The Space Barbarians

Chapter One

John, raid cacique of the Hawks, drew rein and looked into over the valley below. Don of the Clarks came up beside him, and together they contemplated the town. The rest of the troop remained behind awaiting their leader’s command.

“There it is,” John said. “I do not think it is the same one as before, the Golden Hind.”

“No,” Don said. “This one is perhaps larger. Nor, from what we have heard, is it alone. They have landed at least a dozen places on Caledonia. This time, they have come in more force.”

The spaceship they were discussing sat perhaps half a mile from the walls of Nairn.

John raised a hand in signal and proceeded toward the main gate. He said to Don of the Clarks, “The Nairn Phylum is noted for being quick on the trigger. I hope we can approach sufficiently near to explain our mission, before they decimate us.”

Don shrugged and grinned sourly. “We are all volunteers and knew the chances we take. Off hand, I cannot remember hearing of such a case—the clannsmen of one phylum approaching those of another, between the meetings of the Dail. However, it is not against the bann, and The Keepers of the Faith found the correct procedure in the Holy Books.”

“Let us hope the sachems of Nairn have heard of the procedure,” John said. “Frankly, I feel naked without my claidheammor.”

There were sixteen in all, in the little troop, two from each clann of the Aberdeen Phylum. They were weaponless, save for the short skean each wore at his left side. They held their apprehensions from each other, but all felt as naked as their cacique without their swords and carbines. Each had seen the town of Nairn before, but only on raid.

Why they were not fired upon as they neared the gate, John of the Hawks could not imagine. Perhaps it was the slow speed at which they progressed. Perhaps the warder felt that the nearer he allowed them to approach, the more certain was his eventual fire to be complete in its destruction. Perhaps he even hoped to count coup on some of them, rather than kill them outright.

Perhaps various things, but the fact remained, they were not greeted by a blast of carbine fire. John, in front, finally raised a hand in a universal gesture of peaceful intent.

“Clannsmen of Nairn,” he shouted. “We come in honorable peace and are unarmed.”

The heavy wooden gate was closed, and he couldn’t see whence came the answering shout.

“What do you will, Raid Cacique of the Aberdeen Hawks?”

John was mildly surprised. The answer was in keeping with the procedure found by the Aberdeen Keepers of the Faith in the Holy Books. Evidently, the chiefs of Nairn had also been delving in the old volumes. It was quite unprecedented in the memory of living clannsmen.

John shouted, “We come in peace to investigate the rumors of ones who claim to be holy men from Beyond.”

“They enter in peace the preserves of Nairn.” The voice departed from printed procedure now and added, with a stubborn inflection, “But we shall not allow you within the gates.”

John was inwardly amused. There were only sixteen in his band, and unarmed at that. Aberdeen’s reputation as the producer of raiders must be high in Nairn. While here, John must keep his eyes open, with future raids on the local herds in mind.

A small door, set within the gate, opened, and an older man issued forth. Surprisingly enough, he wore neither claidheammor nor skean and carried no carbine. Behind him came a dozen more of the Nairn clannsmen, and they, at least, held guns at the ready. The eyes of all were suspicious.

The leader said, “I am Willard, Sachem of the Corcorans and eldest of the sachems of Nairn. What do you will? For surely, though the Holy Books provide for your coming in peace, unarmed, it is a rare thing indeed.”

John said correctly, “May the bards sing your exploits, Willard of the Corcorans. I am John of the Hawks, and this is Don, Sagamore of the Clarks.” He didn’t introduce the balance of his troop, who sat their horses in quiet, hiding their nervousness at being thus exposed to armed clannsmen while being weaponless themselves.

Willard of the Corcorans nodded and returned formally, “May the bards sing your praises, Clannsmen of Aberdeen. And what do you will?”

John said, “Ten years ago and more, a craft from Beyond landed on the preserves of Aberdeen, and the occupants were granted the traditional three days of hospitality as travelers. But the strangers were clannless men and knew nothing of our ways. Often, they even violated the bann. They claimed to be explorers from a great confederation of worlds from Beyond, which they called the League. They claimed that they wished Caledonia to join this great League, but they were shameless men, and we were pleased to see them leave in their great ship of space;”

The Nairn Sachem was nodding.

John went on. “And now the rumor spreads throughout the land that the men from Beyond have come again, this time in many ships of space. In but a few days, the meeting of the Loch Dail will take place and all the phyla either in assembly. I, and my troop, have been sent to inquire into the meaning of this new coming, for the rumors are that these clannless ones from Beyond claim to be holy men, and thus the bann is against attacking them in honorable raid. So we have come to confront these from Beyond and hear their tale and then report to the Dail of the Loch confederation.”

The other was nodding again. “It is true, John of the Hawks. And there is great confusion in Nairn, even amongst the bedels and Keepers of the Faith. The newcomers teach a new religion, that of the Avatara of Kalkin, and claim it has swept all other faiths before it, throughout all the worlds settled by humankind.”

John was scowling down at the older man. “Confusion?” he said. “How can there be confusion? Surely, the Keepers of the Faith have stated that the preaching of this new religion is against the bann.”

Willard of the Corcorans said slowly, “Yes. But that was before the coming of the black pox.”

“The black pox!” Don of the Clarks blurted.

There was a stirring in the ranks of John’s clannsmen. It was not deemed safe to be within a quarter mile of a town struck by the pox.

Willard was nodding. “A clannless one evidently brought it from afar. He came to the gates of Nairn, steedless, hungry and in rags, and applied to the Sachem of the Stuarts for position as servant, and, in pity, the sachem took him in. Only later did we find him to be the sole survivor of the far Phylum of Ayr. In justice to him, he knew not that he carried the pox, since he, himself, was seemingly immune to it. Too late was he cut down by the Stuart clannsmen. The black pox was upon us.”

John’s face was drawn.

He turned and snapped to his men, “Ride hard for the hill. I will remain and secure the balance of the information and later shout it to you from a distance, so that you may return to Aberdeen and repeat it to the Dail. But now, get out of here.”

The fourteen clannsmen wheeled their horses.

Don said, “How about you?”

“I will stay. We must have the information. You go. Take over the troop.”

“No. I will remain and share your fate.”

But Willard of the Corcorans was holding up a hand. “There is no need to depart. There is no danger.”

John stared at him. “No danger in the black pox!”

“No more. The guru cured all.”

John’s men had come to a puzzled halt.

Don of the Clarks said, “Who, in the name of the Holy, is the guru, and what do you mean, he cured all? There is no cure for the black pox. Not even the bedels can cure the pox.”

“In the name of the new religion, the guru from the Revelation, the ship from Beyond, cured the black pox by invoking Lord Krishna.” Willard of the Corcorans had defiance in his expression, as though challenging them to refute him. “The proof is here before you.”

He added, “Since then, many of Nairn have taken the soma and entered into the Shrine of Kalkin.”

“Soma?” John said. “What is soma?”

The Nairn Sachem scowled. “I am not sure. I am poorly informed, but tomorrow I myself plan to take it and enter into oneness with Krishna.”

For a long moment John of the Hawks stared down at him. Finally, he said, “May the bards sing your exploits, Willard, Sachem of the Corcorans.” He whirled his horse and snapped to Don of the Clarks, “Let us go to the ship and confront these so-called holy men from Beyond.”

As long years before, when John had approached the exploratory spaceship the Golden Hind, this vessel appeared to prow as they approached. When finally it loomed above them, it seemed in volume at least that of five or six long-houses. Behind him, he could sense the stirring in the ranks of his troop, most of whom had not seen the Golden Hind when it had visited Aberdeen. Made all of shining metal, it was mindshaking to think that this vessel from Beyond could lift itself and travel to the stars and back.

John of the Hawks came to a halt and stared upward. There was a ramp that led to an open entry port.

He had nearly decided to dismount and ascend, when a figure appeared and started down toward them. The first men from Beyond John had met had all been in a strange colorless uniform, rather than wearing the kilts of their respective clanns; indeed, they had confessed to having no clanns. But this solitary otherworldling was attired all in black, as a bedel might dress on Holy days devoted to praise.

When he had reached the ground, he looked up and said, “Welcome to the Revelation, John of the Hawks.”

John looked at him emptily. “You are unarmed, Mister of the Harmons, as am I. But perhaps you forget that I carry the bloodfeud with you.”

The other, a man of approximately John’s own years, twisted his mouth in sour amusement. He held his hands out to either side. “I am always unarmed, John of the Hawks. You see, I have entered the Shrine of Kalkin as an acolyte.”

“You mean you are a bedel?”

“Not exactly.”

“You are one of the supposed holy men who spread a new religion other than that taught by the Keepers of the Faith?”

The other nodded. “That is correct. I am now skipper of the Revelation. All members of the crew also follow the footsteps of Krishna. None are armed.”

Don of the Clarks said, “And so are protected by the bann.” He grunted. “I suspect you cozen us, Skipper of the Harmons.”

Harmon looked at him in amusement. “They’re your customs and taboos, not mine. I, and the others of the Revelation, have come with the message of Krishna and to bring you to the Shrine of Kalkin.”

John looked at him for a long moment more before saying, “Very well. We have been sent to secure information of this new faith and of your purpose here on Caledonia. Tell us more of… of Krishna and your so-called shrine.”

Harmon raised his eyebrows, and there was a mocking quality in his eyes. “But I am only an acolyte and not fit to spread the word.

— Don of the Claries scowled. “You talk in circles, man from Beyond.”

But a new figure had come to the entry port and now slowly began the descent of the ramp. He was an older man, bald of head and with a great calm dignity in his every motion. He wore a robe of orange, an unprecedented dress as far as John and the other clannsmen were concerned, and there were sandals upon his feet.

When he had reached their level, Harmon made a respectful obeisance to him, then turned to the Caledonians and said, “This is Mark, Guru of the Shrine of Kalkin, our leader and teacher.”

John nodded courteously. “I am John of the Hawks,” he said. “I assume you are a bedel who teaches this new faith that is against the bann.”

“There is only one bann, my son. ‘Thou shall not harm.’ This Lord Krishna has revealed to us.”

Don snorted, “There are many banns, and obviously there have always been many banns and will continue to be. Otherwise… why, otherwise, there would soon be no living clannsmen on all Caledonia.”

“No more, my son. And when you have taken your soma and have entered into the Shrine of Kalkin and are one with Lord Krishna, then you, too, will harm no more.”

“What is this soma?” John demanded.

The guru said gently, “Many millennia ago, my son, the Lord Vishnu, in his first avatara as Lord Matsya, gave to man the blessing of soma. But man was then incapable of following the way of Krishna, and soma was lost through the centuries. But with the final avatara of Lord Vishnu, that of Kalian, soma was again found by a great guru who deciphered the ancient writings of Mohenjo-Daro, in the Indus valley of Mother Earth.”

“’What does avatara mean?” Don said.

The older man looked at him. “Reincarnation, my son.”

