1.  Kaissa

The word actually cried was "Kaissa," which is Gorean for "Game". It is a general term, but when used without qualification, it stands for only one game. ASSASSIN OF GOR

2.  The Game of Favors

In short, the game of favors permits free women, in a socially acceptable context, by symbolic transformation, to assuage their sexual needs to at least some extent, and, in some cases, if they wish, to make advances to interesting males. There is no full satisfaction of female sexuality, of course, outside of the context of male dominance. PLAYERS OF GOR

3.  Bones

Imnak and I sat across from one another, both cross-legged. He dropped a tiny bone to the fur mat between us.
Each player, in turn, drops a bone, one of several in his supply. The bone Imnak had dropped was carved in the shape of a small tabuk. Each of the bones is carved to resemble an animal, such as an arctic gant, a northern bosk, a lart, a tabuk or sleen, and so on. The bone which remains upright is the winner. If both bones do not remain upright there is no winner on that throw. Similarly, if both bones should remain upright, they are dropped again. A bone which does not remain upright, if its opposing bone does remain upright, is placed in the stock of him whose bone remained upright. The game is finished when one of the two players is cleaned out of bones. BEASTS OF GOR

4.  Zar

He retired to the canopy beneath which, with water, he sat, cross-legged, with his companion. Between them they had, in the crusts, scratched a board for Zar. This resembles the Kaissa board. Pieces, however, may he placed only on the intersections of lines either within or at the edges of the board. Each player has nine pieces of equal value which are originally placed on the intersections of the nine interior vertical lines with what would be the rear horizontal line, constituted by the back edge of the board, from each player's point of view. The corners are not used in the original placement, though they constitute legitimate move points after play begins. The pieces are commonly pebbles, or bits of verr dung, and sticks. The "pebbles" move first. Pieces move one intersection at a time, unless jumping. One may jump either the opponent's pieces or one's own. A jump must be made to an unoccupied point. Multiple jumps are permissible. The object is to effect a complete exchange of original placements. The first player to fully occupy the opponent's initial position wins. Capturing, of course, does not occur. The game is one of strategy and maneuverability.
"Hassan." I said. TRIBESMEN OF GOR

5.  Boots Tarsk-Bit

Some Gorean dice are sold in sealed boxes, bearing the city’s imprint. These, supposedly, have been each cast six hundred times, with results approximating the ideal mathematical probabilities. Also, it might be mentioned that dice are sometimes tampered with, or specially prepared, to favor certain numbers. These, I suppose, using the Earth term, might be spoken of as "loaded." My friend, the actor, magician, impresario and whatnot, Boots Tarsk-Bit, once narrowly escaped an impalement in Besnit on the charge of using false dice. He was, however, it seems, framed. At any rate the charges were dismissed when a pair of identical false dice turned up in the pouch of the arresting magistrate, the original pair having, interestingly, at about the same time, vanished. MAGICIANS OF GOR

6.  Cat's Cradle

Others faced one another, kneeling, and, with string and their fingers, played an intricate cat's-cradle game. Others played "Stones," where one player guesses the number of stones held in the other's hand. I tried the cat's-cradle game but I could not play it, I always became confused, trying to copy the intricate patterns. How beautifully they would suddenly, in all their complexity, appear. The other girls laughed at my clumsiness. The northern girls, incidentally, were very skilled at this game. They could beat us all. CAPTIVE OF GOR

