The Gladiator by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online

Why does the state let the Church do it, then?” Because people would riot if the state didn’t , Annarita thought. Eduardo had a different answer: “Because it’s religion, that’s why. What the Church says only counts in religion, nothing else. And what we sell here only counts in our games, nowhere else. See? It’s simple, really.”
    He made it sound simple, anyway. How many complications lurked under that smooth surface? Quite a few, unless Annarita missed her guess. But some of what he said was likely true, or the Security Police would have closed this place down. Unless he belongs to the Security Police , she reminded herself. She wondered how she could find out.
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    Gianfranco counted out his latest payment for delivering Russian oil to Paris. “Twenty-three million there,” he said, as if the
bright play-money bills were real. “That puts me at 509 million.” As soon as you went over 500 million, you won. Carlo was still a good sixty million away.
    â€œSì, you got me,” he said, and stuck out his hand across the board. Gianfranco shook it. Carlo went on, “When we got into that second price war, that ruined me. You were smart there, Gianfranco. I didn’t think you’d do anything like that.”
    â€œI’m not always as dumb as I look,” Gianfranco said, which made the university student laugh. They got up and went out to the front counter together.
    â€œWho won?” Eduardo asked.
    Gianfranco stuck his thumb up. Carlo stuck his down. That was what you did at The Gladiator. The people who ran the shop hadn’t started it. The people who played there did. In the ancient Roman arenas, a raised thumb was a vote for sparing a downed gladiator’s life. A lowered one was a vote to finish him off. Somebody who knew that must have done it for a joke the first time. Now everybody did.
    â€œLet’s see …” Eduardo pulled out a chart. “Gianfranco beats Carlo in Rails across Europe . Gianfranco, that means you play Alfredo next. Carlo, you go down into the losers’ bracket, and you play Vittorio.”
    â€œI’ll beat him.” Carlo didn’t lack confidence. Common sense, sometimes, but never confidence.
    â€œAlfredo?” Gianfranco didn’t sound so bold. “He’ll be dangerous. He studies the game all the time.” Alfredo was older than Eduardo. He wore a mustache, and it had some white hairs in it. He was out of school, so he didn’t have to worry about homework and projects and things. He had a job, but who took jobs seriously? He spent as much time at work as he could
get away with on his hobby, and just about all the time after he got home. He was a fanatic, no two ways about it.
    â€œHope the dice go your way,” Eduardo said. “If you have enough luck, all the other guy’s skill doesn’t matter. Might as well be life, eh?”
    â€œSì.” That was Carlo, still looking for a way to console himself after losing.
    â€œIt’s a long game,” Gianfranco said. “Most of the time, the dice and the cards even out.”
    â€œWell, in that case you’d better pray, because Alfredo will eat you for lunch like fettuccine,” Carlo said. “I’ve got to go. Ciao.” He walked out without giving Gianfranco a chance to snap back at him.
    â€œHe thought he’d beat you,” Eduardo said.
    â€œI know. He figured I was a kid, so I wouldn’t know what I was doing,” Gianfranco said. “I guess I showed him.” Then, cautiously, he asked, “What did Annarita think of the place?” He still didn’t want to tell Eduardo she was investigating The Gladiator.
    â€œShe seemed interested,” answered the man behind the counter. “She’s more political than you are, isn’t she?”
    Gianfranco knew what that meant—Annarita was asking questions. He just laughed and said, “Well, who