“Who is this Krishna you keep talking about?” John demanded.

The gentle eyes came back to the raid cacique. “The Lord Krishna is the eighth avatara of Vishnu, my son, and our redeemer. It is he that united us all into one in the glory of the Shrine of Kalkin with the holy soma.”

John of the Hawks grimaced in impatience. “Do you mean, before you can understand this new faith, you must take this thing you call soma?”

“Yes, my son.”

“And you have taken it?”

“Yes, my son.”

“I am not your son,” John said impatiently. “We are not even kyn. Have all the people from Beyond taken your soma?”

“No, my son. Not all.” The guru looked at Harmon and frowned slightly. “Not even many of those who follow the path of Krishna.”

Harmon said, “I have yet to feel myself worthy to unite with the Lord Krishna.”

John looked at the Revelation’s skipper. “So you haven’t taken it but recommend that we do.”

Harmon said evenly, “One day I shall, when I feel myself worthy.”

John grunted and looked back at the older man. “Then, what happens after you take soma?”

“Yon become one with Krishna, our redeemer, and follow his teaching the rest of your years until the end of mortal life comes and you are gathered into the bosom of Kalkin.”

“What teaching?”

“Thou shalt do not harm.”

Don snorted.

John said, “Look, Guru of the Marks, it is impossible to go through life without harming someone.”

“Not just someone, my son. Any living thing.”

The Caledonians were staring at him.

“Any living thing ? How can you eat a steak of beef without harming the steer?” one of the clannsmen blurted.

“You cannot, my son. Followers of the path of Lord Krishna eat only of the vegetables of the fields and the fruit of the trees.”

John said, “Look, Guru of the Marks, do you claim that if one takes this soma, he will go through the rest of his life unable to harm any other?”

“He would not wish to harm any other, my son. Once he has taken his soma, he walks in the same path as the Lord Krishna.”

John stared at the older man even as he thought it out. “I don’t believe you,” he said finally.

“You will when, at long last, you have taken your soma, my son.”

John continued to stare at him in frustration. Finally he wheeled his horse and barked, “I want a volunteer.”

Fifteen hands went up.

He ignored them for the moment. “It is of great implication to our whole confederation. It will mean perhaps death, though probably not. It will possibly result in the volunteer being branded a slink and stripped of his clann kilts. You have heard this so-called guru. I want a man to take soma and report his experience. I would do it myself, but I am the leader of this troop and responsible to the Dail for the expedition’s report.”

The hands of the clannsmen remained up, but there was despair in all faces.

John looked them over. He called finally, “Robert of the Fieldings.” The clannsman rode forth, holding his reins in his awkward left hand. Other than his crippled arm and scarred face, he was a beautiful specimen of Caledonian manhood, well over seven feet in stature and carrying sufficient weight to be considered brawny. John had chosen deliberately. Robert had no immediate family—a raiding party had set fire to his hut on the heath where the then herdsman had built outside the Aberdeen walls. His wife and three children had burned, and since then Robert had spent his life on raid, never failing to volunteer for each expedition but thus far having been unable to find honorable death in combat.

John wheeled back to Mark, the guru. “This man will take your soma.”

The older man said, “Each must himself decide, my son.”

John looked at Robert of the Fieldings.

The clannsman said, “I wish to take this soma.” But their were blisters of cold sweat on his broad forehead.

The guru frowned in hesitation.

Harmon said, “Let the dully take it. Why not? Our task is to spread the message of Krishna. He’ll be the first convert in Aberdeen.”

“Very well. Follow me, son Robert.”

John said, “A moment. How long will this take?”

“He will return to you at this hour tomorrow, my son.”

The orange clad guru turned and began to reascend the ramp. Robert hesitated only momentarily before following. Harmon, a faint amusement on his face, brought up the rear. And now John could see two other orange robed figures at the entry to the Revelation. Evidently, this Mark was not the sole guru about the spaceship.

For a moment, John of the Hawks was about to call to Robert of the Fieldings, to recall him to the ranks of his fellow Aberdeen clannsmen. But then he shook his head. They could not return to the assembly of the Dail without full information on this precedent smashing situation.

He turned and said to Don, “We’ll make camp here.”

Don scowled toward Nairn.

John said, “No. They will not raid us. I suspect that many of them have taken this soma. Perhaps there are not enough true clannsmen remaining in the whole phylum to raid us.”

The following day, the small troop drew up again before the ramp of the Revelation, waiting. The entry port was still open, but there was no sign of life.

Don growled, “If we had our weapons, we could raid them. Undoubtedly, there would be much booty inside.”

“Undoubtedly,” John said. “However, it is a difficult position. They are unarmed men who claim to be teachers of religion, and I suspect it would be against the bann to attack them, or even to count coup upon them.”

Don snorted his disgust. “Religion! There is only one religion, and that is the religion of the Holy. Any Keeper of the Faith can tell you that.”

John didn’t answer his friend. There were many ramifications to all this, and he had by no means thought them out to a conclusion that satisfied him.

The troops stirred. Harmon, the self-proclaimed skipper of the spaceship, had appeared at the top of the ramp. Following him was Robert of the Fieldings.

They descended the ramp, and Harmon stood to one side, his expression amused. Robert of the Clann Fielding approached them and stood before John and the others.

And then John of the Hawks lost his characteristic dignity. His eyes bugged, and he rasped, “Where… where is the scar that ran from your ear to your chin?”

There was a strangeness in the face of Robert. It would seem the dour clannsman had lightened several degrees in complexion. There was a glow about his face, a shine in his eyes. He lifted his left arm and touched the side of his face, and all gaped anew.

Don blurted, “Your arm !”

Robert said in an unwonted soft voice, “I have been walking with the Lord Krishna and hence have been cured of all ills.”

Chapter Two

This year the meeting of the Dail was being held in Aberdeen. The plain before the city was a mass of tents, large and small, banner; flying above those which housed the sachems of the various phyla. The markets were in full swing, and feet had trampled the heather to the point where all now was dust, which billowed up as herds of cattle and horses were brought in for the bartering. There were the skirl of music and a continuous shouting, bickering, arguing, the last in particular from the men’s tents, where uisgebeatha was for offer.

In such a tent John of the Hawks found the clannsman for whom he sought.

John stood beside him at the improvised bar and ordered a small dorris of the potent spirits, at first pretending not to notice who was at his left. He sipped his drink, then said, “Ah. May the bards sing your exploits, Will, Sachem of the Thompsons.”

The other turned.

John said, “Perhaps you do not know me.”

Will of the Thompsons said jovially, “I recognize you immediately, John of the Hawks. May the bards sing your exploits.” He laughed his good humor. “Indeed, I assume they have. While you were still but a lad, you counted coup upon me, who was then Raid Cacique of the Thompsons.

John said politely, “The Holy granted me great fortune that day, Will of the Thompsons.”

“He did at that,” the other said. He had obviously already downed more than one of the dorrises that were being doled out by half a dozen barkeeps to the clamoring clannsmen. At this rate, John thought, the hospitality of the Aberdeen hosts of the Dail this year would be strained to the point of not having a drop of uisgebeatha left in town before the assembly was over.

The Thompson Sachem said, “Come, have a dorris with me. John of the Hawks. Perhaps when next we meet, it will be at claidheammor point.”

John took the drink proffered. “Happily,” he said, “that will be unlikely, since you have been raised up to sachem and no longer lead the Clann Thompson as raid cacique.”

The other sighed his regret and tossed his drink back over his palate. “I suppose you are right,” he said. “A sachem’s duties are such that he has little time for raids.”

John cleared his throat and said, “Ah, there is something that I would discuss with you, Will of the Thompsons.”

“Of course.” The sachem was signaling to one of the barkeeps for a refill.

John said, “For many years, at each meeting of the Dail, I have sought the hand of Alice of the Thompsons…”

The other was staring at him in surprise.

John hurried on “At each Dail I have offered a generous brideright, so that I might honorably steal my bride. However-”

Will said indignantly, “You approach me as an individual to discuss a Thompson lass? This is not meet,- John of the Hawks. It is not forbidden by the bann, but itiIs not meet.”

John said hurriedly, “No discourtesy was intended, Will, Sachem of the Thompsons. I… I extend my apologies. I… I will be back.”

He turned quickly and left the tent. He stood for a moment at the entry flap, his eyes darting around the area. He shook his head, not finding him whom he sought.

But finally he made out someone he knew and strode quickly over. “Dewey!” he said. “Have you seen the sachem?”

Dewey of the Hawks was evidently mildly befuddled. He blinked owlishly at his fellow clannsman, “Robert? Robert was here but a moment past. He went… he went over that way.”

John hurried off in the direction indicated and, sure enough, found his clann sachem in discussion with two sagamores of the Clann Davidson. He stood impatiently to one side until noticed.

Robert, Sachem of the Hawks, looked over at him and said, “Yes, John?”

John nodded to the two sagamores, neither of whom were known to him, and murmured quickly, “May the bards sing your exploits.” And then to his chief, “It is a matter of importance, Robert.”

The sagamores excused themselves and wandered off to watch a performance of trick riding.

Robert was frowning slightly, but there was also an almost apologetic something in his eyes. “I assume it is the usual matter of importance that you bring to my attention at each meeting of the Dail, John.”

John said hurriedly, “Robert, there is a new Sachem of the Thompsons this year. Will, the former raid cacique, has been raised up to the office. Perhaps…”

Robert sighed. “Very well, John. I shall approach him and represent you. However—”

John said quickly, “He is over here in the tent.” He began to lead the way, his hand on the other’s arm, urgently. “He is in good mood. Perhaps… perhaps this time. Robert, offer him twenty horses, twenty cattle.”

Robert looked at him in irritation. “You do not have twenty horses, John.”

John said, “Don of the Claries is indebted to me. He will loan me the balance.”

Robert was scowling unhappily. “I realize that you have twice saved the Clark clannsman’s life in raid, but he is a fellow phyletic. One does not take reward for such action when the other is a phyletic. It is not against the bann, but it is not seemly.”

John sighed impatience and despair. “He is my blood companion. We are not kyn, but we have taken the oath of comradeship. All that is mine is his, and vice versa.”

Robert grunted sourly. “The proof is there before us that he has the worst of the bargain, since you evidently won’t have anything in short order. Twenty horses! Two would be generous.” He added gruffly. “Don’t the Thompsons steal enough of our horses and cattle in their raids, that you have to offer them forty head, in all, in return for a lass? What is wrong with an Aberdeen lass? Why not have me approach the sachem of the Clarks or Fieldings? For two horses you could steal any girl in Aberdeen, you who are Raid Cacique of the Hawks before you have thirty years.”

John shut his eyes in despair but said nothing and still hurried his chief along.

They entered the tent, and John whispered, “There, up against the bar.” He dropped behind and let the sachem precede him.

Robert, Sachem Of the Hawks, approached Will, Sachem (it the Thompsons, and said, “May the bards sing your exploits, Will of the Thompsons.”

