 Choose the most likely outcome if the narrator was not determined to be Yandro?
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. "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. It is as well, for this will be a birth and beginning of your destined leadership on Dondromogon." 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. But because Dondromogon wavers on its axis, there are two lunes of its surface which from time to time shift from night to day. My eyes were tight shut against the dust, but they saw in imagination such a planet—one-half incandescent, one-half pitchy black. 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. On this strange world called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to heat and cold and storm, and built these stout structures, and now laid hands—were they hands indeed?—upon me? 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. "There's a bigger reward for capture than for warning," objected his friend in turn, "and whoever comes to take this man will claim 'capture.' "I'll make no resistance, if you'll only conduct me to your commander. No enemy?" asked the broad-faced one who had first spoken. Before the clang of its fall was through echoing, I had caught it up, and set the point within inches of its owner's unprotected face. "He pushed in, claimed he was no enemy, then tried to attack—" "They lie," I broke in, very conscious of my naked helplessness before her regard.
 He would not be honored on Dondromogon.
 He would have never met Doriza.  He would be sent back to Earth.  He would not be honored on Dondromogon.  His memory would have came back faster.