It took a while, but finally the PLA stopped trying to hide behind Remo's flatcar.
The PLA started to retreat, the Mongols hot on their heels.
The arrows had stopped, so Remo stepped out to meet the oncoming figures. He tore into the PLA with enthusiasm.
The sight of a lone Mongol-so Remo appeared from afar-single-handedly ripping PLA soldiers to shreds was enough to give the Mongol cavalry pause.
They came to a stunned stop and watched mute as statues. Kula's voice lifted over the screams of the dying, his words unintelligible to Remo's ears, but his tone unmistakable. It rang with pride.
Finally Remo had his fill of dismembering PLA soldiers and waved the Mongols on.
They came in like Apaches, whooping and using short daggers and swords to finish off the last stragglers.
The snow was pink and red when they were finished. The air was warm with rising steam and the heat that was escaping human bodies for the last time.
Kula cantered up to Remo, astride his own horse and leading Smitty. He offered Remo his reins in silence.
Remo mounted. "So much for phase one," he said. "There's time before the Mongol army gets this far south. Next we gotta find Fang Yu."
"She is lost?"
"She's not who I thought she was," Remo explained. "I gotta find out who she really works for."
"There are many ways to make a Chinese spy talk," Kula suggested, wiping his blade clean of blood with the shaggy mane of his pony.
Remo shook his head. "I'll handle Fang Yu on my own."
"We ride with you, white tiger." Before Remo could protest, Kula turned to the regathering horses and shouted in his native tongue.
The answering roar that filled Remo's ears meant nothing to him. But the intent was clear. Blades were lifted to the steely blue sky in salute.
"Looks like I have a following," Remo grunted.
Kula reached over and clapped his hands on Remo's shoulders.
"You and I, our blood is of the same color," he said with simple sincerity. "You lead and we will follow. No one will stand before us."
Remo glanced back to the wreckage of the Chinese troop train. Snow melted around the broken boiler.
"Let's hope this is the beginning of a streak," he muttered. But his voice lacked conviction. What would happen when he tangled with the Master of Sinanju?
He wheeled and spurred his pony back toward Sayn Shanda.
The Mongols fell in after him like the troubled wake of a great ship passing through white water.
Chapter 27
They swept through the Middle Gobi, between the provincial capital of Mandal Gobi to the north and Holodo Suma to the south.
By this time, the New Golden Horde was three thousand strong. It was no longer a line of cavalry, but a caravan.
Collapsible gers were carried on camelback. Supplies burdened creaking yak-drawn carts. From each saddle hung a leather sack containing hardened milk curd and water, which after a day's bouncing would be churned into an edible porridge.
Heeding the call to horse, they had come from Ulan Goom to the west, from distant Tamsang Bulag, and even from the remote villages of the Delugun-Boldok Mountains, the fabled resting place of Genghis Khan himself.
"Praise Buddah that I lived to see this day," Boldbator Khan shouted lustily. "We are an army. We will soon know the joys that Lord Genghis spoke of-to conquer our enemies, to deprive them of their possessions, to make their beloved weep, to ride on their horses and embrace their wives and daughters. I look forward to that last joy with especial relish, Boldbator added with a low chuckle.
The Master of Sinanju's reply was sobering.
"We are too few to ensure victory," Chiun said, his squeaky voice pitched low so none of the other riders could hear.
"We have men, horses, supplies, and weapons. What more does a Mongol army require?"
"More Mongols," Chiun said simply.
"We have thousands of stout Mongols," Boldbator boasted.
"When one contemplates sacking China," Chiun returned, his voice like stone, "one can never have too many Mongols."
Boldbator strained to look behind him.
"I do not think there are better men in all of Mongolia," he remarked.
"Send detachments to the nearest towns," Chiun said. "Learn if they can what transpires in Beijing. Muster more horse Mongols. And no Uighurs, Kazaks, or Kirghiz!"
"At once," Boldbator said, turning his complaining horse around.
The sky overhead was too blue to be true. Boldbator's lifted voice seemed to bounce off its uppermost reaches.
"Bato! Jagatai! Take you twelve riders each to Mandal Gobi and Holodo Suma. Gather up all the riders you can. Shame them with words or beat them with your whips, but let no abled-bodied Mongol refuse the call! We will await you at Sayn Shanda! Go!"
The riders got organized. They split off from the main body, which ranged in both directions as far as the eye could see.
"We can rest up at Sayn Shanda," Boldbator told Chiun after the thunder of hooves had died away. "Perhaps the latest news will have reached that place too."
Chiun nodded, his almond eyes never wavering from the horizon, beyond which lay Inner Mongolia and the prize he sought.
Chapter 28
As they approached Sayn Shanda in the desert, Kula cantered his horse up to Remo's side.
"Shall we await you in our gers?" he asked.
"There's a long black limousine somewhere in town," Remo said, his eyes on the white fingerlike apartment houses that dominated the Sayn Shanda skyline. "Find it and I'll be happy."
"What is this machine to you?"
"I have a score to settle with the driver."
"I will bring you his head on the tip of my sword," Kula vowed.
"Just track it down," Remo said. "I'll handle the rest."
"It will be as you say," Kula promised.
Kula lifted his deep voice, and like a wave of many-legged centaurs, the horsemen charged down into the town, leaving Remo to bring up the rear.
"Nothing like Mongol enthusiasm," Remo muttered as he watched them descend on Sayn Shanda.
He rode after them at a steady pace, his brow wrinkled in thought. He wasn't looking forward to the confrontation with Fang Yu. But there was no other way.
Remo rode through the streets of Sayn Shanda. Cars and bicycles gave way before him. Occasionally a person on the sidewalk would shout, "White tiger! Freaking white tiger!" at him in English. Word obviously travels fast among Mongolians, he thought. He felt like the star in the final reel of a King Arthur film.
As he rode along, Kula's horsemen-his horsemen, he realized with a start-were practically going house to house, trying to find Remo's black limousine.
Remo decided they had the matter well in hand and took a street he recognized would lead him back to the Genghis Khan Hotel. A Cyrillic-lettered Pepsi sign was an unmistakable landmark.
The street was long and lined with relatively modern shops and office buildings. Only the native costumes and braided hair of the women-that and the frequent Genghis Khan posters-made it seem not unlike a small American town.
Drumming hoofbeats lifted over the muted background noise of the city. They were riding hard, and coming this way.
The deep roar of a car, intermixed with a squeal of speeding tires, warned Remo of approaching trouble.
The black limousine raced up a side street bisecting the avenue. It flashed across so fast, to Remo it seemed unreal. Hot on its rear deck were a score of Mongol horsemen in full cry, Kula leading.
Remo spurred his horse.
"Hayah!" he said. Smitty responded, his hooves pounding the cobbles, eating up blocks.
The roar and clatter of hoofbeats changed, and grew.
Suddenly, from the opposite direction, the limo streaked across the avenue, one street closer to Remo. The Mongols plunged a length behind it. They seemed to have lost some horses along the way.