"It is an insult to me," said the boy, "and to the game. I will not play!"
Hup began to croon to himself in the corner, now rocking back and forth on his haunches.
"If you do not play," Cernus said, not pleasantly, "you will not leave this house alive."
The young man shook with fury.
"What is the meaning of this?" he inquired.
"I am giving this prisoner an opportunity to live," said Cernus, indicating me. "If his champion wins, he will live; if his champion loses, he will die."
"I have never played to lose," said the young man, "never."
"I know," said Cernus.
The young man looked at me. "His blood," he said to Cernus, "is on your hands, not mine."
Cernus laughed. "Then you will play?"
"I will play," said the young man.
Cernus leaned back and grinned.
"But let Qualius play for him," said the young man.
Qualius, who apparently knew the voice of the young man, said, "You need have no fear, Ubar, I am not his equal."
I wondered who the young man might be if Qualius, whom I knew to be a superb player, did not even speak as though he might force a draw with him.
Again I glanced at Sura, and was again startled at the intentness, almost the wonder, with which she regarded the incredibly handsome, lame boy who stood before us. I racked my brain, trying to understand something which seemed somehow but a moment from comprehension, something elusive, hauntingly near and yet undisclosed.
"No," said Cernus. "The Fool is your opponent."
"Let us be done with this farce," said the boy. "Further, let no word of this shame be spoken outside this house."
Cernus grinned.
Philemon indicated the board, and the young man went to it and took a chair, Cernus' own, surrendered eagerly by him, at the table. The boy turned the board irritably about, taking red. Philemon turned the board back, that he might have yellow, and the first move, permitting him to choose his opening.
The young man looked about him with disgust, but did not protest.
"To the table, fool," cried Cernus to Hup.
Hup, as though shocked, leaped to his feet, turned a somersault, and bounded unevenly to the table, where he put his chin on the boards, trying to nibble at a piece of bread lying there.
Those in the room laughed, with the exception of Relius, Ho-Sorl, the young boy, and myself, and Sura. Sura was still looking at the boy. There were tears in her eyes. I tried to place the boy, his features.
"Would you not care," asked Cernus of the boy, "to inform the prisoner of your name?"
The handsome boy looked down from the chair of Cernus on me. His lips parted irritably. "I am Scormus of Ar," he said.
I closed my eyes and began to shake with laughter, seeing the joke on myself. And the others, too, those with Cernus, laughed, until the room roared with their mirth.
My champion was Hup, a Fool, that of Cernus was the brilliant, fiery, competitive Scormus of Ar, the young, phenomenal Scormus, who played first board of the city of Ar and held the highest bridge in the city as the province of his game, the master not only of the Players of Ar but doubtless of Gor as well; four times he had won the cap of gold at the Sardar Fairs; never had he entered a tournament he had not won; there was no Player on Gor who did not acknowledge him his master; the records of his games were hungered for throughout all the cities of Gor; his strategy was marked with a native and powerful subtlety, a profundity and brilliance that had made him, even in his youth, a legend in the harsh cities of Gor; it was little wonder that even Cernus himself stood in awe of this imperious youth.
Suddenly Sura cried out. "It is he!"
And in that instant the recognition came to me so suddenly and powerfully that the room seemed black for a moment and I could not breathe.
Scormus looked irritably from the board at Sura, kneeling bound on the tiles.
"Is your slave mad?" he asked of Cernus.
"Of course he is Scormus of Ar, Foolish Slave," cried Cernus to Sura. "Now be silent!"
Her eyes were glistening with tears. She put down her head and was weeping, shaking with emotion.
I, too, trembled.
And then it seemed to me that Cernus might have miscalculated.
I saw Hup waddle over to Sura and put his bulbous head to hers. Some of those at the table laughed. Sura did not draw back from that fearful, grotesque, countenance that faced her. Then, to the wonder of all, Hup, the misshapen, misformed dwarf and fool, gently, ever so gently, kissed Sura on the forehead. Her eyes were wet with tears. Her shoulders were shaking. She smiled, crying, and put down her head.
"What is going on?" demanded Cernus.
Then Hup gave a wild yip and turned a backward somersault and bounded suddenly, squealing like an urt, after a naked slave girl, one of those who had served the tables. She screamed and fled and Hup stopped and turned around several times rapidly in the center of the room until, dizzy, he fell down on his seat and wept.
Scormus of Ar spoke. "Let us play."
"Play, Fool!" cried Cernus to Hup.
The little fool bounded to the table. "Play! Play! Play!" he whimpered. "Hup plays!"
The dwarf seized a piece and shoved it.
"It is not your move!" cried Cernus. "Yellow moves first."
Irritably, with genuine disdain and fury, Scormus thrust out a tarnsman.
Hup picked up a red piece and studied it with great care. "Pretty, pretty wood," he giggled.
"Does the fool know the moves of the pieces?" inquired Scormus acidly.
Some of those at the table laughed, but Cernus did not laugh.
"Pretty, pretty," crooned Hup. Then he put the piece down on the intersection of four squares, upside down.
"No," said Philemon, irritably, "on the color, like this!"
Hup's attention was now drawn to the side of the table where there was a sugared pastry, which he began to eye hungrily.
Scormus of Ar, I was pleased to note, regarding the board, suddenly eyed Hup warily. Then the boy shrugged and shook his head, and moved another piece.
"Your move," prompted Philemon.
Without looking at the board Hup poked a piece, I think a Ubar's Scribe, with one of his swollen fingers. "Hup hungry," he whined.
One of Cernus' guards threw Hup the pastry he had been eying and Hup squealed with pleasure and sat on the dais, putting his chin on his knees, shoving the pastry in his mouth.
I looked at Sura. Her eyes were radiant. She saw me and through her tears, smiled. I smiled back at her. She looked down at the remains of the doll on the tiles before her and threw back her head and laughed. In her bonds she threw back her head and laughed.
She had a son. His name, of course, was Scormus of Ar, her son by the dwarf Hup, conceived years ago in the revels of Kajuralia. I now, clearly, recognized the boy, though I had not seen him before. His features were those of Sura, though with the heaviness of the masculine countenance, the bred slave lines of the House of Cernus. Cernus himself had not recognized them; perhaps none in the room had; the lame foot was perhaps the legacy of his misshapen father; but the boy was fine, and he was brilliant; he was the marvelous Scormus, youthful master Player of Ar.
I looked at Sura and there were tears in my eyes, with my happiness for her.
Hup had kissed her. He had known. Could he then be the fool he pretended? And Scormus of Ar, the brilliant, the natively brilliant master Player was the offspring of these two. I had sensed the marvelous raw power of Sura, her amazing, almost intuitive grasp of the game; and I wondered of Hup, who could be the father of so brilliant a boy as Scormus of Ar; perhaps Hup, the Fool, was no stranger to the game; I looked to one side and saw Qualius of Ar, the blind Player; unnoticed, he was smiling.
After Hup's second move Scormus of Ar had looked for a long time at the board, and then at Hup, who was devouring his pastry.