Slave Safari

Remo turned away. He went to two more girls. They were the same. Lamed, twisted, mindless husks that once were people. None of them could have been much over twenty, but they spoke with the grim sadness of ancient wizened women who sit on corners and whose eyes suddenly light up as they remember something nice that once happened to them. Nice was, for these girls, the whip, the chain, the knife, the extinguished cigarette.

"The fourth girl began to cry when Remo removed her gag. "Thank God," she said. "Thank God for somebody."

"Who are you?" Remo asked.

Through her tears and sobbing, she said, "I'm Hillary Butler. They kidnapped me. I've been here two days."

"Kinda rough, kid, huh?"

"Please," she said. Remo began to free her.

Behind him, he heard the sergeant start to speak. "I have nothing to do with it, man," but his words were cut off as he oomphed, Chiun putting a hard hand into his back.

"Who are these others?" Remo asked, as he tore the knots from Hillary Butler's ropes.

"I don't know," she said. "Americans too, the sergeant said. But there's nothing much left of them. They're on heroin."

"You too?" Remo asked.

"Just twice," the girl said. "Last night was the first time, and then this morning."

"You may be all right then," Remo said. "It doesn't work that way."

"I know." The girl stood up and then suddenly put her bare arms around Remo and began to sob heavily. "I know," she blubbered. "I've been praying. And I knew when I stopped praying that it would be all over. I'd be just like them."

"It's okay now," Remo said. "We got here in time. At least for you." He led her to a closet where robes hung and covered her uncut naked body with one. "Can you walk?" he asked.

"Just bruised but unbroken," she said.

Remo's voice grew hard and cold. "Chiun, take Miss Butler downstairs and wait for me. You," he said to the sergeant. Get in here."

Reluctantly, the sergeant entered the room. Remo closed the door behind him, after watching Chiun lead Hillary Butler down the hallway.

"How long have these girls been here?" Remo asked.

"Different times," the sergeant said. "Three months. Seven months."

"You give them the narcotics?"

The sergeant looked toward the closed door. He looked toward the window where the sky was brightening with the pre-dawn sun rays.

"Answer me," Remo said.

"Yes, boss. I give them. They die now without them."

"There was a man named Lippincott who came here. Where is he?"

"Dead. He killed one of the girls. She recognized him, probably. So he got killed too."

"Why all the soldiers here tonight?"

"General Obode put the guard here. He expected someone to break in, must have meant you. Look, I got some money. If you let me go, it's yours."

Remo shook his head.

The sergeant's eyes brightened. "You like the girls, mister? They take good care of you. I housebreak them well. Anything you want, they do." His voice came faster now. It pleaded even though the words themselves were not a plea. Not yet.

Remo shook his head.

"You going to kill me, man?"

"Yes."

The sergeant lunged at Remo. Remo waited; he let the sergeant grab his arm; he allowed the sergeant to hit him with a punch. He wanted to put meaning into what he was about to do, and the best way was to remind himself that this was a man. Let him touch, let him feel, let him understand what was coming.

Remo waited, then jammed his left fingertips forward into the sergeant's separated right shoulder. The sergeant stopped as if suddenly simonized in place.

Remo hit again in the same spot with his left fingertips, then with his right, then with his left again, hammering shot after shot into precisely the same place. The sergeant swooned and fell to the floor. Remo kneeled down over him, grabbed a handful of neck and twisted. The sergeant came awake, his eyes staring at Remo in horror and fright, glinting, Remo realized suddenly, like the eyes from the beds, watching the tableau.

"Awake now?" Remo said. "Good."

He lunged forward again into the injured shoulder. Beneath his fingertips he could feel the once strong and stringy muscles and fibres turning into soft mush. Still his fingertips pounded. The softer the target became, the harder Remo struck. The sergeant was unconscious now, long past reviving. Remo wished he could think of something more painful. The cloth around the sergeant's shoulder was ripped now and pummelled into powder. Remo kept hitting. Blood and ooze and chips of bone came out under his fingertips. The skin had long since given way.

Remo reared back and came forward one last time. His right fingertips went through where once there had been cloth and skin and muscle and flesh and bone. The fingertips came to rest on the wooden floor.

His anger spent, Remo stood. He kicked the sergeant's right arm away. It rolled awkwardly like an imperfect log, finally coming to rest under the bed Hillary Butler had vacated. Then Remo came down on the sergeant's face with both feet, feeling the crunch and crack beneath him. He stood, looking down at the sergeant, realizing that he had taken out of him a payment in advance for what Remo still must do. The three women, still tied in their beds, looked at Remo wordlessly.

He moved to them one after another, sitting on the edges of their beds. To each one he whispered, "Dream happy dreams," and then as gently and painlessly as he could, he did what he had to do.

Finally he was done. He untied the hands and feet of the three dead girls and covered their bodies with robes from the closet. Then he walked out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

The instructions from Smith had been to keep Obode alive. Well, Smith could take his instructions and shove them. If Obode got anywhere in Remo's way, if he got within his line of vision, if he came anywhere within reach, Obode would know pain such as he had never even guessed existed. When Remo was done with him, he would consider the sergeant in the girls' room blessed.

Chiun waited at the foot of the steps with Hillary Butler. She looked at Remo. "The others?" she said.

Remo shook his head with finality. "Let's go," he said evenly.

Already, Smith would go berserk because Remo had not freed the other three girls. But Smith had not been there, had not seen them. Remo had freed them, the only way they could be freed. It had been his decision and he had made it. Smith had nothing to say about it, just as he no longer had anything to say about what Remo would do to Obode if the chance presented itself.

Only two soldiers guarded the back of the building through which Chiun and Remo exited. "I'll take them," Remo said.

"No, my son," Chiun answered. "Your anger breeds danger for you. Protect the child."

The sun was almost rising. Remo saw Chiun and then in a flash, saw him no longer as the little man in the black costume of the Ninja night devils slid away into what was left of the darkness.

From his position inside the back doorway of the house, Remo could see the soldiers clearly, twenty-five feet away at the base of a tree. But he never saw Chiun. , Then he saw the two soldiers, still there, but suddenly their bodies were twisted, useless. Two corpses, Remo strained his eyes. Still no sign of Chiun. Then, Chiun was in front of him. "We go."

Two blocks from the house, an Army jeep was parked at the curb with a soldier behind the wheel. Remo came up behind him. "Taxi," he said. "This is no taxi," the soldier said, wheeling and staring angrily at Remo.

Remo extended his bloodied hands toward the soldier.

"Too bad, Charley, cause that was your only chance," Remo left the soldier's body lying in the street and helped Hillary Butler into the back where Chiun sat alongside her.

Remo started the motor and peeled rubber, burning off down the pockholed dirt street, heading for the hills over which the sun was now rising in its daily ritual of the affirmation of life.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"How many are dead?" Obode's question was an elephantine trumpet.

"Thirteen," General William Forsythe Butler said.

"You said there were only two men coming."

"That's all there were."

"They must be very special men," Obode said.

"They are, Mr. President. One comes from the East; the other is an American. Already, the Loni talk that they are the fulfilment of the legend."

Obode slumped down in his velvet-backed chair in the big Presidential office.

