Free Beasts of Gor by John Norman

might have to bet a golden tarn to win a silver tarsk.
    I could see on hills, on either side of the amphitheater, a golden tent pitched. One of these was for Scormus of Ar, the other, on the other side of the great amphitheater, was for Centius of Cos.
    “Have they drawn yet for yellow?” I asked.
    “No,” he said.
    Normally much betting would wait until it was known which player had yellow, which determines the first move, and the first move, of course, determining the opening.
    But already the betting was heavy.
    I speculated on the effect which the draw for yellow might have on the odds in the match. If Centius drew yellow, I reasoned, the odds favoring Scormus might be reduced a bit, but probably not much; if Scormus, on the other hand, drew yellow, the odds might rise so in his favor as to preclude a rational wager. Few people would accept a bet of even twenty to one under such circumstances. Already I suspected I would have to wager at least ten to one to bet on Scormus, who would be champion. I noted a fellow from Cos a few men ahead of me in the line. “On whom do you wager?’ I asked him. “On Centius of Cos,” he said, belligerently. I smiled to myself. We would see. We would see. I wondered if his patriotism would last all the way to the betting table. Often, incidentally, the first move in a match is decided by one player’s guessing in which hand the other holds a Spearman, one of the pieces of the game. In this match, however, a yellow Spearman and a red Spearman were to be placed in a helmet, covered with a scarlet cloth. Scormus of Ar and Centius of Cos would reach into the helmet and each draw forth one Spearman. He who held the yellow Spearman had the first move.
    I was now some twenty men from the table.
    “Look,” called a man.
    Two parties of men, one party from each of the tents, began to make their way toward the amphitheater. Somewhere in those parties were Scormus of Ar and Centius of Cos. The chief officer of the caste of players, with representatives of both Cos and Ar, would be waiting for them on the stone stage of the amphitheater, with the helmet.
    I breathed more easily. I was confident now I would have my bet placed before the draw. If Scormus should draw yellow, and I were to place my bet after this fact was generally known, I would stand to win almost nothing, even should I wager a good deal.
    “Hurry!” called a man. “Hurry!”
    The two parties of men had now, from opposite sides, entered the amphitheater.
    “A silver tarsk on Scormus of Ar,” said the man from Cos, who stood now at the table.
    “They will be raising the standard of Ar or Cos any moment!” cried a man.
    In moments I was two men from the table. Then there was only one man before me. “Next,” called the odds merchant.
    I stood before the table.
    “Fourteen to one favoring the champion of Ar,” he said.
    “Fourteen hundred tans of gold,” said I, “on Ar’s champion.”
    “Who are you?” asked the odds merchant. “Are you mad?’
    “I am Bosk,” I said, “of Port Kar.”
    “Done,” said he, “Captain!”
    I signed his sheet with the sign of the bosk.
    “Look!” cried a man. “Look!”
    Above the amphitheater, on its rim, a man lifted the standard of Ar.
    I stepped aside. There was much shouting. Men of Ar in the crowd embraced one another. Then, beside he who bore the standard of Ar, there stood one in the garb of the players, the red and yellow checkered robe, and the checkered cap, with the board and pieces slung over his shoulder, like a warrior’s accouterments. He lifted his hand. “It is Scormus!” they cried. “It is Scormus!” The ysrnng man then lifted the standard of Ar himself.
    Men of Ar wept. Then the young man returned the standard to him who had first carried it to the amphitheater’s rim and withdrew from sight.
    There was much cheering.
    Next,” said the odds merchant.
    The next man then stood before the table.
    “Thirty-six to one, favoring the champion of Ar,”