by Paul Chafe
All warriors must eat.
Ask the experienced, not the learned.
The Fanged God won’t protect a fool.
The victor is not weary at the moment of victory.
Never give advice in a crowd.
Truth only hurts when it should.
Speak truly, but speak with care.
The Fanged God sells knowledge for labor and honor for risk.
Hunt in the cool season for the food you need in the hot.
Battle has no time for sorrow.
Wind comes to everyone, but meat only comes to the hunter.
It’s not the kill, it’s the thrill of the chase.
Good friends are worth the wealth of a world.
Ctervs hide in still water.
A fool will say what he can’t understand.
Brothers fight harder than neighbors.
The Pride is no braver than the Patriarch, no wiser than the Conserver.
Ropes trap fools, puzzles trap the wise.
When a fool quotes proverbs the wise [sentient] listen.
The cunning hunter follows the wind to the sun and doubles his tracks.
The rain rains.
Strakh flows to the noble as the rain to the river.
Strong in cunning does not mean weak in courage.
The meat lies beneath the fur.
Swimmers [fish] never thirst.
Choose your name wisely, then bring it honor.
Greet necessity with enthusiasm.
Sheath pride and bare honor.
He who drinks the wind shall thirst, he who stalks the stream shall starve.
When honor and shame balance on a needle, who holds the needle?
Lead with action, follow with words.
THE HAMMER
A kzintosh is not stronger than a Kdatlyno, not wiser than a Jotok, no more skilled than a Pierin, no more adept than a Whrloo. The honor code is all that separates us from lower animals. To apply the honor code the Conserver must first understand its purpose, that he may serve its goals; second, comprehend its import, that he may well advise his Pride and Patriarch; and third, be without strakh, that he may render dispassionate judgment. There is no more difficult calling than Conserver, and none more worthy.
—Kzin-Conserver-of-the-rule-of-Zrarr-Rrit
In the Citadel’s central courtyard a detachment of rapsar-raider mounted troops formed up to conduct a clearing patrol. The situation on Kzinhome was stable now, or stable enough at any rate. The Citadel itself was at last secure, or at least the Hunter’s Moon had gone around twice since any of the haggard and starving zitalyi holdouts had launched a last suicidal attack from within its walls. Outside the walls…Kchula-Tzaatz paced, worried. Outside the walls there were still attacks. The majority of the kzintzag and all of Lesser Prides of Kzinhome had accepted his rule with the ascension of Scrral-Rrit to the Patriarchy, and the Pride-Patriarchs and Emissaries had all pledged their fealty to the newly ascended Scrral-Rrit; the cowering sthondat was useful to that end at least. The Rrit Fleet was largely gone, fled with the execrated Fleet Commander, perhaps to operate as privateers, perhaps to pledge fealty to some other Great Pride. If they chose to harry Tzaatz supply lines they could be a problem, but so far that problem had not yet arisen. Tzaatz Pride had much strakh right now, and he needed to take advantage of it while he could. The Rrit orbital fortresses were his and, more importantly, the Patriarchal shipyards, and already materials were flowing up-orbit to create his fleet, a fleet to outmatch anything in the Patriarchy. That would take time, but for now no other Great Pride was in a position to attack. His strakh now was such that he could demand much. Eventually that would wear thin, and he would have to bring pressure to bear to achieve his aims, squeeze the results he needed from the planet, but by then rapsar production on Jotok would have made up the horrific losses they’d suffered in the invasion. The zitalyi had fought hard, no question, not just at the Citadel but everywhere. Casualties had been high, among Tzaatz and rapsari alike.
Kchula-Tzaatz stopped pacing and looked back down into the courtyard where the patrol was heading out. No, the pacification of Kzinhome was going as well as could be expected. His anxiety was because of a message he had received that morning, short and to the point. The message was from the Circle of Conservers. Kzin-Conserver was coming.