"So they come to restore the Lord to power by grinding into dust the man of evil."

"That's what the legend says," Butler said.

"I have tolerated the Loni and their legend long enough. I was wrong, Butler, to listen to you, to try to bring the Loni into the government. Now, Dada is going to do what he should have done before. I am going to wipe out that accursed tribe."

Butler lowered his eyes so that Obode would not see the exultation there. Let him think Butler looked away to hide his disagreement. But now that the cursed Oriental and American had escaped the trap, this was best. Let Obode chase them; let Obode kill them; and then Butler would take care of Obode. Men loyal to him were now in positions of power throughout the government; they would flock to Butler's support. The Loni would acclaim him as the man who embodied the legend, and with a united country, Butler could return Busati to the power and dignity it held centuries before.

"Shall I mobilize the Army?" Butler asked.

"The Army? For the Loni? And for two men?"

"Those two men just killed thirteen," Butler protested.

"Yes. But they did not face Big Daddy. And they did not face you, Butler. One company and us. That will be enough to take care of both the Loni and the legend, once and for all."

"You have tried before to eliminate the Loni," Butler reminded him.

"Yes. Back before you arrived here. And always they scurried, like bugs before heat. And then I stopped because I listened to you. But this time, I will not stop and I do not think the Loni will run." He grinned a broad faceful of mirth. "After all, are not the redeemers of the legend there among them?"

Butler nodded. "So it is said."

"Well, we shall see, Butler."

Butler saluted, turned and walked toward the door. His hand was on the knob when he was halted by Obode's voice.

"General, your report lacked one item."

Butler turned. "Oh?"

"Your women. What happened to them?"

"Dead," Butler said. "All of them."

"Good," Obode said. "Because if they lived they might speak. And if they spoke, it might be necessary for me to make an object lesson of you. We are not yet ready to defy the American government."

He meant it, Butler knew, which was why he had lied in the first place. Soon enough, Qbode would be dead and the kidnappings could be blamed on him.

"Dead," Butler repeated the lie. "All dead."

"Don't take it so hard," Obode said. "When we are done with these accursed Loni, I will buy you a new whorehouse."

Obode smiled, then thought again of the thirteen soldiers dead at the hands of the American and the Oriental. "Better yet, Butler. Make that two companies of soldiers."

Princess Saffah came from the hut wiping her hands on a small cloth.

"She sleeps now," she told Remo.

"Good."

"She has been ill-treated. Her body has been used badly."

"I know."

"Who?" Saffah asked.

"General Obode."

Saffah spat on the ground. "The Hausa swine. I am glad that you and Little Father are here because soon we will be free of this evil yoke."

"How?" Remo asked. "We sit up here in the mountains. He sits down there in his capital. When are the twain going to meet?"

"Ask the Little Father. He carries in him the seed of all knowledge." She heard a slight moan behind her from inside the hut and without another word, turned and went inside to minister to her patient.

Remo walked off through the village. Chiun was not in his hut, which was built against the protection of a large stone formation, but Remo found him in the square in the center of the encampment.

Chiun wore a blue robe which Remo recognized as ceremonial, and the old man watched as Loni tribesmen stacked wood and twigs into a pit. The pit which had been dug that morning was twenty feet long and five feet wide. Its one-foot depth had been filled to the brim with wood, but in between the branches and twigs, Remo could see that the pit was filled with smooth white stones, the size of goose eggs.

As he watched, one of the tribesmen set the wood in the pit afire and the flames quickly spread until the entire pit was ablaze

Chiun watched for a few moments, then said: "Adequate. But remember to keep the fire fed. It must not be allowed to dwindle."

He turned to Remo and waited for him to speak.

"Chiun, I've got to talk to you."

"I am writing my remembrances? I am watching my beautiful stories? Speak."

"The legend of the Loni," Remo said. "Does it say I get the shot at the baddie?"

"It says the man from the West who once died will grind into dust the man who would enslave the Loni. Is that an accurate English translation of what you have said?"

"All right," Remo said. "I just wanted to make it clear between us that I get the shot at Obode."

"Why is it so important to you now?" Chiun said. "After all, the House of Sinanju owes this debt. Not you."

"It's important to me because I want Obode. You didn't see what he did to those girls. He's mine, Chiun. I kill him."

"And what makes you think the legend has anything to do with your General Obode?" Chiun asked, and walked slowly away. Remo knew it would be useless to follow and ask just what he meant by that last statement; Chiun would speak only when the urge to speak came upon him.

Remo looked back toward the pit of fire. The dried wood had already passed the peak of its blaze and now the flames were lowering. The Loni tribesmen were busy feeding more wood into the fire, and over the sound they made, Remo could hear the stones in the pit cracking and splitting from the intense heat. An errant puff of wind blew across the pit toward Remo and the surge of heat sucked the breath from his lungs.

His inspection was interrupted by a shout from the hill that loomed over the small village. Remo turned and looked up.

"Tembo, tembo, tembo, tembo," the guard kept shouting. He was hollering and pointing out across the tree-speckled flatlands in the direction of the capital city of Busati.

Remo moved toward the edge of the plateau, hopped up onto a rock and looked in-the direction the guard was pointing.

A big dust trail moved, perhaps ten miles away, across the plain. He forced his eyes to work harder.

Then he could pick out figures. There were jeeps with soldiers in them, and keeping up with the slowly moving vehicles were three elephants, soldiers on their backs, moving along in the stiff-legged elephant gait.

Remo sensed someone at his side. He looked down, saw Princess Saffah and extended a hand to help her up onto the stone. The guard was still shouting, "Tembo, tembo."

"What's he getting all worked up for?" Remo said.

"Tembo means elephant. In the Loni religion, they are considered animals of the devil."

"No sweat," Remo said. "A peanut or two, and keep the mice away."

"The Loni long ago sought a meaning for good and evil in the world," Saffah said. "Because it was so long ago and they had not yet science, they thought that animals embodied not only the good in the world but the bad. And because there was so much bad, they decided that only tembo—the elephant—was large enough to hold all that evil. He is a feared beast among the Loni. I did not believe Obode was smart enough to think himself of bringing elephants."

"This is Obode?" said Remo, suddenly interested.

"It can be no one else. The time draws near. Little Father has begun the fire of purification."

"Well, don't expect too much from the Little Father," Remo said. "Obode belongs to me."

"It shall be as Little Father wishes," Saffah said. She hopped down and walked away and behind her back, Remo mumbled to himself, "As Little Father wishes. No, Little Father—Yes, Little Father—in your hat, Little Father. Obode's mine."

And then, he thought, his job would be over. Get the girl back to America; report to Smith what had happened, that the missing Lippincott was dead; and then forget this whole God-forsaken country.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Obode and his soldiers camped at the base of the hills in which the Loni camp sat, and throughout the day, tension built in the small mountainside village.

Remo sat with Chiun in his hut, trying to make conversation.

"These people got about as much backbone as a worm," he said.

Chiun hummed, his eyes fixed intently on the fire pit which shimmered heat and smoke at the other end of the village square.

"The men are wetting their pants just because Obode's got a couple of elephants. They're all ready to run away."

Chiun stared and hummed softly to himself but said nothing.

