Buregarde dropped from the second man's wrist and crouched to spring. The man cowered back, his good arm covering his throat and his other arm hanging limp. He mouthed fright-noises in some tongue native to some star a thousand light-years across the galaxy. Coldly, Peter stepped forward and belted him in the plexus. "Now," he said calmly, "we shall vacate the premises!" They went side by side, facing slightly outward, Buregarde between them and slightly ahead. "We're coming out!" called the dog. "Three Barbarians from Terra!" * * * * * Down on the dark street, they met their mercenary again. He eyed them sourly. "I see you were, in a sense, successful." Peter Hawley faced the mercenary. "We were successful and would you like to make something of it?" "I'm going to have to arrest you, you know." "You'll lose an arm trying!" snapped the dog. "There's murder been committed tonight," said His Excellency's Peacemaker. "The Peace of Xanabar has been disturbed." "Why you chiseling crook, there's been kidnaping tonight, and--" "I'm afraid that I shall have to ask that the young lady produce her passport," said the mercenary. "Otherwise she's in Xanabar Citadel illegally." Buregarde said, "Hit him low, Peter. Here come the boys." "No!" "Just once--for fun?" "No. I want our money-grubbing Peacekeeper to carry a message to His Excellency. I want His Excellency to read some Terrestrial History. Once upon a time there was a place called the Byzantine Empire that laid across the trade routes. The upper crust of people used to serve the Presence of God in a golden throne whilst their underlings dealt in human slaves and procured comely concubines for the emperor; their policemen took bribes and human life was cheap. And when Byzantium fell, all the world was forced to seek a new trade route. So tell His Excellency that he'd better clean up his own foul mess, or some barbarians will clean it up for him." "And that," said Buregarde, "goes for your dad-ratted cat!" [Illustration: FIN]