Ubara’s Initiate’s column would be Ubara’s Initiate Five, the seventh square in the column of the Ubar’s Builder, would be Ubar’s Builder seven, and so on.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Now,” he said, holding the small sheet removed from the leather envelope before me, “this resembles a game’s annotation. Indeed, the first entries might occur in a game, for example one beginning with the opening called the Ubar’s Tarnsman’s Flight. On the other hand, if one examines the sheet carefully, most of the later entries would be impractical, even illegitimate, in an actual game. Accordingly, the first level of concealment is that the sheet is not what it initially appears to be, and might not attract particular attention, certainly not from those unfamiliar with kaissa, and probably not from your average player, who would not be likely to inquire into the annotation of a game in which he would not be likely to have much interest. It is not as though it was a game from the records of Centius of Cos, Scormus of Ar, Corydon of Thentis, Olaf of Tabuk’s Ford, or such. And even if he looked at the sheet he would presumably soon cast it away as some sort of hoax or joke, perhaps even a jibe from some critic of kaissa, who thinks too much time and attention is devoted to the game. The second level of concealment, of course, is that these seemingly meaningless signs are mostly related to the alphabet.”
“Surely the alphabet does not contain a hundred letters,” I said. My own alphabet, incidentally, in my own native language contains twenty-six letters. A typical Gorean alphabet, as I understand it, though this seems to differ a bit in one place or another, contains twenty-eight letters.
“Of course not,” he said. “Certain letters occur in Gorean more often than others, for example, Eta, Al-ka, Tau, and so on. Thus, there may be several variants for those letters.”
“Chloe can read,” I said, “and she did not understand some of the signs on the scraps of paper.”
“Those are meaningless,” he said. “The kaissa squares in which they are inserted thus constitute no intelligible part of the message. Thus, those who are attempting to unravel the message by means of considering the relative frequency of signs will have a difficult task, as some letters are represented by more than one sign and some signs represent no letter.”
“And the way to compose a message, or to understand a message, has to do with the large sheets of squares which Chloe and I filled in.”
“Precisely,” said Desmond of Harfax. “It is only necessary that the sender and the receiver of the message use a corresponding sheet of squares, of which there could be an indefinite number, but which, to date, seems to consist of one hundred sheets.”
“There must be a way,” I said, “to know what sheet to use, as there are so many.”
“As you cannot read,” said Master Desmond, “this is not obvious to you, but the small sheet which seems to be a game’s annotation and the large sheet, whose squares contain letters, or meaningless marks, are both numbered.”
“The numbers are then matched,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Perhaps a message could be unraveled.”
“But not easily, or quickly,” he said. “By the time the message is understood it might be too late. More importantly, it is difficult to unravel such things unless one has a large amount of material at one’s disposal, which allows for more attention to letter frequencies, hypotheses as to possible meanings, testing these hypotheses against additional material, and such. The large number of sheets, different sheets being used for different messages, means any given message is likely to afford the interpreter little to work with.”
“I could not begin to unravel these things.”
“You cannot even read to begin with,” he said. “It would be enough to give you a nice clear message in simple Gorean.”
“It is not my fault,” I said, “that I have not been taught to read.”
“Why should an animal be taught to read?” he asked.
“You like me illiterate, do you not?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “If I owned you, I would keep you that way.”
“You like an illiterate girl at your feet,” I said.
“Actually,” he said, “it is a great pleasure to have a highly intelligent, well educated, literate girl at one’s feet. It pleases one to have her lips and tongue on one’s boots.”
“Perhaps then,” I said, “you should teach me to read.”
“It is also pleasant to have an illiterate barbarian at one’s feet,” he said. “Her simplicity and ignorance is charming.”
“I assure you,” I said, “I am highly intelligent, and well educated, and, in my own language, literate.”
“Good,” he said, “then, if I owned you, I would have both pleasures.”
“I hate you,” I said.
“Did you not lift your lips to me, but moments ago?” he asked.
I looked away, angrily.
“Even if I could read,” I said, “I do not think I could unravel these things.”
“Few could,” he said. “Presumably some can, given enough time, and enough material. There are much more complex and subtle ways to conceal meaning, of course, but the device I have explained to you is simple, easily understood, and likely, as far as they know, to be secure. It would not do, of course, for them to know we have copies of the sheets.”
“No, Master,” I said.
“To be sure,” he said, “this advantage is not likely to be of long duration. New sheets would presumably be prepared from time to time, to continue to pluralize possibilities, and, if it were suspected that copies of the original sheets were in the possession of an enemy, new sheets would be instantly prepared, or, more likely, an entirely different method of communication and concealment would be adopted.”
“At least now,” I said, “I have some sense of what Chloe and I were doing.”
“It is not necessary to explain these things to Chloe, or others,” he said.
“I understand,” I said.
“These concealments, of course,” he said, “are intended to be of use to the conspirators in their communications within and between cities, between cities and the Cave, and so on.”
“Why has Master explained them to Allison?” I asked.
“To give you a sense of what intrigues abound, and what projects are afoot,” he said.
“Master is not alone,” I said.
“No,” he said.
“I shall not inquire the name of his confederate, or confederates,” I said.
“I would not want your pretty body torn apart on the rack,” he said, “while you are crying out their name, or names.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Do you remember my concern with cards?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You served in a house of chance,” he said.
“Until it was burned, and I, and others, were sold in the Tarsk Market.”
“That seems a suitable place to sell one such as you,” he said.
“Doubtless,” I said.
“In the house of chance,” he said, “there were games involving cards, were there not?”
“In the back of the large room, at the far tables,” I said, “but I did not attend on those tables. Most of us attended on the gaming tables, with the wheels, and the dice, where most of the men were.”
“But you must have heard things,” he said.
“One always hears things,” I said, warily.
“I am not an investigating magistrate,” he said, “with a rack in the next room.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Presumably,” he said, “those gambling on behalf of the house would wish to have some advantage in the matter.”
“Otherwise,” I said, “they might lose money, unintentionally.”
“‘Unintentionally’?” he smiled.
