Jon didn't know why he held a sword in his
hand to fend off the Wild Ones; he knew only that
he was one of many who for centuries had become—
Guardians Of The Tower
By Randall Garrett
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1957
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
That morning, the sun rose bright and clear over the Tower. Jon woke,clambered to his feet, and rolled his sleeping-blanket. Within fiveminutes, he was fully awake and ready to protect the Tower against itsenemies.
He took his station and stared out over the sea. Far in the distance,he could make out the bomb-blackened city; off to the left was thespot of green that indicated the village of the Free People. Somewherebeyond were the lands of the Wild Ones—the ones Jon was here to defendthe tower against.
"All well to the East!" he cried, when his turn came. The otherGuardsmen, stationed in a circle around the Tower, called off theirobservations in turn.
The morning passed slowly. A little before noon, the man at the top ofthe Tower cried, "Enemy boat approaching! Prepare to defend the Tower!"
Jon's mouth tightened, and he squinted toward the dot of light on thesea that was the boat of the Wild Ones. Slowly, he drew his sword,whisked it through the air a few times, loosened his wrist. It was thefirst time in over a month that he had been called upon to do battle inthe name of the Tower.
From within the Tower, the auxiliary guard-force came running out andtook battle-stations. They stood ready, waiting for the Wild Ones tocome.
No one knew what the Tower was. It had been there as long as any of theFree People could remember, and probably had been there forever. It wassacred to them, and for that reason was under constant attack by theirenemies from the Wild Places.
At twenty-three, Jon had been a Tower guard for nearly three years, hadtaken part in almost twenty defenses. The Wild Ones had practicallycaptured the Tower twice, but each time the guardians had driven themoff.
Now, they were back for another try. Jon waited tensely as they drewnear.
Time passed slowly. Five minutes, ten, while the enemy attacking-partyapproached. The look-out at the top of the Tower sang out periodically,keeping the guards below informed of the boat's progress.
Finally: "They're here! Prepare to defend the Tower!"
The great sailing-ship pulled up on the shore, and men began to pourforth—ten, twenty, thirty men. It was a good-sized army. And Jongasped when he saw who led them.
He was a giant, topping seven feet by several inches. His swordglittered in the sunlight as he slashed it savagely through the air,and his hair was a coarse, matted mane. He growled some barbariccommand and the Wild Ones charged onward. The ring of defenderstightened and stood firm, waiting for the attack.
Swords rang. Jon found himself opposing a brawny youth with fierce,widely-set eyes and a good sword-hand. He parried a two-handed chopthat could have cut him in half, and smashed back with a quick lungethat drew blood.
"Dog!" The Wild One flicked blood from the flesh wound and droveforward. Jon parried again, drove in, crashed his sword off theother's hilt. His hand numbed, the Wild One dropped his sword. Withouthesitating, Jon cut the unarmed man down and turned to seek his nextopponent.
He glanced over and saw Len, the Tower Ca