"I will conceal the pieces," volunteered Boots Tarsk-Bit, helpfully.
"No," said the player.
"I will hold them," said Belnar.
"Ubar," conceded Temenides.
Belnar then, disdaining subterfuge, picked up two yellow spearmen. There were gasps in the audience. Bina moaned, in her ropes. Even she knew this much, that her champion was to be categorically denied the privilege of the initial move, with its weight and influence in determining the nature of the game. "Choose," said Belnar, to Temenides. Temenides shrugged. "Choose," said Belnar, to Temenides. Temenides, angrily, pointed to Belnar's right hand.
Belnar, grinning, lifted up the yellow spearman in his right hand, showing it to the crowd. Then he put the pieces down.
"You have won the guess," observed the player. "Congratulations."
"I was willing to show you mercy, if only to protect my honor," said Temenides. "But now I shall destroy you, swiftly and brutally."
"I, on the other hand, will take my time with you," said the player.
"Arrogant sleen!" cried Temenides. "Recall my conditions, and intentions!"
"I do," said the player.
"The mountebank grows tiresome," said Belnar. "Let a vat of tharlarion oil, suitable for the immersion of a human being, be prepared."
"Yes, Ubar," said a soldier.
"With stout neck ropes," said Belnar.
"Yes, Ubar," said the man, turning about, to leave the hall. The purpose of the neck ropes, stretched form holes drilled near the top of the vat, is to hold the victim, whose hands are usually bound behind him, in place, preventing him not only from attempting to leave the vat but also from trying to drown himself. The oil is heated slowly.
"Play," said Belnar, turning to the player and Temenides.
"I beg you once more, Ubar," said Temenides, "not to perpetrate this farce."
"Play," called men, standing about. Bina moaned.
"Play," said Belnar.
"Ubar's Spearman to Ubar Five," said Temenides, angrily.
A man made the move.
"Ubara's Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubara's Builder Three," said the player.
"Have you ever played before?" asked Temenides.
"Occasionally," said the player.
"Do you understand the moves of the pieces?" asked Temenides.
"Somewhat," said the player.
"That is an absurd move," said Temenides.
"I believe it is a legal move," said the player.
"I have never seen anything like it," said Temenides. "It violates all the orthodox principles of opening play."
"Orthodoxy is not invariably equivalent to soundness," said the player. "Your great master, Centius of Cos, should have taught you that. Does it not blossom from the root of heresy? Is it not true that today's orthodoxy is commonly little more than yesterday's heresy triumphant?"
"You are mad," said Temenides.
"Similarly," said the player, "the more orthodox your play the more predictable it will be, and thus the more easily exploited."
"Sleen!" hissed Temenides.
The player's move brought Temenides' Ubar's Spearman under immediate attack by the player's Ubara's Initiate. This might lure Temenides into wasting a move, advancing the Spearman again, perhaps overextending his position, or even, perhaps, defending prematurely. Still, I did not think I would have made the move.
"To be sure, if I respected you more highly," said the player, "I might have selected a different opening move."
"Sleen! Urt!" said Temenides.
"It is your move?" asked a man of the player.
"Yes," said the player.
The man moved the piece.
"Thank you," said the player.
"I think this fellow may not be such a fool as we thought," said Belnar.
"Nonsense," said Temenides, angrily. "He is a mountebank, a bumpkin!"
"It is warm in here," said the player. He casually opened the light, dark robe he wore. Beneath it, as I had suspected, was the robe of the players, the red-and-yellow-checked robe that marked those of that caste. I think it must have been years since he had worn it openly. There were cries of astonishment. Bina looked at him, startled, her hands twisting in the cruel thongs that confined them.
"He is of the players," gasped a man.
"I had suspected it," said Belnar. "He did not seem truly insane."
"It matters not," said Temenides. "I hold a high board in Cos. I shall destroy him. It means only that the game may be somewhat more interesting than I had originally anticipated."
"Are you truly of the players?" asked the man.
"It is my caste," said the player. The hair on the back of my neck rose up. I think in that moment the player had come home to himself.
"And in what minor ranks of the players do you locate yourself?" asked Temenides, scornfully. Ranking among players, incidentally, resulting from play in selected tournaments and official matches, are kept with great exactness.
"I was a champion," said the player.
"And of what small town, or village?" inquired Temenides, scornfully.
"Of Ar," said the player.
"Ar!" cried Temenides. "Ar!" cried others.
"Perhaps you have heard of it," said the player.
"Who are you?" whispered Temenides, fearfully.
The player reached to the mask, that dark hood, which he wore. He suddenly tore it from his head. Bina closed her eyes, wincing. Many were the cries of astonishment in the hall, from free men and slaves alike. Bina opened her eyes. She cried out, startled, wonderingly. NO longer did the player wear that dark concealing hood. He looked about himself, regally. His visage bore no ravages, either of the terrors of flames or of the instruments of men. ON it there was not one mark. It was a proud face, and a severe one, at this moment, and one expressive of intellect, and power and will, and incredibly handsome. "I am Scormus of Ar," he said.
"Scormus of Ar no longer exists!" cried Temenides.
"He has returned," he said.
"I cannot play this man," cried Temenides. "He is one of the finest players on Gor!"
"But the game has begun," Scormus reminded him.
"Master!" cried Bina. "Master! I love you, Master!"
"For speaking without my permission," said Scormus of Ar to the slave, "you will in the morning beg for ten lashes. If this matter should slip your mind, you will receive fifty."
"Yes, Master," she said, joyfully.
"Too, if you should speak again, before the conclusion of the game," said Scormus of Ar to her, "your throat will be cut." She looked at him, frightened, lovingly. "See to it," said Scormus to a man. "Yes, Player," said he. He drew forth a knife and went to stand near Bina, a bit behind her. HE drew her head back by the hair, gently, and lifting up her collar slightly with the edge of the knife, with a tiny scraping sound, let her feel the blade lightly, but unmistakably, against her throat, just under the steel edge of the collar. The man then removed the knife from the vicinity of her throat. He thrust it in his belt. He remained standing near her. Bina trembled. Bina was silent. If Bina spoke again before the conclusion of the game, she would be slain.
"The first move was yours," said Scormus to Temenides. "The last move will be mine."
Temenides looked in agony to Belnar for succor. "I cannot play with one such as he," he said.
"Play," said Belnar.
"Ubar!" begged Temenides.
"It is amusing," said Belnar.
"Please, Ubar," said Temenides.
Some men then, near the back of the hall, using poles, brought in a giant vat of tharlarion oil, mounted over a large, flattish, curved-edge iron plate. Fuel in the plate was then kindled.