Wu Ming Shi nodded. "So you must die," he said, "having no value in these negotiations." Wu Ming Shi directed his voice toward Chiun. He barely moved on the dais, being more like a statue than a man. "Have you any objections to this, Master of Sinanju?"
"Yes. One."
"Speak."
"I owe this one a fee," Chiun announced to all. "I cannot allow him to die with the debt unpaid-any more than I would a dog I had promised to feed."
The mandarin Wu Ming Shi absorbed this in silence. The rising tone of the Master of Sinanju's words was not lost on him. His eyes glittered momentarily.
"Conclude your business, then, so that we may finish our own."
Chiun turned and padded toward Remo. Fang Yu withdrew.
From one sleeve of his tiger kimono, Chiun withdrew several gold coins. He offered them to a dumbfounded Remo.
"Here is your ten percent, which I was unable to give you, owing to the urgent nature of my business here," Chiun said loudly.
Remo threw the coins away.
"What happened to my not earning-"
"Our business is done!" Chiun said quickly. "I am sorry that you followed me here, for it would have been better had you not done so. For your life is forfeit."
"What are you talking about?"
"Farewell, faithful servant," Chiun shouted, turning away from Remo. Out of the side of his mouth he spoke. "Do not shame me before these Chinese barbarians," he whispered. "And remember this: one hand lies while the other tells the truth."
"What kinda crap is this?" Remo demanded.
"Please," Chiun said in an offended tone.
Remo arched a puzzled eyebrow. "Please?"
"This is a place of holy men." Chiun withdrew.
He stopped before the dais and bowed slightly. "The debt is paid. You may execute him now."
"Execute!" Remo barked, his muscles tensing. He started to back toward the door.
"Stay," Fang Yu snapped. Remo obeyed. He didn't want to obey. His mind knew he should not. But his body refused to go along. He was helpless.
And on the dais, the hauntingly familiar black-masked chauffeur stepped off, light as a dancer, and approached Remo with the sure catlike grace of a tiger approaching a staked goat.
He lifted his hands, circling around Remo. His lips peeled back in a satisfied grin of anticipation.
"Observe how like the white crane attacking the fox," Wu Ming Shi intoned, "Sagwa hops on one leg."
"So does a dog when it relieves itself," Chiun said.
"The arms are held high like wings, and like beaks the hands are prepared to strike at his opponent."
"This other man is a vassal, not an opponent," Chiun pointed out.
"He has will except when countermanded. The result of a certain drug introduced into his system through a Western conceit called a skin patch."
Skin patch? Remo thought, remembering the tearing sound behind his right ear. He reached for it.
"No!" Fang Yu cried. "Do not touch behind your ears."
Remo obeyed.
"This is not a fair fight," Chin said emotionlessly.
"You object?" Wu Ming Shi demanded quickly.
"It is no longer my concern, for the debt has been settled." "The other man wears a similar patch. For he is highspirited. Thus, they are equal, both obeying my commands, but also capable of attack or defense."
Chiun nodded. A little of the tension that had deepened his facial wrinkles relaxed.
Remo didn't notice any of this. He heard their exchange as if from far away. All his concentration was on the blackmasked chauffeur. He circled Remo warily, looking like an absurd black crow as he hopped on one foot.
Remo circled with him, waiting for the first blow.
None came.
"I guess I go first," Remo said. Then Sagwa feinted with one hand. Remo faded back. Then he lunged forward.
Sagwa leapt aside. One arm straight as a rod swept downward. Remo slid under the blow, feeling the push of compressed air driven by the stroke.
He swung on the rebound, using his elbow as a striking point. But it encountered only the faint afterthought of Sagwa's body warmth.
The gap between them was too great, and Remo instantly understood the theory behind this unfamiliar fighting style. Don't strike first. It kept the opponent at a disadvantage. In order to strike, Remo would have to come in on an inside line. But the chauffeur was like a repelling force on a pivot, prepared for any attack. There were no openings, because he refused to attack. He would only defend himself.
Remo watched the man's hands. They were like beaks undulating above his head.
Then, grinning, the chauffeur made a fist with his right hand. Remo watched it closely.
"Where have I seen you before?" Remo asked the man.
"In your nightmares," Sagwa spat. The fist flattened out, fingers straight. The other hand now formed a fist.
"One hand lies, the other tells the truth," Remo muttered. "But which one?"
He decided to find out.
Remo jumped back until his spine touched the closed bronze doors. Using them for leverage, he propelled himself with a backward kick.
The maneuver sent Remo shooting into the air, sailing over the chauffeur's twisting head.
A gloved fist shot up, clipping Remo's left calf.
It felt like a sledgehammer. Remo saw stars. He landed on one foot, the other held off the ground. He hopped three times before he found his balance.
The chauffeur came around, still hopping on one foot.
"Okay," Remo said. "Now I know which hand tells the truth."
Remo hopped back as the chauffeur advanced. He sensed the power of Chiun's inner essence hovering near him.
His whispery voice floated to Remo's ears. "Remember, do not shame me."
Remo hesitated. Why should he listen to Chiun now-after all that had happened? Then again, Chiun had warned him about the lying hand.
Remo put his foot down. It hurt. He stepped forward, limping slightly. "Damn!" he said.
The chauffeur hopped before him, not advancing, not retreating, but taunting him. Remo watched him maneuver. He saw the opening he wanted.
Remo went in low, his body bent at the waist.
With a victorious cry, the chauffeur brought his right fist down. Remo countered with crossed wrists. A mistake. The other hand, straight as a spear, caught him in the throat.
Remo rolled with the blow, coughing. As the chauffeur approached, Remo retreated, scrambling to keep his feet. This brought him close to Chiun.
Pitching his voice so only Chiun heard it, he demanded, "What happened to one hand lies, the other tells the truth?"
"He is Chinese, and therefore devious," Chiun whispered back.
"This guy is no kung-fu dancer," Remo growled.
"Nuihc gave him the benefit of certain knowledge," Chiun said.
"He knows Sinanju?" Remo said in surprise.
"He knows many styles, some worthy; some not," Chiun said. "But listen to his heart. He is empowered by drugs." "That explains why he's faster than me."
Chiun turned to Wu Ming Shi suddenly, lifting his voice. "It would seem that our servants are equally worthy."
"You have taught yours more than a few defensive tricks."
"A servant needs to protect his Master," Chiun returned.
Remo hopped closer, lifting both hands in imitation of the chauffeur's tortured stance.
"Your guy seems to know what he's doing," Remo taunted. "Why don't I try it?" He made a fist. "One hand lies," he mocked, "the other tells the truth."
For a moment, Sagwa's black eyes grew worried behind his mask. Then his arrogance asserted itself.
"You are a fool!" he hissed.
"Maybe, but you're the guy who thinks he's a whooping crane."
Remo feinted, more to test this unfamiliar style than anything else. It felt awkward, but he instantly appreciated the advantage of the long-arm style. Joints and wrists locked, it imparted pile-driver power to the blow because the entire of the body was behind it.