The Space Barbarians

by Mack Reynolds

  Willard of the Corcorans said slowly, “Yes. But that was before the coming of the black pox.”

  “The black pox!” Don of the Clarks blurted.

  There was a stirring in the ranks of John’s clannsmen. It was not deemed safe to be within a quarter mile of a town struck by the pox.

  Willard was nodding. “A clannless one evidently brought it from afar. He came to the gates of Nairn, steedless, hungry and in rags, and applied to the Sachem of the Stuarts for position as servant, and, in pity, the sachem took him in. Only later did we find him to be the sole survivor of the far Phylum of Ayr. In justice to him, he knew not that he carried the pox, since he, himself, was seemingly immune to it. Too late was he cut down by the Stuart clannsmen. The black pox was upon us.”

  John’s face was drawn.

  He turned and snapped to his men, “Ride hard for the hill. I will remain and secure the balance of the information and later shout it to you from a distance, so that you may return to Aberdeen and repeat it to the Dail. But now, get out of here.”

  The fourteen clannsmen wheeled their horses.

  Don said, “How about you?”

  “I will stay. We must have the information. You go. Take over the troop.”

  “No. I will remain and share your fate.”

  But Willard of the Corcorans was holding up a hand. “There is no need to depart. There is no danger.”

  John stared at him. “No danger in the black pox!”

  “No more. The guru cured all.”

  John’s men had come to a puzzled halt.

  Don of the Clarks said, “Who, in the name of the Holy, is the guru, and what do you mean, he cured all? There is no cure for the black pox. Not even the bedels can cure the pox.”

  “In the name of the new religion, the guru from the Revelation, the ship from Beyond, cured the black pox by invoking Lord Krishna.” Willard of the Corcorans had defiance in his expression, as though challenging them to refute him. “The proof is here before you.”

  He added, “Since then, many of Nairn have taken the soma and entered into the Shrine of Kalkin.”

  “Soma?” John said. “What is soma?”

  The Nairn Sachem scowled. “I am not sure. I am poorly informed, but tomorrow I myself plan to take it and enter into oneness with Krishna.”

  For a long moment John of the Hawks stared down at him. Finally, he said, “May the bards sing your exploits, Willard, Sachem of the Corcorans.” He whirled his horse and snapped to Don of the Clarks, “Let us go to the ship and confront these so-called holy men from Beyond.”

  As long years before, when John had approached the exploratory spaceship the Golden Hind, this vessel appeared to prow as they approached. When finally it loomed above them, it seemed in volume at least that of five or six long-houses. Behind him, he could sense the stirring in the ranks of his troop, most of whom had not seen the Golden Hind when it had visited Aberdeen. Made all of shining metal, it was mindshaking to think that this vessel from Beyond could lift itself and travel to the stars and back.

  John of the Hawks came to a halt and stared upward. There was a ramp that led to an open entry port.

  He had nearly decided to dismount and ascend, when a figure appeared and started down toward them. The first men from Beyond John had met had all been in a strange colorless uniform, rather than wearing the kilts of their respective clanns; indeed, they had confessed to having no clanns. But this solitary otherworldling was attired all in black, as a bedel might dress on Holy days devoted to praise.

  When he had reached the ground, he looked up and said, “Welcome to the Revelation, John of the Hawks.”

  John looked at him emptily. “You are unarmed, Mister of the Harmons, as am I. But perhaps you forget that I carry the bloodfeud with you.”

  The other, a man of approximately John’s own years, twisted his mouth in sour amusement. He held his hands out to either side. “I am always unarmed, John of the Hawks. You see, I have entered the Shrine of Kalkin as an acolyte.”

  “You mean you are a bedel?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You are one of the supposed holy men who spread a new religion other than that taught by the Keepers of the Faith?”

  The other nodded. “That is correct. I am now skipper of the Revelation. All members of the crew also follow the footsteps of Krishna. None are armed.”

  Don of the Clarks said, “And so are protected by the bann.” He grunted. “I suspect you cozen us, Skipper of the Harmons.”

