Chapter 15
Chief Batubizee saw the clouds of dust rising high into the clear African sky in the wake of the speeding trucks. They could be seen for miles around as the vehicles drove across KwaLuzu, the "land of the Luzu." The fire of the setting sun burned the sky above the spreading clouds.
After the old Master of Sinanju had left with his small band of warriors earlier that day, the chief had changed back into his everyday clothes, which consisted of faded blue polyester slacks and an old red shirt.
His flowing purple robe was for ceremony only, and since he had only the one, he did not wish for it to become as worn and tattered as all his other clothes.
With the appearance of the dust clouds, Batubizee ducked back inside his large hovel. He emerged in his traditional robe and Luzu crown. Symbols of a bygone age.
It took another twenty minutes for the trucks to reach the village. A handful of pitiful natives was sprinkled about the square.
Batubizee was standing before his home when the Suburban finally appeared at the far end of the main road, leading two more trucks. All three vehicles rolled to a stop before the chief. Luzu warriors sprang to the road.
As Bubu jumped out from behind the wheel of the lead vehicle, the Master of Sinanju appeared like a wisp of wrinkled smoke from the passenger's side.
Batubizee was again struck by the age of the wizened Asian. His impression had been the same when first he laid eyes-on the Sinanju Master. He was old. Frail. Weak.
The oral history of his people spoke of Master Nuk as a powerful figure, strong limbed and tall, with piercing eyes that could cut more sharply and precisely than any of the diamonds from the nearby barren mines. This was Batubizee's image of a Master of Sinanju-not the old man who had just emerged from his Suburban.
Batubizee again struggled with disappointment as the Korean hurried over to him.
"Welcome back, Master of Sinanju," the chief intoned. "You have brought me the head of the evil one?"
He was looking beyond the old Korean. From what he could see, none of his warriors carried the head of Willie Mandobar to present to their ruler.
As Bubu took up his silent post behind the chief, his young face was grim.
"All is not well," the Master of Sinanju said gravely.
At his tone, Batubizee felt the first stirrings of concern. "What has happened?" the chief demanded, turning from Bubu. "Where is the head of the fiend Mandobar?"
"Still attached to his shoulders," Chiun replied. "According to his lackeys, he has fled East Africa." Batubizee's big eyes grew wider.
"And you took them at their word?" he snapped. The truth of the feeling he'd been having since first he laid eyes on the little man began to creep into his booming voice.
"They spoke truth," the Master of Sinanju responded, silently noting the chief's change in tone. "He is not here."
"They lie!" Batubizee insisted. "He would not leave at such an important time! They have deceived you, old one."
Chiun could not keep the ice from his voice. "Sinanju has methods of detecting deceit in a man's words," he explained evenly. "I saw only truth."
"Can you even see at all?" Batubizee snapped, throwing up his hands in disgust. "Exactly how many of his minions did you have my men slay to find this truthful information?"
Chiun bore both insult and tone with a stoic face. "Many of the palace guard are dead," he responded, his eyes level. As he regarded the angry tribal chief, his hands locked with chilly calm onto opposite wrists within the sleeves of his kimono. "And my warriors were seen?"
"Since we did not slay everyone from here to Bachsburg, yes," Chiun said.
Batubizee shook his massive head. "You old fool!" he spit. "You have led them to me!"
Bubu stepped forward, casting a glance at Chiun. "The old Master could not-" he began, his voice pitched low.
"Old," Batubizee interrupted. "You are correct. This old fool is not the Master of Sinanju of our histories. Nuk was a vital and powerful man. The lions would not even eat this thing of bone and gristle." He stabbed a finger at Chiun.
"Mandobar has destroyed the nation to which Luzuland is an arm. You promised his head!"
"Even Sinanju cannot kill a man who isn't there," Chiun said simply.
The Luzus in the square were attracted to the raised voice of the chief. Even as they came forward, more appeared from dilapidated huts.
Batubizee towered over the tiny Asian, his anger growing. "Could you even see him if he was there?" the Luzu chief demanded hotly.
"Please," Bubu stressed. "Let Master Chiun-"
"Silence, " Batubizee snarled. He waved a disdainful hand at Chiun. "This feeble thing is not even to blame for this disaster. I am. It is my fault for trusting the legends. The Luzu Empire was already dying. Now, on its deathbed, I have strangled it."
A proud man, Batubizee knew he had already let the common villagers see too much. Shoulders sagging, he shook his head at Chiun.
"Go, old one," the chief said, defeated. The effort to speak seemed draining. "Return to your American emperor. I should not have summoned you in the first place."
Turning wearily, he began trudging morosely to his hut.
He had taken barely two steps before there came a commotion from behind. When Batubizee turned, he found the Master of Sinanju standing where he'd left him. The old man had removed his hands from the sleeves of his robes. Clutched in the bony fingers of one was a long, curving machete. Batubizee saw that the blade Bubu had carried from the truck was no longer in the young native's hands.
The machete was damaged halfway up the blade where it had come in contact with the Citizen Force rifle.
As both Bubu and Batubizee watched with growing concern, the Master of Sinanju pulled a spear from the grasping fingers of a nearby warrior.
Chiun's bright hazel eyes burned deep into those of the Luzu chieftain. Peering into their frigid depths, Batubizee suddenly felt naked.
Chiun turned abruptly from the gathered throng. All eyes tracked the wizened form of the Master of Sinanju as he strode away from the group, a weapon in each hand.
"What is he doing?" the chief asked Bubu, struggling to keep the hint of sudden fear from his voice. The young native's expectant eyes were trained on Chiun. "Watch," he whispered.
Noting the tingle of excitement in the younger man's tone, Batubizee fell silent.
Women who sat in the dirt of the square separated as Chiun passed. Their wasted children ceased playing in his wake. Flies buzzed around malnourished heads as all eyes turned to the strange old man. At the far end of the square, towering above a pair of tumbledown huts, a mighty baobab tree sprouted from the arid ground. Its dark and pitted trunk was nearly thirty feet in diameter. The highest of its long, gnarled branches clawed more than sixty feet into the hot East African sky.
Chiun stopped at a dried-up fountain at the center of the vast square. From where he stood, the tree was farther than any man could throw.
As natives watched in growing fascination, the tiny Korean raised the machete high in the air, curved tip of the supersharp blade just behind his shoulder. The spear he hefted in his other hand, close to his ear.
A hush fell over the crowd. Even the insects of dusk seemed to hold their breath in anticipation. When the tension became more than any of them could bear, one bony hand shot forward.
The spear launched from Chiun's fingers with an audible crack. Almost simultaneously, the other hand whipped down. Another crack and both spear and machete were rocketing across the square toward the huge tree.
Time drew a different pace around the weapons. All eyes could see them as they sliced hot air.
At the midpoint between Chiun and the baobab, the machete sprang forward. Blade struck spear, cleaving the blunt end. With a determined whir, it split the spear up its length, building speed as it went. The machete broke through the far end, skipping ahead of the still airborne spear halves. An instant later, the blade found its mark, thwacking loudly against the trunk of the baobab.