e arrival of the vizier, and at the sound the
players stopped their tune and the dancers their dance. Miotis, looking
as though he hadn't stirred from the position Kannot had left him in the
week before, lifted his eyes to the bent figure making its way across
the immense length of the hall.

"Mighty Miotis," Kannot began, his head bent and his eyes lowered in the
correct attitude of court procedure.

"I bid you speak," Miotis said.

"My Lord, the words I have to say are for your ears alone," Kannot
continued.

The warlord waved a hand, and as if by magic the court was emptied but
for the guards who never left their posts.

"Speak, old one," Miotis commanded.

"I have found the cause, mighty one," Kannot said. "A surprising one,
however, and perhaps an unbelievable one...."

The vizier did not look up, and his face betrayed nothing of what he
felt. Yet, his aged heart was beating as if it wanted to escape the
flesh in which it was imprisoned. The next words he would utter could
spell his doom.

"I sent couriers in every direction, to all the courts of all the lands,
to our friends as well as to our enemies. And on their return I
discovered one fact in common: Not a single nation was interested in
war. Something happened to each--"

"Old one," Miotis broke in, "you weary me with these boresome details.
Come to the point! I know we are all tired dealing death. Why?"

"Because anger has fled from our minds and hearts," Kannot said, and his
head lifted. He had spoken the words which had lain in him, the terrible
words which could mean his death. And now the die was cast. The proof of
his assertion would soon be shown.

An oddly bitter smile broke on the face of the man on the throne. It was
the smile of a man who had learned the taste of utter defeat.

"So you have told me that which I knew in my heart," Miotis said.
"Strange, that I, who loved nothing better than the sound of a sword's
blow against armor, should even find the touch of steel repugnant now.
Yet, it is so. I cannot carry a knife without having my flesh crawl,
even though a scabbard protects me against its touch. Shall we all
become a nation of shepherds? Shall we never again know the glory of
battle? Tell me, vizier. Perhaps age has lent you an inner wisdom?"

"Wisdom's words are for the historian," Kannot replied. "I, Kannot, have
no time for talk. The planning of deeds is my way. And I have a plan.

"Anger must be found again!" Kannot's voi