  Harmon looked at him in amusement. “They’re your customs and taboos, not mine. I, and the others of the Revelation, have come with the message of Krishna and to bring you to the Shrine of Kalkin.”

  John looked at him for a long moment more before saying, “Very well. We have been sent to secure information of this new faith and of your purpose here on Caledonia. Tell us more of… of Krishna and your so-called shrine.”

  Harmon raised his eyebrows, and there was a mocking quality in his eyes. “But I am only an acolyte and not fit to spread the word.

  — Don of the Claries scowled. “You talk in circles, man from Beyond.”

  But a new figure had come to the entry port and now slowly began the descent of the ramp. He was an older man, bald of head and with a great calm dignity in his every motion. He wore a robe of orange, an unprecedented dress as far as John and the other clannsmen were concerned, and there were sandals upon his feet.

  When he had reached their level, Harmon made a respectful obeisance to him, then turned to the Caledonians and said, “This is Mark, Guru of the Shrine of Kalkin, our leader and teacher.”

  John nodded courteously. “I am John of the Hawks,” he said. “I assume you are a bedel who teaches this new faith that is against the bann.”

  “There is only one bann, my son. ‘Thou shall not harm.’ This Lord Krishna has revealed to us.”

  Don snorted, “There are many banns, and obviously there have always been many banns and will continue to be. Otherwise… why, otherwise, there would soon be no living clannsmen on all Caledonia.”

  “No more, my son. And when you have taken your soma and have entered into the Shrine of Kalkin and are one with Lord Krishna, then you, too, will harm no more.”

  “What is this soma?” John demanded.

  The guru said gently, “Many millennia ago, my son, the Lord Vishnu, in his first avatara as Lord Matsya, gave to man the blessing of soma. But man was then incapable of following the way of Krishna, and soma was lost through the centuries. But with the final avatara of Lord Vishnu, that of Kalian, soma was again found by a great guru who deciphered the ancient writings of Mohenjo-Daro, in the Indus valley of Mother Earth.”

  “’What does avatara mean?” Don said.

  The older man looked at him. “Reincarnation, my son.”

  “Who is this Krishna you keep talking about?” John demanded.

  The gentle eyes came back to the raid cacique. “The Lord Krishna is the eighth avatara of Vishnu, my son, and our redeemer. It is he that united us all into one in the glory of the Shrine of Kalkin with the holy soma.”

  John of the Hawks grimaced in impatience. “Do you mean, before you can understand this new faith, you must take this thing you call soma?”

  “Yes, my son.”

  “And you have taken it?”

  “Yes, my son.”

  “I am not your son,” John said impatiently. “We are not even kyn. Have all the people from Beyond taken your soma?”

  “No, my son. Not all.” The guru looked at Harmon and frowned slightly. “Not even many of those who follow the path of Krishna.”

  Harmon said, “I have yet to feel myself worthy to unite with the Lord Krishna.”

  John looked at the Revelation’s skipper. “So you haven’t taken it but recommend that we do.”

  Harmon said evenly, “One day I shall, when I feel myself worthy.”

  John grunted and looked back at the older man. “Then, what happens after you take soma?”


  “Yon become one with Krishna, our redeemer, and follow his teaching the rest of your years until the end of mortal life comes and you are gathered into the bosom of Kalkin.”

  “What teaching?”

  “Thou shalt do not harm.”

  Don snorted.

  John said, “Look, Guru of the Marks, it is impossible to go through life without harming someone.”

  “Not just someone, my son. Any living thing.”

  The Caledonians were staring at him.

  “Any living thing ? How can you eat a steak of beef without harming the steer?” one of the clannsmen blurted.

  “You cannot, my son. Followers of the path of Lord Krishna eat only of the vegetables of the fields and the fruit of the trees.”

  John said, “Look, Guru of the Marks, do you claim that if one takes this soma, he will go through the rest of his life unable to harm any other?”