"I don't know how the House of Sinanju ever got into such a crap deal, taking care of these Loni. They're not worth it."

Chiun did not speak, and exasperatedly Remo said, "And another thing, I don't like this business about the fire ritual. I'm not letting you take any crazy chances of getting hurt."

Slowly, Chiun turned and confronted Remo. "There is a proverb of the Loni," he said. "Jogoo likiwika lisiwike, kutakuctia."

"Which means?"

"Whether the cock crows or not, it will dawn."

"In other words, whether I like it or not, you're going to do what you're going to do?"

"How quickly you learn," Chiun said and smilingly turned away to stare again at the fire.

Remo left the hut and wandered the village. All he heard, everywhere he went, was "tembo, tembo, tembo." The entire population was in a snit about a couple of elephants. Worry instead about Obode's soldiers and their guns. Pfooey. The Loni weren't worth saving.

He was annoyed and only later realized that he might be taking out his anger at Obode in annoyance against the Loni. The more he thought about it, the surer he was, and late that night, stripped naked, Remo slipped past the guards and out of the village. It was well after midnight when he returned. He moved silently, unseen, past the guards who capped the nearby rocks, stepped into his hut and immediately sensed the presence of someone else there.

His eyes scanned the bare hut and then saw the outline of a form on the raised grass mat which served as his bed.

He moved closer and the form turned. In the faint flicker from the flames in the ceremonial pit, he could make out Princess Saffah.

"You have been away," she said.

"I got tired of hearing everybody yelling tembo. I decided to do something about it."

"Good," she said. "You are a brave man." She lifted her hands toward him and he could feel and see the warmth of her smile. "Come to me, Remo," she said.

Remo lay down alongside her on the mat and she wrapped her arms around him. "When the sun is high tomorrow, you face your challenge," she said. "I want you now."

"Why now? Why not later?"

"What we have between us, Remo, may not survive a later. I have this feeling that all may be changed after tomorrow."

"You think I might lose?" Remo asked. Along the length of his warm flushed body, he felt the black coolness of her ebony skin.

"One can always lose, Remo," she said. "So one must take victories where one can. This now will be our victory. And then, no matter what happens on the morrow, we will always have this victory to remember."

"To victory," Remo said.

"To us," Saffah said, and with surprisingly strong arms moved Remo over her. "I was conceived a Lord and born a princess. Now make me a woman."

She placed Remo's hands on her breasts. "God made you a woman," he said.

"No. God made me a female. Only a man can make me a woman. Only you, Remo. Only this way."

And Remo did go into her and did know her and it could be truly written that on that hour she did become a well-made woman. And when both had done and the first rays of the sun were beginning to pink the sky, they slept, side by side, man and woman, God's team, by God's design.

And while they slept, General Obode arose.

It was barely dawn when he pushed aside the flaps of his umbrella tent and, scratching his stomach, walked out into the pre-sun mist and did not like it at all.

His sergeant major's eyes scanned the camp quickly. The campfire had burned out. The guards who had been posted at the corners of the small campsite were not at their stations. There was too much stillness in the camp. Things bring stillnesses, the wrong things. There was sleep on duty and that was one kind of stillness but that was not this kind. And there was death, and this was that kind of stillness, which hung heavy in the air like a mist.

Obode stepped forward and with his toe kicked the ashes of the campfire. Not even an ember remained, not even a glow. Farther from his tent now, he looked around the camp. Next to him was General Butler's tent, its flaps still closed. All over the clearing lay the sleeping bags of the soldiers who had accompanied them, but the bags were empty.

He heard a sound ahead of him and looked up. The elephants had been chained to scrub trees up ahead, and they were hidden from his view by bushes. Despite his feeling of foreboding, Obode smiled. The elephants had been a good idea; the Loni fear of them was strong and traditional.

They must have seen them marching with Obode's soldiers and that must have terrified them. Today, Obode and his soldiers would storm the main Loni camp, and the Loni would look upon the slaughter that followed as inevitable, resign themselves to it as a historical fact. It had been a good idea. The great conquerors had used elephants. Hannibal and… Well, Hannibal anyway, thought Obode. Hannibal and Obode. It was enough to make a case.

The invincible elephant; the sign of the conqueror.

He thought for a moment to wake up Butler, but decided to let him sleep. This was a military matter for a military man, not a football player no matter how brave or loyal he was. He pushed his way through the bushes. Up ahead, forty yards away, he saw the vague gray forms of the elephants but there was something wrong with that too. Their outlines seemed somehow blunt and muted. And what was that before them on the ground? Slowly now, apprehensively, Obode moved forward through the thinning brush. Thirty yards now. Then twenty. And then he saw things clearly and his fingers rose to his lips in the Moslem supplication of mercy.

The elephants' outlines had been softened because their tusks were gone.

Like a moth pursuing a flame, despite himself, he went closer. The tusks of the three elephants had been hacked off near then" bases. Only stumps of ivory remained, broken, chipped, craggy, like a memorable bad teeth that demanded the ministrations of tongue.

And the lumps on the ground. They were his men, his soldiers, and he did not have to look hard to be sure they were dead. Bodies lay there twisted, limbs askew, and through the chests of six of them, impaling them, spiking them to the ground were the six elephant tusks.

Obode. horrified, moved yet closer, impelled by some instinct of duty, some disremembered tradition that told the sergeant major he must be sure of his facts to be able to give a thorough report to the commander.

On the ground near the foot of one of the soldiers, he saw a piece of paper. He picked it up and looked at it.

It was a note pencilled on the back of a printed military order that must have come from one of the soldiers:

The note read:

"Obode.

"I wait for you in the village of the Loni."

That was all. No name. No signature.

Obode looked around him. There had been two companies of soldiers here. Some must still be around, because these corpses sure weren't two companies worth.

"Sergeant," he bellowed. The sound of his voice rolled across the fields, across the land. He could almost hear it grow weaker as it travelled, unanswered, across the miles of Busati plain.

"Lieutenant!' he shouted. It was as if he were shouting into a bottomless well in which sound reverberated but did not echo.

There was no sound and no sign of his soldiers.

Two whole companies?

Obode looked at the note in his hand again, thought deeply for a full ten seconds, dropped the paper, turned and ran. "Butler," he shouted as he neared the other tent. "Butler."

General William Forsythe Butler came from the tent, sleepy, rubbing his heavied eyes. "Yes, Mr. President?"

"Come on, man, we getting out of here."

Butler shook his head, trying to get a grasp on the morning's events. Obode flew past him into Obode's own tent. Butler looked around the camp. Nothing really unusual there. Except… except there weren't any soldiers to be seen. He followed Obode into his tent

Obode was wrestling his white shirt on.

"What's wrong, Mr. President?" Butler asked.

"I'll tell you what's wrong. We leaving this place."

"Where are the guards?"

"The guards are dead or deserted. All of them," Obode said. "And the elephants. Their ivory been removed. We leaving. We leaving now 'cause I ain't gonna have nothing to do with nobody who can kill my soldiers and cripple my elephants in the night, without a sound, without a trace. Man, we getting out of here."

Obode brushed past Butler before his subordinate had a chance to speak. When Butler got back outside, the sun was beginning its climb into the sky and Obode was behind the wheel of one of the jeeps. He turned the ignition key to start position but nothing happened. He tried again, then with a curse jumped heavily down from the jeep and went to another vehicle.

