"It is different for me. I'm a woman. I cannot be the only one to retreat. The elders of Lakluun would be shamed."
"I see. And you, Kiree? Would your elders be shamed?"
The little black man smiled. "Very much," he said. "You see, the Tellem do not believe in death. It is our belief that when we die, our spirits are transferred to others. That way, we continue to live. To fear shedding one life when there is promise of another at hand is most unworthy."
"We believe much the same thing here in Sinanju," H'si T'ang said.
Jilda sighed. "So the Master's Trial goes on. Because we are afraid to be afraid."
"That is so," H'si T'ang said.
They slept. The next morning, as the three warriors prepared to take their leave, Chiun gave each of them a polished piece of jade inscribed with Korean characters. "It is the symbl of the Master's Trial," Chiun said. "When my pupil comes to your lands for the contest, he will be carrying one of these so that you may recognize one another."
"What about Ancion?" Jilda asked.
Kiree laughed. "I think Ancion will have everyone in his country looking for the protegee of the Master of Sinanju."
Emrys strapped his knapsack onto his back. H'si T'ang moved toward him in the shadows. "Forgive me, but there is something about you, my son. Your aura. Something is wrong."
Emrys looked back quickly to Jilda and Kiree, standing in the doorway of the cave. "There's nothing wrong with me," he said loudly.
17
"it is your eyes-"
"My eyes are as good as anybody's. Good enough to fight your boy, at least," he bristled. Then he straightened up and smiled. "No offense, H'si T'ang. Whatever you did to Ancion's hands last night made a good show, but I don't cleave much to magic and hocus pocus myself. Besides, I can see just fine. Your aura locator made a mistake this time." He chuckled and joined the others at the door.
When they had left, Chiun turned to the old man and said, "The big one is becoming blind."
"I know. But he is too proud to admit it."
They settled near the fire. "And where is your successor now?" the old man asked.
"In America. But he will arrive here soon. I wish for you to meet him."
"Then his visit must be very soon, because my days are coming to an end," H'si T'ang said softly. "He is a good pupil?"
"Good enough," Chiun said, not wishing to boast about his protegee. "He is white."
"Oh?"
"But worthy," Chiun hastened to add. "That is, reasonably worthy. For a white."
H'si T'ang laughed. "I am making you uncomfortable," he said. "I do it out of amusement, because you are so painfully prejudiced."
"I did not wish to train a white boy. It just happened."
"It was meant to happen. Perhaps you do not know the legend. You are still so young."
Chiun was disconcerted. "I have lived more than eighty years, my teacher. No one would call me young."
H'si T'ang snorted. "Wait until you are my age. Even the mountains will appear young. You do know the legend, then?"
18
"Which legend? We have so many."
"The legend of Shiva." The old man spoke softly, remembering. "The ancient god of destruction will come to earth as a tiger wearing the skin of a man. He will be called the white night tiger, and he will die, to be created anew by the Master of Sinanju."
"I know the legend," Chiun said. "It has sustained me."
"And he is the one? The white night tiger?"
"I believe so. I have seen signs in him."
"And the boy? Does he know himself to be Shiva?"
Chiun shook his head. "He tries not to believe. Even when the signs exhibit themselves, he strives to forget. He is white, after all. What can one expect from a white thing?" He spat on the cave floor.
"He is only young. Too young, perhaps, to undertake the Master's Trial. He has not encountered opponents such as these contestants before, no doubt."
"No. Not like these."
"Take care of your godling, my son. This rite of passage is measured in blood."
Chiun stared at the fire for some time. "He is ready," he said at last.
H'si T'ang nodded. "Good," he said. "The scroll you took from my collection. Did you send it to him?"
"Yes, Little Father," Chiun said.
"Then you know the prophecy?"
"I do not understand it fully."
The old man smiled. His rnouth was broad and toothless, and he grinned like a baby. "If the prophecies were perfectly understood, they would be history, not prophecy," he said, clapping Chiun on the back. "So. Tell me, son. What do you call your young, white, misplaced, nonbeliev-ing pupil who bends his elbow during combat?"
19
Chiun looked up at him, startled. Then he smiled, because through the long years he had forgotten that his old teacher could stiil surprise him. "If you know he bends his elbow, then you know his name."
Chapter Two
His name was Remo and he was crawling into a whorehouse. That's all it was, Remo thought as he inched up the outside of the swank Fifth Avenue apartment house while a small colony of police waited impotently on the sidewalk below. Only a whorehouse wasn't what you called any establishment in a building that rented space by the square inch.
It was an unlikely place for a group of sweat-stained terrorists, but then New York was a city that tolerated eccentricity, a term used to cover every type of pervert from the standard garden variety wand-waver to lunatics like the Managuan Liberation Front.