The other nodded. “And yours, Sachem of the Hawks.”

“I would have a word with you.”

John hurried over to the other side of the extensive tent and jerked his head at four Hawk clannsmen seated at a table. They looked up at him in half-drunken irritation.

He said urgently, “The two sachems wish to confer. Robert speaks in my behalf.”

The story was one with which his fellow clannsmen were familiar. Two of them looked at him in commiseration as they came to their feet. The other two, further gone in their cups, merely stumbled away, heading for the bar and alcoholic oblivion.

The two sachems took chairs, and John stood anxiously to one side, not too near, though still able to hear. They ignored him. It was not against the bann for him to stand there as they talked, but it was mildly unseemly.

Robert said formally, “I say the praises of my clannsman John of the Hawks.”

But Will of the Thompsons raised a hand and shook his head. “I know your plea, but we need go no further. It is an impossible plea.”

Robert said doggedly, “He is a young man, in his prime. Already, the bards have sung his exploits a dozen times and over.”

“I know,” Will said wryly. “One time my name was involved. I was shamed.”

Robert said quickly, “But all was resolved between our clanns at the next meeting of the Dail.”

“I hold no bitterness. It would be against the bann for me to do so. However, the Claim Thompson would never consent to the stealing of Alice by a Hawk.”

“He is already raid cacique of his clann, though still a comparative youth. He is highly regarded by the Keepers of the Faith and the bedels, since six times he has counted coup, rather than shed the blood. He offers twenty horses, twenty head of cattle.”

“Twenty!” Will blurted, taken aback.

The other nodded in disgust. “Given the opportunity, he would undoubtedly strip the clann of its little wealth for this single lass.”

Will of the Thompsons looked over at the obviously miserable John but still shook his head. “I myself would be in favor, honorable Sachem of the Hawks. However, though I am sachem and my voice is respected in our clann musters, as you know, my vote is but one, and the great majority of the Thompsons, who have suffered much down through the years, have refused to become kyn to the Hawks through marriage. True kyn, we would not be of course, but still kyn through marriage. The Thompsons refuse to consider that one of theirs would produce Hawk clannsmen who would one day raid their herds and kill their clannsmen.”

His voice slightly huffy, Robert said, “At each Dail, the deeds of violence of the year are wiped out by honorable consultation and balancing of accounts between the sachems. Why else should there be such an office as sachem? Since the misty years, indeed since the coming of the Holy Inverness Ark, the Keepers of the Faith have thus secured us. If such were not the bann, the vendettas would soon accumulate to such degree that all Caledonia would be depopulated. How is it, then, that the Clann Thompson refuses an honorable offer to have one of its unwed lasses stolen by a clannsman of the Hawks?”

There was an apologetic aspect in the other’s face as he looked over at the anxious young clannsman in question, but he continued to shake his head. “It is not against the bann,” he said stubbornly. “Although all accounts are now balanced and we carry no blood feud with you, it is still up to us to decide, and the vote has been against it.”

Robert snapped, “And the lass? I understand she is still unwed, though very comely. Why is it that the lass has not shown her preference for some clannsman of your Phylum of Caithness? Could it be that she wishes to be stolen by John?”

Will looked at him coldly. “Do you think us so shameless in Caithness that we allow a lass to make such decisions?”

“It is not a matter of being shameless. As all men know, though the full membership of a clann must needs decide by vote to whom a lass will become bride, still the lass is invariably consulted and her wishes almost always abided.

Will took a deep breath. “I am sorry for John of the Hawks and bear him no ill will, but the Clann Thompson refuses to allow him to steal Alice for his bride.”

Robert glowered at him in frustration. Finally he said, “As sachem, undoubtedly you are also a Keeper of the Faith. I ask that you look into the Holy books. All that is there, all about the holy chromosomes, the sacred nature of which has been lost to us since the misty years, urges that the clanns mix their blood. So it is that Hawk cannot marry Hawk, nor Thompson marry Thompson. Although it is not against the bann to marry within the phylum, so long as you steal your bride from another clann, still the Holy books urge that brides be stolen from other towns, so that the blood be even more widely mixed. Such is the teaching of the chromosomes, although we know not what chromosomes may be.”

Will sighed, shook his head and came to his feet. “May the bards sing your exploits, Robert of the Hawks. However, it is impossible. There is not a family in the Clann Thompson but has lost close kyn to the raiding Hawks. Too much violence has transpired between us. And now, with all respect to the Sachem of the Hawks”—he looked over at John—“and to its raid cacique, I will repair to the bar and continue to enjoy the hospitality of Aberdeen.”

He turned his back and walked away.

Robert got up, approached John and put a hand on his shoulder. “I tried.”

John nodded. He turned away and left the tent.

He knew where to find her. The women of the Phylum of Caithness were famed for their handwoven textiles and, at each meeting of the Dail, erected several booths for bartering.

Alice of the Thompsons must have seen him approaching even before he spotted her, since when he came up her face was already slightly flushed, as became a good lass being looked upon by the man who loved her.

As he came up, she kept her eyes lowered and said, “May I interest you in this kilt material, Clannsman of the Hawks?”

John said, “Ten years, Alice.”

She put down the material and looked up, her own misery a reflection of his. “You appear well, John of the Hawks. The Holy has seen fit to preserve you through the, year since the last Dail, even though now you are a raid cacique and subject to much danger.”

“Yes,” he said. “And you look… well, Alice of the Thompsons.” He held his silence for a long time, merely looking at her. Finally, “I have had Robert, sachem of our clann, speak in my behalf to Will.”

She said nothing but lowered her eyes again to the bolts of material on the improvised counter before them. One of her small hands went out and picked meaninglessly at a thread.

He said, “It was as always before.”

“I know.” Then suddenly, in a rush, “John, why do you not choose a lass of Aberdeen? It is hopeless. My people pride themselves on their sense of revengement. Even the bann does not prevent them from carrying spite beyond the assembly of the Dail.”

He said, “And why do you not choose from among the young clannsmen of Caithness who clamor for the right to steal you as a bride?”

There was no answer, but her flush had reappeared.

A Thompson clannsman approached, his hand negligently on the hilt of his claidheammor, which was uncalled for at this, a meeting of the Dail of the Loch Confederation.

He said, “Do you then speak to an unwed lass of the Thomspons, clannsman of the Hawks?”

John looked at him emptily. “Only in passing, Clannsman,” he said. “No disrespect of the Clann Thompson is intended.” He turned and walked away, Alice looking after his tall, straight figure in misery.

As he went, John heard the voice of one of the older Thompson women tending the booths. She was exclaiming, “But it is ridiculous. Someone has stolen from the bolt of Thompson kilt material! How could it be? The material is useless to any save a Thompson clannsman, and certainly a Thompson could never steal from a fellow clannsman. It is against the bann.”

Another voice said, “You must have mislaid it. As you say, it is useless except to us Thompsons. Besides, stealing at a Dail is unheard of.”

He headed for one of the men’s tents. John of the Hawks was not much of a drinking man, as Caledonian drinking men went, but he could think of nothing else for the immediate moment.

However, the conch sounded then, and a crier went by calling, “The assembly of the Dail convenes! The Dail convenes!”

John reversed his direction and headed for the temporary amphitheaterlike stands where the sachems and caciques were to be seated. His report on the spaceship from Beyond was sure to be early on the schedule, and he would have to be there with Robert of the Fieldings.

On his way he saw Don of the Clarks and said to him from the side of his mouth, “You got it, eh?”

Don grinned at him.

John said, “Nobody spotted you? Nobody at all?”

Don shook his head. “I took no chances. What a cry would have gone up, under the circumstances. The Keepers of the Faith would have howled for my kilts.”

John grunted. He said, “Now the problem is to get someone who will sew them for us. Someone capable of keeping her mouth shut.”

In mild indignation, Don said, “Sally, of course! My wife is a lass who is game for ought. And besides, she knows your woe and is as indebted to you as I am myself. It would be unseemly for her not to offer her services.”

“She will not feel shamed? I would not shame the lass.”

“Certainly not! It is a lark. Besides, no one will ever know.”

“All right,” John said. “And the sooner the better. We would not want some sharp minded Thompson to think out the theft to its obvious conclusion.”

Aberdeen did not possess a hall large enough to seat the assembled sachems and caciques of the Loch Confederation. Few towns in the confederation did. As an alternative, they had built a wooden stand on the heath outside the city walls. A half moon in shape, it reared six tiers of seats in height. Each sachem sat with his caciques, whose number differed in each clann. The office of sachem was permanent, in that the man elected to the position held the office for life, unless removed by majority vote, and upon his death, a new sachem was chosen. A cacique, however, was raised up to his position through deeds of merit or special abilities, and his chieftainship died with him.

As Raid Cacique of the Hawks, John sat with his sachem, Robert, the agricultural cacique, the two caciques of the herds and the hunting cacique. Other clanns numbered more caciques, sometimes having as many as three raid caciques alone. It made no difference in the voting. Each clann had one vote, no matter the size or the number of its representatives to the Dail.

When all were seated, phyla by phyla, Bertram of the Fowlers, eldest of all the bedels, open the meeting by saying the praise to the Holy. When he was through, he left the amphitheater and retreated to the ranks of the bedels and Keepers of the Faith, who stood nearest of all to the assembly of chiefs, even before the sagamores. Beyond the sagamores were the full clannsmen and behind them, the women. Children and clannless ones were not allowed to participate in the Dail.

Thomas of the Polks, eldest of all sachems in the Loch Confederation, came to his feet and walked in dignity to the amphitheater’s center. He looked up at his fellow chiefs.

“If there is no word of protest, the first matter to come before the Dail will be that of the strangers from Beyond. Since their advent was first here in Aberdeen, a decade and more past, I shall turn the rostrum over to Robert of the Hawks, senior sachem of the Aberdeen Phylum, if there is no word of protest.”

He stood a moment in silence. No one spoke. Thomas of the Polks returned to his place on the lowest level of seats.

Robert of the Hawks rose and took the speaker’s stand. He said, “If there is no word of protest, I shall call upon John, Raid Cacique of the Hawks, to address you, since he, of all the clannsmen of Aberdeen, has dealt most with the men from Beyond. If there is no word of protest.”

He held silence for a moment, but no one spoke. Robert of the Hawks returned to his place, and John stepped out.

It was the first time he had ever spoken at the assembly of the Dail, and John of the Hawks was a man of action, not of words. However, he looked up at them, all the most prominent men of the confederation, and said loudly, “I am of the opinion that these men from Beyond must be destroyed.”

A sachem from Dumbarton called, “We do not ask your opinions, John of the Hawks. At least, not at this stage. We want solely facts.”

