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And again: “You have never told me why! Do you really have no inkling at all of why such care should go into these… these…”

“These murderous half-apes?”

“Or worse.” And I could feel how my mouth was twisted with distaste and dislike…

And he, looking embarrassed, was not looking at me, but away.

“Oh, very well, very well, then! But you cannot possibly be saying, Canopus, that to an outside view, an objective view, yours, Canopus, the inhabitants of Sirius, or some of us, the lower kinds of our Empire, strike you as repulsively as Rohandans strike me?” And, as he did not reply, I cried out: “That cannot be! You do not take into account the efforts that have gone into our Empire. How we have striven and tried and even when we have failed, have tried again! You do not seem to notice the excellence of our Colonial Service, the concern we show for the good of all, or how individual officials sacrifice themselves for their charges! If we made mistakes—and of course we have—we have always tried to right them. Do you not give us any credit for the long periods of prosperity under our rule, least on some planets or for a time? Yes, I know it seems as if there is something deeply rooted in the very nature of things that must work for the overthrowing of everything that is, no matter whether it is good or bad, so that nothing we set up can be trusted to last, but is that the fault of those who try again to… to…”

“To what, Sirius?”

“We are not as bad,” I said stubbornly. “We are not.”

“As?”

“As them, the Rohandans. Or as Shammat.”

“Did I say you were?”

“But as you sat there and I was talking I had such a vision of us, of Sirius, of our greatness, and it seems to me suddenly that all it is—is a mirage. A shadow of greatness. And not very different from what I see when I… no, I am not going to equate us with Shammat. I can’t bear it. I cannot stand… what we are,” I concluded with difficulty.

“But it is not what you will be.”

“So you say, Canopus.”

“And now I want to show you something.” He indicated I should sit on a low seat near to him. I could not help hesitating. It is always risky, too close physical contact between those of different planets. Often enough, I have seen my own proximity badly affect others, even to death. It is one of the first things taught to us of the Colonial Service: “Never go near the inhabitants of another planet without being sure how your differing specifics may interact.” I had not been within touching distance of Klorathy before: had been careful not to be.

THE HORSEMEN

As I sat beside him, I felt the same strain, on the physical level, that I knew on the mental level, when I was endeavouring to follow him beyond my own natural limits. But he took my hand firmly and as he did so said, “Look at that wall, do not let your eyes close.” This I did, and saw on the wall, quite as clearly as one does ordinary vision—but as it were distanced and speeded up, so that what I was seeing was both exactly accurate, a true representation of actual events, and yet encapsulated, and simplified—a series of pictures, or visions, that drew me forward into them so that it was almost as if I was more a part of the events I watched than a spectator of them.

I was looking down at Rohanda, towards the east of the great central landmass, and rather to the north. This was not far from the area where I had met Nasar at the time of my visit to Koshi and where, before that, I had been tossed about the skies during the “events.” This region had been desert for millennia, then had become fertile again as the climate shifted, been deep desert where layers and layers of old cities lay covered, and was now a vast region of grassland. Looking down it was an ocean of grass, broken by mountains and hills where there were some trees. Great rivers crossed it, but it was a dry and harsh place, where a few nomads moved with their horses.

Around the areas of the great inland seas, and all over the plateaux of the southern part of the central landmass. and around the great mountains and on the eastern parts of the landmass, were many different cultures and social groupings infinitely complex and various and rich, and at every conceivable level of civilisation.

And as I watched, these little scattered groups of nomads multiplied, and covered all the vast plains, and there was a climatic change, and the grasses were replaced, here and there, by dust and drought, and the horsemen burst outward from their heartland to the east, and to the south and to the west and all the points between, and threatened the rich civilisations that bordered them—and then, loaded with booty, fell back and, because the winds were blowing differently and the grasses were covering their plains, stayed where they were bred. Besides, they were weakened by their conquests and, for a while, spoiled.

And again the civilisations on the edges of their enormous grassy homelands flourished and prospered and multiplied—and, as is the way (I was going to say of Rohanda) of our Galaxy, fell, and were overrun by local conquerors and remade themselves… and again the hordes on the grassy plains multiplied and covered them, seeming from the distance at which I was watching, or seemed to be watching, like swarms of insects that darkened everything… and again the winds blew dust instead of rain, and the horsemen massed themselves and then sped outwards east and south and west, and this time went further and threatened more, and despoiled more—and returned home, as before, carrying gold and jewels and garments and swords and shields and weapons of all kinds, and as the grasses grew up again covering all those vastnesses with their soft green or golden shine, they stayed home. But while these spoils of war amused them and even though they fought for them, they remained as they were, people of the horse.

They were very hardy, and brave, and they could live from their herds of horses and needed nothing else for months at a time, and their use of the horse for skill and cleverness has never been equalled, before or after. And the fame of these terrible peoples who could appear without warning at the edge of a valley full of rich farms, or on a city’s walls, covered all the central landmass so that even in the area that Canopus calls the Northwest fringes, which was at the very edge of the landmass, and at that time full of barbaric peoples who were so far from their great ancestors the Adalantalanders that these weren’t even a memory, were a savage fringe to the civilisations that lay to their south—even there, in black forests and swamps and in the misty isles of the extreme northwest, tales of the dreaded horsemen kept children awake when they should have been asleep, and even a rumour of their approach sent peoples running for cover.

Meanwhile, on that area that lies immediately to the east of the Southern Continent I, which had previously been forested and green and fertile, and since had become desert and semidesert, like so much of Rohanda, had arisen a religion, the third of those emanating from the region of the great inland seas, similar to one another, each succeeding one confirming its predecessor—though of course their exponents fought for dominance, claiming superiority. This third variation of the religion created marvellous rich and complex civilisations that tolerated—at least to an extent and as far as is possible for Rohandans—the previous variations and also all kinds of other sects and cults and idea-groupings. There was prosperity, the development of knowledge of cosmic matters, and a precariously maintained peace. I could not have enough of gazing at these pictures of this amazingly intricate and affluent culture. And then, as I watched, the nomad horsemen arose from their breeding places and overwhelmed everything I looked at, but everything, so that nothing was left but smoking cities, charred fields and mounds of the slaughtered. The horsemen chased after every fleeing thing, even domestic animals, and killed them. From the northern half of Southern Continent I to the far east fringes of the main landmass remained only a waste of ruins. I cried out, I came to myself sitting on the Rohandan moon by Klorathy, and I looked at him with passionate appeal and reproach.