Kzin-Conserver! A figure so powerful and so distant that he was nearly a legend throughout the Patriarchy. His status rivaled that of the High Priest’s, but where the priesthood concerned themselves with rarefied ritual, the Circle of Conservers concerned themselves with the very practical application of tradition. Ritual could be followed and forgotten with no impact on life. Tradition had to be observed, or at least be seen to be observed, and here even Meerz-Rrit had bowed to Kzin-Conserver. Kchula-Tzaatz was under no illusions as to the traditions he had bent in mounting his attack, despite his care in maintaining at least the appearance of adherence. What if Kzin-Conserver decided that in fact the traditions had been violated? Unconsciously Kchula’s ears laid themselves flat. The thought did not bear thinking.
Already he wondered if perhaps he should have planned the meeting for a venue other than the Patriarch’s Tower. It was necessary to give the title of Patriarch to the cringing coward that Ftzaal-Tzaatz had so effectively turned into a traitor. It was not necessary to yield the perks of the station, and so he had taken over the Patriarch’s quarters. Already he was making changes. Meerz-Rrit’s taste had been surprisingly spartan for one of unlimited strakh, and, when time allowed, Kchula was expropriating choice furnishings and decorations from around the Citadel to adorn his new home. Now it appeared that might not have been a wise decision, at least not until his conquest was more secure. Kzin-Conserver might not appreciate Kchula’s temerity in usurping the Patriarch’s quarters. He was nervous, though he did his best to control it. His expected guest was late and there was nothing he could do about it.
There was a knock on the door and he almost fell over himself in his haste to open it. Kzin-Conserver was old even for a Conserver and grizzled, his ears too wrinkled to stand upright, his tail spotted and scaly with age, but he carried an unshakeable air of authority. Alone among every sentient on Kzinhome he had nothing whatsoever to fear from Kchula-Tzaatz. The High Priest’s approval of Second-Son’s ascension to the Patriarchy had been a mere formality. Kzin-Conserver’s endorsement of the traditions followed by Tzaatz Pride in their attack was anything but, and there was nothing Kchula-Tzaatz could do if he chose to withhold it. A word from Kzin-Conserver and the Great Prides would turn against him as one, and then the Tzaatz line would end; there was no point in denying the possibility. Conservers were immune to challenge duels, and assassination at this point…No, the Great Prides would not swallow it. Indeed, if Kzin-Conserver were to simply die of old age it was likely the Great Prides would turn on him in vengeance for what they would assume was treachery. He had played too close to the edge of honor to get away with anything less than the full endorsement of the Circle of Conservers, and for matters of the Patriarchy that meant everything would stand and fall on Kzin-Conserver’s judgment. Prior to the attack he had convinced himself that use of rapsari was simply an unconventional extension to the use of more conventional war beasts, a long-standing and accepted practice in the Honor-War. Now it remained to convince everyone else. One of the primary reasons he had spared Rrit-Conserver’s life was to lend legitimacy to his conquest and Scrral-Rrit’s attainment of the Patriarchy. Those measures seemed thin cover now. Kzin-Conserver had specified that their interview be conducted alone. That was a bad sign.
“You are well I hope, Kzin-Conserver?” Kchula performed a ritual claw-rake to show a respect he did not feel.
The old kzin looked Kchula over through eyes still sharp. “I am as well as can be expected for my age, which is not well at all. I did not choose to attend the Great Pride Circle, despite Meerz-Rrit’s invitation. Now I am forced to journey to the Citadel anyway. Your conquest has caused me much distress.”
>
“I act to defend the honor of our race, Conserver.”
Kzin-Conserver wrinkled his nose. “You act in the interests of strakh and power, Kchula-Tzaatz, let us not pretend otherwise. Meerz-Rrit’s decision and the Great Circle’s reaction to it are merely convenient for you now. This attack took seasons to mount.” The old kzin moved into the room and took a prrstet. “You understand there are serious questions of tradition here.” His voice was deep and somber.
“I have the assurance of Tzaatz-Conserver that all our actions have been within the accepted interpretation of the traditions. The use of beasts in battle is common in the Tzaatz Pride saga, and well known in the Patriarchy.”
“And where is Tzaatz-Conserver?”
“On Jotok, where he belongs, applying the traditions to my own Lesser Prides.”
“He belongs by your side, the better to advise you against decisions as rash as this one.” Kzin-Conserver held up a paw to forestall Kchula’s protest. “I know Tzaatz-Conserver, and I know how he advised you. If he had done otherwise you would not have left him behind.”