John flushed and began to retort, but Thomas of the Polks said evenly, “He is correct. Tell us all that has transpired, and then we shall each have our word, they who would speak, and we shall each of us vote upon the course of action. If we reach agreement, then it shall be put to the vote of the total assembly, to ratify or not. Such is the way of the Dail, as each man knows. But now, John of the Hawks, tell us all of the men from Beyond.”

And so he did, in detail, omitting not even such shameful things as the occasions upon which he had eavesdropped upon the strangers. Omitting not even that he had been stripped of his arms and made a woman of by the men from Beyond, who had left so that he had no way of clearing his name and the name of his clann by taking his revengement.

He told everything of his experiences with the men of the exploratory ship Golden Hind and then took up his more recent expedition to the Revelation. There were stirrings of disbelief when he described the strange behavior of the clannsmen of Nairn, particularly those who had consented to tike the soma.

He was interrupted here, which was unseemly but not difficult to comprehend in view of the startling nature of his disclosures.

A sachem of the Edin Phylum called, “But you claim that this guru of the strangers, this self-named holy man, cured all of the black pox. Surely there is no illness on all Caledonia more fearsome than the pox. If such be their powers, why then did you begin your declamation with a demand that they be raided and destroyed? Surely the Holy smiles upon them.”

John answered by turning and shouting to the Hawk contingent of clannsmen. “Robert of the Fieldings!”

Robert came forth and walked toward them. He wore the kilt of a field worker, rather than that of the Fieldings, which was passing strange at an assembly of the Dail. At a Dail, a clannsman was inclined to clothe himself in his proud best. Nor did Robert wear claidheammor or even skean.

He was at his ease as he joined John of the Hawks, even though he was a simple clannsman before the ranking chiefs of his confederation and before the teeming thousands of the adult members, men and women, of the assembly.

He smiled at John and, his voice mild but still carrying, said, “I am no longer Robert of the Fieldings but simply Robert, now that I have joined with the Lord Krishna.”

A shocked hush fell.

John, who had been through it all before, said, “You have renounced your clan and become a clannless one?”

“There are no clanns before the Shrine of Kalkin. All humankind is one great clann. All are my brothers.”

Thomas of the Polks, even his great dignity shaken by the unbelievable, came to his feet and began to speak.

However, he was interrupted by the sounding of the conch and a crier shouting, “Strangers come! It is the men from Beyond!

Chapter Three

The newcomers could not have staged a better entrance had it been rehearsed. The craft, which later they named a skimmer, settled to the ground gently, between the amphitheater stand and the rows of bedels and sagamores.

A sigh went through the great assembly, for all there knew that such a craft could not possibly float through the air, as they witnessed. Obviously, some great power, un-known on all Caledonia, was involved, and these from Beyond controlled powers unbeknown to the holiest bedel or Keeper of the Faith.

Many eyes turned to the ranks of bedels, one for each clann represented at the Dail, But the faces of the bedels were blank; indeed, some went beyond blankness. Their expressions were of despair, for what can a speaker of a faith do when confronted by an obviously greater faith?

The craft came to a halt, and an entry port appeared where there had seemed but a wall of metal. An orange robed figure issued forth, then turned to assist another behind him.

John of the Hawks, standing side by side with Robert, once the most fearsome raider of the Clann Fielding, remained impassionate. He had not expected the others to arrive quite so soon, but he had known that the confrontation was inevitable.

There were four of them in all—the one named Mark, Guru of the Shrine of Krishna; two younger men, similarly robed and shod but obviously of lesser rank in the hierarchy of this new faith; and, last from the craft that flew through the air, the skipper of the spaceship, Harmon.

Bertram of the Fowlers, senior bedel, came now and stood beside John. Perhaps his faith was stronger than that of the rank and file of his colleagues, but in his face, too, was something John of the Hawks was dismayed to see.

The guru, as before, carried an aura of calm dignity that dominated all. He approached now and nodded gently to John of the Hawks.

“My son,” he said, “have you considered as yet and decided to take the soma and enter into the Shrine of Kalkin?”

John looked at him levelly. “Nor will I ever, Guru of the Marks.” He gestured to the seated sachems and caciques. “We are assembled now in the Dail of the Loch Confederation and are even at present discussing how to meet the coming of you from Beyond. I point out that receiving you in peace means eventual ending of all our institutions, even that of our faith.”

The older man spoke gently, and he spoke to all, rather than just to John. “I come from afar in the sky to bring, not to take. All, all of you, will find your eternal peace through following the Lord Krishna to the Shrine of Kalkin.”

Bertram of the Fowlers had regained some of his poise.

Now he said, and his own dignity was considerable, “The Holy Book says,

The guru looked at him quizzically. “What holy book is that, my brother?”

The bedel was surprised. “But there are only four. Holy Books, as surely all men know. Though still there are some who dispute the traditions that before the great fire, on the coming of the Holy Inverness Ark, there were many, many Holy Books which were lost, either in the fire or during the misty years. And some would make ceremony of mourning the loss of the Holy Books no longer possessed by humankind, but some of us find wisdom in:

The guru was not beyond the capability for fine amusement. He smiled now and said, “My brother, there have been many holy books, and all have their element of good, perhaps. However, now, with the final avatara of Lord Vishnu, all faiths must unite into one, and all holy books are of little more than historic interest. Perhaps someday we shall have occasion to discuss some of them, to fill an idle hour. But as I say, they are of little more than passing interest, my brother.”

“I am not your brother, we are not even kyn,” Bertram of the Fowlers said in indignation. “And one must not speak thus about the Holy Books; it is against the bann! And though my eyes, in retreat as my years advance, no longer allow me to contemplate them, so much have I read in the past that they are all but memorized.”

The guru nodded and looked more closely at the other. “Cataracts,” he murmured. Then, “My, brother, as soon as we are established, you must be first to allow Lord Krishna to intervene in your behalf. You shall read again—tomorrow, at the latest.”

The elderly bedel stared at him, his aged mouth working. “You mean… ?”

“Yes,” the guru said simply. He looked about. “As soon as we can be settled in quarters, I shall invoke the Lord Krishna in your behalf immediately.”

Thomas of the Polks was coming forward. He said. “We have not yet voted upon how to receive you, strangers from Beyond. However, you are travelers and hence welcome to a minimum of three days of hospitality, even though the last time your clannsmen visited Aberdeen our hospitality was abused.”

John of the Hawks said to Harmon, who had been standing to one side, his face characteristically sardonic, “When you were here before, Mister of the Harmons, my quarters, in the longhouse of the Hawks, were relinquished to you. Though you are now my bloodfeud foe, it is as the sachem has said—you are travelers and hence eligible for three days of hospitality. If you wish, my quarters are again available.”

Harmon made an amused half bow. He turned, to the Guru. “As good a place as any. I’ll have the men set up your portable clinic, ah, that is, your shrine.”

The guru frowned at him, albeit gently. “A pagoda, my son, does not depend upon surroundings. It is where the heart of the follower of Lord Krishna is.”

“Of course,” Harmon said dryly. He returned to the skimmer.

John turned and left the amphitheater, heading back for the rows of sagamores, the subchiefs.

Don was among them. John jerked his head toward the edge of the assembly, and Don, his eyebrows high in surprise, followed.

“When they were out of earshot of everyone else, Don demanded, “Why in the name of the Holy did you offer that slink your quarters?”

“You’ll see,” John growled. “Long years ago, through accident, I heard much of the plans of these men from Beyond. This time, it will be no accident. We must hurry, because almost surely, when they first enter the quarters, thinking themselves alone, they will discuss their purpose here.”

Even as he strode along beside his blood comrade, Don was both mystified and surprised. He said hesitantly, “Do you mean you plan to spy upon the travelers who have been granted the hospitality of Aberdeen?”

John snorted. “True enough. I would be stripped of my kilts, were the Keepers of the Faith to know. I did it before, long years ago, but then I was but a lad and not a full clannsman, and besides, as I say, it was an accident. However, this situation is more serious than most seem to know, and I sacrifice my honor for the greater need. Not only is Aberdeen at stake, but the whole Loch Confederation. Indeed, all Caledonia.”

Don maintained an unhappy silence.

They reached the Hawk longhouse, entered, and made their way by ladder to the flat roof. As they proceeded, John explained, “I always believed that those from Beyond would return. The explorer ship came first, and they were insufficient in number to achieve what they wished. I prepared for their return—if and when chance brought them again to Aberdeen and the longhouse of the Hawks.”

They had reached the point immediately above his chambers. John knelt, and his hands moved deftly.

“Here,” he said, stretching out on his belly.

Don of the Clarks, still frowning, joined him. There were small holes leading down through the roof, and through these holes the living room of the small apartment below was observable.

They had a wait of perhaps fifteen minutes; then two of the orange clad men from Beyond entered, carrying various equipment. Mark, the guru, entered next, followed by Harmon.

Harmon was saying in amusement, “I see you follow the old adage “Don’t talk with angels, talk with God.’ ”

The guru said, “I don’t believe I understand, my son.”

Harmon chuckled. “Picking out their senior religious figure for your first miracle. Curing that old boy’s eyesight will have them flocking in. It will start with the really bad cases, paralytics and so forth, but before the week is out you’ll have half the town making your soma.”

The guru said, “Down through all history, my son, the spreaders of faith have performed miracles in order to win their followers. Joshua of Nazereth, Mohammed, even Vishnu in his ninth avatara as the Buddha.”

Harmon said, “But the followers of the Lord Krishna, such as yourself, Guru Mark, have a great advantage in miracles. Modern medicine certainly puts you in a position to perform miracles far and beyond those of any of your predecessors.”

John could see the guru’s face, and it expressed surprise. “But my son, it all leads to their taking their soma and becoming one with Lord Krishna.”

“And the ends justify the means, eh?” Harmon laughed again. “I detect a slight Machiavellian quality.”

Don whispered to his companion, “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” John said. “Listen.”

Mark was saying, trouble in his voice. “My son, though you wear the robe of the acolyte, I sometimes wonder at your faith. For instance, when we first embarked upon this missionary expedition to a new world which had as yet not heard the message of the Lord Krishna, I did not know you had other interests than bringing the Shrine of Kalkin to Caledonia.”

Harmon said, “Guru, somebody said once, I forget who, to give unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and unto God that which is God’s. There are many facets to human existence, Only one of which is religion.”

“By far the most important!”

“Of course.” Harmon didn’t bother to keep cynical amusement from his voice. “However, there are other things. The syndicate which I represent is based on one of the new planets where—shall we call it free enterprise?—is still in full force. We are interested in bringing, ah, civilization to Caledonia, so that its minerals can be exploited. So long us this fantastic barbarism continues, we haven’t got a chance. Very good. You have no complaints. It was through us that you were able to mount your missionary expedition. It is through us that you are able to spread your message here. Lord knows—that is, Lord Krishna, of course—you don’t reach many ears elsewhere.”

“There is deep cynicism throughout the League, my son. It is a great sadness that so few will take the soma and follow in the path of Lord Krishna.”