That one would not start either.

Butler came to the jeep and opened the hood. The in-sides of the engine compartment had been destroyed. The battery-had been broken in half, wires were ripped and wrenched apart, the distributor had been crushed into broken black powder and chips.

Butler inspected the other four jeeps in the clearing. They were all the same.

He shook his head at Obode, sitting disconsolately on the seat in the driver's seat of one of the vehicles.

"Sorry, General," Butler said, although he was not sure he was sorry at all. "If we go anywhere, we walk."

Obode looked up at Butler. "In this land we haven't a chance. Even the Loni could pick us off like flies."

"Then what do we do, Mr. President?"

Obode slammed a ham-sized fist down into the steering wheel of the jeep, cracking the wheel and sending the vehicle rocking back and forth on its wheels.

"Dammit," Obode shouted, "we do what armies should always do. We charge."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

While Remo slept, Princess Saffah slipped out of his hut and went back to the hut where Hillary Butler slept.

Saffah could not recognize the feeling that gripped her on this day. All her life, she had waited for the legend to come true; now the men of the legend were here; soon the people of the Loni tribe would be restored to power; and yet, she felt a vague feeling of unease.

Legends were never simple. There were many ways for one to come true. Had they not, for instance, thought that Butler might be the Master of the legend? He had given up his former life in America to become the Loni's friend, so one might call him a dead man. And his returning to the Loni might fulfil the prophecy of the Loni children coming home. So she had thought, but that was wrong.

Might not other things be wrong? You are being a fool, child. What of Obode? Do you doubt that he is the evil man of the story? And that Remo must face him today? Yes, yes. And what of the Little Father? Doubt you that he will purify the Loni? No, no, but how? How?

Saffah ducked into the hut where the young American girl slept. She slid down smoothly onto her heels at the side of the small raised cot. The white girl breathed smoothly and evenly, and the faint trace of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. She would be well, Saffah knew, for one who could dream could live.

She put her ebony hand out and rested it on Hillary's pale white arm and looked down at the contrast Hillary did not stir. Why was it so important, all this concern with color? Skin was skin, black or white or yellow as the Little Father's. What counted only was what was under the skin; the spirit, the heart, the soul. She looked at Hillary Butler and thought, might it not also be thus with tribes? Could hatred between Loni and Hausa end if they could only consider each other as people, good and bad, but each different?

She squeezed Hillary Butler's arm gently, reassuringly.

Chum was up early and Remo found him at the pit of fire. The fire had been stoked and allowed to smoulder during the night and now dry weeds and twigs were being thrown upon it.

As Chiun directed, four Loni tribesmen began to cover the unburned wood in the pit with leafy green branches of trees which dripped water, and sizzled and hissed on the white hot stones in the pit. Steam rose and smoke poured out from under the corners of the branches in lazy coils like drunken sated snakes.

"We going to have a cookout?" Remo asked. "Do you need a duck? I'll run to the store for hamburger rolls if you want."

"Need you go out of your way to appear gross?" Chiun asked. "For certainly, you need no assistance, no more than the duck needs help in quacking."

They were interrupted by a roar behind them. Along the trail, around the corner of the huts, striding into the village square came Obode and Butler, Obode leading the way, bellowing like a bull moose taunted by flies and gnats.

"Cowards and washwomen of the Lord tribe, General Obode is here. Come out, fly swatters and mosquito killers."

The village square was deserted as the few Loni men in it seemed to slip away. At one end of the square, near the fire pit, stood Remo and Chiun; at the other end, seventy five feet away, stood Butler and Obode. The four men stood looking at each other.

Out of a hut halfway between the two pairs came Princess Saffah. She stood black and tall, silent and majestic, wearing her almost-Grecian short robe, staring imperiously at Obode who continued to challenge the Loni men to combat, one at a time or all at once.

"Silence your mouth, braying beast," Saffah said finally.

"Who are you?" Obode shouted, after a moment's pause in which, Remo saw, he was stunned by Saffah's beauty.

"I am Saffah, first princess of the Loni Empire, and I order your silence."

"You order? You order? I am General Dada Obode, President of Busati, commander of all this land, and I am the one who orders."

"Perhaps in your brothels and in your pig sty of a capital, but here you can be silent. We are glad you came, General."

"When I am done," Obode said, "Perhaps you will not be so glad."

Saffah clapped her hands, three times, sharply. Slowly, obviously reluctantly, the Loni began to come from their huts, first women and children, and then men.

"We are glad you came nevertheless," she said smiling, as Loni men drew near Obode and Butler. "And you, Butler," she added, "you have done well to get the gross beast into our camp."

Butler gave a slight bow and Obode's head snapped toward him as if on a rubber band. Suddenly, so many things made sense. Butler was his traitor. Obode roared and lunged with both hands for Butler's throat. Butler was surprised by the attack and fell back before Obode's weight until Obode, at a signal from Saffah, was pulled away and restrained by six Loni tribesmen.

Chiun and Remo walked slowly down the length of the plaza toward Obode who still glared at Butler. "Coward, traitor, Loni dog," Obode spat. "Welcome to my people, fat pig," Butler said. "You have not even the courage of the assassin," Obode said. "For you feared to take my life by yourself as you could have many times because I trusted you. Instead, you waited until you could deliver me into the hands of this flock of sheep."

"Discretion, General, discretion."

"Cowardice," Obode roared. "The armies I have known would have shot you like the dog you are."

Into the chaos, above the voices, rose the command of Chiun: "Silence. The Master of Sinanju says stop your tongues of women."

Obode turned toward Chiun who now stood directly in front of him and looked him over, as if he had just noticed him for the first time. The Basuti President towered over the aged Korean by a foot and a half. His weight was three times Chiun's.

"And you are the Master of the Loni legend?"

Chiun nodded.

Obode laughed, tipping his head back to offer his laughter to the sky. "Mosquito, stay out of Dada's way before I swat you."

Chiun folded his arms and stared at Obode. Behind Chiun, the square was now packed with people and they were hushed as if listening through thin walls to a family arguing next door.

Remo stood next to Chiun, peering coldly at Obode. Finally, the President's eyes met his.

Contemptuously, he asked: "And you? Another of the fortune-telling fairies?"

"No," Remo said. "I'm the chief elephant trainer and jeep repairman around here. Have a nice walk?"

Obode began to speak, then stopped, as if realizing for the first time, that he was the prisoner of an overwhelmingly large number of enemies. Not as lowest recruit, not as British sergeant major, not as commander in chief of the Busati; but now, for the first time in his long career, he realized that death might be a real possibility.

"Kill him," Butler said. "Let us kill him and end this ancient curse on the Loni."

"Old man," Obode said to Chiun, "since this is your party, I ask that when you kill me you do it like a man."

"Do you deserve the death of a man?"

"Yes," Obode said. "Because I have always given a man a man's death and I have tried to be fair. In my day, I wrestled regiments and no man feared to try to beat me because of my rank or station."

"Wrestling is very good for the teaching of humility," Chiun said. "It is the weakness of you Hausa that the most developed muscle in your body is your tongue. Come. I will teach you humility."

