nterested in politics off their own planet, and, because they
had grown up in a patriarchial-clan society, they were fanatically loyal
to anybody whom they accepted as their chieftain. Paul stepped out and
gave them an inclusive nod.

* * * * *

"Good morning, gentlemen."

"Good morning, Your Imperial Majesty," General Dorflay said, bowing the
couple of inches consistent with military dignity. The Thoran captain
saluted by touching his forehead, his heart, which was on the right
side, and the butt of his pistol. Paul complimented him on the smart
appearance of his detail, and the captain asked how it could be
otherwise, with the example and inspiration of his imperial majesty.
Compliment and response could have been a playback from every morning of
the ten years of his reign. So could Dorflay's question: "Your Majesty
will proceed to his study?"

He wanted to say, "No, to Niffelheim with it; let's get an aircar and
fly a million miles somewhere," and watch the look of shocked
incomprehension on the captain-general's face. He couldn't do that,
though; poor old Harv Dorflay might have a heart attack. He nodded
slowly.

"If you please, general."

Dorflay nodded to the Thoran captain, who nodded to his men. Four of
them took two paces forward; the rest, unslinging weapons, went
scurrying up the corridor, some posting themselves along the way and the
rest continuing to the main hallway. The captain and two of his men
started forward slowly; after they had gone twenty feet, Paul and
General Dorflay fell in behind them, and the other two brought up the
rear.

"Your Majesty," Dorflay said, in a low voice, "let me beg you to be most
cautious. I have just discovered that there exists a treasonous plot
against your life."

Paul nodded. Dorflay was more than due to discover another treasonous
plot; it had been ten days since the last one.

"I believe you mentioned it, general. Something about planting loose
strontium-90 in the upholstery of the Audience Throne, wasn't it?"

And before that, somebody had been trying to smuggle a fission bomb into
the Palace in a wine cask, and before that, it was a booby trap in the
elevator, and before that, somebody was planning to build a submachine
gun into the viewscreen in the study, and--

"Oh, no, Your Majesty; that was--Well, the persons involved in that plot
became alarmed and fled the planet before I could arrest them. This is
something differ