a «larl» with one throw of one die is one in six, of obtaining «larls» with two dice, one in thirty-six, of obtaining «larls» with three dice, one in two hundred and sixteen, and so on. Triple «larls» is a rare throw, obviously. The fellow had double "larls." Other types of throws are "urts," "sleen," "verr," and such. The lowest value on a singe die is the "urt." The chances of obtaining, say, three «urts» is very slim, like that of obtaining three «larls» one in two hundred and sixteen. «Verr» is not a bad throw but it was not good enough to beat "larls." If two dice are in play a «verr» and a «larl» would be equivalent on a numerical scale of ten points, or, similarly, if the dice are numbered, as these were, one would simply count points, though, of course, if, say, two sixes were thrown, that would count as "larls."
A lad danced past, pounding on a tabor.
I stood there, in the camp, looking about, at the various fires and the folks about them. Mostly, as I have suggested, these folks were of the peasants, but, among them were representatives of many other castes, as well, mostly refugees from Torcadino and its environs, in the west, and from the vicinity of Ar's Station, in the north, folks who had fled before the marshes of Cos.
"Ai!" cried a fellow a few yards away, tumbling off the filled, greased wineskin. He would not win the skin and its contents. There was much laughter. "Next!" called the owner of the skin. "Next!" As it cost a tarsk bit to try the game I think he had already made more than the cost of the wineskin and its contents.
I wondered if I could balance on the skin. It is not easy, of course, given the surgent fluid and the slippery surface.
Another fellow addressed himself to the task, but was on his back in the dirt in an instant. There was more laughter about the skin.
"An excellent effort," called the owner of the skin, "would you care to try again?"
"No," said the fellow.
"We will hole you while you mount," volunteered the owner.
But the fellow waved good-naturedly and left.
"A tarsk bit," called the owner. "Only a tarsk bit! Win wine, the finest ka-la-na, a whole skinful, enough to treat your entire village."
"I will try," said a fellow, determinedly.
I walked over to the circle to watch.
The fellow was helped to the surface of the wineskin. But only an Ihn or so later he tumbled off into the dirt. Fellows about slapped their thighs and roared with laughter.
"Where is more wine?" called one of his friends.
There was laughter.
How odd it was, I thought, that these folks, who had so little, and might, were it not for the forces of Ar, such as they were, between Cos and the city, be in mortal jeopardy, should disport themselves so delightedly.
I watched another fellow being helped to the surface of the skin.
I supposed it might be safe, now, to return to the tent. Presumably, by now, it would not be a violation of decorum to return to the tent. Indeed, by now, Marcus and Phoebe might be asleep. Marcus usually slept her at his feet, in which case her ankles would be crossed and closely chained, or at his thigh, in which case, she would be on a short neck chain, fastened to his belt. A major advantage of sleeping the girl at your thigh is that you can easily reach her and, by the hair, or the chain, if one is used, pull her to you in the night. These measures, however, if they were intended to be precautions against her escape, were in my opinion unnecessary. Phoebe, as I have suggested, was held to her master by bonds compared to which stout ropes. Woven of the strongest, coarsest fibers, and chains or iron, obdurate, weighty and unbreakable, were mere gossamer strands. She was madly, helplessly, hopelessly in love with her master. And he, no less, rebellious, moody, angry, chastising himself for his weakness, was infatuated with his lovely slave.
The fellow struggled to stay up on the bulging, shifting wineskin, and then slipped off. He had actually done quite well. Nearly had he won the wine. There was applause about the small circle.
I heard a fellow advertising the booth of a thought reader. This reader probably read coins. One, presumably without the knowledge of the reader or a confederate, selects one coin from several on a tray or platter, usually tarsk bits, and then, holding it tightly in his hand, concentrates on the coin. Then, after the coin has been replaced on the tray or platter, the thought reader turns about and, more often than not, far more than the probabilities would suggest, locates the coin. One then loses one's tarsk bit. If the reader selects the wrong coin, one receives all the tarsk bits on the tray or platter, usually several. I assumed there must be some sort of trick to this, though I did not know what it was. Goreans, on the other hand, often accept, rather uncritically, in my mind, that the reader can actually read thoughts, or usually read them. They reason that if one fellow can see farther than another, and such, why can't someone, similarly, be able to «see» thoughts. Similarly, less familiar with tricks, prestidigitation, illusions, and such, than an Earth audience, some Goreans believe in magic. I have meet Goreans who really believed, for example, that a magician can make a girl vanish into thin air and then retrieve her from the same. They accept the evidence of their senses, so to speak. The taking of auspices, incidentally, is common on Gor before initiating campaigns, enterprises, and such. Many Goreans will worry about such things as the tracks of spiders and the flights of birds. Similarly, on Earth, there is a clientele, particularly in uncertain, troubled times, for those who claim to be able to read the future, to tell fortunes, and such.
"Noble Sir!" called the owner of the wineskin. "What of you?"
I regarded him, startled.
"A tarsk bit a chance?" he invited me. "Think of the whole skin of wine for you and your friends!"
A skin of wine might bring as much as four or five copper tarsks.
"Very well," I said.
There was some commendation from others about. "Good fellow," said more than one fellow.
"Surely you do not intend to wear your sandals," said the owner of the wineskin. "Of course not," I said, slipping them off. I then rubbed my feet well in the dirt near the skin.
"Let me help you up," said the fellow.
"That will not be necessary," I said.
"Here, let me help you," he said.
"Very well," I said. I had not been able to get on the skin.
"Are you ready?" asked the owner, steadying me.
"a€”Yes," I said. I wished Lecchio, of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, were about. He might have managed this.
"Ready?" asked the owner.
"Yes," I said.
"Time!" he cried, letting go of me.
"How well you are doing!" he cried, at which point I slipped from the skin. I sat in the dirt, laughing. "How marvelously he did!" said a fellow. "Has he gotten on the skin yet?" asked another, a wag, it seems. "He has already fallen off," he was informed. "He did wonderfully," said another. "Yes," said another, "he must have been on the skin for at least two Ihn." I myself thought I might have managed a bit more than that. To be sure, on the skin, an Ihn seems like an Ehn. Before one becomes too critical in these matters, however, I recommend that one attempt the same feat. To be sure, some fellows do manage to stay on the skin and win the wine.
"Next?" inquired the owner of the wineskin.
I looked about, and picked up my sandals. I had scarcely retrieved them when I noticed a stillness about, and the men looking in a given direction. I followed their gaze. There, at the edge of the circle, emerged from the darkness, there was a large man, bearded, in a tunic and cloak. I took him as likely to be of the peasants. He looked about himself, but almost as though he saw nothing. "Would care to try your luck?" asked the owner of the wineskin. I was pleased that he had addressed the fellow.
The newcomer came forward slowly, deliberately, as though he might have come from a great distance.
"One tries to stand upon the skin," said the owner. "It is a tarsk bit." The bearded man then stood before the owner of the wineskin, who seemed small before him. The bearded fellow said nothing. He looked at the owner of the wineskin. The owner of the wineskin trembled a little. Then the bearded man placed a tarsk bit in his hand.