"No, although his report said that in the Zora region he saw fossils lying on the surface. He traveled alone, light, and fast. He wore complete Krishnan makeup, as did all Terrans working on Krishna then. Being Japanese, he found it easier to play the native than we big-nosed Westerners ever could. I assume that Foltz has read Yamanuchi's report."
Reith mused: "Paleontology's not my line; but it seems to me you fellows often disagree as to how the geological past should be divided up."
"But yes! Centuries ago, the Americans divided the old Carboniferous into the Pennsylvanian and the Mississippian, but some European geologists still cling to the old nomenclature."
"Well, why couldn't we claim something of the sort with the Krishnan—"
"My friend, you are a genius!" Marot did a little dance step. "Let us go back to that taudis of an inn, so that I can go over my papers!"
In their room, Marot spread sketches and diagrams across the floor. "Here," he said, "is a copy of Yamanuchi's sketch of the Zora beds. The strata of the Zorian period dip to the north and disappear beneath those of a much later period. Here is the Zora River, on some maps called the South Branch of the Zigros.
"Now, if we .divide the Zorian exposure into halves, the lower and older would extend from here to the river—unless the normal sequence has been reversed by an overfold or an overthrust fault. In that case, nous sommes foutus. Anyway, I suspect that critical fossils will be found in the lower Zorian, which from an evolutionary point of view somewhat corresponds to our Devonian. What shall we name our new period, the ci-devant Lower Zorian?"
Reith said: "Why not call it the Kharobian, after the Dasht? Otherwise, even if he lets us in to dig, he might make us wait around for the High Priestess to get back, to put us through a theological wringer."
"Magnificent! Flattery conquers all. Today I shall plan my argument, and we will see the Dasht again tomorrow. By the way," said Marot pensively, "as a youth I saw a cinema with a title similar to that of this ranch to which we are going. It was, I think, 'The Mark of Zora,' about a noble swordsman in California, centuries ago, who went about in disguise, carving his initials on the persons of evildoers."
Reith laughed. "That was 'The Mark of Zoro,' not 'Zora.' 'Zorro' is Spanish for 'fox.,' You must have seen the thirtieth remake of that old movie. I saw it, too, back in my school-teaching days."
Marot mused: "As a child I once phantasized about that kind of buckle-swashing. But you would make a better Zorro than I."
Reith shrugged. "Not me! I've been forced into a couple of sword fights on Krishna, and I've managed to avoid being killed. I much prefer to avoid all shedding of blood, especially my own."
When Marot, in halting but adequate Mikardandou, had made his presentation, Dasht Kharob gave the Krishnan equivalent of a smile. "I am gratified by the proposal of you gentlemen from afar," he said. "To have my name preserved in your learned books as that of a whole bygone era! But stay! The True Faith of Bákh avers that Bákh created the universe in three days. Yet you imply that these rocks were formed over many centuries, or ever human history began. How reconcile you this divergence?"
Marot: "My lord, if Bákh be omnipotent, then cannot he make each day as long as he pleases? Equal to hundreds, thousands, or even millions of years?"
Kharob frowned. "I am no theologian. Were Her Holiness here, she would doubtless have somewhat to say on the subject; but I find this talk of millions of years a thing to fuddle the brain. By the way, Bákh is here preferably alluded to as 'it,' being sexless."
"I beg Your Altitude's pardon," said Marot. "I will try to remember."
"Now then," said the Dasht, "I take it you wish a permit, like unto that of Master Foltus, giving you the exclusive right to dig in the Kharobian beds of Chilihagh?"
"Yes, my lord," said Reith and Marot together.
"Very well, Master Rau!" The Dasht spoke to his secretary. "Prepare a permit of the sort described. Gentlemen, if you call upon the morrow, your permit will await you. And now—"
"My lord!" said Reith.
"Aye?"
"Have you heard anything of another Terran, named Surkov, who may have passed through Jeshang before Foltz? A writer by trade?"
"Yea, I recall the wight," said Kharob. "He was bound for the same lieu whither you and your companion are headed. But his motive differed. He spake of how, on Terra, there was once a race called kaoboz, or perhaps kaboiz, who lived by rearing and selling beasts like unto shaihans. Although the true kaoboz no longer rode their plains, herding their kaoz when not slaying one another in feuds, they left behind a rich folklore. Surkov wished to find a place on this world where such a culture still existed, so we sent him to Zora. Beyond that, I know nought."
The next day, Reith and Marot picked up their permit, stamped with the seal of the Dashtate. Kharob said: "Understand, gentlemen, this merely extends my permission. I cannot command the local landowners to let you trespass on their demesnes. You must make your own arrangements with them."
"Who owns the land around Kubyab?" asked Reith.
"The owner of the largest ranch, Zora, is Sainian bad-Jeb. Knowing you have my favor, I think not that he'll make dif-
Acuities. For the others, you can inquire at the tax office or in Kubyab."
Leaving the palace, Reith and Marot decided to wait till they got to Kubyab, the village nearest the fossiliferous beds, before hiring any help. "This Dasht," said Reith, "seems a well-meaning sort but under the thumb of his High Priestess. It was smart of you, about those millions of years equal to a day."
"Thank you, my old one. I was brought up a Catholic, so I can still split a theological hair or two. I do not doubt that this High Priestess has heard of the progress that the Terran religions, especially the Christians and Muslims, are making on Krishna. So she decided to—how do you say—take a leaf from their tree?"
"Take a leaf from their book."
"Ah, yes. So she whipped up her own monotheistic theology and a sacred book full of recondite doctrine. Thus she has elevated Bákh from a mere Krishnan Jupiter or Odin to Sole God. The next step may be the wars of religion. I do not care to be caught in one of those."
"But say," said Reith, "won't Foltz raise holy hell when he learns you've broken his monopoly by a verbal sleight-of-hand?"
Marot shrugged. "Doubtless he will. But I hope by then to have finished my digging and be enroute to Novo with my fossils. So let us get an early start tomorrow!"
III - THE RANCH
A faint orange of dawn appeared through the cracks in the shutters as Reith and Marot began packing for their journey. Then came a timid knock on their bedroom door. As Marot started for the door, Reith held up a cautioning hand.
"Hold it!" he whispered. "On this world, you don't fling open a door to just anybody."
Drawing his dagger halfway, Reith shot back the bolt and pulled the door open a crack. Outside stood a small Krishnan wearing priestly garments.
"Master Reese?" said this one in a stage whisper. "Let me in, pray! I am in peril dire."
The Krishnan appeared unarmed; but then, his voluminous clerical habit of gray kilt and high-buttoned jacket could easily hide a dagger. Reith said over his shoulder in English: "Get your sword, Aristide, just in case." He turned back. "All right, come in. Who are you?"
The little Krishnan ducked a bow. "Nirm bad-O'lán, a humble servant of Yesht."
"Who is Yesht?" asked Marot.
"The old Varasto god of the underworld," Reith replied. Turning back to the priest, he asked: "Are you, then, a priest of Yesht?"
"Aye, my lord. That's wherefore I am in peril."