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well-known commander of the steel worlds, a war general. He perished in the destruction of a supply complex in the arctic."
    "Zarendargar is alive," said Kog.
    I was startled by this pronouncement. This seemed to me impossible. The destruction of the complex had been complete. I had witnessed this from pasangs across the ice in the arctic night. The complex would have been transformed into a radioactive inferno. Even the icy seas about it, in moments, had churned and boiled.
    "Zarendargar cannot be alive," I said. It was the first time I had spoken to the beasts. Perhaps I should not have but I had been in the vicinity of the event in question. I had seen the explosion. I had, even from afar, been half blinded by the light, and, moments later, half staggered by the sound, the blast and heat. The shape, height and awesomeness of that towering, expanding cloud was not something I would ever forget. "Nothing could have lived in that blast," I said. "Nor in the seas about it."
    Kog looked at me.
    "I was there," I said.
    "We know," said Kog.
    "Zarendargar is dead," I said.
    Kog then unrolled the hide on the table. He arranged it so that Samos and I could easily see it. The hair rose up on the back of my neck.
    "Are you familiar with this sort of thing?" asked Kog of Samos.
    "No," said Samos.
    "I have seen things like it," I said, "but only far away, on another world. I have seen things like it in places called museums. Such things are no longer done."
    "Does the skin seem to you old," asked Kog, "faded, brittle, cracked, worn, thin, fragile?"
    "No," I said.
    "Consider the colors," said Kog. "Do they seem old to you? Do they seem faded to you?"
    "No," I said. "They are bright, and fresh."
    "Analysis, in virtue of desiccation index and molecular: disarrangement, suggests that this material, and its applied I pigments, are less than two years old. This hypothesis is corroborated by correlation data, in which this skin was compared to samples whose dating is known and independent historical evidence, the nature of which should be readily apparent."
    "Yes," I said. I knew that such beasts, on the steel worlds, possessed an advanced technology. I had little doubt but what their physical and chemical techniques were quite adequate to supply the dating in question to the skin and its paints. Too, of course, the nature of their historical evidence would be quite clear. To be sure, it would be historical data at their disposal, and not mine. I had no way of knowing the pertinent facts. That such beasts, on this world, carried primitive weapons was a tribute to their fear of Priest-Kings. Carrying such weapons they might be mistaken for beasts of their race who now, for all practical purposes, were native to Gor, beasts descended from individuals perhaps long ago marooned or stranded on the planet. Priest- Kings, on the,' whole, tend to ignore such beasts. They are permitted to live, as they will, where they may, on Gor, following even their ancient laws and customs, providing these do not violate the Weapons Laws and Technology Restrictions. To be sure, such beasts usually, once separated from the discipline of the ships, in a generation or two, lapsed into barbarism. On the: whole they tended to occupy portions of Gor not inhabited by human beings. The Priest-Kings care for their world, but their primary interest is in its subsurface, not its surface. For most practical purposes life goes on on Gor much as though they did not exist. To be sure, they are concerned to maintain the natural ecosystems of the planet. They are wise, but even they hesitate to tamper with precise and subtle systems, which have taken over four billion years to develop. Who knows what course a dislodged molecule may take in a thousand years?
    I looked at Kog and Sardak. Such creatures, perhaps thousands of years ago, had, it seemed, destroyed their own world. They now wanted another. The Priest-Kings, lofty and golden, remote, inoffensive and tolerant, were all, for