You shake your head slowly but firmly. “No, I simply couldn’t. I appreciate the kind offer, but I know I could never hope to appreciate the subtleties of your ancient art in but a single day. I fear the experience would be largely wasted on me.”
Faizah gives you a wry grin. “John, John, John! Always the humble charmer. It’s why the merchants praise your name even as they trade their livelihoods for a song.”
Which is true, in part. Other players, especially the halfway successful ones, are usually arrogant pricks. A great deal of your early success came from feeding that arrogance. But it was your shrewd business eye and delicate political maneuverings that had allowed you to grow that initial success in the fortune you’d be taking with you when you logged out today.
“Never you, though, Faizah, never you. What was it you convinced me to pay for my first slave? Double the going rate?”
Faizah laughed. “Triple! My, my, you’ve certainly come a long way, John Lemere.”
Then she paused, seeming to consider you for a moment. “You know, John, I think you could go even further. You’re wealthy now, but if you’re game, I know a way you could have eight times your current fortune by the time you leave this evening, plus a gain a whole household worth of beautiful slaves. And you’d help me out of a pinch as well. What do you say?”
You raise an eyebrow. Is she kidding? Eight times your current fortune meant the difference between retiring comfortably in a nice neighborhood and buying a different yacht for each day of the week. Hell, with that kind of dough at logout, you could have supermodels hanging off your arms in the real world. Was she suggesting there was a way to make that much money in a single day?
“It’s not without risk,” she continues, “but nothing worthwhile is. If nothing else, it’d certainly be a more exciting way to spend your last day before your journey than wandering around the marketplace once more. And think of the rewards—!”
“Well,” you say, “I’m certainly not agreeing to anything blindly. Just what are we talking about here?”
“A clever man!” she responds. “This is exactly why I think you’ll do so well. It’s called the Tournament. Eight wealthy men stake their fortunes on the outcome, and the winner walks away with the entire pot. There’s a minimum level of wealth required to enter, of course, and I’d intended to sponsor a contestant who couldn’t afford to enter on his own. Unfortunately, he foolishly decided to accept a ‘mystery prize’ or some such nonsense, and is no longer eligible to compete. If I can’t field a contestant today, I forfeit my stake. But if you entered in his place, I could avoid ruin and you stand to become immensely wealthy.“
“And if I lose?” you ask.
“Well… that’s where the slaves come in. Losing contestants lose by… well, by becoming members of another contestant’s harem. But I’m sure you won’t lose! You’re John Lemere! My own fortune is at stake here!”
Well, she doesn’t seem to be trying to deceive you, but this Tournament does seem risky. On the other hand, think of the rewards!
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