“It will not be looked upon kindly here, even if you are my guest,” Al’Kara said as they drew nearer to the tent city, indicating his suit and helmet. She then shrugged. “If you wish to keep it on.”

“But it will be tolerated?” Rick asked.

“For a time,” she said, not looking at him as she entered the throng of people that waited at the main entrance of the massive tent city. As soon as someone saw her, they moved to the side, creating a gap large enough for her and Rick to walk through without either of them being touched. The looks the assembled Golgoro gave Rick were a mixture of confusion, anger, and disgust, but they did nothing, seeing that he traveled with Al’Kara. A few Golgoro crossed their fingers, then crossed their wrists over their chests upon seeing Rick, giving him an angry sneer until disappearing into the throng around him.

Two tall, muscular Golgoro guarded the entrance, a gate five meters tall that took up twenty meters of the massive fence that surrounded the edges of the tent city. The guards were called wandsmen, according to Al’Kara. Essentially, they were the militia and civil guard of the Moot. They took their orders from the High Chief Council, yet they had their own latitude, Al’Kara had warned. Both held brass wands, thirty-five to forty centimeters in length. Each was capped by two silver balls on either end. Both the silver balls and brass length glinted in the weak light of the distant sun. Their skin was a darker, more baked-brick color than Al’Kara’s own flesh, and their dark eyes glanced past Al’Kara to stare with murderous intent at Rick.

“What is the Earth Man doing here, psi-blade Kara?” One of the wandsman asked.

“He’s my guest, Ba’hal,” she said, a touch of venom in her voice. Rick didn’t miss the aura around her hands turning visible, dark blue radiating from her clenched fists at her sides.

The other wandsman held out his arm to pull Ba’hal back. “We are sorry, Al’Kara.” He then looked at Rick. “But he is a Ranger . . . they—”

Al’Kara took a step forward, her hands flattening out, the nimbus growing sharper to a small point a few centimeters beyond her middle finger. “He is my guest. He is to be offered guest rights,” Al’Kara said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, Psi Blade Al’Kara,” they both said, pulling away from her and Rick. Rick noticed even the other Golgoro near them backed up half a step from Al’Kara’s words.

“Please, enter,” Ba’hal said, gesturing toward the open gate. His eyes still glared at Rick with anger.

As they entered, Rick moved closer. “What are guest rights?” he whispered to his companion.

Al’Kara cut him an annoyed look as she moved, pulling him through the gate. He didn’t resist. “Anything you do reflects on me. Anything done to you is an assault on myself, and by extension, the psi-blade Temple.”

“I thought that was some myth?”

Al’Kara let out a small laugh. “A myth?” She revealed her hands, still encased in the blue aura. “Does this look like a myth, beloved?”

Rick swallowed. “No.”

With a smile, she moved forward, and Rick followed.

Once they left the main entrance, he was in awe of what he saw. Tents of every possible color, the sizes ranging from small little single-occupant tents to large ones that would rival Barnum and Bailey’s. And there were even larger ones he glimpsed as they moved closer to the interior.

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“What is this city for? What is this Moot for?” Rick asked, stunned by the sheer number of Golgoro. They ranged from young to old, male and female, in a variety of colors from ochre to brick to brilliant vermillion. Some had skin carvings, others had tattoos, and others’ skin was covered in paints or whorls and symbols. There were hawkers of all stripes and merchants. He saw tradesman in glass, jewelry, and weapons. He saw mercenaries roving around with weapons that looked ancient, as well as a few walking around with long arm rayguns that unsettled him. He kept his mind on following Al’Kara.

“Once a generation, the Golgoro come to make treaties, trade goods, make new clan laws, and elect new clan leaders,” Al’Kara said without stopping.

“Yet, you interact at other times?”

“Yes, many on a daily basis. But, this,” she said, gesturing to the tent city itself, “is something that happens once a generation. Even I see clans I’ve never seen before. I will meet clan members from rival clans here. And . . . old suitors.” She stopped as she said the last few words, letting Rick catch up.

Without thinking, Rick asked, “Is that going to be a problem?”

She looked at him, a sly smile on her lips, her hips shifted toward him. “If you would listen to me more, it would not be,” she said, the smile changing into a serious look. “You do have to be careful here, beloved.”

“What do you mean?” Rick asked, confused.

Al’Kara shook her head. “We don’t have time to discuss the reasons here, but I did tell you it would be dangerous.” She turned and continued walking.

Rick looked at her as she strode from him, deeper into the warren of the tent city. He didn’t completely understand her words, yet he knew she had to be lying. She had said that as her guest, he’d be seen as a friend. “But you said I—” He stopped when she vanished into the crowd.

He continued beyond where he’d last seen her before being stopped short by two men with dark swirls and whorls of black around their cheeks and chests. Each hefted a short, spiked club and had a familiar wand thrust through their leather belt.

“What is your business here, stranger?” One of the wandsmen said, shifting his hand to his wand.

“I am here at the behest of Al’Kara,” Rick said.

Both of the wandsmen stared at him. “You mean Kara of the Psi-Blade? You will respect her with her full name,” the first wandsman said, grabbing at Rick’s arm.

Rick’s instincts kicked in. As the wandsman grabbed at him, he pushed himself backwards. The gravity of Mars allowed him to leap back several feet into the startled crowd. The Golgoro scattered when he landed. Rick watched the two wandsmen moving forward, their wands held out with menace, their faces set with anger.

“An Earthman,” the first wandsman said with a sneer, looking ready to strike at Rick.

“A Ranger,” the other said, pointing at the suit. His club was in one hand and the wand in the other, both looking to be comfortable in the guard’s hand.

Rick swallowed hard, trying to keep from grasping his Tellic. He stayed clear of the two wandsmen, continuing to move and duck out of reach. Each time, he tried to get around them, attempting to escape to where Al’Kara had vanished. He pulled away from them in a dodge that brought the two of them together. He made it two meters before his suit locked up for a crucial moment, and his momentum stopped hard. As his suit started to move again, a heavy hand fell on Rick’s shoulder from behind. “You’re not—”

Training kicked in for Rick again. He grabbed the hand, thrusting his hip backwards to gain leverage, and threw the man over his shoulder. The throw was hard, and there was a bone-wrenching pop that came from the wandsman’s shoulder as he landed.

“What is the meaning of this?” a rough voice shouted from Rick’s left, stunning everyone, including Rick.

Rick turned to see that an older, imposing Golgoro stepped forward. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and he was one of the few darker Golgoro with facial hair, a short well-trimmed goatee that was flecked with gray as well. He wore a long cloak of gray silk-like material. The portion of his chest that was revealed was covered in a thin shirt of off-green, and his pants were a darker gray. His eyes were green—not just the iris, the entire eye was bathed in jade. As Rick focused, he realized there was a soft green aura around him.

The man with all-green eyes stared at Rick. “What is an Earthman Ranger doing here in the Moot?” He roared the question. His words forced Rick to one knee. He caught glimpses of the entire crowd being driven to one knee. Even the wandsmen knelt.

Al’Kara appeared from out the crowd, “He is with me, Uncle. He is my guest.”