  “He would not wish to harm any other, my son. Once he has taken his soma, he walks in the same path as the Lord Krishna.”

  John stared at the older man even as he thought it out. “I don’t believe you,” he said finally.

  “You will when, at long last, you have taken your soma, my son.”

  John continued to stare at him in frustration. Finally he wheeled his horse and barked, “I want a volunteer.”

  Fifteen hands went up.

  He ignored them for the moment. “It is of great implication to our whole confederation. It will mean perhaps death, though probably not. It will possibly result in the volunteer being branded a slink and stripped of his clann kilts. You have heard this so-called guru. I want a man to take soma and report his experience. I would do it myself, but I am the leader of this troop and responsible to the Dail for the expedition’s report.”

  The hands of the clannsmen remained up, but there was despair in all faces.

  John looked them over. He called finally, “Robert of the Fieldings.” The clannsman rode forth, holding his reins in his awkward left hand. Other than his crippled arm and scarred face, he was a beautiful specimen of Caledonian manhood, well over seven feet in stature and carrying sufficient weight to be considered brawny. John had chosen deliberately. Robert had no immediate family—a raiding party had set fire to his hut on the heath where the then herdsman had built outside the Aberdeen walls. His wife and three children had burned, and since then Robert had spent his life on raid, never failing to volunteer for each expedition but thus far having been unable to find honorable death in combat.

  John wheeled back to Mark, the guru. “This man will take your soma.”

  The older man said, “Each must himself decide, my son.”

  John looked at Robert of the Fieldings.

  The clannsman said, “I wish to take this soma.” But their were blisters of cold sweat on his broad forehead.

  The guru frowned in hesitation.

  Harmon said, “Let the dully take it. Why not? Our task is to spread the message of Krishna. He’ll be the first convert in Aberdeen.”

  “Very well. Follow me, son Robert.”

  John said, “A moment. How long will this take?”

  “He will return to you at this hour tomorrow, my son.”

  The orange clad guru turned and began to reascend the ramp. Robert hesitated only momentarily before following. Harmon, a faint amusement on his face, brought up the rear. And now John could see two other orange robed figures at the entry to the Revelation. Evidently, this Mark was not the sole guru about the spaceship.

  For a moment, John of the Hawks was about to call to Robert of the Fieldings, to recall him to the ranks of his fellow Aberdeen clannsmen. But then he shook his head. They could not return to the assembly of the Dail without full information on this precedent smashing situation.

  He turned and said to Don, “We’ll make camp here.”

  Don scowled toward Nairn.

  John said, “No. They will not raid us. I suspect that many of them have taken this soma. Perhaps there are not enough true clannsmen remaining in the whole phylum to raid us.”

  The following day, the small troop drew up again before the ramp of the Revelation, waiting. The entry port was still open, but there was no sign of life.

  Don growled, “If we had our weapons, we could raid them. Undoubtedly, there would be much booty inside.”

  “Undoubtedly,” John said. “However, it is a difficult position. They are unarmed men who claim to be teachers of religion, and I suspect it would be against the bann to attack them, or even to count coup upon them.”

  Don snorted his disgust. “Religion! There is only one religion, and that is the religion of the Holy. Any Keeper of the Faith can tell you that.”

  John didn’t answer his friend. There were many ramifications to all this, and he had by no means thought them out to a conclusion that satisfied him.

  The troops stirred. Harmon, the self-proclaimed skipper of the spaceship, had appeared at the top of the ramp. Following him was Robert of the Fieldings.

  They descended the ramp, and Harmon stood to one side, his expression amused. Robert of the Clann Fielding approached them and stood before John and the others.

  And then John of the Hawks lost his characteristic dignity. His eyes bugged, and he rasped, “Where… where is the scar that ran from your ear to your chin?”

  There was a strangeness in the face of Robert. It would seem the dour clannsman had lightened several degrees in complexion. There was a glow about his face, a shine in his eyes. He lifted his left arm and touched the side of his face, and all gaped anew.

  Don blurted, “Your arm !”