“Well, at least you’re having your big chance on Caledonia.”

One of the other orange robed ones spoke then, his words indistinguishable, and both Harmon and the guru moved out of range of the peep holes being utilized by John of the Hawks and Don of the Clarks.

The two clannsmen looked at each other.

Mystified, Don said, “But what is this soma?”

John shook his head. “Whatever it is, I will go down to black death before taking it. These are shameless, clannless men of evil.

Scowling Don said slowly, “No, not the old one. He is a holy man. Whether this new religion of his is a true religion, I will not say, but he is a holy man.”

John of the Hawks snorted. “He serves evil,” he growled.

Chapter Four

John and Dewey of the Hawks and Don of the Clarks rode hard. Each man was mounted on one war steed and led two more. Periodically, they changed horses.

Largely, they rode in silence, but Don broke it at last.

He said, “It is no time to be leaving Aberdeen, with the strangers there. Bertram, Bedel of the Fowlers, has announced that if this so-called guru can cure his blindness, he will take the soma.”

John said in irritation, “You know it is the only time. We have discussed and discussed, and there is no other time in which we could possibly force the city. Four years and more in planning this has taken. Another year and it might not work.”

Dewey of the Hawks growled, “This year it may not work. The more I think about it, the more I am of the opinion that we all play the fool.”

John didn’t answer him.

“Let’s change horses,” Don said. “Mine becomes jaded. We must preserve them. They must be fresh on the return, since we will have half the Clann Thompson on our trail.”

“We shall have all the Clann Thompson on our trail,” Dewey amended sourly.

Eventually, they reached their destination, a clump of trees overlooking the Caledonian town below. Even though the distance was still considerable, they fell into whispers as they dismounted.

John said, “Where is that confounded chart?”

Dewey brought a large piece of parchment from a saddlebag. “By the Holy, it had better be correct.”

John spread it out on the ground and hunkered down on his heels. “It is correct,” he growled. “It has taken four years to compile, from every source of information we could find.” He traced with a finger. “This is the longhouse of the Thompsons. These, the quarters of unwed lasses who do not live with their families. Here she must be, for she has no family, all having been killed in raid.”

Don of the Clarks said unhappily, “If we’re spotted by warders…”

John was impatient. “For all practical purposes there are no warders. All were at Aberdeen and the Dail.” He looked up at the sky. “Soon it will be dark enough. Listen!” He cocked an ear. “They are beginning to return. Hurry. The kilts.”

He and Don began to strip, as Dewey brought forth clothing from another saddlebag.

Dewey said, “Sally did a good job with the Thompson material. Aüi She must have been embarrassed. And imagine climbing into the kilts of another clann. Have you two no shame?”

Don laughed. “None at all. Give me that.”

They donned the disguises, and the Clark clannsman began to buckle his scabbard back around his waist. But John shook his head and hung his own sword and dagger over the pommel of his saddle.

“Are you daft?” Don blurted. “You mean to go down into Caithness unarmed!”

John of the Hawks brought his coup stick from its saddle sheath and tucked it in his belt. He said, “I cannot shed the blood of my bride’s kyn on the night I steal her. Especially since I steal her without honorable permission.”

Don rolled his eyes upward in supplication. “But I can! For many a year I have raided, and been raided by, the Thompsons. They know me well, and any of their clannsmen that see me in Caithness would—”

“No,” John said. “Besides, we will look less suspicious if we appear unarmed.”

Don silently and unhappily hung his own scabbard over Iris animal’s pommel. He said to Dewey, “When we come back, we’ll come back on the fly. Have all ready.” He took up a coil of rope from behind his saddle.

“I know, I know,” Dewey of the Hawks said. “If you come back. I still say we’re all three daft.”

John had started down the hill. Don followed him, after shooting one last longing glance at his sword and dagger.

They were already out of earshot when Dewey muttered, “There’ll be vendetta after this night. And a full year to go before a meeting of the Dail to reconcile it.”

From the far side of town, John and Don could hear the returning clannsmen entering the main gate, and they hurried. When they reached the wall, relieved that there had been no shout of a warder spotting them, John brought forth the parchment chart.

“Here. This is it,” he whispered, staring upward. This side of the longhouse was blank, being part of the wall defenses of the town.

Don had been carrying his coil of rope, a grapple tied to one end. Now he swung it, tossed the grapple up and onto the roof. The first time it failed to catch and made what seemed a considerable noise when it scratched across the roof and then fell with a clatter back to their feet. John groaned.

Don recoiled the rope, tossed again. It caught. He grinned success at his blood comrade and, without a word, started up the rope, hand over hand, his feet walking up the wall. When he was at the top, he looked about quickly, then turned and gestured for John. John followed him up the line.

On the roof, they checked their map again. “This way,” John whispered. “Over there should be the entry nearest to the quarters of the unwed lasses.”

“I know the way by heart,” Don muttered. They approached the roof entry and were relieved to find it open and a ladder in place. The nights were hot this time of year, and the occupants of the longhouse took full advantage of any breath of air that could be induced to enter their community home.

They descended quietly, reached the hall below and took a brief pause to orient themselves. The building was all but Identical to their own longhouses back in Aberdeen, so the problem was inconsiderable. “This way,” John whispered.

They found the area they sought. John of the Hawks took a breath and reached for the latch.

A voice said, “Where in the name of the Holy are you two going?” on whirled. A Thompson clannsman had stepped into the corridor from a room behind them. Even as the newcomer’s eyes began to widen, Don came in fast. His fist lashed out into the other’s belly. The Thompson doubled forward, his mouth trying to open in shout.

John stepped in close and slugged him mercilessly on the side of the head. The man collapsed. Don caught him, his eyes darting up and down the corridor.

“What’ll we do with him?”

“Back into the room he just came from,” John snapped. “And say praises to the Holy that there’s no one else in there.” He took a quick step to the door through which the enemy clannsman had stepped and threw it open. The room was empty. A small room, evidently some sort of storage area.

Don dragged the Thompson into the room and let him slump to the floor. He took his coup stick from his belt and looked down at the fallen clannsman.

He scowled and said, “Can you count coup on a man who is unconscious?”

John thought about it. “I don’t know. I have never heard of such a matter. However, he wasn’t unconscious when he first confronted us. And he is armed.”

“It will have to be left to the Keepers of the Faith,” Don said. He brought” his coup stick from his belt and tapped the Thompson, saying, “I count coup.”

John shrugged and brought forth his own coup stick. “I count second coup.”

They stuck their coup sticks back in their belts and left the room again, after checking the unconscious one. He looked as though he would be out for quite a time.

They returned to the quarters of the unmarried females of the Clann Thompson, and again John took the latch in hand. They pushed in and ran immediately into the presence of a girl who most certainly couldn’t have been more than sixteen years of age.

Her eyes widened, as she opened her mouth to scream. Don grabbed her as gently as possible and stuck a hand over her mouth. John closed the door behind them.

“What’ll I do with her?” Don demanded. “Aüi! She bit me!”

“Into one of the bedrooms,” John snapped. “We’ll tear up some bedclothes and bind her. Quick. They’ll all be returning. There could be more, any minute.”

They dragged the struggling Thompson lass into a nearby bedroom, gagged and bound her with torn bedsheets, then returned to the anteroom.

Don said unhappily, “For all we know, your lass will be the last to come. Perhaps she won’t come at all. Possibly she works in the community kitchen. Who knows? Perhaps she has duties elsewhere.”

“She’ll come,” John said.

However, two more innocents turned up before Alice of the Thompsons. And each was treated in similar wise to the first.

Don muttered, “We can’t tie up the whole Clann Thompson. Besides, we’ve got to get out of here, before the corridors are swarming with clannsmen. I wish I’d never let you talk me out of my claidheammor.”

But then she entered.

Like all the others, her eyes widened in first reaction to the presence of men—albeit in the correct kilts of the Thompsons—in the quarters of the unwed of the clann. But then the second realization came, that these were strangers and not kyn. And then, recognition.

“John!” she gasped. And then, as a good lass must, her had darted for the short skean at her side, and she drew deep breath to scream for her clannsmen.

John grabbed her, growling in despair, “Alice, Alice! I’ve come for you.”

Don caught up some of the torn bed clothing. “All very good, but the lass is no slink, and the proof is there before us. Slip this into her mouth.”

“I can’t gag my bride,” John said in indignation.

“Oh, you can’t? Well, I can!” Don snarled. “She’ll have the whole building down on us!” He deftly gagged the girl. “You take her,” he said. “I’ve been bitten enough this night. Not to speak of being kicked until I’m black-and-blue.”

John took her up and slung her over his shoulder, murmuring apologetically and quite senselessly. Don opened the door, darted looks up and down the corridor.

“Let’s go!” he said. “Fast!”

As quickly as carrying a kicking girl would allow, they started down the corridor toward the ladder. They rounded a corner and ran into the arms of a clannsman in his middle years. Don straightarmed him and kicked him in the side of the head even as he fell. John hurried on with his burden, but Don stopped long enough to grab out his coup stick and strike the man.

“I count coup,” he hissed, before following after his companion.

They reached the ladder by which they had entered the longhouse, and John started up it, one hand holding the girl to his shoulder, the other on the ladder rungs. Alice had let off kicking, at least temporarily, perhaps in fear of causing a fall, but perhaps in subconscious wish that the escapade succeed.

There came a shout of rage from down the corridor.

Don groaned. “Quickly,” he yelled. The fat was now in fire.

They scrambled up the ladder, and John headed for where they had left the grapple and line.

When Don reached the roof he turned, grabbed his coup stick and slashed with it across the face of the Thompson clannsman immediately behind. The other, encumbered with his drawn claidheammor and wishing to evade the ultimate insult, fell backward, taking three or four of his fellows along with him to the floor beneath.

Don half-yelled, half-laughed down at them, even as he hauled up the ladder. “I count coup!” He got out of the way just a split second before a carbine barked from below. He turned and scurried after John and his burden.

Not bothering to utilize the rope, Don grabbed the edge of the roof and swung over. He hesitated a moment, then dropped, hit on his feet, fell backward with a grunt of pain, jumped to his feet again and stared upward into the dark.

“Quickly!” he yelped. “They’ll be on us in moments.”

He could see a shape being lowered down, and when “she was near enough, he grabbed her about the legs. John had tied the rope beneath her armpits.

She began kicking again as soon as he had hold of her, and all his instinct was to clip her one; however, he didn’t want to answer to John, later on, in regard to that.

“Hush!” he snarled. “Are you daft? Do you think this is child’s play? If we are caught this night, John and I will hang in Caithness square before dawn.”

John dropped from above. A carbine barked from somewhere.

They started hurrying up the hill, the girl on her feet now. John had whipped the gag from her mouth. It meant nothing at this stage. The pursuit was on, and all bets were down.

Don hissed at her, “Run, lass. Those carbines cannot distinguish you from us.”

