The Sword of Aldones by Marion Zimmer Bradley

His smile was friendly, not overhearty, and he didn’t evade my eyes—and there are not many men who can, or will look a telepath square in the eyes.
    He shoved the plastic chip across the table. “Here. I didn’t need this; I just wanted a good excuse to talk to you, Alton.”
    I pocketed the certification, but I didn’t answer.
    “You’ve been on Terra, I hear. Like it?”
    “The planet, yes. The people—no offense—no.”
    He laughed. “Don’t apologize. I left, too. Only the dregs stay there. Anyone with any enterprise or intelligence goes out into the Empire. Alton, why did you never apply for Empire citizenship? Your mother was Terran—you had everything to gain by it, and nothing to lose.”
    “Why did you never accept a seat among the Hasturs?” I countered.
    He nodded. “I see.”
    “Lawton, I don’t fight Terra. I don’t much like having the Empire here, but Darkover just doesn’t fight by cities and nations and planets. If an Earthman were my enemy, I’d file an intent-to-murder, and kill him. If a dozen of them burned my house or stole my stud animals, I’d get my com’ii together and we’d kill them. But I can’t feel anything at all about a few thousand people who have never done me either good or ill, just because they’re here. It isn’t our way.
    We do our hating by ones, not by millions.”
    “I can admire that psychology, but it puts you at a disadvantage against the Empire,” Lawton said, and sighed. “Well, I won’t keep you—unless there’s something else I can do for you?”
    “Maybe there is. Do you know a man who uses the name of Kadarin?”
    The reaction was immediate. “Don’t tell me he’s in Thendara!”
    “You know him?”
    “I wish I didn’t! No, I don’t know him personally, I’ve never actually set eyes on him. But he pops up everywhere. He claims Darkovan citizenship when he’s in the Terran Zone, and somehow manages to prove it; and I understand he claims to be a Terran, and prove it, outside.”
    “And we can’t deny him his Thirteen Days.”
    I chuckled. I had seen Terrans on Darkover baffled, before this, by the seemingly illogical catch-as-catch-can of the Thirteen Days. An exile, an outlaw, even a murderer, had an inalienable right—dating from time out of mind—to spend one day in Thendara, thirteen times a year, for the purpose of exercising his legal rights. During that time, provided he commits no overt offense, he enjoys absolute legal immunity.
    “If he stayed one second over his limit, we’d grab him. But he’s careful. We aren’t even able to hold him for spitting on the sidewalk. The only place he ever goes is the Spacemen’s Orphanage. After which, seemingly, he vanishes into thin air.”
    “Well, you may be rid of him soon,” I said. “Don’t prosecute me when I kill him.
    He’s filed intent-to-murder on me.”
    “If I could only be sure it wouldn’t work the other way,” Lawton smiled, as I rose to go.
    But as I crossed the threshold, he called me abruptly back. The friendliness was gone; he strode toward me, wrathfully.
    “You’re carrying contraband. Hand it over!”
    I handed the gun to him. There must, of course, have been a clarifier screen there. Lawton clicked the chambers; then he stared, frowned and handed it back to me.
    “Here. Take it. I didn’t realize.”
    He thrust it at me, impatiently. “Go on, take it! But get out of here before anyone else catches you. And give it back. If you need a permit, I’ll try to get you one. But don’t go around carrying contraband!” He pushed the gun back into my hand and virtually shoved me out of the office. I turned it over, baffled, as I walked toward the elevator. Then my name fell on a small name plate: RAFAEL
    SCOTT.
    And suddenly I knew I was not going to ask either Dio or Marius for an explanation.

CHAPTER THREE
    “Very well, my lords. I will do as you wish!”
    The woman’s voice stopped me, cold, as I parted the curtains and stepped into the