“. . . I was never great for garrison duty myself,” Eachan was continuing. “A mercenary’s job is to train, maintain and fight; but when all’s said and done, the fighting’s the thing. Not that everyone’s of my mind. There are Dorsai and Dorsai—and not all Dorsai are Graemes.”

“The Friendlies, now—” said Mor, and stopped with a glance at his father, afraid that he had interrupted. “Go on,” said Eachan, nodding.

“I was just about to point out,” said Mor, “there’s plenty of action on Association—and Harmony, too, I hear. The sects will always be fighting against each other. And there’s bodyguard work—”

“Catch us being personal gunmen,” said Ian, who—being closer in age to Mor than Mor’s father, did not feel the need to be quite so polite. “That’s no job for a soldier.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest it,” said Mor, turning to his uncle. “But the psalm-singers rate it high among themselves, and that takes some of their best talent. It leaves the field posts open for mercenaries.”

“True enough,” said Kensie, equably. “And if they had less fanatics and more officers, those two worlds would be putting strong forces out between the stars. But a priest-soldier is only troublesome when he’s more soldier than priest.”

“I’ll back that,” said Mor. “This last skirmish I was in on Association, an elder came down the line after we’d taken one little town and wanted five of my men for hangmen.”

“What did you do?” asked Kensie.

“Referred him to my Commandant —and then got to the old man first and told him that if he could find five men in my force who actually wanted such a job, he could transfer them out the next day.”

Ian nodded.

“Nothing spoils a man for battle like playing butcher,” he said.

“The old man got that,” said Mor. “They got their hangmen, I heard— but not from me.”

“The lusts are vampires,” said Eachan, heavily, from the head of the table. “Soldiering is a pure art. A man with a taste for blood, money or women was one I never trusted.”

“The women are fine on Mara and Kultis,” grinned Mor. “I hear.”

“I’ll not deny it,” said Kensie, merrily. “But you’ve got to come home, some day.”

“God grant that you all may,” said Eachan, somberly. “I am a Dorsai and a Graeme, but if this little world of ours had something else to trade for the contracts of out-world professionals besides the blood of our best fighting men, I’d be more pleased.”

“Would you have stayed home, Eachan,” said Mor, “when you were young and had two good legs?”