“We who serve Scrral-Rrit take the advice of Rrit-Conserver now.” Kchula tried to divert the conversation.
“You who serve…” Kzin-Conserver rippled his ears. “Repeat it often enough, Kchula, and perhaps eventually you will believe yourself. I’m sure what you meant to say is, you who control the Patriarch keep his Conserver far from your council, while you exploit his name for your own purposes.”
“Honored Kzin-Conserver…”
Kzin-Conserver slashed a paw through the air. “I will not be interrupted. Let me be very clear. The use of genetic constructs is against the Dueling Traditions.”
Kchula turned a paw over with exaggerated care. “It is a question of sea or sky.”
Kzin-Conserver lashed his tail. “On the contrary, it is a question firmly rooted in stone.”
Kchula looked up sharply. This is a dangerous development. “This is not what Tzaatz-Conserver has assured me.”
“You tread the edge of dishonor, Kchula-Tzaatz. Shall I order Tzaatz-Conserver here and ask him?” Kzin-Conserver watched Kchula stiffen in ill-suppressed fear. “I’ll spare you the humiliation. Do you know K’traio-Tzaatz?”
“I do not.” Kchula bit the words off short.
“You are more ambitious than scholarly, Kchula-Tzaatz. You would do well to spend more time in your father’s Hall of Ancestors. The story of Myceer-Rawr is most enlightening.”
“If I may ask you to summarize, honored Conserver?” Conservers value politeness.
“I will spare you the details, Kchula, and show you the shape of this little-known story. Ancient Rawr Pride sought the blood of Krowl Pride for an insult three generations old. Myceer-Rawr traded all the strakh he commanded for rapsari shipped from Jotok by your ancestor, K’traio-Tzaatz. The growth vats have always been a Jotoki specialization. He then invaded, and Krowl Pride retreated, fled into their mountain strongholds on Ktzaa’Whrloo and lured the Rawr after them. The Krowl are born mountain warriors, and they and Myceer-Rawr both knew they could not be defeated in their high fortresses. The rapsari were Rawr’s answer to that problem, and it was a cunning and innovative one. Rawr sent in the constructs to hunt them out, but those first rapsari were modified from work-beasts made for the jungles of Jotok, and they fared badly in the mountains where the air was thin, dry, and cold.”
“And so…?”
“Impatience will be your downfall, Kchula-Tzaatz.” Kzin-Conserver paused, letting the point sink in. “And so Rawr Pride was defeated, and Krowl Pride gained much of their strakh. The question of the use of rapsari arose, of course, for while battle beasts are strong in the traditions, these constructs were something else again, undreamt of when the traditions were established. No Great Circle could be convened; in a time long before hyperdrive existed they occurred once in a generation or less. Emissaries might travel half their lives to attend a Circle, and spend the remaining half to bring its rulings back to their worlds. A Patriarch’s Voice might never set eyes on the Patriarch in whose name he ruled. Eventually word came here to Kzinhome of what had happened, and Kzin-Conserver of the dynasty of Veascry-Rrit then ruled that the use of rapsari by Myceer had followed the Dueling Traditions, because the traditions did not outlaw rapsari, but that the traditions must be changed, or genetic constructs would take the place of energy weapons and the Honor-War would become lethal to entire prides, perhaps our entire species.” Kzin-Conserver locked eyes with Kchula and stopped. “Do you understand what this means, Kchula?”
“I have never heard of this ruling.”
“Hmmph.” Kzin-Conserver twitched his whiskers. “It made no change to the outcome of the duel, and so is less well known than others with more dramatic results. Nevertheless it exists, and you will not convince me that Tzaatz-Conserver left you ignorant of it.”
He means to judge the Traditions against me! Kchula-Tzaatz stared, watching the disaster unfold in front of him, unable to speak. Could I kill him? The certain wrath of the Great Prides would descend on him no less certainly than if Kzin-Conserver announced formal proscription against Tzaatz Pride. Perhaps somehow he could change the presentation, convince them it was accidental, but Kzin-Conserver was still waiting.
“Do you understand what this means, Kchula-Tzaatz?”
“You will judge against the honor of Tzaatz Pride, you cannot…” Kchula-Tzaatz was prepared to beg, if he had to.
