"And your father has assigned me to train you."
"I don't want a Korean trainer. I want an American trainer. Everybody knows Americans cost more than Koreans."
Chiun thought for a moment about calling the horse back to him, pulling Abdul off, and punishing him, but decided it was not worth the effort. He watched silently as Abdul rode away, trying to hold onto the horse and not fall off, bouncing his big body from side to side with each step of the stallion.
Then Chiun heard a sound behind him and turned to see a young woman walk from behind the trees.
"I am Zantos," she said. "I apologize for my husband, Master."
"I apologize to you for letting him live another day," Chiun said.
"How will we war tomorrow if Abdul is not ready?" she asked. He noticed that she had bright, direct green eyes that looked into his face with confidence and intelligence.
"I do not know. I will think of something," Chiun said.
"You will not battle against your own son," she said.
"You know Remo? And that he is my son in heart?" Chiun asked.
"Yes. I warned him that there were those who would try to kill him."
Chiun paused. Remo had known about the death attempt to be made on him but had done nothing. Instead, he had wanted to test Chiun to see if Chiun would save him. As Chiun had.
"No, child. I will not raise my hand against my son."
"I am happy for that," Zantos said. She glanced around to make sure that no one was in earshot, then stepped closer to Chiun. "I will warn you now, Master,
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as I warned your son. There are those here who would kiU you."
"Yes," Chiun said. "The regent, Ganulle."
"How did you know?"
"I saw him watching me," Chiun said. "I have seen those kinds of eyes before."
"He and Abdul are in league. Your Ufe is in danger from them."
"You are Abdul's wife. Why do you tell me this?" Chiun asked.
"Because I think they are in league also against our sheik, the noble Fareem. He is a good man and must not be harmed."
"No harm will come to him while I am here," Chiun said. "His Ufe is my responsibility."
"Then I will go, Master."
"Go with my thanks for your warning. And for your loyalty and courage."
The young woman blushed under her half-veil. "What will happen in tomorrow's war?" she asked.
"This is an Arab war, child. Nothing will happen."
"Your son will not be hurt?"
"No," Chiun said.
"Thank you, revered one," she said, and turned to vanish into the trees again. Chiun walked slowly back alone, through the oasis to the main tent village. It was time to talk to Sheik Fareem and tell him some bad news.
Remo sat on the sill of an upstairs window, watching his alleged army trying to drill. Their numbers had swelled to over 750 and from watching, Remo guessed that about fifty of them knew the difference between left and right.
What kind of army did he expect when he took it over by squeezing the commanding general's ear? If Chiun asked, Remo was going to deny responsibility. He wasn't a general. He would be an administrator. A paper pusher. Let General Bull have the credit.
The door to the empty office burst open. Melody
Wakefield was shoved roughly into the room, where she sprawled on the floor. Three Hamidi soldiers stood behind her.
"I am told you are the new commander," one of the soldiers told Remo.
"Actually, I'm an administrator, but go ahead. What do you want?"
"This harlot tried to seduce us."
"So she's a soldier groupie. So what?" Remo asked.
"Yes, but she has no ... no ..." The soldier brushed his hands down his chest, indicating a bosom.
"Some people like flat-chested women," Remo said.
"That's right. Flat-chested. She offered to take on our entire company. Three at -a. time. This is obscene, Commander."
"Administrator," Remo said. "With her, it's obscene."
"Our revolutionary army tribunal has judged her in special session," the soldier said.
"And?"
"She can be sold into slavery or stoned," the soldier said. The two soldiers behind him nodded.
"Slavery. I want to be a slave," Melody shouted.
"Shut up, you," said Remo. He asked the soldier, "Who decides the final punishment?"
"You do, Commander. But it must be one or the other."
"Leave it with me," Remo said. He understood that this was how big administrators made decisions. They either said, "Leave it with me," or they appointed a task force to study the problem and make recommendations. Both approaches were based on the same concept—if you waited long enough, most problems went away by themselves, and there was no need to decide anything.
"We will leave her with you too, Commander," the soldier said. He saluted, almost stabbing out his eye with his right thumb, then pulled the door closed.
"What are you going to do with me?" Melody asked Remo.
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"Stoning's too good for you. And who'd want a slave whose mouth is always going? Three at a time, huh?"
"I thought our brave Hamidi army needed some incentive and expression of the people's love before they marched into battle."
"Well, you're in a pickle now," Remo said. "The Koran is clear. Stoning or slavery."
"You know the Koran?"
"Yes," Remo lied.
"Are you a Moslem?" she asked.
"Yes," Remo lied.
"Wanna make it?" she asked.
"Not with you," he said truthfully. "Listen, don't you understand what's going on here? The last time you fucked up, it cost you your hands. This time it's your Ufe on the Une. Don't you care?"
"Spoken like an American. You people think hands are 'the most important things in the world. But I tell you that hands are not nearly as important as ideas. I will be a martyr to the cause of Islam in the world."
"You'll be dead, and no one will remember your name. Camp followers don't have statues built to them."
"When they understand my motives, they will honor me."
"I wish they had cut out your tongue," Remo said. "You're dealing with lunatics here."
"Islam is liberating," Melody said.
"Go back to your typewriter, will you? I'm taking your case under advisement." That was another thing top administrators always did. Take things under advisement. By tomorrow, the whole Hamidi army would probably be wiped out and the case of Melody Wake-field would be academic. He could send her home. In a strait jacket, as she deserved.
"I will write the truth about our brave army," she shouted as she moved toward the door. "Allah is great."
"Yes, he is. And you are loud. Get out of here."
"Islam forever," she shouted on her way out.
"And stop trying to seduce my army," Remo yelled at the closing door. "I've got enough problems without my soldiers getting the clap."
"I am sorry, Emperor," said Chiun, "but your son..."
"Will never be a soldier,"*said Sheik Fareem.
Chiun nodded his head sadly. "Perhaps if I had him when he was younger. But now, he cannot even sit a horse. Or a camel. He is afraid of guns, and swords are too heavy for him. He risks lacerating his own feet every time he picks up a lance."
"It is not that you should have had him when he was young, Master of Sinanju," said Sheik Fareem. "If only you could have had him before there was oil. Oil money has robbed all our people of their respect for the old ways."
"Wealth is like that," Chiun said.
"Oil is like that. We must destroy the oil."
"Saying that makes you a target for many," Chiun said. "Perhaps even some of those around you."
"Do you know something, Master, that you are not telling me?" asked Fareem.
"No, sire. I know nothing. I suspect but I know not."
"You must tell me your suspicions."
"No. Because to rule, you must be without fear and without favor. And you cannot be that when you must always watch over your shoulder. You can look straight ahead. The House of Sinanju is here, at your shoulder, to deal with your enemies."