7.  Capture the Slave Girl

"Kneel, slave girl," said a young, imperious voice.
Swiftly Feiqa knelt.
"Kiss my feet, female slave," said the voice.
Feiqa was kneeling before a boy, perhaps some eleven or twelve years of age. His face was dirty. He was barefoot, and in rags. I assumed he must live in the rooms somewhere. Feiqa a full-grown and beautiful female, but a slave, put down her head and, doing him obeisance, kissed his feet, and fearfully, and humbly He was a free person, and a male.
"Go away, you disgusting child," said Boabissia.
"Be silent, woman," he said.
"I have a good mind to strike you," said Boabissia.
"Lift your head, slut," said the lad to Feiqa.
She obeyed.
He regarded her. "You are a pretty one," he said. "What do you say?' he demanded.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
He then stood close to her and ran his hands through her hair. He then took her collar by the sides in his small fingers and jerked it forward, towards him, against the back of her neck. He then, by the pressure on the collar, forced her head rudely from side to side. He then pressed it up, cruelly, under her chin, forcing her head up. He was exerting his force on her through her slave collar. She would have no doubt it was on her. He did these things, incidentally, with the typical awareness of men who know how to handle women in collars, in such a way as not to injure or threaten the windpipe. Such a thing is never done, unless it is intentional. "A good, solid collar," he said.
"I am pleased that master is pleased," whispered Feiqa, frightened.
"It is on you well, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"What does it mean?" he asked.
"That I am a slave," she said.
"Go away," said Boabissia.
"Oh," said Feiqa.
The lad had put his hands rudely within her tunic and caressed her. Tears sprang to Feiqa's eyes.
"Go away," said Boabissia.
"Are you not grateful, slave?" asked the lad.
"Yes, Master," said Feiqa.
"You may kiss my feet in gratitude, slave," said the lad.
"Yes, Master. Thank you Master," said Feiqa, and put her head down, kissing his feet.
"More lingeringly," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
The lad then turned about. "It is pleasant to master slaves," he said. "Perhaps when I am older, and rich. I shall buy myself one, much like this one, though perhaps younger, nearer my own age."
He then left.
"He lives in the building," said the proprietor. "He, and some of the others, sometimes in gangs, enjoy playing "Capture the Slave Girl."
"I see," I said.
Feiqa, still kneeling, somewhat shaken, adjusted her tunic.
I smiled. I now had an excellent idea what had happened to the lovely, light-haired slave we had seen earlier on a lower landing, she whose tunic was opened and whose hair had been in such disorder. She had been "captured" earlier.
"It is an excellent game," said the proprietor. "It helps them to become men."
Many Gorean games, incidentally, have features which encourage the development of properties regarded as desirable in Gorean youth, such as courage, discipline, and honor. Similarly, some of the games tend to encourage the development of audacity and leadership. Others, like the one referred to by the proprietor, encourage the young man to see the female in terms of her most basic and radical meaning, in the terms of her deepest and true nature, that nature which is most biologically fundamental to her, that nature which is that on the inestimable prize, that of the most desirable prey, the most luscious quarry, that of she who is to be captured and mastered, absolutely, she to whose owning and domination all of nature inclines, and without which the ancient sexual equations of humanity cannot be resolved. Such games, in short, thus, encourage the lad, almost from infancy on, to reality and nature, to manhood and mastery.
MERCENARIES OF GOR

8.  Game of Blades or  Sword Right

"Challenge me," I invited Octantius.
He smiled.
"If you want her," I called to him, "let us do the game of blades."
He slipped the gold, on the strung pouch, the string about his neck, back in his tunic.
"She is naught but a property," I said. "Let her disposition ride then upon the outcome of sword sport."
"I think not," he said.  VAGABONDS OF GOR

