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Updated: June 10, 2025
She had been walking for perhaps five minutes when a Sanctioner patrol cruiser sped past her, toward Thark's home. The wind of its passage ruffled her fur as well as her kilt, but they seemed to pay no attention to her, for which she was grateful. Still, it was what she had hoped. If she were obvious enough, the Sanctioners should think she had nothing to hide.
He made a quick scan to locate the weapon's operator and any backup, finding to his relief that there was none. A swift thrust of darlas, and the cannon was no longer a threat, its operator dead. It was the first death at Thark's own hands . . . but it was not the only one for long. The defending Palace Guards began to drop as the Seniors used viewscreen images to pick and focus on their targets.
Its ray tanks were charged only with sufficient repulsive energy to lift two ordinary men. The Thark's great weight was anchoring us to our doom. The blacks were nearly upon us. There was not an instant to be lost in hesitation or doubt. I pressed the button far in and locked it.
Sanctioners, however, have only limited Talent, as a rule just telepathy and shields, so they use and are quite familiar with distance weapons. Some have considerable skill, and those are the ones likeliest to be in Thark's group." Greggson frowned. "No unTalented at all? I'd hoped we could supplement our few shielded people with a trained Security team, at least."
"His short-sword?" asked a woman. "What mean you?" "Tan Gama left his short-sword in the Thark's cell," explained the first speaker, "and left us at the runway, to return and get it." "Tan Gama wore no short-sword this night," said the woman. "It was broken in to-day's battle with the Thark, and Tan Gama gave it to me to repair.
I've got to get moving on this mess. Out." The Emperor's image flickered blue, then disappeared. Hobison gave the Ranger a long, silent look before he spoke. "Rebellion, hmm? From the timing, I'd say this Thark's just been waiting for the war to end. That doesn't strike me as typical behavior for a rebel." "Same here," Medart said. "He's not typical at all, from what Losinj told me.
He looked rather tired, she thought, but between the Traiti War and Thark's Crusade, she thought, he had every reason to be fatigued. The one on the left, in Ranger uniform, was Crown Prince Rick Forrest. He didn't look quite as tired, she thought, but there was still strain on his face. "As you were," the Emperor said. The conferees sat, and Davis continued.
Still, she is a danger which must be eliminated.* *Understood, Master. She was a good friend, and most Talented.* Valla had felt the regret in Thark's mental touch, and shared it, but there was no time for emotion now. *This is an unfortunate happening. I will take care of it.* *With your usual efficiency, of course. But not personally. Arrange it.
An involuntary shield, though, however good, was no match for Thark's lifetime of training and experience. Menshikov's face twisted in agony, and he collapsed before he could scream. Thark stared at the crumpled body for several seconds. The man's shield disturbed him more than he cared to admit, even to himself. It should not have existed!
Suddenly a great cry arose from the roofs of the temples; a cry of alarm and warning that, taken up from point to point, ran off to the east and to the west, from temple, court, and rampart, until it sounded as a dim echo in the distance. The great Thark's long-sword leaped from its scabbard; Thuvia shrank shuddering to my side. "What is it?" I asked of the girl.
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