 Who first tells the narrator about his destiny?
He was Yandro, the Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1944. Words formed themselves on my thick tongue, words that must have been spoken by so many reviving unfortunates through the ages: "Where am I?" And at once there was an answer: " You lie upon the world Dondromogon. I knew the language of that answer, but where it came from—above, beneath, or indeed within me—I could not say. "It was ordered—by the Masters of the Worlds—that you should be brought from your own home planet, called Earth in the System of the star called Sun. Vague matters stirred deep in me, but I could not for certain say they were memories. "You do not know that. It is as well, for this will be a birth and beginning of your destined leadership on Dondromogon." "Destined—leadership—" I began to repeat, and fell silent. The voice was telling me that I had been snatched from worlds away, for a specified purpose here on whatever windswept planet Dondromogon might be. "Birth and beginning—destined leadership—" Fantastic! "It is a world the size of your native one," came words of information. Of course, such areas, between the hot and cold hemispheres, would be buffeted by mighty gales ... the voice was to be heard again: "War is fought between the two strips of habitable ground. War, unceasing, bitter, with no quarter asked, given or expected. Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. "Suffice it that you were needed, and that the time was ripe. There is a proper time, like a proper place, for each thing and each happening. Now, go to your destiny." I got to my feet, bent double to keep from being blown over, and staggered toward the promised haven. My first glance showed me that my companions were creatures like myself—two-legged, fair-skinned men, shorter and slighter than I, but clad in metal-faced garments and wearing weapons in their girdles. Each also had a shorter weapon, with a curved stock to fit the palm of the hand, borne snugly in a holster. Especially as I don't know who I am, or where I'm from, or anything that has happened longer ago than just a moment.
 The Voice
 Doriza  The Masters of the Worlds  The Voice  Old Sporr