Dyan Ardais said harshly, “The episode you mention was unnecessary. It is necessary to remind you that the man who was threatened with murder had himself murdered one of our Guardsman, in a quarrel so trivial that a Darkovan boy of twelve would have been ashamed to make more of it than a joke! Then this Terran murderer hid behind his celebrated weaponless status”—even a Terran could not escape that sneer—”to refuse a lawful challenge by the murdered man’s brother! If your men choose to go weaponless, sir, they alone are responsible for their acts.”
Reade Andrusson said, “They do not choose to go weaponless, Lord Ardais. We are forced by the Compact to deprive them of their accustomed weapons.”
Dyan said, “They are allowed by our laws to carry whatever ethical weapons they choose. They cannot complain of a defenselessness which is their own choice.”
The Legate, turning his eyes consideringly on Dyan, said, ‘Their defenselessness, Lord Ardais, is in obedience to our laws. We have a very distinct bias, which our laws reflect, against carving people up with swords and knives.”
Hastur said harshly, “Is it your contention, sir, that a man is somehow less dead if he is shot down from a safe distance without visible bloodshed? Is death cleaner when it comes to you from a killer safely out of reach of his own death?” Even through my own barriers, his pain was so violent, so palpable that it was like a long wail of anguish; I knew he was thinking of his own son, blown to fragments by smuggled contraband weapons, killed by a man whose face he never saw! So intense was that cry of agony that I saw Danilo, impassive behind Lord Edric, flinch and tighten his hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides; my father looked white and shaken; Regis’ mouth moved and he blinked rapidly, and I wondered how even the Terrans could be unaware of so much pain. But Hastur’s voice was steady, betraying nothing to the aliens. “We banned such coward’s weapons to insure that any man who would kill must see his victim’s blood flow and come into some danger of losing his own, if not at the hands of his victim, at least at the hands of his victim’s family or friends.”
The Legate said, “That episode was settled long ago, Lord Regent, but I remind you we stood ready to prosecute our man for the killing of your Guardsman. We could not, however, expose him to challenges from the dead man’s family one after another, especially when it was abundantly clear that the Guardsman had first provoked the quarrel.”
“Any man who found provocation in such a trivial occurrence should expect to be challenged,” said Dyan, “but your men hide behind your laws and surrender their own persona! responsibility! Murder is a private affair and nothing for the laws!”
The Legate surveyed him with what would have been open dislike, had he been a little less controlled. “Our laws are made by agreement and consensus, and whether you approve of them or not, Lord Ardais, they are unlikely to be amended to make murder a matter of private vendetta and individual duels. But this is not the matter at issue.”
I admire his control, the firm way in which he cut Dyan off. My own barriers, thinned by the assault of Hastur’s anguish, were down almost to nothing; I could feel Dyan’s contempt like an audible sneer.
I got my barriers together a little while Hastur silenced Dyan again and reminded him that the incident in question had been settled long since. “Not settled,” Dyan half snarled, “hidden from,” but Hastur firmly cut him off, insisting that there was a more important matter to be settled. By the time I caught up with the discussion again, the Legate was saying:
“Lord Hastur, this is an ethical question, not a legal one at all. We enforce Comyn laws within the jurisdiction of the Comyn. In Caer Donn and the Hellers, where the laws are made by Lord Aldaran, we enforce what laws he requires. If he cannot be bothered to enforce the Compact you value so highly, it is not our business to police it for him—or, my lord, for you.”