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asked Samos.
    “It is time for the Kaissa matches at the Fair of En’Kara, at the Sardar,” I said. I found it hard to think that this was not on the mind of Samos. “Centius of Cos,” I said, “is defending his title against Scormus of Ar.”
    “How can you be concerned with Kaissa at a time like this?” he asked.
    “The match is important,” I pointed out. Anyone who knew anything of Kaissa knew this. It was the talk of Gor.
    “I should have you whipped, and chained to an oar,” said Samos.
    “I have been whipped,” I said, “at various times, and, too, I have been chained to an oar.” I had felt the leather. I had drawn the oar.
    “Apparently it taught you little,” he said.
    “I am difficult to teach,” I admitted.
    “Kaissa!” grumbled Samos.
    “The planet has waited years for this match,” I said.
    “I have not,” said Samos.
    It had been delayed because of the war between Ar and Cos, having to do with piracy and competitive commercial claims on the Vosk. The war persisted but now both players had been brought to the Sardar by armed men from their respective cities, under a special flag of truce, agreed upon by Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, and Marlenus of Ar, called the Ubar of Ubars, who ruled in Ar. Hostilities between the two cities were suspended for the duration of the match. Kaissa is a serious matter for most Goreans. That Samos did not seem sufficiently impressed with the monumentality of the confrontation irritated me somewhat. It is hard to understand one who is not concerned with Kaissa.
    “We all have our limitations,” I said.
    “That is true,” he said.
    “What did you say?” I asked. He muttered something.
    “I said,” said Samos, “that Kaissa is a disease.”
    “Oh,” I said. If it was a disease, and that seemed not unlikely, it was at least one which afflicted perhaps a majority of Goreans. I expected to have to pay a golden tarn disk for standing room in the amphitheater in which the match would take place. A golden tarn disk would purchase a trained war tarn, or several women.
    “If there was a crucial act to be done at a given time,” said Samos, “and the fate of two worlds hung upon that act, and it interfered with a Kaissa match, what would you do?”
    I grinned. “I would have to think about it,” I told him. “Who would be playing?”
    Samos rose to his feet. exasperated, but grinning. “Come with me,” he said.
    He conducted me to a place in the hail, where he pointed down to that portion of the intricate map mosaic which lay there.
    “Cos and Tyros,” I said.
    He pointed beyond them. For most practical purposes, except for a few small, close islands, of little or no importance, the mosaic ended there. No one knew what lay beyond Cos and Tyros to the west, once the small islands were passed.
    “You should have your mind not on Kaissa,” said Samos, “my dear Captain, but on the world’s end.” He pointed to a place on the floor. It contained only small, smooth white tiles.
    “Perhaps the world’s end,” I said, “is on the other side of the wall.”
    We did not know where it might be, in the scale of the map mosaic.
    “Perhaps,” laughed Samos. “Perhaps.”
    He glanced about at the mosaic. For an instant his eye stopped, near its top.
    “What is it?” I asked. I had noticed a bit of hesitation in him, a small movement in his shoulder, the sort of thing which suggests that a casual thought. unimportantly troubling, has occurred to someone.
    “Nothing,” he said. He had dismissed the thought.
    “No,” I said, curious. “What is it?”
    He gestured to a guardsman to bring a lamp, for we were far from the light of the bowl of coals now, and of various torches set in the walls.
    We walked slowly toward the back of the hall. The guardsman brought him the lamp there.
    “As you know,” said Samos, “this house is an intelligence center, in which we receive many reports. Much of what we hear is trivial and unimportant, simply