Royal Road

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That piece of Arkadian doggerel-philosophy had never much impressed Duke Harald; not, that is, until he came to Terra as a student.

The situation was itself a paradox of sorts. There was his very presence on the mother world; he, Lord of the Outer Marches, premier duke of Arkady, a scarred and dark-faced soldier among a crowd of boys. And then, he had allowed himself but two months to achieve what others won with hardship in a full two years.

Two months on Terra—and scant progress yet!

“There must be a faster way,” he said aloud, running heavy fingers through close-cropped hair.

The slim and elegant Terran who was his sole companion in the study cell looked up and threw a brief smile across the low partition of the double lectern. For a moment, Duke Harald ignored the unspoken question; then:

“You know why I’m here on Terra, young Melton?”

“To learn telepathy—why else?”

“I don’t mean that. I mean, what use is this telepathy to me, that I should come a thousand parsecs just to gain the knack of it?”

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