  Robert said in an unwonted soft voice, “I have been walking with the Lord Krishna and hence have been cured of all ills.”

  Chapter Two

  This year the meeting of the Dail was being held in Aberdeen. The plain before the city was a mass of tents, large and small, banner; flying above those which housed the sachems of the various phyla. The markets were in full swing, and feet had trampled the heather to the point where all now was dust, which billowed up as herds of cattle and horses were brought in for the bartering. There were the skirl of music and a continuous shouting, bickering, arguing, the last in particular from the men’s tents, where uisgebeatha was for offer.

  In such a tent John of the Hawks found the clannsman for whom he sought.

  John stood beside him at the improvised bar and ordered a small dorris of the potent spirits, at first pretending not to notice who was at his left. He sipped his drink, then said, “Ah. May the bards sing your exploits, Will, Sachem of the Thompsons.”

  The other turned.

  John said, “Perhaps you do not know me.”

  Will of the Thompsons said jovially, “I recognize you immediately, John of the Hawks. May the bards sing your exploits.” He laughed his good humor. “Indeed, I assume they have. While you were still but a lad, you counted coup upon me, who was then Raid Cacique of the Thompsons.

  John said politely, “The Holy granted me great fortune that day, Will of the Thompsons.”

  “He did at that,” the other said. He had obviously already downed more than one of the dorrises that were being doled out by half a dozen barkeeps to the clamoring clannsmen. At this rate, John thought, the hospitality of the Aberdeen hosts of the Dail this year would be strained to the point of not having a drop of uisgebeatha left in town before the assembly was over.

  The Thompson Sachem said, “Come, have a dorris with me. John of the Hawks. Perhaps when next we meet, it will be at claidheammor point.”

  John took the drink proffered. “Happily,” he said, “that will be unlikely, since you have been raised up to sachem and no longer lead the Clann Thompson as raid cacique.”

  The other sighed his regret and tossed his drink back over his palate. “I suppose you are right,” he said. “A sachem’s duties are such that he has little time for raids.”

  John cleared his throat and said, “Ah, there is something that I would discuss with you
, Will of the Thompsons.”

  “Of course.” The sachem was signaling to one of the barkeeps for a refill.

  John said, “For many years, at each meeting of the Dail, I have sought the hand of Alice of the Thompsons…”

  The other was staring at him in surprise.

  John hurried on “At each Dail I have offered a generous brideright, so that I might honorably steal my bride. However-”

  Will said indignantly, “You approach me as an individual to discuss a Thompson lass? This is not meet,- John of the Hawks. It is not forbidden by the bann, but itiIs not meet.”

  John said hurriedly, “No discourtesy was intended, Will, Sachem of the Thompsons. I… I extend my apologies. I… I will be back.”

  He turned quickly and left the tent. He stood for a moment at the entry flap, his eyes darting around the area. He shook his head, not finding him whom he sought.

  But finally he made out someone he knew and strode quickly over. “Dewey!” he said. “Have you seen the sachem?”

  Dewey of the Hawks was evidently mildly befuddled. He blinked owlishly at his fellow clannsman, “Robert? Robert was here but a moment past. He went… he went over that way.”

  John hurried off in the direction indicated and, sure enough, found his clann sachem in discussion with two sagamores of the Clann Davidson. He stood impatiently to one side until noticed.

  Robert, Sachem of the Hawks, looked over at him and said, “Yes, John?”

  John nodded to the two sagamores, neither of whom were known to him, and murmured quickly, “May the bards sing your exploits.” And then to his chief, “It is a matter of importance, Robert.”

  The sagamores excused themselves and wandered off to watch a performance of trick riding.

  Robert was frowning slightly, but there was also an almost apologetic something in his eyes. “I assume it is the usual matter of importance that you bring to my attention at each meeting of the Dail, John.”

  John said hurriedly, “Robert, there is a new Sachem of the Thompsons this year. Will, the former raid cacique, has been raised up to the office. Perhaps…”