He walked back into the center of the open plaza, then turned to face Obode again. Remo came up alongside Chiun. "Chiun, he's mine. We agreed."

"Silence," Chiun ordered. "Do you think I would deprive you of your pleasure? It is written in the legend what you must do. You will do that; you will do no more."

He called to the Lord holding Obode:

"Release him."

Chiun wore his white gi the shin-length pants and white jacket known in America as a karate uniform. The jacket was tied with a white belt, which Remo recognized as an act of humility on Chiun's part. In the Westernization of the Oriental combat arts, the white belt was the lowest grading. Black belts were highest and there were various degrees of them. And then, beyond the black belt, beyond the knowledge of simple experts, there was the red belt, awarded to a handful of men of great courage, wisdom and distinction. The Master of Sinanju, foremost among the men of the world, was entitled to wear such a belt. Chiun instead had chosen beginner's white, and, as a beginner would, he wore it tied tightly around his waist.

He stood now in. front of the fire pit where the continually dampened leaves and branches still steamed and smouldered, and beckoned to Obode. "Come, one of the great mouth." His arms free suddenly, Obode lunged forward, then slowed down and stopped. "This isn't right," he said to Chiun. "I'm too big. How about your friend? I wrestle him."

"He has no more humility than you. The Master must teach you," Chiun said grandly. "Come. If you can."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Obode moved forward slowly, almost unwillingly, his heavy booted shoes kicking up little puffs of tan dust as he came.

He put a hand up in front of him, gesturing peace to Chiun. Chiun shook his head. "It is said the Hausa are brave and courageous. Are you the exception to that rule? Come. I will make the contest more even."

From under his sash, Chiun pulled a square of white silk, no more than eighteen niches on a side. He carefully placed it on the ground in front of him and stepped onto it, his body so light that his bare feet seemed not even to crinkle the cloth. "Come, loud one," he said.

Obode shrugged, a big heavy moving of his massive shoulders, and then he unbuttoned and stripped off his white uniform shirt. The sight of his shoulder muscle rippling black and sleek, almost purple under the hot African sun, drew a murmur from the crowd. And against him was arrayed only poor pathetic old Chiun, eighty years old, never having seen one hundred pounds, but standing, facing Obode, impassive, arms folded, his eyes like fiery hazel coals burning into the big man's face.

Obode tossed his shirt to the ground and Remo picked it up and moved past Obode to the rear of the square where General William Forsythe Butler stood. Obode kicked off his shoes; he wore no socks.

Remo turned to Butler. "Two bucks on the little guy, Willie," he said.

Butler refused to answer.

"I'll take it easy on you, old man."

Obode said that and lunged toward Chiun, Ms powerful arms spread wide. Chiun stood still, unmoving on his square of silk and let Obode engulf him in the black coils of muscles. Obode locked his hands behind Chiun's back, then arched his own back to lift Chiun off the ground, snapping as he would if lifting a heavy garbage pail. But Chiun's feet remained planted on the ground. Obode lurched again and almost fell backwards as Chiun remained rooted to the spot.

Then Chiun unfolded his arms, with delicate, slow majesty. He reached forward with both hands and touched two spots on the underside of Obode's arms. As if torched by electricity, Obode's arms released Chiun and flew wide apart.

He shook his head to clear it from the sudden jolt of nerve pain, then moved forward again toward Chiun, his left hand assorting air in front of him, seeking the classic wrestler's finger lock.

Chiun let Obode's hand approach his shoulder and then the President was flying through the air. Chiun had not seemed to move. His hands had not touched Obode, but the shift of Obode's weight was across Chiun's standing line of force, and Obode went somersaulting through the air to land with a thud on his back behind Chiun.

"Ooooof," he exploded.

Chiun turned slowly on the silken square until he was facing the fallen Obode. Ripples of laughter went through the Loni men, standing around, as Obode raised himself to a kneeling position,

"Silence! Silence!" Chiun demanded. "Unless there is one among you who would take his place."

The noise subsided. Remo whispered to Butler, "Willie, you saved yourself two bucks." Privately, Remo was just a tinge surprised at how easily Chiun was handling Obode. Not that Obode represented any real danger. But Chiun was an assassin and how often had he told Remo that an assassin who could not, for some reason, enter combat prepared to kill his opponent was even more defenceless than the average "man because the focus of his energy was dissipated and some of it must turn back upon himself. Yet, Chiun was obviously keeping Obode alive, and it did not seem to pose any special danger for Chiun. Oh well, Remo thought, that is why there is only one Master of Sinanju.

Obode was now on his feet He turned toward Chiun, a questioning look on his face, and then lurched forward toward him. The old man stood in place, but when Obode neared him, Chiun shot out a silent swift hand. It planted itself near Obode's collarbone and Obode dropped as if he were a ball rolling off the end of a table. Except a ball bounces. The President of Busati didn't He lay there in a dust-covered crumpled heap.

Chiun stepped back, retrieved his silk handkerchief, dusted it, folded it neatly and tucked it back in under his waistband.

"Take him," he said to no one in particular. "Tie him to that post."

Four Loni tribesmen dropped their spears and came out into the arena. They grabbed Obode by his hands and feet and tugged him, sliding along the ground, past the ceremonial fire pit which was still steaming and smoking, and to an eight-foot stake planted in the ground at the far end. Two of them propped the unconscious Obode up, while two more lifted his arms high and tied them with a rope through the large iron ring at the top of the eight-foot post.

Obode hung there, slowly regaining consciousness, hanging by his wrists. Chiun meanwhile had turned from him and looked to Saffah.

From the ground behind her, she lifted a golden brazier, shaped like a Japanese hibachi, and carried it by its handles toward Chiun. Heat waves shimmered off the bowl and the red-glow of the burning coals it contained cast an aura around the golden dish. She placed it at the feet of Chiun.

Chiun looked down at the burning coals.

The silence of the moment was interrupted by a call from a sentry posted on the north side of the hill over the small encampment.

"Loni! Loni! Loni!" he called, obviously in great agitation. Remo turned and looked up toward him. He was waving an arm toward the hills to the north.

Remo moved to the edge of the camp and looked north. Coming up the hillsides, toward the encampment, were other natives, and Remo placed them instantly as Loni. The men were tall and lean and strong-looking; the women lithe and beautiful… two of them in particular.

The long chain of people was now only a hundred yards from the camp and the two women led the band of Loni men and women and children as if they were generals reviewing a parade. They were tall—black as night, their faces impassive and strong-boned, and Remo knew immediately these were the two younger sisters of Saffah, crown princess of the Loni.

Remo glanced back at Chiun. Chiun had sat in the center of the small square, his legs twisted into a full lotus, his fingertips in front of him in praying position. His eyes were closed and his face leaned forward toward the brazier of hot coals on the ground before him.

Remo looked at Chiun hard, but there was no way to tell what he was thinking or doing. The whole thing had confused Remo. Remo was to kill the evil man, but why had Chiun insisted upon playing with Obode first? Why not just give him to Remo? And what was this ritual purification by fire that Chiun was to do? And this nonsense about Chiun perhaps sacrificing his life? If it was anything dangerous, Remo would not let him do it. That was that case closed. No crap about it either.

