he blazing day。 The star…man's muteness seemed no handicap at working with others。 His pleasure at being alive affected all those around him； as he taught the others a wordless song to help pass the time。
Two more days； Sara thought； glancing up toward the pass。 We're almost there。
The oasis was named for a nomad warrior who had lived soon after urrish settlement on Jijo； when their numbers were still small； and their planet…bound crafts pitifully crude。 In those olden times； Uryutta fled east from the rich grazing lands of Znunir； where her tribal chiefs had vowed fealty to mighty Gray Queens。 Uryutta led her fellow rebels to this wadi in the vast dry plain； to nurse their wounds and plot a struggle for freedom from qheuen dominance。
Or so went the legend Sara heard that afternoon； after sleeping through the hottest part of the day…a slumber during which she had dreamed vaguely of water； cool and clear； raising a terrible thirst。 She slaked it at the spring； then rejoined the other travelers under the big tent for another meal。
With a few hours still to go before dusk； and a leaden heat still pressing outside； tinkers and pack…handlers gathered around a storyteller； acpanying her recital with foot…stamps and switched braided tails。 Even after gaining books and printing； urs still loved the oral tradition； its extravagance and impromptu variations。 When the bard's chant reached the Battle of Znunir Trading Post； elongated heads swayed together。 Triplet eyes stared past the poet toward times gone by。
So the traitor cavalry scattered
Willing slaves； the cowards were driven
Into the trap Uryutta had fashioned
Tumbling screaming through Deep Stink Crevasse
There to mix sulfurous death smells
With their own dry…pouch； death…fearing rankness。
Listeners hissed contempt for gutless renegades。 Sara pulled out her notebook and took notes on the antiquated storytelling dialect； already devolved from GalTwo； long before humans came。
Then wheeled Uryutta； ready to confront
The dread footmen of gray qheuen matrons
Males in armor； males with weapons
Of sharp…edged hardwood； flashing so brightly
And clattering claws； keen to tear hide；
Poised now to flay us in shreds for their mothers。
This time the urs listeners vented repeated low grunts； marking respect for a tough foe； a sound humans first heard the third generation after arriving； when Earthlings won their own place in the pre…mons chaos。
Now is the time！ Our chief gives the signal。
Bring forth the weapons； tools newly fashioned。
Bring forth the longsticks； e forth you strongbacks。
Stab now to miss； but stab hard below！
Bear now the burden。 Bear it； you strongbacks！
Heave！ Claws a…flashing； over they go！
At first Sara had trouble following the action。 Then she understood Uryutta's bat innovation…using 〃long…sticks；〃 or rods of boo； to tip over the invincible qheuen infantry。 Urrish volunteers served as living fulcrums； braving snapping claws and crushing weight while their fellows heaved； toppling one qheuen after another。
Despite the ecstatic song of vengeful slaughter； Sara knew the historical Uryutta's victories had been shortlived； as qheuens adjusted their tactics。 It took a later breed of heroes…the warrior smiths of Blaze Mountain…to finally drive gray tyrants off the high plains。 And still the queens thwarted the rising mons； until humans brought new…old skills to the art of war。
Not all the urs were celebrating past glories。 The caravan chief and her aides knelt on a peko…skin rug； planning the next trek。 From their gestures over a map； they clearly meant to skip the next oasis and make a hard dash for the foothills by sunrise。
Oh； my aching feet； Sara thought。
The chief raised her conical head； hissing as one human pilgrim neared a tent flap。
〃Got to go；〃 explained Jop； the Dolo tree farmer。
〃What； leaking again？ Are you ill？〃
Jop had spent most of the journey immersed in a copy of the Scroll of Exile； but now he seemed affable。 He laughed。 〃Oh； no。 I jest drank too much lovely spring water。 Time to give it back to Jijo。 That's all。〃
While the flap was briefly up； Sara glimpsed bubbles in the pond again。 Blade was back under； soaking for the next hard march。 Was he also blocking out the storyteller's victory paean over defeated qheuens？
The flap fell； and Sara looked around the pavilion…shelter。
Kurt the Exploser used a pass to draw loopy arcs on sheets of graph paper； growling over his labors； making a papermaker's daughter wince as he crumpled one sheet after another in frustration。 Nearer to Sara； Prity also drew abstract figures； more economically； in a patch of sand。 Pulling at her furry chin； she consulted a topology text Sara had brought from Biblos。
My； what an intellectual caravan； Sara observed sardonically。 A would…be priest； a designer of things that go bang； a geometrical chimpanzee； and a fallen mathematician； all hurrying toward possible destruction。 And that just begins our list of oddities。
Over to the left； the Stranger had set aside his dulcimer to watch Kurt's nephew； young Jomah； play a game of Tower of Haiphong with a red…qheuen salt peddler； a pair of Biblos librarians； and three hoonish pilgrims。 The contest involved moving colored rings over a hexagonal array of posts； stuck in the sand。 The goal was to pile a stack of rings on your Home Post in the right order； largest at the bottom； smallest on top。 In the advanced game； where ring colors and patterns signified traeki attributes； one must wed various traits to form an ideal traeki。
Pzora seemed more entranced by the storyteller than the game。 Sara had never heard of a traeki taking offense at Tower of Haiphong； even though it mimicked their unique mode of reproduction。
〃See here？〃 the boy explained the game to the Stranger。 〃So far I got swamp flippers； a mulching core； two memory rings； a Sniffer； a Thinker； and a Looker。〃
The star…human showed no sign of frustration by Jomah's rapid speech。 He watched the apprentice exploser with an expression of intelligent interest…perhaps he heard Jomah's warbling voice as something like musical notes。
〃I'm hoping for a better base； to let my traeki move around on land。 But Horm…tuwoa snatched a walker torus I had my eye on； so it looks like I'm stuck with flippers。〃
The hoon to the boy's left crooned a low umble of gratification。 You had to think fast； playing Tower of Haiphong。
〃Build me a dream house； oh my dear；
fourteen stories high。
Basement； kitchen； bedroom； bath；
I'll love you till I die。〃
Jomah and the others all stopped what they were doing to stare at the Stranger； who rocked back and laughed。
He's getting better at this； Sara thought。 Still； it seemed eerie whenever the star…man came up with the verse to some song； perfectly apropos to what was going on at the time。
With a glitter in his eye； the Stranger waited till the other players were engrossed once more in their own stacks。 Then he nudged Jomah； covertly pointing out a game piece ready to draw from the reserve box。 The boy stared at the rare torus called Runner； trying so hard to stifle a yelp of joy that he coughed； while the dark alien patted him on the back。
Now how did he know that？ Do they play Tower of Haiphong； among the stars？ She had pictured space…gods doing…well； godlike things。 It was encouraging to think they might use games with simple pieces…hard； durable symbols of life。
Of course； most games are based on there being winners。。。 and losers。
The audience hissed appreciatively as the bard finished her epic and left the low platform to accept her reward； a steaming cup of blood。 Too bad I missed the end； Sara thought。 But she would likely hear it again； if the world lasted beyond this year。
When no one else seemed about to take the stage； several urs stretched and started drifting toward the nearest tent flap； to go outside and check their animals； preparing for tonight's trek。 But they stopped when a fresh volunteer abruptly leaped up； clattering hooves on the dais。 The new storyteller was Ulgor； the tinker who had acpanied Sara