And run she did, John keeping immediately behind her, attempting to shield her body from the slugs that tore the air. She had hiked her skirts up, and now her white legs flashed in the night. Happily for their escape, it was a superlatively dark night by now.

They could hear horses behind them, and John groaned. “Faster, lass,” he called to her.

Don had gone on ahead as rapidly as he could. They heard him shout something to Dewey, and then came the rattle of his harness as he strapped sword and skean about his waist and dragged his carbine from its saddle sheath. He came charging back again.

“Onto the horses,” he yelled. He fired back the way they had come, threw the carbine’s breech, jammed another shell into the gun, fired again.

John was boosting Alice of the Thompsons onto the back of one of the horses. Dewey, in the saddle, was firing and reloading as rapidly as he could throw carbine breech. John’s orders against shedding blood this night were obviously being ignored by his desperate companions.

John vaulted into his own saddle and struck the rump of Alice’s beast sharply. “Let’s go!” he yelled.

Don, shouting the battle halloo of the Clarks, came scrambling up the hill. He leaped into his saddle and hurried after the others, laughing now in full glee.

He called after Dewey, “Wait until the bards sing this at the next muster.”

Dewey, slightly behind John and Alice and still firing back over his shoulder, shouted his own claim’s halloo but made no attempt to answer. They rode hard into the night, and behind them they could hear the pursuit. By this time, the revenge minded Thompsons must have realized that this was but a very small group and not a large raiding party to be approached respectfully.

It was a matter now of whose horses were freshest. Had the Thompson clannsmen taken the time to secure fresh horses, or had they taken up the pursuit on the animals they had just ridden in from Aberdeen? If their horses were fresh, then the four would be overtaken, for in spite of their spare war steeds, it had been a two day ride, with little rest.

Dewey and Don had dropped slightly behind to fight a rear guard action, but now they pulled up closer.

Dewey called, “John!”

John turned in his saddle and looked back. His two companions were behind, but Don’s face was pale, and he reeled in his saddle.

John blurted, “Don!”

Don grinned at him, then grimaced. “I’ve taken a slug in my side,” he said.

Chapter Five

By morning they had shaken the pursuit, at least temporarily, and stopped at a waterhole both for the animals and to inspect Don of the Clarks’ wound.

Alice of the Thompsons, though she avoided the eyes of the obviously lovelorn John, cooperated. It was somewhat unseemly, for her abduction was not quite complete yet, nor would it be until they got her safely back to Aberdeen.

They stretched Don out on a cloak, and with her own stean she cut away his clothing at the point the carbine slug had entered and also where it had emerged. No bone had been shattered, but it was an ugly wound and he was pale, having lost considerable blood during the night’s pounding ride.

Being a clannsman, he allowed himself not even a groan ns she worked on him, but several times he winced involuntarily.

It was no time for feminine shame. She lifted the skirt of her gown and tore a long strip from her undergarment. John and Dewey stood anxiously to the side, staring down at their wounded companion. They had seen carbine hits before, and this one boded no good.

Alice worked deftly. She, too, had seen men torn in combat in the past. Indeed, she had lost all her immediate male kyn in such fray.

Finally she came to her feet. She turned, and for the first time she looked into John’s face. “He should rest,” she said. “And he shouldn’t be moved for a time.”

John of the Hawks shook his head. “For the moment, we have shaken them. But they must have a dozen troops scouring the heath, and we are barely over the line into the preserves of Aberdeen.”

Her voice level, Alice said, “The proof is there before you. He should not be moved. Leave him here with me, and I will await them. I pledge on the honor of the Clann Thompson that he will not be killed but taken into our clann as a servant.”

“And stripped of my kilts and made a clannsless one?” Don snorted. He rolled to one side and struggled to get to his feet. Dewey bent and helped him.

“Tie me to my steed,” Don ground out. “I’ll make it.”

John rode on one side of him, Dewey the other, and they took up the way again to Aberdeen.

As they neared the main gate, they could hear the conch sound.

Dewey groaned, “You forgot to change. You’re still wearing the kilts of the Clann Thompson!”

They were already within carbine range.

Dewey dashed forward, desperately, his hands high above his head. He alone among them wore the kilts of a clanns-man of Aberdeen.

By the time John, Alice and Don had arrived at the gate, the warder and his men had been sufficiently warned to do no more than boggle at them. Never before had they seen proud clannsmen, fellow phyletics, attired in the kilts of another phylum. Never, for that matter, had they seen a bride literally stolen.

But John had no time now for explanations or reflecting in glory, though surely the criers would shout this to the housetops, far into the day.

He snapped, “Don of the Clarks is sore wounded. Hurry him to his bedel.”

Four men untied the wounded clannsman from his saddle and, as gently as ever they could, carried him away. They ignored his shame. Don of the Clarks had long since fainted.

John looked after him for a long moment In dismay but then shook his head. First, he had other duty.

He turned to Alice and said, “Lass, I will take you to be presented to the Sachem of the Clann Hawk.”

She could do nothing but abide by the correct procedure. She followed after him. Phyletics, both male and female, adult and child, watched their progress to the long-house of the Hawks, and largely eyes were wide, and many looked askance.

Word had evidently gone on before them, since when they knocked at the door of the quarters of the sachem, they were immediately bidden to enter, and Robert of the Hawks stood there in his living room. Several of the members of his immediate family were also there, eyes wide, but he dismissed them, a bit curtly.

He ignored Alice and looked John directly in the eye. John failed to quail. “I present Alice of the Thompsons, whom I have honorably stolen to be my bride.”

“Honorably! You have then, without doubt, paid the brideright to her kyn!”

John said doggedly, “It is not against the bann. For long years I approached the Clann Thompson through their sachem at the yearly meetings of the Dail. And always I was refused. I read deep into the Holy Books and all accounts that have come down to us from the misty years and before.”

Robert, Sachem of the Hawks, was interested. “And what did you find there?”

“That in the old days, before the Keepers of the Faith had devised upon the present method of paying brideright, and thus eliminating much shedding of blood, clannsmen were wont to steal their brides at point of claidheammor, and it was not against the bann to do so.”

“But it is against the bann now!”

John looked him in the eye. “No. It is not against the bann. At most it is unseemly and not meet, but it is not against the bann, and I have had great provocation.”

The sachem thought about it. He said finally, “I will consult the Keepers of the Faith and the clann bedel and will inform you of our decision later. And now”—he turned to Alice of the Thompsons—“until you have been taken by John as his bride—if that is allowed to happen—you will be a servant lass.” He added, his voice more kindly, “I will take you into my own family, and my wife will make you at home and show you your light duties. Perhaps Hawk has been shamed by your abduction, and you will be returned to your kyn.”

She said evenly, “If I am returned to my kyn, I will be shamed and undoubtedly stripped of my clann position, for I failed to attempt my life upon being stolen.”

His voice was still kindly. “I will mention that aspect to the Keepers of the Faith,” he said. “However, I am sure you were seized by force and hence could not honorably take your own life.”

Alice was a well brought up lass and knew how to conduct herself before a sachem. She said, “I submit to Robert of the Hawks.”

It was unseemly now for John of the Hawks to speak further to her. He saluted his chief and turned to go.

But Robert said, a different tone in his voice, “A moment, John. What transpired? I suspect, if the Keepers of the Faith report that all is well and that the bann has not been broken, that the bards will sing this exploit.”

Avoiding the eyes of Alice, since her clannsmen had been shamed in the events, John said, “As soon as the Dail had adjourned, I, with Dewey of the Hawks and Don of the Clarks, rode by back routes to Caithness. While Dewey guarded the horses, Don and I scaled the walls and—”

“You entered Caithness!”

“Yes. And hid ourselves in the quarters of Alice of the Thompsons until she appeared. We then seized her and made our escape, Don of the Clarks counting coup upon three of her kyn and I counting second coup on one.”

“Counting coup at such a time! How many, then, did you find it necessary to kill? Aüi, the vendetta will rage this year. I must triple the guard on the herds before the day is out.”

John said, “We spilled no blood, thinking it not meet under the circumstances. At least we spilled none in Caithness, though perhaps Dewey and Don did whilst covering our retreat.”

Robert stared at him, though he himself had long been a man of action. He said, “The bards will certainly long sing this exploit. I have never heard, in their oldest praise, of such an event.”

John said, “With your permission, Robert, I shall now go to Don of the Clarks, who was badly wounded in the fray.”

“Aüi, lad, hurry. I know how close you are.” Robert turned to Alice. “Come now, and I will present you to my good wife. You have no fear in this longhouse, Alice of the Thompsons.”

“I have no fear,” she said, and let her eyes follow John as he left, which was slightly unseemly but only amused Robert of the Hawks, who was himself married to a lass of Caithness, though not a Thompson. Perhaps his wife was acquainted with Alice…

John stared down at Don of the Clarks, who was sprawled on a cot in his quarters in the Clark longhouse. The bedel was there, as was Sally, but the two young children had been hustled from the room.

Don’s face was flushed and had a thin, drawn look that was bad.

The bedel said, “I fear the fleshrot.”

Sally held the back of her right hand to her mouth.

John said, “It is too early to know that.” There was accusation in his tone.

The bedel shook his head. He was an old man, well versed in medicine. At least, as well versed as any in Aberdeen. “I am not sure, but I fear. The wound should have been cleaned more promptly and better, and the spider dust should have been applied.”

We had no time even to boil water. The Thompsons were in pursuit.”

The bedel shrugged.

Don got out, “It is not important. I will be up and around before the day is through. The Thompsons do not dispose of Don of the Clarks quite so easily.”

John reached down and mussed the other’s hair fondly. “That they don’t, Don,” he murmured. “I promise that.”

Don fell into a sleep, and John, not wishing to leave him, drew to one side of the room with the bedel, while Sally sat at her husband’s side. She was a slight girl and now infinitely worried, as she had occasion to be; one seldom recovered from the fleshrot.

John of the Hawks whispered, “What has happened with the strangers since we have been gone?”

The bedel scowled. “Bertram of the Fowlers took the soma.”

“And?”

“And within twenty-four hours his sight has become that of a twenty-five year old clannsman.”

John sucked in air—not that he was greatly surprised.

The bedel said, “Nor is that all. The gnawing pain in his belly is gone. For the first time in long months, it is gone. The guru used some mystic term ‘cancer,’ which not even we bedels and Keepers of the Faith understand. But whatever, the pain is gone.”

“And what else has occurred?” John of the Hawks could sense what was coming, but he must know.

“Bertram has been cast down from the post of Bedel of the Fowlers, and his kilts have been stripped from him, and he is now a clannless one. However, he cares not, no more than Robert of the Fieldings cares, and he was once the boldest raider of Aberdeen.”

“I know,” John said. “What else?”

“Others take the soma, or say they will, and there is great talk against the strangers amongst the Keepers of the Faith and the younger clannsmen, though the women and those elderly enough to feel the burdens of age and sickness speak largely for them.”

