Looking afar over the sea, where the late afternoon clouds were beginning to bank in the western sky, Byrn Thorsman thought  about other places and other times. Above the scarlet at the horizon, the wisps of moisture floated in a strip of green sky which turned to pale, then a deeper blue as it soared toward and over him.  His gray eyes were clear and old, the skin of his face weathered over hard bones. 
   There was in that face the planes and curves of a monument seen from a great distance.  A carving it was, of the exposed and weathered granite upthrust of a mouintain.  Viewed from a few feet away, it left one with the impression that it was a huge visage shrunk to human dimensions by distance..  It spoke of history, not humanity; of things done, not things felt.. 
    The wind off the sea that flowed against and around it would have to throw weather upon the surface for a hundred thousand years to wear away the thinnest layer.  As the ancient poet once
said, mountains would form like clouds, then fade away while it watched the world unperturbed, unaltered. 

    .The disappearing sun, he thought, was like an animal.  It had no concept of time.  It did not know of anything but the moment called forever, and would be puzzled when time came to an end.  He
envied the sun's innocence for a moment, then turned away and continued his journey.  Ahead, the the road ran to the north, descending to run straight along the seaward edge of a bare moor toward a little fishing village.  An hour later in last light he found an inn. 
     The innkeeper, a thin, yet oddly soft man, brought a clay bowl of stew  and a tankard of ale, to the booth by the window.  He returned shortly with a board of bread, then left.  The inn was almost empty, and so very quiet.  The window next to the booth began to tick like an erratic clock to the impact of a fall rain.

   "Is it him,do you think?" said the innkeper's woman.  "He does not look alive.  They said he would be strange."
   "I don't know," said the innkeeper, his hands working through each other as was his habit when concentrating. 
   "Should we kill him?" she asked.
   "We should," he said, "but he does not look easy to kill."
   "You could poison the wine."
    "I only have treelac.  It has an odor.  He might have knowledge of poisons."
    "And, then he would kill us," she said, fear entering her voice.  "We'll run away."
   "He would know, then.  If he is the one, he would know that we have heard something.  He would follow and kill us in the night.  Better to let him be and send word of him to the king when he has gone.  There may be reward for information."
   "Be careful," she warned as he went forward with more ale.

   The next day, as he walked toward the stone castle that sat at the outer end of a peninsula which jutted into the sea, Byrn Thorsman mused about the ironies of this land. The planet had been in a medievil stage when the first visitors from space arrived.  The shock to the culture had been not quite lethal. Technology was wreaking havoc with the established systems.  He was continually amazed by the effects that resulted.  The sight of television shows featuring the local version of jousting, for example, left him with a feeling of both horror and amusement.  But the most fascinating part of it, to him, was the resistance of people to changes that would give them freedom from oppression.  All his studies of history had been about long-term cultural evoluton.  The processes he had witnessed on this planet reminded him of a film he had once seen of a gorilla that had spent most of its life in a cage.  When the door was finally opened, it wouldn't come out.

   "What is your purpose in wishing to see the king, Mr. Thorsman?" said the clerk.  He was, like most of the people here, a polyglot.  It was astounding how quickly they learned a foreign language.  But, then, they were, like Byrn, humanoids.  The men of Earth had been surprised how boring evolution was when they finally achieved the stars.  Variations there were, but variations were all they were.  No talking cloud formations or invisible beings made of pure mind.  With the exception of some strange combinations of plant and animal, and the odd silica-based crystalline intelligence (only one of which because of an association with an insect host could move), sentient life in the cosmos was a mammal, a frog, a fish or a bug.
   "I wish to ask permission for my consortium to establish a service facility in this realm." replied Byrne.
   "The king is quite busy with court matters," said the clerk.  Byrn noted the faint interrogative in the intonation.  Damn but these throwbacks were subtle!  Remembering that access to a monarch comes via bribes, Byrne reached into a fold of his cloak and retrieved a large black pearl. 
   "I have gifts for the king," he said.  "Please pass this along to him so that he can see that my company wishes to share our good fortunes with our friends."
   The clerk took the pearl and told Byrn to return the next day.  It would, of course, never reach the king. It was the price of an appointment with a minister.