9.  the Battles of Oxen

"The Battles of Oxen," cried one of the silver masks, and her cry was taken up by ten and then a hundred others. Soon the stands themselves seemed to ring with the cry. "The Battles of Oxen," cried the women of Tharna. "Let them begin!"
We were thrown on our feet again, and, to my horror, our yokes were fitted with steel horns, eighteen inches in length and pointed like nails.
Andreas, as his yoke was similarly garnished with the deadly projections, spoke to me. "This may be farewell, Warrior," said he. "I hope only that we are not matched."
"I would not kill you," I said. He looked at me strangely. "Nor would I kill you," he said, after a time. "But," he said, "if we are matched and we do not fight, we will both be slain."
"Then so be it," I said.
Andreas smiled at me. "So be it, Warrior," he agreed.
Though yoked, we faced one another, men, each knowing that he had found a friend on the sands of the arena of Tharna.
My opponent was not Andreas, but a squat, powerful man with short-clipped yellow hair, Kron of Tharna, of the Caste of Metal Workers. His eyes were blue like steel. One ear had been torn from his head.
"I have survived the Amusements of Tharna three times," he said as he faced me.
I observed him carefully. He would be a dangerous opponent.
The man with wrist straps circled us with the whip, his eye on the throne of the Tatrix. When the glove of gold once more lifted, the dread conflict would begin.
"Let us be men," I said to my opponent, "and refuse to slay one another for the sport of those in silver masks."
The yellow, short-cropped head glared at me, almost without comprehension. Then it seemed as though what I had said struck, deep within him, some responsive chord. The pale blue eyes glimmered briefly; then they clouded. "We would both be slain," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"Stranger," said he, "I intend to survive the Amusements of Tharna at least once more."
"Very well," I said, and squared off against him.
The hand of the Tatrix must have lifted. I did not see it for I did not care to take my eyes from my opponent. "Begin," said the man in wrist straps.
And so Kron and I began to circle one another, slightly bent so that the projections on the yoke might be used to best advantage.
Once, twice, he charged, but pulled up short, seeing if he could bring me forward, off balance to meet the charge. We moved cautiously, occasionally feinting with the terrible yokes. The stands grew restless. The man in wrist straps cracked his whip. "Let there be blood," he said.
Suddenly the foot of Kron swept through the white perfumed sand, bright with mica and red lead, and kicked a broad sheet of particles toward my eyes. It came like a silver and crimson storm, taking me by surprise, blinding me.
I fell on my knees almost instantly, and the charging horns of Kron passed over me. I reared up under his body, heaving it on my shoulder, backwards, over on the sands. I heard it hit heavily behind me, and heard Kron's grunt of anger, and fear. I couldn't turn and drive the spikes through him because I could not risk missing.
I shook my head wildly; my hands, yoked helplessly, tried vainly to reach my eyes, to tear the blinding particles from my vision. In the sweat and blindness, unsteady under the violently swinging yoke, I heard the squeals of the frenzied crowd.
Blinded I heard Kron regain his feet, lifting the heavy yoke that bound him. I heard his harsh breathing, like the snorting of an animal. I heard his short, quick, running steps in the sand, thudding toward me in a bull-like charge.
I turned my yoke obliquely, slipping between the horns, blocking the blow. It sounded like anvils hurled together. My hands sought his, but he kept his fists clenched and withdrawn as far as he could in the bracelet of the yoke. My hand clutched his withdrawn fist and slipped off, unable to keep its grip from the sweat, his and mine.
Once, twice more he charged, and each time I managed to block the blow, withstanding the shock of the crashing yokes, escaping the thrust of the murderous horns. Once I was not so fortunate and a steel horn furrowed my side, leaving a channel of blood. The crowd screamed in delight.
Suddenly I managed to get my hands under his yoke.
It was hot, like mine in the sun, and my hands burned on the metal. Kron was a heavy, but short man, and I lifted his yoke, and mine, to the astonishment of the stands, which had fallen silent.
Kron cursed as he felt his feet leave the sand. Painfully, as he writhed, hung in the yoke, I carried him to the golden wall, and hurled him against it. The shock to Kron, bound in the yoke, might have killed a lesser man, breaking his neck.
Kron, still a captive of the yoke, now unconscious, slid down the wall, the weight of the yoke tumbling his inert body sideways in the sand. My sweat and the tears from the burning irritation of the sand had now cleared my vision.
I looked up into the glittering mask of the Tatrix. Beside her I saw the silver mask of Dorna the Proud.
"Slay him," said Dorna the Proud, gesturing to the unconscious Kron.
I looked about the stands.
Everywhere I saw the silver masks, and heard the shrill command, "Slay him!" On every side I saw the merciless gesture, the extended right hand, palm turned inwards, the cruel, downward chopping motion. Those who wore the silver masks had risen to their feet, and the force of their cries pressed in on me like knives, the air itself seemed filled with the bedlam of their command, "Slay him!"
I turned and walked slowly to the center of the arena.
I stood there, ankle deep in the sand, covered with sweat and sand, my back open from the lash of the race, my side torn from the driving horn of Kron's yoke. I stood unmoving.
The fury of the stands was uncontrolled.  OUTLAW OF GOR

10.  Earth.  Ice Hockey

There are various forms of ball game enjoyed by the men of Torvaldsland; some use bats, or paddles; in the winter, one such game, quite popular, is played, men running and slipping about, on ice; whether there is any remote connection between this game and ice hockey, I do not know; it is, however, ancient in Torvaldsland; Torvald himself, in the sagas, is said to have been skilled at it. MARAUDERS OF GOR