Mack Reynolds - The Space Barbarians

John suppressed a shudder as, unworthy of a clannsman though the thought might be, he couldn’t help considering what a handful of such weapons could accomplish on a raid. The men from Beyond named themselves explorers, and if John understood the word correctly, they were on a peaceful mission. But suppose they had come in raid? Who could resist them, with such weapons?

There were other aspects. On the face of it, the other-worldlings were far and beyond the Caledonians, whose most advanced vehicle was a simple two wheeled cart. Even John could envision the span between a horse drawn cart and a craft that could cross space.

The light was fading rapidly now, and his exhaustion came upon him, and he could make it no further. He drove his animals to a hidden gully, hobbled them, and threw himself to the heather.

When he awakened, it was well toward noon and he was well refreshed, though he had slept upon the ground with not even a cloak. Thus is youth, especially on Caledonia, where, long since, man and nature had eliminated the unfit.

He retrieved his horses, who had not wandered far in their search for graze, in view of the hobbles, and took up again his ride to Aberdeen.

As he drew nearer to the town, he occasionally spotted others, undoubtedly fellow clannsmen, heading in the same direction. A few herded horses, but most rode dejectedly without.

Alice of the Thompsons had been correct. It had been a raid of raids, and so far as the clannsmen of Aberdeen were concerned they had counted few, if any, coups, killed few of the raiders indeed, and recovered but a fraction of their stolen animals. It was a black day, a day Aberdeen bards would never sing, though most certainly those of Caithness would. He winced to think of the coming Dail, in spite of his own glory.

Closer to the town, he met his friend Don of the Clarks, who, besides the mount he rode, herded another animal before him. It was not a battle steed but an older draft animal, and there was an air of dispirit on the face of the other.

John hailed him, keeping any elation from his voice, for John of the Hawks was maturing rapidly. His own three recaptured steeds were sleek, in their prime, and well trained. Above all, they were not property of related clannsmen, and hence, it was not necessary to return them to former owners. They were enemy horse and hence John’s own, save, of course, the one he rode.

Don asked, “Where did you find them?” He was of John’s own age, and they had grown up together, shared many an experience in common. However, somehow he appeared strangely young now to John. Callow, perhaps.

The other was not a Hawk, so had he willed, John could have lied to him. However, he made a half truth, realizing only now that he hadn’t the slightest idea of what story he would tell the sachem and the war cacique of the Hawks.

He said, “I took them from one of the raiders. All except one fast steed upon which the Thompson hurried off toward Caithness, slightly wounded.”

“Aüi!” Don of the Clarks said in disgust. “If only I had such a story. I spotted not even one. I found this ugly nag straying. The Holy only knows to whom she belongs.”

John nodded. “There will be shame in Aberdeen this day.”

From there on they rode in glum silence.

At the gate, the warder and his men greeted them with compliments, by which John assumed that few indeed were the clannsmen who had done even as well as he.

They turned their mounts and recaptured animals over to youths to be led back to the pastures. Then, after brief farewells, they headed toward their respective longhouses, carrying their horses’ harness and their weapons and coup sticks.

Bemused with both thoughts of the action of the day before and his experience with Alice of the Thompsons, John made the same mistake he had on the previous afternoon. He automatically headed for his own family quarters and the room in which he had been quartered for the greater part of his life, forgetful, for the moment, that the apartment had been turned over to the strangers from Beyond.

He caught himself almost immediately after he entered, though evidently the otherworldlings were not using his chamber, the rest of the apartment being ample for their needs. He turned to leave the room by the door that led to the long hall, but once again he heard voices.

He hesitated. Eavesdropping was beneath the dignity of a clannsman, though there was no definite bann, or even established custom.

However, he told himself in excuse, they were not members of the Clann Hawk, or even of the Aberdeen Phylum. And for that matter, their strangeness was such that they bore looking into.

He pressed his ear to the door that led to the living quarters. As before, the others were obviously alone and once again in full debate. It would seem that these men from the League, as they called it, were as mystified by the institutions of Caledonia as John and his fellow phyletics were by the ways of the men from Beyond.

He decided it was DeRudder’s voice he was hearing. The second in command of the Golden Hind was saying, “And I claim we better get out. Did you hear what their big mucky-muck said at the muster? They’ve got a traditional three days of hospitality for the traveling stranger. All right. What happens after the three days are up? And that’s today, mind you.”

One of the other voices—Harmon’s?—said sneeringly, “What could happen? We’ve awed them. They don’t know what to make of us.”

The skipper’s voice said slowly, “No, we haven’t awed them. They don’t know what to make of us, but we haven’t awed them. You know what they’re busily up to now?” There was no answer to his question, and the skipper went on, “They’re rounding up a raiding party, to replenish their herds of horses.”

DeRudder said, “You mean they’re going to go after this gang that hit them yesterday?”

“No, not at all. One of the war caciques told me that wouldn’t do. The Thompsons, or whatever their name was, would be prepared and ready to defend themselves. So they’re going to attack another town. They’re going to raid somebody else that they haven’t had any trouble with recently.”

“Krishna!” a nervous voice said. “What a people! I’m in favor of getting back to the ship. I wish we’d brought the skimmer with us instead of the groundcraft.”

Harmon said, “I’d like to stick around and see if there isn’t some way of changing their minds on signing over exploitation rights to their mineral resources. We could offer them just about anything. On the face of it, they’re practically poverty stricken so far as commodities are concerned.” The nervous one—Perez, John decided—said, “What would we do with it, if we got it?”

Harmon’s voice said, “Don’t be empty. We’d ditch this so-called exploratory cruise and head for some of the nearest frontier planets, those with early free enterprise type economies. Can you imagine being able to dump an almost limitless amount of platinum onto an open market? And do you realize the scale of living of the really rich on those planets? Why, the Caesars never had it so good.”

The skipper said thoughtfully, “Harmon’s right. Given the concession, we could find means of profiting by it. The problem is getting the concession.”

John of the Hawks was scowling. About half of this, He didn’t understand at all.

It was DeRudder’s turn. He said, “I’m in favor of immediate return to the ship too. We’ve already fouled things up here, in trying to learn what makes them tick. We’ll have to go on to some other town. Some other phylum, as they call it. We’ve got a little background now and can do better. By the way, do you know what phylum means?”

There was no answer, and his voice took over again. “It means tribe, in this connection, if I’m taking it from the Greek correctly. I would say that they’ve got a system of several clanns that make up each phylum. These phyla, in turn, are loosely made up into confederations. From what the old boy said yesterday, there are such confederations all over the planet. He mentioned knowing of twenty-three others.”