And then the Loni were streaming into the village. There were hundreds of them, led by the two beautiful black women. As they came into camp, their impassiveness melted as they saw Saffah and each ran forward to be embraced by her.

It took fifteen minutes before the procession had ended; the square was now filled with all three existing Loni bands. Remo looked around. From what was once the greatest empire in all the history of Africa, this was left. Five hundred men, women and children. Hardly enough to fill a Newark tenement, much less create a new empire.

And still Chiun sat. The Loni looked at him silently as they crowded in around the village square, enclosing the pit of fire and an area the size of a large boxing ring.

They buzzed to themselves as they saw General Obode tied to the post at the far end of the pit of fire.

Obode was now awake, clearly wondering what was happening. His face darted from side to side, looking for an explanation, seeking a friendly face. He saw General William Forsythe Butler at the far end of the field and spat viciously onto the ground near his feet.

Inside a hut outside the square of people, Hillary Butler stirred. There was so much noise and it was so hot But it was a nice hot; the kind of hot that makes your muscles work and your bones swing loose and easy. For the first time since she had entered the Loni village, Hillary Butler decided she would get up and walk outside and see what kind of place she was in.

But first she would nap just a few minutes more. Saffah walked forward now to Chiun and stood in front of him, looking down at him across the heat waves rising from the brazier of coals.

"It is a great moment, Little Father. The legend has begun. The Loni children are home."

Chiun rose to his feet in one smooth fluid movement and opened his eyes. He turned and looked at the Loni men who continued to water down the leafy branches covering the fire pit, and nodded. They put down their containers of water and almost instantly the smoke from the pit grew heavier.

Chiun turned then and folded his hands in front of him.

"The legend is the truth," he intoned. "The Loni children are coming home.

"But wait! Are the Loni home? Are the Loni I see today the Loni that my ancestor served many years ago? Are these Loni, these Hausa-hating, elephant-fearing cowards who run like children in the night from noises they cannot see? Are these the Loni, whose bravest souls are their women?

"Are these the Loni that brought light and justice and knowledge to a dark world so many years ago?"

Chiun stopped and looked slowly, silently around the vast crowd, seeming to stop at each and every face, as if seeking an answer.

No one spoke and Chiun went on.

"The legend says that the Loni children will come home. And then the man who walks in the shoes of death must destroy the man who would enslave the Loni. And then the Master of Sinanju must purify the Loni people in the rites of fire.

"But this Master looks and wonders if these Loni can be redeemed."

Remo and Butler stood side by side, watching Chiun with equal intensity, thinking vastly different thoughts. He's going to renege, Remo thought. Did the House of Sinanju give refunds? Butler was exploring the depths of his satisfaction. Nothing had gone exactly as he had planned but no matter. It seemed clear that before the day's events were over, Obode would be dead. The Loni would support the leadership of Butler; so would most of Obode's cabinet and most of the Army leaders. It would be a fine day for William Forsythe Butler, next President of Busati.

"Where is the nobility that once filled the hearts of the Loni people?" Chiun was saying.

"Gone like the fire goes," Chiun said, and as the crowd gasped, he reached his hands down into the golden brazier and brought out two handfuls of coals. Slowly, not even seeming to feel the heat, he scattered the coals around the ground. "Together, coals are a fire, but singly, they are but coals and soon die. It is thus with people; their greatness comes because each shares in the tradition of their greatness." He dropped again to his haunches, and began scattering with his hands the coals from the brazier.

Behind him, the leaves and twigs still smouldered, the heat waves rising from the pit like steam from a subway grating.

Inside the hut, Hillary Butler could no longer sleep. She got to her feet, happily surprised that she wore so sparkling clean a blue robe. She knew now that she was going to be all right. That evil house; the man on the ship; it was all behind her now. She would soon be home; she would be married as she had planned; somehow she knew that everything would be all right.

She moved toward the entrance to the hut, her steps weak and slightly shaky.

Outside the hut, Remo stood next to General Butler. "Willie," Remo said, putting his arm conspiratorially around the other man's shoulder, "you were a good one. But that was a good team you played for. Tell me something I always wanted to know. Did you guys shave the point spread? I remember, you guys were always like five-point favourites and you always wound up winning by three. You cost me a lot of bucks, Willie. I never could figure why you guys would shave. I mean, you were making the big dough already; it just wouldn't seem to be worth the risk. You know, it's not like you were slaves or anything, Willie."

Hillary Butler stepped out of the hut and blinked in the bright sunshine. Just ahead of her, she saw Remo, and she smiled. He had been so nice. His arm was around that black man in the white uniform and they were talking.

"Get out of here, for Christ's sake, will you?" William Forsythe Butler said to Remo. He raised his right hand to Remo's shoulder and pushed. Something on his hand glinted in the sun. It was a ring. A gold ring. A gold ring formed in the links of a small chain.

Hillary Butler had seen that ring before. Just once, when the heavy black hand holding the chloroform pad had lowered over her face.

Hillary Butler screamed.

Remo turned, as silence descended over the entire village. The white girl stood there in the entrance to the hut, her mouth open, her finger slowly raising to point. Remo came to her side.

"Oh, Remo," she said. "You've got him."

"Got him? Oh yeah, right. Obode," Remo said. "He's tied up down there."

"No, no, not Obode. That one," she said, pointing to Butler. "He was the one who took me from my house. He kidnapped me."

"Him?" Remo said, pointing to Butler.

She nodded and shuddered.

"Old Willie?" Remo asked.

"That one," she said pointing.

Suddenly everything had come undone for William Forsythe Butler, but perhaps there was still a chance. He broke through the crowd, pulling the pistol from his holster, running toward Obode. He might yet manage it. Kill Obode, then say he took the girl under Obode's orders.

He raised the gun to fire. Then the gun was gone from his hand, thudding softly, sending up a little puff of dust where it hit the ground and Chiun stood alongside him.

Butler stopped in his tracks,

"You have done evil to the Loni people," Chiun said. "Did you hope someday to be king of this land? To one day enslave not only Hausa but Loni too?" Chiun's voice rose in pitch.

Butler slowly backed away from him. "You have disgraced the Loni people. You are not fit to live."

Butler turned to try to run, but there was no break in the crowd. He turned. Then Chiun turned his back on him and was walking away.

Remo moved out into the clearing.

"It was you, Willie?"

"Yes," Butler hissed, the Loni click in his throat chattering his anger. "I would repay in kind what the whites did to me. What they did to the Loni people."

"Sorry, Willie," Remo said, remembering the girls he had been forced to kill. "You were a good cornerback but you know how it is: you can't argue with a legend."

He moved toward Butler, who drew himself up to his full height. He was bigger than Remo, heavier, probably stronger. The white bastard had never been able to forget for one minute that he had been Willie Butler. All right. So be it. Now he would show him what Willie Butler could do if he had wanted to play the white man's game.

He crouched down and from deep in his throat growled at Remo: "Your ball, honky."

"I'm going to flood your zone with receivers," Remo said. "That always confused you goons."

Remo began trotting toward Butler who went wide-legged into a tackling stance. When Remo was within reach, he sprang, leaving his feet, rolling on his side toward Remo. Remo skipped lightly over him and Butler quickly rolled up onto his feet.

