Now that I'm finishing up Saberhagen's Swords, I'm going to re-read Berserker. One of my favorite sci-books of all time (actually, a collection of short stories that appeared in various sci-fi magazines from 1963 to 1967).
To us, the Carmpan watchers, the withdrawn seers and touchers of minds, it appeared that you had carried the crushing weight of war through all your history knowing that it would at last be needed, that this hour would strike when nothing less awful would serve... The skills of peace and tolerance were useless, for our enemy was not alive.
What is thought, that mechanism seems to bring it forth?