The Player of Games

The mentors and administrators of the Azad colleges — the game's teaching institutions — formed the remainder of the gathering, and were similarly exempt from the need to take part in the tournament.

The night was too warm for Gurgeh's taste; a thick heat filled with the city-smell, and stagnant. The robe was heavy and surprisingly uncomfortable; Gurgeh wondered how soon he could politely leave the ball. They entered the palace through a huge doorway flanked by massive opened gates of polished, jewel-studded metal. The vestibules and halls they passed through glittered with sumptuous decorations standing on tables or hanging from walls and ceilings.

The people were as fabulous as their surroundings. The females, of whom there seemed to be a great number, were ablaze with jewellery and extravagantly ornamented dresses. Gurgeh guessed that, measuring from the bottom of their bell-shaped gowns, the women must have been as broad as they were tall. They rustled as they went by, and smelled strongly of heavy, obtrusive perfumes. Many of the people he passed glanced or looked or actually stopped and stared at Gurgeh and the floating, humming, crackling Flere-Imsaho.

Every few metres along the walls, and on both sides of every doorway, gaudily-uniformed males stood stock still, their trousered legs slightly apart, gloved hands clasped behind their rod-straight backs, their gaze fixed firmly on the high, painted ceilings.

"What are they standing there for?" Gurgeh whispered to the drone in Eächic, low enough so that Pequil couldn't hear.

"Show," the machine said.

Gurgeh thought about this. "Show?"

"Yes; to show that the Emperor is rich and important enough to have hundreds of flunkeys standing around doing nothing."

"Doesn't everybody know that already?"

The drone didn't answer for a moment. Then it sighed. "You haven't really cracked the psychology of wealth and power yet, have you, Jernau Gurgeh?"

Gurgeh walked on, smiling on the side of his face Flere-Imsaho couldn't see.

The apices they passed were all dressed in the same heavy robes Gurgeh was wearing; ornate without being ostentatious. What struck Gurgeh most strongly, though, was that the whole place and everybody in it seemed to be stuck in another age. He could see nothing in the palace or worn by the people that could not have been produced at least a thousand years earlier; he had watched recordings of ancient imperial ceremonies when he'd done his own research into the society, and thought he had a reasonable grasp of ancient dress and forms. It struck him as strange that despite the Empire's obvious, if limited, technological sophistication, its formal side remained so entrenched in the past. Ancient customs, fashions and architectural forms were all common in the Culture too, but they were used freely, even haphazardly, as only parts of a whole range of styles, not adhered to rigidly and consistently to the exclusion of all else.

"Just wait here; you'll be a

"The honourable Lo Pequil Monenine, AAB, Level Two Main, Empire Medal, Order of Merit and bar… with Chark Gavant-sha Gernow Morat Gurgee Dam Hazeze."

They walked down the grand staircase. The scene below them was an order of magnitude brighter and more impressive than any social event Gurgeh had ever witnessed, The Culture simply didn't do things on such a scale. The ballroom looked like a vast and glittering pool into which somebody had thrown a thousand fabulous flowers, and then stirred.

"That a

"I think because the «senior» in his name was missed out," Flere-Imsaho said.

"Is that important?"

"Gurgeh, in this society everything is important," the drone said, then added glumly, "At least you both got a

"Hello there!" a voice shouted out as they got to the bottom of the stairs. A tall, male-looking person pushed between a couple of Azadians to get beside Gurgeh. He wore garish, flowing robes. He had a beard, bu

"Jernow Morat Gurgee," Pequil began, looking awkward, "Let me introduce…"

But Shohobohaum Za was already steering Gurgeh away through the crowds at the bottom of the staircase. "How's things anyway, Pequil?" he shouted over his shoulder at the dazed-looking apex. "Okay? Yeah? Good. Talk to you later. Just taking this other exile for a little drink!"

A pale-looking Pequil waved back weakly. Flere-Imsaho hesitated, then stayed with the Azadian.

Shohobohaum Za turned back to Gurgeh, removed his arm from the other man's shoulders and, in a less strident voice, said, "Boring bladder, old Pequil. Hope you didn't mind being dragged away."

"I'll cope with the remorse," Gurgeh said, looking the other Culture man up and down. "I take it you're the… ambassador?"

"The same," Za said, and belched. "This way," he nodded, guiding Gurgeh through the crowds. "I spotted some grif bottles behind one of the drink tables and I want to dock with a couple before the Emp and his cronies snaffle the lot." They passed a low stage where a band played loudly. "Crazy place, isn't it?" Za shouted at Gurgeh as they headed for the rear of the hall.

Gurgeh wondered exactly what the other man was referring to.

"Here we is," Za said, coming to a stop by a long line of tables. Behind the tables, liveried males served drinks and food to the guests. Above them, on a huge arched wall, a dark tapestry sewn with diamonds and gold-thread depicted an ancient space battle.

Za gave a whistle and leant over to whisper to the tall, stern-looking male who approached. Gurgeh saw a piece of paper being exchanged, then Za slapped his hand over Gurgeh's wrist and breezed away from the tables, hauling Gurgeh over to a large circular couch set round the bottom of a fluted pillar of marble inlaid with precious metals.

"Wait till you taste this stuff," Za said, leaning towards Gurgeh and winking. Shohobohaum Za was a little lighter in colour than Gurgeh, but still much darker than the average Azadian. It was notoriously difficult to judge the age of Culture people, but Gurgeh guessed the man was a decade or so younger than he. "You do drink?" Za said, looking suddenly alarmed.

"I've been bypassing the stuff," Gurgeh told him.

Za shook his head emphatically. "Don't do that with grif," he said, patting Gurgeh's hand. "Would be tragic. Ought to be a treasonable offence, in fact. Gland Crystal Fugue State instead. Brilliant combination; blows your neurons out your ass. Grif is stu