John thought about it. “And what do the younger men wish to do with the men from Beyond?”

The bedel said in disgust, “What can be done? Obviously, the guru, at least, is a holy man. He performs miracles.”

“He performs medicine,” John growled. “While we of Caledonia have remained stationary with our banns and our traditions, they have advanced in every direction. The so-called miracles of the guru are simply medicine far in advance of what we know in Aberdeen, or in any phylum, for that matter.”

The bedel was scowling again. “You sound as though you speak against the bann, clannsman. Let me point out to you that it is beyond a simple war cacique to understand all aspects of the Holy and of the Holy Books. It takes long years of study, long years of contemplation, before one can even begin to interpret the true meaning of the Holy Books. I cite a simple example, the first verse from one of the four.

“Now then, lad, it is commonly understood that a stag was an animal of the chase, on one of the worlds Beyond. But tell me, what is a moon, and how does it dance? And above all, what is a Monan’s rill? And these are but simple problems that we bedels and Keepers of the Faith must dwell upon.”

“I don’t know,” John said. “But it is I who wish to preserve the old ways. These so-called holy men will destroy all, and it will result in clannless men such as this Mister of the Harmons stripping us of the products of our lands.”

The bedel said, “Why do you think all this? How do you know?”

“I haven’t the time now to reveal, Bedel of the darks; however, I will tell all at the next Aberdeen muster.”

He turned back to Don, who was breathing hard in his sleep, and stared down at his feverish comrade in blood. He turned again to the bedel. “You are sure it is the fleshrot?”

“I am fairly sure.”

Sally closed her eyes and moaned.

John gripped her shoulder and squeezed. “I have promised Don of the Clarks will survive.”

“You promise more than you can deliver, John of the Hawks,” the bedel grumbled.

John of the Hawks went to his own longhouse and to his assigned quarters and banged on the door.

It was opened by one of the expressionless younger orange clad strangers. The two were remarkably colorless. John wondered, in passing, if taking soma did this to a worshiper at the Shrine of Kalkin.

He said, “I wish to talk to Mister of the Harmons.”

“He has returned to the Revelation,” the stranger from Beyond said tonelessly. “Aberdeen is not the only town in which we spread the word of Lord Krishna. There are duties elsewhere.”

John said impatiently, “Then Guru of the Marks.”

“The guru is meditating upon the path of the Lord Krishna.”

The other was a man of no more than six feet, a puny creature compared with John of the Hawks. John, irritation, put a hand on the stranger’s chest and pushed him back and to the side.

“It is a matter of great importance,” he growled. He looked about the room. It was furnished quite differently than it had been when he was in residence. Various shiny metal devices and gadgets were here and there. Grey metal cabinets, holding John knew not what, lined the walls of the chamber. There was a high raised hard bed in the room’s middle, which reminded him strongly of the beds the bedels used when surgery must be performed upon the wounded.

The orange clad stranger began to remonstrate with him, albeit in a gentle voice, but at that moment Mark, the guru, entered from, a back room.

He said, with his usual calm dignity, “Ah, my son. You have come at last to take your soma and follow the footsteps of Lord Krishna?”

“No,” John said. “I have not. I have come to ask you use your medicine to cure my blood companion Don of the Clarks.”

“He is ready, then, to take the soma?”

John’s eyes narrowed. “No, he is not.”

The other said mildly, “Then how can I invoke the Lord Krishna in his behalf?”

John said impatiently, “Guru of the Marks, you use your words in double meaning. I am beginning to suspect that such is the custom of all men of religion. The truth! Is it necessary to take soma for you to cure ills incurable by our bedels?”

The guru looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, “What is wrong with your friend, my son?”

“A carbine slug in his side. We were on a raid against the Thompsons of the Caithness Phylum.”

“Thou shalt not harm, my son. Evil begets evil.”

John snapped, “Nevertheless, the fleshrot has set in, and our bedels are helpless to cure the fleshrot when it is in the body. An arm or a leg, yes. They can amputate. But not in the depths of the body, and this wound is immediately beneath the lung.”

“Gangrene,” the guru murmured unhappily. “How long since the wound was taken?”

“Three days and more.”

“Too long,” the orange clad assistant said. “Only the autohospital in the Revelation could handle him if the flesh has been gangrenous for that long.”

John’s eyes went from one of them to the other. “What is an autohospital?” he demanded.

The assistant looked at the guru, who said, “The Lord Krishna has seen fit, my son, to provide his followers of the path to the Shrine of Kalkin with the means whereby to cure all ills, save those of time. So it is that we who walk with Lord Krishna live lives free of sickness until we are ready to be gathered to the bosom of Kalkin.”

John snapped, “You still talk with double meaning, Guru of the Marks. But this autohospital will free Don of the Clarks of the fleshrot?”

“Yes, my son. But Harmon has returned with the skimmer of the Revelation and is not to return for a week. By that time our work hers in Aberdeen will be through, for the time, and we will proceed to the next town, leaving the good work here to be continued by those who have taken up the path of Krishna.”

Without further words, John of the Hawks turned on his heel and left.

Outside the longhouse he barked orders to several of his clannsmen who were standing about. Two horses were brought up, a litter rigged on one of them.

Dewey said. “What do you propose?”

“The fleshrot has set in. This Guru of the Marks informs me that on the ship from Beyond there is means to cure it. I take Don of the Clarks to Nairn.”

“But it is a three day ride!”

John looked at his kynsman.

Dewey said, “He will be dead before you arrive.”

Chapter Six

John of the Hawks brought his steed to a halt and looked up at the looming spaceship. As before, the ramp was down and the entry open, though no one was in sight He wondered vaguely at the arrogance of the strangers from Beyond. Did they believe themselves immune to raid?

He dismounted and turned to the other horse and its burden. As gently as was possible, he worked at the litter, unbinding the unconscious Don, taking him in arms. There was a nauseating stench of putrefying flesh.

He slung his companion in arms over his left shoulder, so that his right hand could be free, and began the ascent of the ramp.

The ship’s defenses were not as negligent as all that. As he reached the entry port, two of the strangers from Beyond stepped forth. Both were dressed in the clothing of Harmon, the dark garb of the acolyte of the religion of the Shrine of Kalkin. However, neither was of the caliber of the guru or his orange clad assistants. At least, so their expressions suggested.

Nor were their voices exactly the gentle tones of Mark.

One said, “Where do you think you’re going, big boy?”

John came to a halt and said, “I have come to cure the fleshrot in the autohospital told of by Guru of the Marks.”

The second of the strangers wrinkled up his nose. “If you think you’re going to bring that stinking specimen into this ship, you’re more of a dully than you look.”

The other one said, “None of the monks are around, big boy. Go on over to town, there’s a couple of them there. They’ll take care of you.”

John said evenly, “I am not of Nairn. I am of the Hawk Clann of Aberdeen. I have ridden far to reach the auto-hospital, and my comrade is near death.”

“That’s too bad, but you’re not coming into the Revelation. Skipper’s orders. No Caledonians inside the ship, unless the guru personally brings them in.”

The bleakness of the wastelands in his voice, John said, “I take my blood comrade to the autohospital, man from Beyond. I suggest you do not attempt to hinder me.”

The other answered that by darting his hand inside his jerkin. But he reckoned without the abilities of the most celebrated war cacique of Aberdeen. His handgun had hardly cleared his clothing before he felt the sharp sting of the skean bite deep into his side, then rip toward his belly. All turned black, even as he caved forward.

His dagger free again, John of the Hawks turned to the other, the bleakness in his eyes now. “You will lead us to the autohospital, man from Beyond, or you will share the fate of your fellow.”

The other was obviously a slink, John of the Hawks realized. His whiteness of face proclaimed that. He turned and started down the metal corridor, his shoulders held in such wise that he was obviously afraid of having the clannsman behind him, expecting momentarily to feel the skean in his back. John sneered his contempt and shifted the body of Don of the Clarks slightly, to relieve the cramp of his burden, for his blood comrade was no small man.

The corridor was long and unrelieved by other than periodic doors. They tramped along wordlessly.

At long last they reached a portal somewhat larger than the others, and the spaceman turned, his face surly. “This is the entry to the autohospital,” he said.

“Very well. Lead the way.”

The other shrugged and opened the door and entered, John Immediately behind. The man from Beyond stood to one side.

The room was fairly large, furnished considerably as Mark the guru had furnished John’s living quarters in Aberdeen, that is, with equipment obviously of a medical nature, though not understood by John—with metal files, and medicine chest and all spotlessly sterile.

And in the center of the room, a sardonic twist on his mouth, stood Harmon, a weapon in his hand directed at the belly of the Caledonian.

“Welcome to the Revelation, John of the Hawks,” he said.

John looked at him.

Harmon said, “Did you labor under the illusion that you could force your way into a spaceship without setting off alarms? Are you so empty that you couldn’t guess that every word you’ve spoken since you entered the ship has been picked up?”

John said, “I have brought Don, Sagamore of the Clarks, to be treated in the autohospital, Mister of the Harmons.”

The other spaceman blurted, “He knifed Petersen. I think he’s dead. Give him the flamer, Skipper!”

Harmon said thoughtfully, “I don’t think the guru would approve of that, Jim. Besides, it would dinge up our image with the locals. Remember our bit, thou shalt not harm.”

“But he finished Petersen!”

“In honorable defense,” John said. “He drew his weapon.”

Harmon stepped back and sat down in a chair, his gun still at the ready and his face thoughtful.

“A sagamore, eh?” he said. “That’s kind of a subwar-chief, isn’t it? And you’re raid cacique of your clann, aren’t you, John? It occurs to me that you are two of the top bullyboys of Aberdeen.”

John, ignoring the other’s hand weapon, stepped over to the white sheeted operating table and deposited Don there, making the unconscious clannsman as comfortable as possible. He turned then, back to the Revelation’s captain.

“He is dying,” he said. “Where is the autohospital?”

Harmon nodded toward a door studded with dials, switches, small wheels, meaningless to John of the Hawks. “In there,” he said.

John said, “We must hurry, or he is dead.”

Harmon said musingly, “It would be quite impressive if the two of you returned to Aberdeen as loyal followers of Lord Krishna, wouldn’t it?”

John stared at him.

Harmon jiggled his weapon. “Jim,” he said, “help this overgrown dully put his friend in the autohospital and activate it.”

Jim growled, “He knifed Petersen.”

“Forget about Petersen. Evidently, it’s too late to worry about him now.”

Grumbling, the spaceman opened the indicated door and motioned to John, who took up Don in his arms, as a baby is taken up, and carried him into the small compartment beyond. The interior was only bewildering to him. However, there was another metal bed.

“Take his clothes off,” Jim directed sourly. “Bandages and all.”

He will bleed to death!

“He won’t have time to. The minute we step out of here he begins to get blood transfusions.” The other began to throw various switches.

John obeyed orders.

“All right,” the one addressed as Jim said. “Now get on out.”

