 Who is Sporr and what is his authority in calling the narrator Yandro?
He was Yandro, the Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. 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. 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. Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. There is a proper time, like a proper place, for each thing and each happening. 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. "It is called—yes, Earth. "Doriza—a gentlewoman of the guard. "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. "I am a scientist," offered Doriza, and came forward. 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.
 He is a mystic in touch with the spiritual realm, in charge of prophecies.
 He is a mystic in touch with faith, in charge of the materialization of gods.  He is a mystic in touch with the spiritual realm, in charge of prophecies.  He is a mystic in touch with the material space, in charge of prophecies.  He is a mystic in touch with what is Good, in charge of the rational realm.