Tyrtaios.
Several were about, sitting, cross-legged, on the deep, broad dais, of smooth, shining, lacquered wood. Tyrtaios stood on the dais, rather before us, as he addressed us. With him, behind him, and about, not on the dais, were some officers and several Ashigaru of Lord Yamada. In the center of the dais, rather toward the back, like a large, patient stone, sat Lord Temmu. I had not seen him since the meeting at which the site of the new encampment had been specified, a specification which I had ignored. I had little doubt that some on the dais, or about, other than those of my command, realized the camp was not at the assigned site. Perhaps they had sought to arrange an attack there, hoping to duplicate the attack, so fearsomely successful, on the first encampment. On the other hand, if they were to draw this to the attention of Lord Temmu, or Lords Nishida and Okimoto, that the new camp was situated other than in its prescribed location, it would be natural to inquire how they had obtained this information, as the specified location was supposedly secret. How had they come to know that the designated site was not occupied? What would have prompted their curiosity? What would have been their motivation in conducting such an inquiry?
It was my understanding that, better than two years ago, the forces of Lord Yamada had encroached upon, and intruded into, the regions commonly controlled by Lord Temmu. A defensive war had ensued in which the forces of Lord Temmu, considerably outnumbered and, I fear, poorly generaled, had fared badly. Eventually the primary remnants of the land forces of Lord Temmu, those separated from the holding, to which portions had retreated, cut off and undersupplied, had been driven to the very shore of Thassa. They had prepared themselves for what portended to be their last battle. The eve was dark. But when the soldiers of Lord Yamada, with the first light, with fixed banners and brandished glaives, crying out, swarmed to the shore, they found the beach empty. In this I detected the work of Priest-Kings, and a wager, perhaps for the stakes of a world’s surface, with Kurii. I knew little of what was occurring, but suspected there were battles behind battles. I suspected the surface of Gor lay at issue. It was a speculation that Priest-Kings and Kurii, weary of skirmishes, of indecision, of stalemates, of continual intrusions and probes, had proposed, if not agreed upon, a game of men, a drawing of cards or a casting of dice, on the outcome of which depended a coveted prize, the surface of a world. I feared the outcome of this dire contest was slated to take place far from known Gor, indeed, at the “World’s End,” between two Pani contingents. I suspected the armaments involved were to be primitive, neither technologically nor industrially advanced. One supposed both the sophisticated weaponry of Kurii and the engines of Priest-Kings were to be abjured. But then, might they not as well have wagered on a game of kaissa or tharlarion racing at Venna? What were the parameters of this game, if game it was? Could a number of Pani warriors, brought to continental Gor, somehow find their way back to the embattled homeland? Perhaps, if the unprecedented voyage could be accomplished. But for that one would need a ship, a large, unusual ship, perhaps a ship such as that of Tersites. Might they not, too, perhaps by the recruitment of mercenaries, assuming the requisite voyage could be made, manage to achieve a military balance with the numerically larger forces of Lord Yamada? Perhaps, particularly if a new arm were incorporated into their arsenal, an unprecedented arm, unprecedented for the World’s End, perhaps that of the trained war tarn. Much of this, of course, was speculative on my part, but there seemed an alarming plausibility in these untoward speculations. But, I thought, if there should be something to this, that a strange, invisible game was afoot, it seemed unlikely to me that it would
Several were about, sitting, cross-legged, on the deep, broad dais, of smooth, shining, lacquered wood. Tyrtaios stood on the dais, rather before us, as he addressed us. With him, behind him, and about, not on the dais, were some officers and several Ashigaru of Lord Yamada. In the center of the dais, rather toward the back, like a large, patient stone, sat Lord Temmu. I had not seen him since the meeting at which the site of the new encampment had been specified, a specification which I had ignored. I had little doubt that some on the dais, or about, other than those of my command, realized the camp was not at the assigned site. Perhaps they had sought to arrange an attack there, hoping to duplicate the attack, so fearsomely successful, on the first encampment. On the other hand, if they were to draw this to the attention of Lord Temmu, or Lords Nishida and Okimoto, that the new camp was situated other than in its prescribed location, it would be natural to inquire how they had obtained this information, as the specified location was supposedly secret. How had they come to know that the designated site was not occupied? What would have prompted their curiosity? What would have been their motivation in conducting such an inquiry?
It was my understanding that, better than two years ago, the forces of Lord Yamada had encroached upon, and intruded into, the regions commonly controlled by Lord Temmu. A defensive war had ensued in which the forces of Lord Temmu, considerably outnumbered and, I fear, poorly generaled, had fared badly. Eventually the primary remnants of the land forces of Lord Temmu, those separated from the holding, to which portions had retreated, cut off and undersupplied, had been driven to the very shore of Thassa. They had prepared themselves for what portended to be their last battle. The eve was dark. But when the soldiers of Lord Yamada, with the first light, with fixed banners and brandished glaives, crying out, swarmed to the shore, they found the beach empty. In this I detected the work of Priest-Kings, and a wager, perhaps for the stakes of a world’s surface, with Kurii. I knew little of what was occurring, but suspected there were battles behind battles. I suspected the surface of Gor lay at issue. It was a speculation that Priest-Kings and Kurii, weary of skirmishes, of indecision, of stalemates, of continual intrusions and probes, had proposed, if not agreed upon, a game of men, a drawing of cards or a casting of dice, on the outcome of which depended a coveted prize, the surface of a world. I feared the outcome of this dire contest was slated to take place far from known Gor, indeed, at the “World’s End,” between two Pani contingents. I suspected the armaments involved were to be primitive, neither technologically nor industrially advanced. One supposed both the sophisticated weaponry of Kurii and the engines of Priest-Kings were to be abjured. But then, might they not as well have wagered on a game of kaissa or tharlarion racing at Venna? What were the parameters of this game, if game it was? Could a number of Pani warriors, brought to continental Gor, somehow find their way back to the embattled homeland? Perhaps, if the unprecedented voyage could be accomplished. But for that one would need a ship, a large, unusual ship, perhaps a ship such as that of Tersites. Might they not, too, perhaps by the recruitment of mercenaries, assuming the requisite voyage could be made, manage to achieve a military balance with the numerically larger forces of Lord Yamada? Perhaps, particularly if a new arm were incorporated into their arsenal, an unprecedented arm, unprecedented for the World’s End, perhaps that of the trained war tarn. Much of this, of course, was speculative on my part, but there seemed an alarming plausibility in these untoward speculations. But, I thought, if there should be something to this, that a strange, invisible game was afoot, it seemed unlikely to me that it would
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