 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. 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 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." "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. 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." 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. "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. "It is called—yes, Earth. 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. "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.
 The Voice
 Doriza  The Masters of the Worlds  The Voice  Old Sporr