 The purpose for the narrator losing his memory is. . .
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. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Words formed themselves on my thick tongue, words that must have been spoken by so many reviving unfortunates through the ages: "Where am I?" 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. 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. 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.' 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. But it is not for you to ask questions. "Stranger," he said to me, "can you think of no better tale to tell than you now offer?" "On this world of yours—Dondromogon, isn't it called?—I'm no more than an hour old. In a few moments two other men came—one a heavily armed officer of rank, the other an elderly, bearded fellow in a voluminous robe that enfolded him in most dignified manner.
 So he can be birthed on a clean slate as the new Dondromogon leader.
 Earth is not something a Dondromogon leader should remember.  So he can be birthed on a clean slate as the new Dondromogon leader.  So that the Dondromogons will be suspicious of him  To better assimilate to Dondromogon culture.