   Three days and two ministers later, he was ushered into the chambers of the king.  He was a giant of a man-kind, perhaps seven feet tall.  His hair was black and his beard red, which pleased Byrne. 
   "I should get you a kilt, a sporan and a set of pipes," he said.
   "What are they?" asked the king, whose name was almost Welsh in it's unpronounceability.  Probably "Krelk" would do.
   "The battle dress and musical instruments of my people," said Byrn.  "The pipes are a collection of hollow wooden tubes with air holes, connected to a large bag which stores air.  When squeezed by the musician, the pipes emit a combined sound that turns one's enemies' hearts to ice."
   Krelk emitted a deep sound that was reminiscent of a chuckle..  Byrn decided it was, indeed, laughter.
   "I should like to hear this musical war machine," said Krelk, seemingly confirming Byrn's guess.
   "You shall, and soon," said Byrn."
   "Then, you agree to the contract?" said Krelk.
   "I haven't discussed any terms with your ministers," said Byrn.
   "Gutless fools," growled Krelk.  "The terms are this.  It is our custom to fight for property.  If you wish this land, you will face me in single combat at joust.  The winner is the king and the loser is dead."

   The company needed the facility, so four days later, Byrn found himself in the lists.  His armor was a sash of scarlet cloth, not a suit of metal.  His steed was a gruff-looking mammal that barely resembeled a Texas longhorn steer.  Its hide was like a rhino's and its feet were elephant stumps.  But, it was quick.  He almost fell off when it surged forward.
   The weapon was a quarter-staff with a thick arc of a blade at the end.  As the king came toward him, he saw by the way he held his weapon that his first stroke would be to declaw Byrn's weapon.  Chop his handle in half.  At the last moment, Byrn shifted slightly and brought his staff in under the king's, hooked the other's staff and pulled it from his hand.  

   As each beast reached the end of the list, it turned and charged back the other way.  The king's face was dark.  He knew he was riding to his certain death.  Byrn admired the man's courage.  When their beasts met, he reversed his staff and merely knocked the king from his mount.  Then he halted his own steed, dismounted and walked back to see if the king had been injured by the fall.
   The king was sitting on the ground, weeping.
   "You have dishonored me," he said.
   "Not at all," said Byrn.  "I have training in the fighting disciplines of many worlds.  It would have been unfair to kill you.  I would have dishonored myself had I done that."
   "It is our law," said the king.
   "Law made in ignorance of a wider world," said Byrn, offering his hand.  "I am not allowed to kill those I admire.  It is our code."

   They sat drinking ale in the king's quarters.  The king had a nice lump on his forehead.  "I had a bounty out on you," he told Byrn.  "We don't like outsiders."
   "I suspected as much," Byrn said affably.  "It is not the first time for me."
   "Well, you have defeated me.  The kingdom is yours."
   "I have an alternative offer," said Byrn.
   The king looked up, puzzled.  Then he smiled.  "Lessons?" he said hopefully.
   "Yes.  All know that you are the greatest warrior of your people, and they have seen you defeated easily.  If your army was trained in my way of fighting, well ... "
   
   "Dammit, Thorsman, did you kick the king's butt?"
   The voice coming from the starship's communicator was his employer's.  
   "Yes," said Byrn.
   "And you think this is the way to make a deal?"
   "One adapts to local custom," said Byrn.  "You wrote the rule, yourself.  Besides, I didn't kill the man.  He's a likeable cuss for a seven foot slavic butcher."
   "The proof's in the pudding, Thorsman," said the boss.
   "Look at your receiver slot," said Byrn.
   The man glanced as the fax that had just popped out. He whistled thoughtfully.
   "This isn't all that bad," he said to the fax. "The council will yell about cultural interference, of course ... "
    "I have an appointment to fight the king next door," said Byrn.
   The boss looked up.  "You do?  Oh, that's fine. No advantage to one group over another, then.  The council will like that.   Watch your topknot, then.  Can I send you anything?"
   "A set of bagpipes," said Byrn. "For the king." 
   "I'd rather give them nuclear weapons," said the boss.  "The pipes will turn them really nasty. Look what they've done to you."
   "Aye," said Byrn, switching off the connection.