“What is the responsibility of the Conservers?” Kzin-Conserver cut him off.
“To judge the Traditions.”
“No, it is our function to judge the Traditions.” Conserver’s voice hardened. “What is our responsibility?”
The hair at the back of Kchula’s neck bristled. He is questioning me like a kitten. It was insulting, but there was nothing he could do about it. “To ensure the continuity of the kzinti line.”
Kzin-Conserver rippled his ears, satisfied. “I see that Tzaatz-Conserver has been less than completely lax in his guidance. Allow me to shape another story for you.” The old kzin lashed his tail. “Why should tradition require that the Patriarchy flow through the Rrit line? The priests tell us the Rrit are the Chosen of the Fanged God, but that bears no meat in a universe where the Fanged God can play only with virtual quantum particles and live only behind an event horizon. Why then? What makes them worthy of the honor?”
What answer does he require of me? There was only one safe reply. “I do not know, Kzin-Conserver.”
“Is not heroism and conquest enough for you? You long to take the Patriarchy for yourself, yet you do not know what restrains you from what you desire most.” Kchula started to object and Kzin-Conserver waved him down. “No, do not bother to deny it.” He gestured to take in their surroundings. “Here in the Patriarch’s quarters your ambition is abundantly clear. You have taken all but the name. Why then install this weak puppet Second-Son and call him Scrral-Rrit?”
Kchula’s lips curled over his fangs at the reminder that he was still technically subordinate to his puppet. “Tradition demands it.”
“Tradition demands it, yes. And more specifically, you know that if you usurped the Rrit line I would pronounce proscription against you, and every Great Pride in the Patriarchy would be at your throat. Even if I do not pronounce proscription the Great Prides may yet take that leap. But while you tread heavily on tradition in the pursuit of your ambitions you realize that you cannot act with impunity. There are some rules even you will not break, not because you revere them but because you fear the consequences if you are not seen to revere them. It is not just tradition, but tradition backed by force which compels you to do what you would rather not do, yes?”
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it.
“So what gives legitimacy to your own position as leader of the mighty Tzaatz Pride? How did you come by this honor?”
Kchula snorted. “I am First-Son-of-Vraat-Tzaatz. I was born to it.”
“Honor must be earned, must it not?
Why confer great strakh on a mewling newborn?” Kzin-Conserver didn’t accept the safe answer.
“A Conserver doesn’t have to ask such a question. This too is tradition.”
“Yes, and where does the legitimacy of the Tzaatz rule on Jotok come from?”
Kchula looked away, not wanting to answer. “Our oath of fealty to the Rrit.” Why else preserve the odious Scrral-Rrit as figurehead? Is this triviality what he is driving at?
“And so your own position springs from adherence to the same traditions that bind your Pride’s fealty to the Rrit.”
“What has this to do with the use of rapsari?” Despite his delicate position Kchula could not conceal his impatience.
“You do not yet see, Kchula-Tzaatz, though it is in front of your nose. Tradition does not exist by itself. We Conservers do not enforce obedience to it for no reason. Tradition serves to make predictable what would otherwise be unpredictable. Predictability leads to stability. If tradition did not demand that the First-Son of each generation take leadership of his Great Pride, then all a Pride-Patriarch’s sons, and perhaps fealty-pledged warriors, would fight to claim it on his death. Would you rule Tzaatz Pride if Ftzaal-Tzaatz claimed it from you?” Kzin-Conserver waved a dismissive paw. “Your ears would be on his belt, if he bothered to wear them. It would be thus at every succession, and the prize which is Jotok would be destroyed in a pawful of generations. If the traditions did not decree that a Rrit become Patriarch, then the Great Prides would war upon each other constantly. These traditions serve to stabilize our species for the benefit of all. The Dueling Traditions serve to limit the damage of inevitable conflict. Skatosh sets the limits on a challenge duel, and prevents the brother of a slain warrior from claiming vengeance if the fight was fair, which also prevents a squabble from becoming a pride-war. Skalazaal exists so that when pride-wars occur worlds are not sterilized as Pride-Patriarchs contend for what they might wrest from each other. Every tradition exists for a reason, and the reason is always stability.”
“And what does that mean here?”
