"Perhaps. But when they loose their gullfeathered arrows who will wear the grey Tamaerthan plumage? Your enemies or your friends?" His voice fell.

"Majesty. Ganton, my friend. I know it must be hard."

"Hard," Ganton said. "Hard indeed. Even the Protector fears the Lord Rick and the star weapons. As he should. You were not there, but I was there, when the other starman, Parsons, the renegade, made common cause with Sarakos, and turned those weapons on my armies. Men, horses, all destroyed, and the sounds of thunder everywhere. No one safe. My Captain-General died at my side, and we five furlongs from the battle!

"But it will change," Ganton said. "I will not be in leading strings forever. Listen."

There were more shouts below. Then a rumble. "The gates," Morrone said. "They open the gates, even at this late hour! Who?"

"We must go see," Ganton said. "Race you." He leaped from the window seat and was down half a flight of steps before Morrone could follow.

They raced down the stairs, shouting and laughing.

The Lord Protector was waiting for them at the second landing. His scarred, weatherbeaten face and the plain broadsword hung on his belt contrasted sharply with -the rich blue and scarlet court attire and jeweled chain of office. He was obviously far more at home in the saddle than the throne room.

Ganton caught himself in mid-stride and drew himself to full height, trying to walk carefully and correctly, hoping that Camithon hadn't seen him running. "Sire," Camithon began. By Yatar, I'm for it now, Ganton thought. "Sire, you should not have absented yourself for so long," the Protector said. "You do little honor to the lord and lady of Chelm, after they have so honored your house by bringing forth their first child here."

Once more, Ganton thought. Tell me once more how honored I am, and I will scream curses on your ancestors."My house is honored indeed. But perhaps there were practical reasons as well? If the Lady Tylara bore her child in Chelm, her clansmen in Tamaerthon would be slighted-and if in Tamaerthon, would not the knights and bheromen of Chelm know insult? My house was a convenience to them. And to the realm, of course. To the realm."

Camithon frowned, and the great scar across his face grew dark. For a moment Ganton was afraid. The old warrior was perfectly capable of bending his sovereign over his knee-although, Ganton reassured himself, never in public.

"It's true enough," Ganton insisted.

Camithon nodded. "Aye. Yatar's own truth. But there is such a thing as the right words at the wrong time."

"I heard a disturbance," Ganton said. "I came to see."

"Aye. A starman. Come to see Lord Rick. With a gift."

Camithon didn't have to explain the significance of that.

The walls were thick stone crowned with battlements. The gates were set in massive porticos, and made of heavy wood studded with large iron knobs. The small mounted party was barely through when the gates crashed shut, and they heard the locking bar, a log nearly as big around as a telephone pole, fall into place. Ben Murphy rode on in silence for a moment, then turned to his companion. "Guess it's too late for second thoughts now," he said in English.

In contrast to Murphy, the other man was mounted on a centaur. It didn't look much like the classical centaurs; the upper torso was more apelike than human, while the body itself resembled a moose as much as it did a horse. Its rider looked around through half-closed eyes. "I reckon we could get out of here," he said. He reached forward to stroke the centaur's back. "Dobbin and me've been through a bit on this stupid planet. Don't reckon we'd let these city types stop us."

"Naw," Murphy said. "We'd never make it."

"Hell we couldn't." Lafe Reznick patted the H amp;K battle rifle slung over his shoulder. "Say the word, Ben, and I'll hold 'em off while you break out the one-oh-six."

Murphy snorted. "And what'll you bet they don't have crosshairs on us right now?" He pointed up to the high tower of the castle that dominated the town. A skyrocket rose from the tower's base as he pointed.

"You really think the captain would do that?" Reznick demanded.

Murphy shrugged. "Maybe not. But what about Mason? Or Elliot?"

"Yeah. I forgot about Sergeant Major Elliot," Reznick said. "Guess they all went over when Captain Galloway shot Colonel Parsons. And Elliot's just the man to see we don't get away." He squinted up toward the castle. "Up there-or hell, maybe right over in one of those doorways with a submachine gun."

"He wouldn't even need that," Murphy said. "With those goddam Tamaerthan archers of his, Christ, they could have us stuck over with gullfeathers 'fore you could unsling that H amp;K."

"You do think of the cheerfullest things."

"You say what?" One of the riders drew level with Murphy and threw back her hood. She was quite pretty, and much younger than the two soldiers. "You have afraid?" she asked.

"Naw, I'm not afraid," Reznick said. "Course not, Honey. I wouldn't bring you here if I was afraid."

"I hear afraid," she said. "The mounts know we afraid."

"Just nervous in the service," Murphy said. "To your place, if you please, Lady.

The girl started to say something, but checked herself. She halted to let Murphy and Reznick draw ahead and the three other women catch up to her. Then she began to chatter to them, speaking the native language far too swiftly for Murphy to understand her words.

Murphy and Reznick rode on in silence until they reached the castle gates, which seemed at least as massive as the town portals had been. As they approached, the gates swung open.

"Expectin' us," Murphy said. "Well, here we go." He stood in his stirrups and turned to the group behind him. "No weapons," he said, grinning to himself. I don't speak this local stuff too bad, he thought. Better'n Honeypie speaks English. "No matter what happens, keep your hands off your weapons. You have seen our star weapons. These gentry will be watching us, and their captain has weapons to overpower any you have seen us use."

The women nodded solemnly. The five merchant adventurers behind them looked around uneasily.

"They could get us bloody well killed," Murphy said. "Tell them wives of yours I mean it."

"I already did," Reznick said. "Christ, Ben, there's times I can't believe any of this."

"I know what you mean." He shook his head wryly. "Fightin' in Africa, 'bout to be finished by the Cubans and we get picked up by a goddamn flyin' saucer. And even then it don't make sense. This whole planet, none of it makes sense."

"Except to Captain Galloway."

"Yeah. I guess."

"Hell, Ben, it was you said we ought to come here…"

"You agreed," Murphy reminded him. "I didn't twist your arm." He grinned. "Anyway, I still think it was best. That paper the Cap'n sent us, it said he really did understand things here. He knows why there's people here, and what those saucer critters want, and-"

"And you can believe as much of it as you want to," Reznick said. He paused a moment, then matched Murphy's grin. "And we both sure as hell want to believe a lot of it."

"Yeah. Let's go." He led the way through the open gates.

The courtyard behind the gates smelled of burned gunpowder. It was packed with people. Archers in kilts held them back to make a lane that Murphy's party could ride through. "Like MP's," Murphy said.

"Big deal." Reznick squinted upwards. "Don't look now, but there's a sniper up in the tower over the gate."

"Yeah, I spotted him. Don't matter. There's a dozen of those archer types on the wall up there, too. There's sure as hell only one way to play this now."

The wall ahead of them was taller than the first, and the gateway through it was so narrow they had to go single file. The gate itself was a long maze-like corridor, with two twists barely wide enough for their mounts. Then they came out into an inner court, empty except for half a dozen richly dressed courtiers.