Hunters of Gor

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“It is not my wish”, said Samos, looking up from the board, “that you journey to the northern forests.” I regarded the board. Carefully, I set the Ubar’s Tarnsman at Ubar’s Scribe Six. “It is dangerous,” said Samos.

“It is your move,” said I, intent upon the game.

He threatened the Ubar’s Tarnsman with a spearman, thrust to his Ubar Four. “We do not care to risk you,” said Samos. There was a slight smile about his lips.

“We?” I asked.

“Priest-Kings and I “ said Samos.

“I no longer serve Priest-Kings,” said I.

“Ah, yes,” said Samos. Then he added, “Guard your tarnsman.”

We played in the hall of Samos, a lofty room, with high, narrow windows. It was late at night. A torch burned in a rack above and behind me, to my left. The shadows flickered about the board of one hundred red and yellow squares. The pieces, weighted, seem tall on the board, casting their shadows away from the flame, across the flat arena of the game.

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