Back in the room with Harmon, John watched as the spaceman closed the door, isolating Don of the Clarkes.

John said, “What happens now?”

Harmon said, “Over there. Sit down, where I can watch you. Jim, get back to Petersen. If he’s still alive, get one of the other boys and get Petersen into the autohospital. If he isn’t, put him in Disposal and get back to your watch. We’re short handed with so many out spreading the good word of Lord Krishna.”

Jim left, and John of the Hawks seated himself as directed, keeping his eyes on Harmon.

Harmon jiggled his gun again in an amused fashion and smiled mockingly at the clannsman. “What happens now? We wait about an hour or so, and then your buddy buddy comes out all whole again. And then the two of you take your soma and return to Aberdeen to set a good example. Six months from now, oh, perhaps a year, and you’ll both be working in the new mines, all civilized, along with everybody else on Caledonia.”

“What is this civilized?” John said. Inwardly, he quailed, but he would have been shamed to have the other see it. He knew the power of the other’s weapon. It was what DeRudder had once called a flamer. But it was not the gun that caused him to feel a slink, but the other’s threat to make both him and Don take the dreaded soma.

“Civilized?” Harmon said, a cynical grin on his face. “You wouldn’t know, would you? We’ve got time to kill, John of the Hawks, so I’ll tell you a story. It’s a story about you. You and the rest of Caledonia. I think I’ve got it reconstructed fairly well. Krishna knows, it’s taken me the better part of the past ten years to trace it down. It started some centuries ago, when one of the early colonist ships, the Inverness Ark, was thrown out of warp and wound up here, far, far from where it was headed. The ship crashed, and it must have been one dilly of a crackup, since evidently things were destroyed to the point where they only rescued four books.”

“The four Holy Books, you mean?” John said.

Harmon laughed. “A volume of quatrains by an ancient Persian, an epic poem by a British romantic period writer named Scott, Ancient Society, an early work on American ethnology, and a volume by H. J. Muller on genetics. Holy Books! What a combination upon which to base a whole culture!”

John didn’t understand the amusement, but he said, “Go on with the story, Mister of the Harmons.”

“Of course. Practically everything must have been lost, and in the attempt to survive, a tribal culture based strongly on ritual and taboo evolved. The earliest of the Caledonians—that name, and other names you use, bear out the fact that most of the colonists were Scottish—must have understood your books well enough to take steps to strengthen your bloodlines by diffusing the genes as universally as possible. They adopted a gens system, based on Morgan’s anthropological work among the Amerinds.”

John, scowling and getting only a portion of the other’s meaning, said, “You mean the holy man, Lewis of the Morgans?”

Harmon laughed. “Is that what you call him? At any rate, the steps taken to preserve the colonists from interbreeding resulted in your society becoming ossified. You’re at about the same stage of development as the Iroquois, although you’ve got a few things, such as gunpowder and the working of metals, that they hadn’t.”

The skipper of the Revelation yawned. “However, that’ll all end now. We’ll bring you out of barbarism and into civilization in one generation. The last generation, in fact. After that, Caledonia will have to be colonized all over again, soma being soma.”

John said, “What is this soma that you intend to force us to take?”

Harmon jiggled his gun again. “Soma, my friend, is the most notable of the psychedelics, or hallucinogens, if you will.” He pointed with his gun. “Over there, on the table.”

John looked. On the small table indicated were two of what looked to be tablets of sugar.

“I got them out for you and your brawny friend,” Harmon said in mock agreeableness.

“What is a hallucinogen?” John said.

“Well, it’s a long and interesting story,” Harmon said. “Man’s history does not go back far enough to give the origins. Indeed, some scholars, such as the early Englishman Robert Graves, explored the idea that the raw mushroom amanita muscaria was the so-called ambrosia of the worshipers of Dionysus and that the Eleusinian, Orphic and other mysteries associated with Dionysus were all based on eating this early hallucinogen. Indeed, the eating of the mushroom psilocybe by the Masatec Indians of Oaxaca, Mexico, invoking the mushroom god Tlaloc, was very similar. Fascinating subject, don’t you think, John of the Hawks?”

John realized the other was cozening him, but he kept his peace.

“My own belief,” Harmon continued, “is that the guru is correct when he tells us that the soma of the early Indus Valley civilization was a hallucinogen that so affected the people that they could not bring themselves to violence. Thus it was that when the, ah, impetuous Aryans came down from the north they found such towns as Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa without even walls in the way of defense. Archaeologists, in excavating the Indus Valley towns, find much in the way of art and artifacts, practically nothing in the way of weapons. You see, soma then, as now, so affected its takers that they could subscribe only to the, ah, you would call it a bann, ‘thou shalt not harm.’ The tradition of being vegetarians came down well into historic times among the Hindu Indians.”

John said evenly, “I do not understand much of what you say, Mister of the Harmons. I suspect you jest at me and remind you that already we carry the bloodfeud.”

Harmon chuckled. “Another hour or so, my outsized lad, and you will feud never again, neither with me nor anyone else. A great prospect, eh? But to get back to our hallucinogens. One of the earliest was cannabis sativa, known variously as hemp, kif, bhang, hashish, ganja, charas and marihuana in its various forms. A rather mild hallucinogen, as a matter of fact, though the ambitious Hasan-i-Sabbah is said to have put it to profitable use. Ah, it is from his name we derive the term assassin.”

He was obviously enjoying himself. “Then, of course, there was peyote, beloved of the Amerinds but not really to come into its own until mescaline, its active ingredient, was extracted in the laboratory. In fact, the hallucinogens as a whole didn’t achieve to their heights until they were taken up by the scientists, and the whole field of biochemistry was precipitated into a new look at the brain. The real breakthrough took place when a new compound of lysergic acid, derived from a common fungus called ergot, was synthesized. Lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD, if you will.”

John said, “You mock me, Mister of the Harmons, with your unknown words; however, you have still to tell of this soma.”

Harmon jiggled his weapon in amusement. “But that is what I have been telling you, friend John. Soma is king of them all. He who takes soma is cured of all mental ills. He, ah, reaches nirvana while still on this mortal coil, so to speak. All passions are beyond him.”

“All passions?” John was scowling. “You mean that even sex becomes meaningless? The love between man and woman?”

“Exactly. That and all other passions, my bullyboy, as you are soon to discover. But not just sex becomes meaningless, but the desire for, well, say, fame, power, wealth. All things that ordinarily men strive for become meaningless when one has walked with Lord Krishna.”

Inadvertently, John ran a tongue over his dry lips. “That is nonsense. It is but a saying, walking with Krishna.”

Harmon grinned mockingly. “To the contrary. Evidently, when one takes soma he actually, in his hallucinations, thinks he meets and talks and walks with Lord Krishna, who explains all to him.”

“All of what?”

Harmon shrugged. “But how would I know? As yet I have not taken soma. Perhaps when I am an old man, and free of human passions, I will. But for just now, no, thank you. I feel as do most. I can wait awhile.”

John said very evenly, “But if the relationship between man and woman became meaningless, then there would be no succeeding generations.”

Harmon smiled jovially. “Of course, but that is not deemed of importance to the guru and the others who worship at the Shrine of Kalkin. The sooner all are gathered to the bosom of Kalkin and are united in one transcendent, ah, soul, the better.”

There is a great difference between a warrior born and a soldier trained. Harmon, as a younger man, had once taken military training on one of the more backward planets belonging to the League. However, it would not have occurred to him to rush a man who had him covered with a weapon as deadly as a flamer. Nor would he have dreamed that a man as large as John of the Hawks could move so fast.

He jiggled the hand weapon once too often. Momentarily, the muzzle was directed at the ceiling.

The weapon flamed briefly, a pencil of light and heat, but Harmon had not the time to direct it with accuracy. John of the Hawks was upon him—less than gently. A fist the size of a quart container banged upon the side of his head, and he went under into temporary oblivion.

John stared down at him momentarily, then stooped and swept up the gun and stuck it in his belt. He went to the small table upon whose top sat the two soma pills and picked one of them up. He stooped down again and pried open the fallen man’s mouth and popped the pill inside.

“If you choke on that, so much the better.” he growled.

He stood for a moment in thought, then returned to his chair and sat himself again, waiting patiently for Jim or one of the other members of the Revelation’s crew.

They took almost as long to return to Aberdeen as they had taken on the way to the spaceship, since, although Don of the Clarks was healed in body, he was still weak from loss of blood and from his descent so deep into the valley of death.

They talked it out considerably on the way and had reached conclusions by the time they came up to the gates of Aberdeen.

“We have the means now to rally the clannsmen,” John of the Hawks had said. “We shall recommend to the muster that two criers go forth at greatest speed to Caithness and to Dumbarton, one to each, and spread the word of warning. Caithness will send forth, by fastest steed, two criers to give warning to two other towns, and Dumbarton will do the same. And thus, on and on. Each town will warn two more. Within three months, surely every phylum on Caledonia will have had the warning.”

“Aüi,” Don said grimly. “And it will not be too soon, for by that time, how many will have taken this accursed soma?”

“Too many,” John admitted. “But there is naught else we can do.”

“And then what?”

“Then the plans of these otherworldings will be thwarted—for the time, at least.”

Don looked at him questioningly.

John said, “But they will come again. And next time, undoubtedly, in other guise. We must prepare, Don of the Clarks.”

“Prepare? Prepare for what? And how?”

“Some of the old ways must go. No longer is Caledonia unknown to these men from Beyond. They know we are here, and some, at least, yearn for our resources. To repel them we must change many of the old ways.”

Don stared at him. “But that is against the bann!”

John said, “That is one of the institutions that must go.”

When they reached the gates of Aberdeen, John shouted loudly, “As Raid Cacique of the Hawks, I summon the muster for emergency council!”

A crier who had been standing nearby dashed for the town square to sound the conch.

Dewey came riding up, grinning elation. “John! The Keepers of the Faith have ruled! Our raid was not against the bann! I am to be raised to sagamore at the next muster, and it is rumored Don of the Clarks will be made a raid cacique! Your exploits are being sung by the bards!”

“Aüi!” John yelped. He leaped to the ground and threw the reins of his horse to his kynsman. “Here, take the animal. Meet me at the square in but five minutes, for the muster. I go to see Alice of the Thompsons.”

He ran for his longhouse, even as the conch began to sound, summoning the phyletics.

He banged into the great hall of the Clann Hawk and hurried to the door of Robert, the sachem. Without knocking, he dashed in.

She was there, alone, in the living room. And at his entry, looked up, her eyes shining.

He came to her. “Alice!” He put his hands on her shoulders. “The Keepers of the Faith have ruled that you can honorably be my bride.”

There was a serene quality in her face that he didn’t quite understand. He said, “Alice, what’s wrong?”

She said gently, “Nothing is wrong, John of the Hawks. And nothing will ever be wrong for me again. I walk in the path of Lord Krishna.”