"You must learn to lose!" said the paunchy fellow.
"I have lost," said the hooded fellow, "I know what it is like."
"You, Sir," siad the paunchy fellow turning to me, "do you play kaissa?"
"A little," I said.
"Hazard a game," he invited. "Only a tarsk bit!" he then glanced meaningfully at the hooded fellow, and then turned and again regarded me. "I can almost guarantee that you will win." he said.
"Why is your player hooded?" I asked. It did not seem the kind of disguising that might be appropriate for carnival.
"It is something from infancy, or almost from infancy," said the paunchy fellow, shuddering, "from flames, a great fire. It left him as he is, beneath the mask. He is a disfigured monster. Free women would swoon at the sight. The stomachs of strong men would be turned. They would cry out with horror and strike at him. Such grotesquerie, such hideousness, is not to be tolerated in public view."
"I see," I said.
"Only a tarsk bit," the paunchy fellow reminded me.
"Do not fear that you will not win," said the hooded fellow, in fury, placing the pieces in position for the opening of play. He then, imperiously, removed his Ubar, Ubara, and his Builders and Physicians, from the board, six major pieces. He looked angrily at me, and then, too, he threw his tarnsmen into the leather bag, with drawstrings, at the side of the table. he spun the board about so that I might have Yellow, and the first move. Thus I would have the initiative. Thus I could, in effect, for most purposes, choose my preferred opening. "Make your first move," he said. "I shall then tip my Ubar and the game will be yours."
"Can you not be somewhat more subtle?" inquired the paunchy fellow of the hooded man.
"I would not consider playing under such conditions," I said.
"Why not?" aske dthe paunchy fellow, pained. "You could then say truthfully that you had won. Others need not know the sort of game it was."
"It is an insult to kaissa," I said.
"He is right," said the hooded fellow.
The slave girl, whimpered, looking up at me. The pastry, which she had been diminishing, bit by miniscule bit, flake by tiny, damp flake, with her tongue, was clutched in both her hands. As she ate thus, the palcement of her arms constituted a provocative modesty, on e terminable, of course, at my will. Similarly, her small, delicate wrists were close together, so close that they might have been linked by slave bracelets.
"Please, Master," she whimpered.
"Hazard a game," suggested the paunchy fellow.
I looked down into the eyes of the slave girl. She looked up at me, and slowly and sensuously, with exquisite care, licked at the sugary, white glazing on the pastry. She might be helpless with need, but I saw she had had training.
"I have another game in mind," I said.
She looked up at me, flakes of the pastry and glazing about her mouth, and kissed me. "I want to love you," she said. I tasted the sugar on her lips.
"I can understand such games," said the paunchy fellow. "It is pleasant to have a naked islave in one's arms."
"Yes," I agreed.
"Put them all in collars," he said. "Teach them what they are for, and about. No woman is worth antying until she is put in a collar. None of them have any worth until they are made worthless."
"What do you think?" I asked the slave.
"It is true, Master," she said.
"Now that fellow," said the paunchy fellow, gesturing to the hooded fellow, "is different from us. He lives only for kaissa. He does not so much as touch a woman. To be sure, it is probably just as well. They would doubtless faint with terror at the very sight of him."
"Do you wish to play, or not?" asked the hooded fellow, looking up at me.
"Under the conditions you propose," I said, "I would not accept a win from you, if you were Centius of Cos." Centius of Cos was perhaps the finest player on Gor. He had been the champion at the En'Kara tournaments three out of the last five years. IN one of those years, 10,127 C.A., he had chosen not to compete, giving the time to study. In that year the champion had been Terence of Turia. In 10,128 C. A., Centius had returned but was defeated by Ajax of Ti, of the Salerian Confederation, who had overcome Terence in the semifinals. In 10,129 C.A., last En'Kara, Centius had decisively bested Ajax and recovered the championship.
At the metnion of the name Centius of Cos, the hooded player had stiffened angrily. "I assure you I am not Centius of Cos," he said. He then, angrily, thrust the pieces intot he leather bag tied to his belt, put the board under his arm, and, limping, withdrew.
"It is still early!" called the paunchy fellow after the hooded man. "Where are you going?"
But the hooded fellow had disappeared between the booths, going somewhere to the rear.
"I am sorry," I said. "I did not mean to upset him."
"Do not worry about it," said the paunchy fellow. "It is always happening. He is a touchy fellow, impetuous, arrogant and reckless. Doubtless the ground should be grateful that he deigns to tread upon it. His kaissa, on the other hand, seems strong. It is probably too good, really, for what we need."
"Perhaps he should apply for membership in the caste of players," I suggested.
"He does not seem interested in that," he said.
"Oh," I said.
"Besides, he is a grotesque monster," he said. "Even the slaves fear him."
"I understand," I said.
"Too, if he were really any good, honestly speaking, between you and me, he would not be with us."
"I see," I smiled. To be sure, there was more moeny to be made in the kaissa clubs and on the high bridges. It was interesting to me that the fellow had limped. I had once known a kaissa player who had done that. To be sure, it was long ago.
"Have you, yourself, ever played him?" I asked.
"No," said the fellow. "I do not play kaissa."
"I see," I said.
"You are Boots Tarsk-Bit?" asked a voice.
The voice came from behind us. The paunchy fellow with me turned white.
I turned about.
"Greetings, Captain," siad the man.
"Greetings," I said to him. It was the officer of the Master of Revels. Behind him were the two members of the Council Guard.
"Hold," said the officer to the paunchy fellow, who, it seemed, had backed away, turned, and was bout to disappear between the stage and the kaissa booth.
"Did you call?" asked the paunchy fellow, pleasantly, turning.A meaningful gesture from the officer, pointing to a spot in front of him, brought the puanchy fellow alertly back into our presence. "Yes," he inquired, pleasantly.
"I believe you are Boots Tarsk-Bit," siad the officer, "of the company of Boots Tarsk-Bit."
"He must be somewehre about," siad the paunchy fellow. "If you like, I shall attempt to search him out for you."