[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

chance. But here, just to stand and wait to be butchered! And it was useless running. The men in black
and their ghastly instruments hovered.
The throng murmured with excitement. They were sick, all of them, sick to their twisted minds.
And perhaps the sickest of all was the white player.
He  or she  would have paid an enormous sum for the privilege of playing Execution Jikaida. I
looked at the white throne, at the far end, and the tiny glittering figure there.
An immediate advantage was conferred by that position, the usual one that overlooked the board. From
my level place it was going to be difficult to see all the board and appreciate what pieces stood on what
squares.
But, then, that was all a part of the fun of the game to these sickening blood-batteners watching.
These wealthy people whose obsession with Jikaida led them to make the difficult journey here and play
in Blood and Death Jikaida employed a Jikaidast to advise them in their games. A Jikaidast, a
professional who played the game for a living as well as for the absorbed joy of it, would sit at their side
and the moves would be seriously discussed. The massive clepsydra would drip its water, drop by drop,
as the move was pondered, and a brazen gong would signal that time had run out. What normally
happened then would happen here as a matter of course  just another poor devil would be chopped.
The marshals were finishing pushing and prodding the black pieces. The whites were set and ready. The
chief marshal, perspiring, rosy of face, a trifle flummoxed, came up to me.
 You ready, lad?
 Tell me, who is the player yonder? Who the Jikaidast?
  Why bother your head over 
 Who?
He blinked and wiped the sweat away. He was in a hurry to get back to his quarters and a stoup of ale.
 Kov Loriman the Hunter. The Jikaidast is Master Scatulo.
I smiled.
The grimace must have had some effect on the marshal, for he took himself off very smartly.
Master Scatulo! Well, Bevon the Brukaj, who had been Scatulo s slave, had told me pertinent things of
Scatulo s play. Here was the first ray of sunshine through the clouds.
 Jak... Liana s quavering voice brought my attention back to the immediate proceedings.  I think they
begin...
 Trust in Havil the Green, I said. How incongruous that remark would have been only a few seasons
ago!
 Rather in Havandua the Green Wonder.
 If you will.
Quite naturally white took first move. This was not from any similar tradition to that in the chess of our
Earth; simply that we blacks were here to be chopped.
Now  many a Pallan playing for black, I gathered, had desperately sought never to put himself in a
position where he might be taken. After all, the object of the game from white s point of view was to win
and enhance his prestige in the league tables. Just because black s pieces were slain did not affect the
play. This was real Jikaida, not Death Jikaida.
The proper rules were observed and play would have to be skilled. So a Pallan might seek to screen
himself. I fancied, with a quick stab of gratitude to Bevon, that Master Scatulo might be in for a surprise.
So the game began, the call of  Rank your Deldars rang out, and we set to.
It was very far from pretty.
The lines began to form, cunning diagonals of swods propped by Deldars, reaching out to the far drins.
[1]
Scatulo chose the Princess s Kapt s swod s opening. I replied cautiously, opening up just one line. I
zeunted  that is, vaulted over a line of pieces  fairly early so as to retain a better grip on the center.
The zeunt was to enable the board to be clearer in my mind, as well as to place me in a good position.
The first swod was taken by the whites. I could not prevent that.
The soldier with his white favors gleaming lifted his sword, the wretch with the scrap of black cloth
around him threw up his arms and screamed, and the blade sliced down.
 The men in red ran onto the board and carted him away.
The game proceeded.
The orders for the moves were carried by beautiful girls wearing black or white favors, and with their
red-velvet-covered wands of office. Their draperies swirled. We lost more men.
Gradually I gleaned an understanding of just what Scatulo was up to. I do not pretend to be a master
player; but I have some skill. And, by Zair, I needed it then!
The disadvantage of standing on the board, with the disorienting perspectives reaching out and the
pieces all on a level, was greatly offset by the ability to hold the positions in my head. Blindfold Jikaida
and multi-game Jikaida are capital teaching methods.
Pointless to go through the game move by move  or blow by blow. Every time white took a black
piece, a man or woman died. It was necessary, it was vital, that I concentrate on the game and not allow
the horror of the situation to unnerve me.
Those words to Liana the Sprite had been hollow. I did not think I had much chance of winning, and
when I lost she would die.
The shaming thought drilled into my brain  suppose, just suppose, it was my Delia who stood there!
Suppose it was Delia of Delphond, Delia of the Blue Mountains, who stood there, straight and supple,
wearing that stained black breechclout? Or, just suppose it was my wayward daughter Dayra, who was
called Ros the Claw? Or that other daughter of mine, Lela, whom I had not seen for long and long? Why
should my reactions then be any different? Were they not all women, like Liana the Sprite? Was not my
duty to them all?
As the game progressed and I sniffed out Scatulo s play I think some near sublime passion overcame
me, so that Liana and Delia and all the beautiful and helpless women of two worlds were represented by
that single shrinking form.
But why only the beautiful? Why exclude those women who have not been favored of the gods with
divine faces and forms? Were not they all women? Some women are very devils, as I know; but they are
not the helpless of two worlds. And, would it be right to exclude them, just because of that?
Scatulo essayed a clever move down the right-hand side and I countered with the correct answer, as I
had played with Master Hork in Vondium. The tiered stands buzzed afresh with appreciation. To the Ice
Floes of Sicce with you all, I felt like shouting up at them and their smug knowingness.
Now Scatulo knew he was in a game. I think this Kov Loriman the Hunter, who had engaged Scatulo
for the game, must have fancied himself and overridden the Jikaidast, for some odd moves were made [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]