The fellow struggled to stay up on the bulging, shifting wineskin, and then slipped off. He had actually done quite well. Nearly had he won the wine. There was applause about the small circle.

I heard a fellow advertising the booth of a thought reader. This reader probably read coins. One, presumably without the knowledge of the reader or a confederate, selects one coin from several on a tray or platter, usually tarsk bits, and then, holding it tightly in his hand, concentrates on the coin. Then, after the coin has been replaced on the tray or platter, the thought reader turns about and, more often than not, far more than the probabilities would suggest, locates the coin. One then loses one's tarsk bit. If the reader selects the wrong coin, one receives all the tarsk bits on the tray or platter, usually several. I assumed there must be some sort of trick to this, though I did not know what it was. Goreans, on the other hand, often accept, rather uncritically, in my mind, that the reader can actually read thoughts, or usually read them. They reason that if one fellow can see farther than another, and such, why can't someone, similarly, be able to «see» thoughts. Similarly, less familiar with tricks, prestidigitation, illusions, and such, than an Earth audience, some Goreans believe in magic. I have meet Goreans who really believed, for example, that a magician can make a girl vanish into thin air and then retrieve her from the same. They accept the evidence of their senses, so to speak. The taking of auspices, incidentally, is common on Gor before initiating campaigns, enterprises, and such. Many Goreans will worry about such things as the tracks of spiders and the flights of birds. Similarly, on Earth, there is a clientele, particularly in uncertain, troubled times, for those who claim to be able to read the future, to tell fortunes, and such.

"Noble Sir!" called the owner of the wineskin. "What of you?"

I regarded him, startled.

"A tarsk bit a chance?" he invited me. "Think of the whole skin of wine for you and your friends!"

A skin of wine might bring as much as four or five copper tarsks.

"Very well," I said.

There was some commendation from others about. "Good fellow," said more than one fellow.

"Surely you do not intend to wear your sandals," said the owner of the wineskin. "Of course not," I said, slipping them off. I then rubbed my feet well in the dirt near the skin.

"Let me help you up," said the fellow.

"That will not be necessary," I said.

"Here, let me help you," he said.

"Very well," I said. I had not been able to get on the skin.

"Are you ready?" asked the owner, steadying me.

"a€”Yes," I said. I wished Lecchio, of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, were about. He might have managed this.

"Ready?" asked the owner.

"Yes," I said.

"Time!" he cried, letting go of me.

"How well you are doing!" he cried, at which point I slipped from the skin. I sat in the dirt, laughing. "How marvelously he did!" said a fellow. "Has he gotten on the skin yet?" asked another, a wag, it seems. "He has already fallen off," he was informed. "He did wonderfully," said another. "Yes," said another, "he must have been on the skin for at least two Ihn." I myself thought I might have managed a bit more than that. To be sure, on the skin, an Ihn seems like an Ehn. Before one becomes too critical in these matters, however, I recommend that one attempt the same feat. To be sure, some fellows do manage to stay on the skin and win the wine.

"Next?" inquired the owner of the wineskin.

I looked about, and picked up my sandals. I had scarcely retrieved them when I noticed a stillness about, and the men looking in a given direction. I followed their gaze. There, at the edge of the circle, emerged from the darkness, there was a large man, bearded, in a tunic and cloak. I took him as likely to be of the peasants. He looked about himself, but almost as though he saw nothing. "Would care to try your luck?" asked the owner of the wineskin. I was pleased that he had addressed the fellow.

The newcomer came forward slowly, deliberately, as though he might have come from a great distance.

"One tries to stand upon the skin," said the owner. "It is a tarsk bit." The bearded man then stood before the owner of the wineskin, who seemed small before him. The bearded fellow said nothing. He looked at the owner of the wineskin. The owner of the wineskin trembled a little. Then the bearded man placed a tarsk bit in his hand.

"One tries to stand on the skin," said the owner again, uncertainly.

The large man looked at him.

"Perhaps you will win," said the owner.

"What are you doing?" cried the owner.

No one moved to stop him, but the large man, opening his cloak, drew a knife from his belt sheath and slowly, deliberately, slit the skin open. Wine burst forth from the skin, onto the ankles of the large fellow, and, flowing about, seeking its paths, sank into the dirt. The dust was reddened. It was not unlike blood.

The large fellow then sheathed his knife, and stood on the rent, emptied skin. "I have won," he said.

"The skin is destroyed," said the owner. "The wine is lost."

"But I have won," said the bearded man.

The owner of the rent skin was silent.

"Twenty men were with me," said the large, bearded man. "I along survived."

"He is of the peasant levies!" said a fellow.

"Speak, speak!" cried men, anxiously.

"The skin is rent," said the man. "The wine is gone."

"Speak!" cried others.

The fellow pulled his cloak away and put it over his arm.

"He is wounded!" said a man. The left side of the fellow's tunic was matted with blood. The cloak had clung to it a bit, when he removed it.

"Speak! cried men.

"I have won," said the man.

"He is delirious," said a fellow.

"No," I said.

"I have won," said the man, dully.

"Yes," I said. "You have stood upon the skin. You have won."

"But the skin is gone, the wine is gone," said a fellow.

"But he has won," I said.

"What occurred in the west?" demanded a man.

"Ar has lost," he said.

Men looked at one another, stunned.

"The banners of Cos incline toward the gates of Ar," said the man.

"No!" cried a man.

"Ar is defenseless," moaned a fellow.

"Let the alarm bells sound," wept a man. "Let her seal her gates!"

I had some concept of the forces of Cos. Too, I had some concept of the forces of Ar in the city, now mostly guardsmen. She could never withstand a concerted siege.

"I have won," said the bearded man.

"How have you won?" asked a man, angrily.

"I have survived," he said.

I looked at the rent skin and he reddened dust. Yes, I thought, he was the sort of man who would survive.

Men now fled away from the circle. In Ihn, it seemed, the camp was in consternation.

I stood there, for a time, holding my sandals.

Men moved past me, pulling their carts and wagons. Some had slave girls chained to them. Some of these women, in their manacles, attached to the rear of the vehicles, thrusting and pushing, helped to hurry them ahead. I heard the bellowing of tharlarion being harnessed.

"How far is Cos?" I asked the man.

"Two, three days," he said.

I gathered this would depend on Myron's decision as to the rate and number of marches. I did not think he would press his men. He was an excellent commander and, from what I had gathered, there need be no haste in the matter. He might even rest his men for a day or two. In any event, an excellent commander, he would presumably bring them fresh to the gates of Ar.

I donned my sandals.

Many of the fires in the camp had now been extinguished. It might be difficult finding my way back to the tent.

"Are you all right?" I asked the bearded fellow.