"Yes. Calling those deaths necessary for the good of the race, but preserving really the soft and easily ruled of the race. And an expedition was sent, to point out that Dondromogon really was a colony of Mother Earth. Gederr received the Newcomers with false welcome, and tried to have them assassinated. But reinforcements arrived, and the war goes on--" Again I did not let her finish. "And Gederr has been deceiving his followers, by the line of talk I heard from him! That the Newcomers are not rescuers or dealers of justice, but invaders and destroyers! I remember that, too!" "Do you remember yourself?" she demanded. "Barak, the wonder warrior, who met the enemy by twos and threes, and conquered them like flies, like puffs of wind? Barak, mighty in battle, who offered to fight the whole Council of Dondromogon single-handed? Who led one digging assault after another, and who fell only to a stupid trick?" "I don't remember that last," I confessed. "It is in my mind that I was somewhat rash, and had skill and luck enough to live in spite of my rashness, through several combats." "No time for modesty!" she chided me, and smiled despite the desperation of our plight. "You were a natural engine of warfare, Barak. And once you pursued your retreating adversaries far--too far--until it was Gederr himself who squirted anaesthetic gas upon you and felled you, senseless. Then they gathered around you, like carrion feeders, that whole Council, to see how they could profit best. And Gederr and Elonie, with Sporr's help, made the decision." Her eyes held mine earnestly. "As you began to revive, with your wits still unguarded and baffled, Sporr and Elonie hypnotized you. They both know how to do that--" "I fought off Elonie's hypnotism last night," I remembered. "Because your knowledge of its danger remained in your subconscious. After that, you were placed outside--naked, without memory or knowledge. And a speaking device brought what would sound like a cosmic voice of destiny. After that, all was prepared to draw you into their plot as a tool." I groaned. It had been as simple and raw as all that. "But the legend of Yandro?" I asked. She waved it aside. "Someone named Yandro did exist, in the old days when Dondromogon was not Council-ridden. When he died, it was suggested that he would return again in time of need. Many a time did Gederr inspire some better-than-ordinary fighting man to face you, Barak, by telling him that the soul of Yandro had wakened in him. But when you fell into their hands and they decided to use you, they twisted the legend to suit your coming--even with a picture and your own thumb print to help convince you." She sighed. "Very few had seen your capture. Only Rohbar and the two guards you saw die would recognize you. Those three men, and myself, were in the farce." * * * * *