"First and ten," Remo said.

He came back toward Butler who assumed the same stance, but this time as Remo drew near, Butler straightened up, leaped into the air and let fly a kick at Remo's face. Remo caught the heel of the foot in both hands and continued pushing it upward, tumbling Butler back over onto his back.

"Unsportsmanlike conduct, Willie. That'll cost you fifteen yards."

Butler got up again and charged now in a rage at Remo, who dodged away. "Tell me, Willie, what was it you were trying to prove? What'd you need the girls for?"

"How could you know? That accursed family… the Butlers, the Forsythes, the Lippincotts… they bought my family as slaves. I was collecting a debt."

"And you think that poor little girl over there had something to do with it?"

"Blood of blood," Butler grunted, as he wrapped his arms around Remo's waist. "The bad seed has to be uprooted, no matter how big it's grown." He slid off Remo to the ground as Remo skipped away.

"It's people like you, Willie, that give racism a bad name."

Butler had edged around, slowly facing Remo, moving in a circle. He widened the circle gradually until his back was against the line of Lords who were quietly watching this contest, so unlike anything they had ever seen.

Without warning, Butler reached behind him, grabbed a spear from one of the Lord men and jumped back into the squared arena.

"At last, your true colours come out," Remo said. "You're just another dirty player."

Butler moved toward him with the spear, holding it like a javelin, his hand on its middle, its weight poised over his right shoulder, ready to throw.

"Now you tell me something, white man. The legend says a dead man comes with the Master. How are you a dead man?"

"Sorry, Willie, it's true. I died ten years ago. Now you can worry about the legend."

"Well, dying didn't seem to take. So I think you ought to try it again."

Butler was only six feet from Remo now and he reared back with the spear and let it fly. Its point flew straight at Remo's chest and Remo collapsed backwards out of its way and as the spear passed over his head, Remo's hand flashed out and cracked the center of the shaft. The spear snapped in two, both halves clattering across the ground toward Chiun, who stood quietly watching.

Remo slowly regained his feet "Sorry, Willie, you just lost the ball on downs."

And then Remo moved toward him with a leap.

"This one's for the Gipper," Remo said.

Butler rammed a forearm toward the bridge of Remo's nose but the arm struck only air and then Willie Butler felt a biting pain in his chest that turned to fire and the fire was flashing red and pure and it burned worse than all the fires he'd ever seen and in that last flash of flame, he thought back, and his mind said, it's me, Sis, it's Billie, I really can run fast because I know it, and someday I'm gonna be a big man and his sister was saying no tomming swamp nigger ever gonna amount to anything, but Sis, you were wrong, I was wrong, hate and violence isn't the way, it just doesn't work, but his sister didn't answer and suddenly Willie Butler didn't care anymore because he was dead.

Remo stood up and rolled Butler over with his foot so his face was buried in the dust

"That's the biz, sweetheart," he said.

The Loni were still silently watching. Chiun moved toward Remo, put his hand on Remo's arm and said loudly: "Two parts of the legend are now completed."

He looked slowly around the circle of Loni, confused and staring, then at Obode who had regained his dignity and stood erect, his arms yanked high up over his head, determined to die like a British soldier.

"The evil in the world is not always Hausa evil," Chiun said. "The Loni curse has not been the Hausa, but the Loni people who have no heart. We must give you back your heart."

Chiun released Remo's arm and turned toward the fire pit. Almost as if by signal, the last of the water evaporated, and the pit went aflame with a searing whoosh that seemed to swallow the oxygen in the arena and that moved Obode back, cringing slightly.

From a bowl alongside the pit, Chiun took salt and began sprinkling it at the end of the pit, seemingly oblivious to the heat. While Chiun's ritual went on, Saffah and her two sisters moved forward behind Chiun.

The flames died quickly as the dried-out wood almost exploded into fire and Chiun motioned to the two Loni men who stood near the rear corners of the pit. Using long staves, they began to spread the fire, shaking the twigs and embers loose, and exposing through the fire the giant ostrich egg-sized rocks, now glistening white hot from their two-day baking.

Remo came up alongside Chiun.

"What the hell are you up to?" he demanded.

"One does not worry about the Master. One only observes and learns." Chiun looked at Remo, seemed to understand his concern and said, "No matter what happens you must promise not to interfere. No matter what."

"Chiun, I won't let you do anything foolish."

"You will do as I say. You will not interfere. My House's debt to the Loni has been a family disgrace. You dishonour me if you stop me from discharging that debt. Do nothing."

Remo searched Chiun's eyes for any weakness, any hint, but there was none.

"I don't like it," Remo said glumly, even as he started moving back.

"Your preferences are of little interest to my ancestors. They like what I do."

The entire pit had now been raked until it was an evil mix of white hot stones and red hot embers.

Chiun looked around him at the Loni people. "The Lonis must again be taught of bravery."

He nodded to Princess Saffah and her sisters and they slowly walked forward in a single line toward the pit. Remo stood alongside and watched them, a procession of three proud and beautiful women. He could understand why once this land had great kings and queens. Saffah and her sisters were royalty in any land in any day. Traditional royalty was a gift of governments or an accident of heritage, but real royalty came from the soul. The sisters had soul.

Saffah stepped into the ritual bed of salt Chiun had prepared, then folding her arms, without hesitation, she placed her right foot into the bed of hot coals and began to walk into the pit of fire. The Loni gasped. Remo stood stunned. Obode appeared in a state of shock.

But oblivious to all their feelings was Saffah, who was now walking, resolute step after resolute step, down the center line of the pit. Her feet kicked up little clouds of sparks and heat shimmered around her bare ankles. When she was halfway across, the next sister stepped through the salt pit and out into the coals. And a few moments later, the third sister followed.

Remo watched their faces carefully; not a sign of pain or concern showed. It was some kind of trick. Cheapie old Chiun had done some finangling with the fire. Unworthy, Remo decided. Definitely unworthy of a Master of Sinanju. He would have to tell him.

The three sisters now stood in a row near Obode at the far end of the fire pit.

"Your princesses have shown you that the Loni can still breed courage," Chiun said, "but that is not enough to purify you."

Chiun stepped his bare wrinkled yellow feet into the small salt bed and then he too stepped out into the field of flame and fire and heat.

As he walked, he intoned a chant softly to himself. "Kufa tutakufa wote." Remo had never heard it before but recognized it as part of the Loni tongue.

Carefully, yet decisively, Chiun walked straight along the length of the fire bed.

And then in the middle he stopped.

Good trick, Remo thought. A real show-stopper,

Chiun stood there, feet not moving, arms folded, face impassive as ever, still mouthing his chant. "Kufa tuta-ufa wote."

"What's that mean?" Remo said to a Loni standing behind him.

"It means, As for dying, we shall all die."

The Loni watched Chiun and their small buzzings turned to silence as the seconds ticked on and Chiun stood still in the middle of the fiery pit, the heat waves rising around him, making his body seem to shimmer and shake even though he did not move.

Then a small wisp of smoke began to curl up the side of Chiun's leg. Remo could see that Chiun's shin-length white pants had singed at the bottom. A little speck turned brown, then black, then broadened, and now gave out thin trails of smoke. An orange dot appeared at the edge of one leg as the overheated fabric neared its flash point. A tiny lick of flame puffed up.

