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buildings of the Trade City. Beyond them rose the vast, splintered teeth of the mountains; and poised, “far above the plain, the loom of the Comyn Castle, topped by the tall spire of the Keeper’s Tower.
    “Are the Comyn already assembled in Thendara?”
    Marius shook his head. I still couldn’t get used to the notion that this was my brother. He didn’t feel right. “No,” he said, “They—we’re meeting out in the Hidden City. Lew, did you bring any guns from Terra?”
    “Hell, no. What would I want with guns? And they’re contraband anyhow.”
    “Then you’re not armed at all?”
    I shook my head. “No. It’s not allowed to carry side arms on most Empire planets and I’ve lost the habit. Why?”
    He scowled. “I managed to get one last year,” he said. “I paid four times what it was worth, and it has the contraband mark on it. I thought—wait, that’s your name they’re calling.”
    It was. I went slowly toward the low white customs building, Marius trailing after me. He shook his head at the officer on duty, and went on through. My luggage had been laid on the conveyer belt and the clerk glanced at me without much interest.
    “Lewis Alton-Kennard-Montray-Alton? Landed at Port Chicago on the Southern Cross? Matrix technician?”
    I admitted all of it, and shoved the plastic chip which held my certification as a licensed matrix mechanic.
    “We’ll have to check this on the main banks,” the Terran clerk said. “It will take an hour or two. We’ll get in touch with you.”
    The clerk flicked his eyes over a printed form. “Do - you - solemnly - affirm -
    that - to - the - best - of -your - knowledge - and - belief - you - have - not - in -your - possession - any - power - or - propulsion - weapons -guns -
    disintegrators - or - blasters - atomic - isotopes - narcotic - drugs -
    intoxicants - or - incendiaries?”
    I signed. He hefted my luggage under the clarifier; the screen stayed blank, as I’d known it would. The items named were all items of Terran manufacture; by solemn compact with the Hasturs, the Empire is committed not to, let them be brought into the Darkovan Zone, or anywhere outside the Trade Cities. Such items, contraband on our planet, were treated before they were brought here with a small speck of radioactive substance, harmless but unremovable. “Anything else to declare?”
    “I have a pair of Earth-made binoculars, a Terran camera, and half a bottle of Vainwal firi (sp?),” I told him. “Let’s see them.”
    He opened the cases, and I tensed. This was the moment I had been dreading.
    I should have tried to bribe him. But that would have meant—if he happened to be honest—a fine and blacklisting. I couldn’t risk that.
    He glanced at the camera and binoculars. Terran lenses are a luxury item and usually highly taxed. “Ten reis duty,” he said, and pushed the folds of clothing aside. “If the firi is less than ten ounces, there’s no tax. What is this?”
    I thought I’d bite through my tongue when his hand gripped it. It felt like a fist squeezing my heart. I said through a contracted throat, “Let it alone!”
    “What in the—” he dragged it out. It was like a nail raking along a nerve. He started to unwrap the cloth. “Contraband weapon, huh? You—hell, it’s a sword!”
    I couldn’t breathe. The blue crystals in the hilt winked up at me, and his hand gripping it was too vast an agony to be borne.
    “It’s a—an heirloom in my family.”
    He looked at me queerly. “Well, I’m not hurting it any. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a contraband blaster, or something.” He shoved the folds of silk around it again, and I remembered how to breathe. He picked up the half-empty bottle of the expensive Vainwal cordial and measured it with his eyes. “About seven ounces. Sign a statement that you’re bringing it in for personal consumption and not for resale, and it’s duty free.”
    I signed. He snapped the lock on the case, and I moved, with