The Loni gasped. Remo took a step forward, then stopped, indecisive, not knowing what to do.

And over the gasping and the whispers roared the voice of General Obode.

"Will no one help that man?"

The roar was an anguished cry.

Yet no one moved.

"Help him," Obode demanded at the top of his voice.

Still no one moved.

With a bellow of rage and anger, Obode wrenched at the eight-foot post to which he was tied.

The force of his huge body tore the iron ring from its mounting and his hands came loose, still tied together with the ring now suspended on the rope connecting his wrists.

Chiun's ge was breaking into flame at the shins, at the waist.

Without hesitation, Obode raced forward the two steps separating him from the fire pit, seemed to pause momentarily, and then, barefooted, ran through the pit to the place Chiun, stood. Each step he took, he screamed. Yet he ran on. When he reached Chiun, he scooped with both hands together and lifted Chiun in his giant arms like a baby, then ran the short distance across the pit to exit at the side. He put Chiun down gently and with his hands began to beat out the flames of Chiun's uniform. Only when they were out, did he roll onto his back and begin to try wiping away the glowing bits of wood and rock that still stuck to his burned-black feet. He was still screaming in pain.

The Loni watched quietly as Chiun sat unconcerned and Obode ministered to his feet

And then, a full-throated cheer went up from the watching crowd. Hands clapped in the peculiar un-rhythmic African manner. Women shouted approval. Children whistled. The Loni princesses left their places and came running toward Obode and Chiun. Saffah snapped her fingers and shouted some words. In a seeming split second, women were back with leaves and buckets that appeared filled with mud and Saffah began making a poultice for Obode's feet.

Remo came over and as he moved in front of Chiun, he saw with astonishment that Chiun's feet were unmarked and so were his legs and hands. His uniform was singed and scorched, in places crisped away into hard flecks of black charcoal, but Chiun was unhurt.

As Remo stood there, Chiun moved to his feet and stood over the figures of the three princesses ministering to General Obode.

"People of the Lord, hear me now and hear me well because I have traveled many miles to bring you these words." He waved a hand toward Obode, writhing on the ground in pain.

"You have learned through this man today that the Hausa may have courage. It is the beginning of wisdom. You have applauded his courage, and that is the beginning of self-worth. The Loni did not lose an empire because of the Hausa. They lost it because they were not fit to hold it. Today, your people have regained their fitness. The legend has been redeemed. The debt of the House of Sinanju has been paid."

One voice piped out of the crowd. "But our return to power. What of that?" Several voices mumbled in concert with him.

Chiun raised his hands for silence. "No man bestows power, not even the Master of Sinanju. Power is earned by deeds and works. The President of the Hausa has learned something today. He has learned that the Loni no longer hate him because he is a Hausa. They have hated him because he has been unjust. Today he is going to become a great leader because he will now bring the Loni into the palaces of government to build again a great land. The Loni will not be sergeants and servants; they will be generals and counsellors." Chiun looked down at Obode whose eyes met his. They locked momentarily and Obode nodded in agreement, then looked away, back at the head of Princess Saffah who still ministered to his burned feet, her long black silken hair splashing about his blistering ankles.

"To keep this new power, the Loni must be worthy," Chiun said. "And then soon there may be a new race of kings in this land. With, the bravery of the Hausa, with the beauty and wisdom of the Loni."

He looked now at Saffah. She looked at him and then, with tenderness, at Obode, then nodded to Chiun. She smiled and reached out her hand and placed it on Obode's shoulder.

"People of the Loni, the legend is done. You may tell your children you saw the Master. You may tell them also he will return if ever man's hand is set unfairly against you people whom I protect."

With those words, Chiun dropped his hands and walked toward his hut. He picked Hillary Butler from the crowd, took her arm and led her inside with him.

Remo followed and found Chiun sitting on his prayer mat. Hillary Butler sat on the floor near him, just watching.

Chiun looked up, saw Remo, and said: "Where were you when I needed you?"

"You told me not to interfere."

"Ah yes, but would a worthy son have listened? No. He would have said, ah, that is my father, he is in danger, nothing must stop me from saving him. That is what a loyal son would have said. It is the difference between good breeding and being something the cat dragged in."

"Well, it didn't really matter anyway. It was just a trick. Nobody stands on hot coals."

"Come," Chiun suggested. "We will go out and walk the fire together. It is done often in the civilized sections of the world," meaning, Remo knew, the part of the world Chiun came from. "Japanese do it. Even some Chinamen."

"But how?" Remo said.

"Because they are at peace with themselves," Chiun said triumphantly. "They think of their souls instead of their stomachs. Of course to do that one must first have a soul."

"Bicker, bicker, bicker," Remo said. "It was still a trick."

"The stupid never learn; the blind never see," Chiun said and would say no more.

Remo turned to Hillary Butler. "We'll get you started on your way home tonight"

She nodded. "I want… well, I want to thank you. I don't really understand all this, but maybe… well, anyway thank you."

Remo raised a hand. "Think nothing of it."

Chiun said, "You may be grateful. The Master has done what he had to do. This one… well, he did the best he could."

Later, as they prepared to leave, Remo stood near the graying fire pit, and picked up a small chip of wood from the ground. He flipped it out into the pit of coals. The chip of wood hit, seemed to break up the steady pattern of heat waves for a split second, then flared into flame.

Remo shook his head. He turned, and saw Chiun standing there, smirking.

"There is still time for you to learn the fire walk."

"Try me next week," Remo said.

Remo, Chiun and Hillary Butler left the Lord camp that night with a hundred-man Loni escort, fourteen of them with no other responsibility but to carry Chum's luggage.

Saffah and Obode bade them good-bye, then Saffah took Remo to one side.

"Good-bye, Remo," she said. She began to say something else, stopped herself, said a word that sounded to Remo like "nina-upenda" and walked quickly away from him.

On the trail down the mountainside, Chiun said more to himself than to Remo, "I am glad we did not have to kill Obode."

Remo glanced at him, suspiciously. "Why?"

"Hmmm?" Chiun said. "Oh, there is no reason."

"There is a reason for everything you say," Remo said. "Why are you glad we didn't have to kill Obode?"

"Because the chief of the Hausa is to be protected."

"Who says? Why?" Remo demanded.

Chiun was silent.

"Two-faced sonuvabitch. I'm going to get Smith to get the Washington pollsters to take the soap operas off again."

Chiun considered this for a moment. "There is no need for you to punish an old man."

"Then talk. Why was Obode to be protected?"

"Because when my ancestor many years ago left the Loni and they were overthrown…" Chiun paused.

"Get on with it."

"He left to go work for the Hausa," Chiun said. "For more money," he explained brightly.

"Well, I'll be. Talk about double-dealers," Remo said. "Has any Master ever played anything straight?"

"You know not the meaning of such words," Chiun answered.

"Yeah? Well, try this. Nina-upenda," he said, repeating the Lord word that Saffah had spoken to him.

"Thank you," Chiun said and Remo had to find out later from one of their guards that the word meant "I love you."

It made him feel good all over.