Warren Murphy: Bamboo Dragon

The first step was to get away from her companions, find a decent place to hide. And with the contest going on in front of them, she knew that there would never be a better time to make her exit.

Next stop, Audrey thought, the land of milk and honey.

Remo marked a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned in time to catch a glimpse of Audrey running toward the wall that marked the ancient city's boundary line. The massive gates were sixty yards to her right, but she didn't veer off in that direction. Rather, she appeared intent on getting to a kind of lean-to shed that stood against the inside of the wall, its wooden door ajar.

"Stay here!" he told the others, hoping they would follow his instruction, less concerned about their fate just then than with the prospect of the ringer making good her getaway.

He spared a glance for the immense combatants, ducked a spray of blood as the ceratosaurus raked the elephant across one ear with four sharp claws. It left the ear in tatters, but the elephant wouldn't back down. If anything, the sudden pain appeared to galvanize the pachyderm, propelled it forward, slashing with its tusks. The reptile scuttled backward, snarling, but a long gash opened on its flank before it hopped out of range.

Remo was in full motion now. On the far side of the jade arena, he saw Chiun, a tiny, black-clad witness to the clash of titans. Chiun saw Remo, too, and raised an open hand. From the expression on his face, they might have met by accident, outside a restaurant in downtown Seoul, instead of on some blood-smeared battleground where living nightmares dined on human flesh.

He kept on after Audrey, knowing Chiun could take care of himself in any given situation. Remo didn't have a clue as to where Chiun had found an elephant, but from the trail of broken corpses leading to the open gates, he knew the beast had paid its way before it ever caught a glimpse of old Nagaq.

As for the outcome of the present contest, Remo figured it was still too close to call.

Across the courtyard, Audrey was within a few strides of the lean-to, gaining fast, when she stopped short, recoiling in apparent fear. The door flew open, and a hulking, mud-caked tribesman leaped out to confront her, brandishing a spear. Her scream was audible above the snarling, grunting sounds of mortal combat at his back as Remo poured on speed.

Chiun was humming softly as he watched the contest that no living man had witnessed heretofore. Brute creatures lacked finesse, of course, but it was still an honor to observe their efforts from a ringside seat. His sympathy lay with the elephant, since it had served him well with no reward, but it was difficult to see the dragon as a loser, with its nimble sidesteps, wicked claws and flashing fangs.

Still, it was something of a disappointment when he thought about the great scrolls of Sinanju. Chiun had hoped the dragon would have wings, perhaps breathe fire—in short, put on a better show. It would have made the combat hopeless, stolen any chance the elephant might have, but there was something in the preservation of tradition that appealed to him.

Chiun doubted whether this big lizard even had an eye for gold and gems.

A sudden jabbering of voices from his flank distracted Chiun, and he was turning to confront the natives when the first spear whispered past him, struck the elephant and pierced its shoulder. Two more lances followed swiftly, striking home, and while they were no mortal threat to the behemoth, it was clear they irritated him. He shook himself, dislodged one spear, but the other two held fast.

Chiun was not amused.

He counted seven natives—three of whom had foolishly disarmed themselves—with two more poised to hurl their spears. They shouted for Nagaq as if they were a group of drunken white men watching football on a Sunday afternoon and rooting for the quarterback.

The Master of Sinanju moved against them, killing two before they seemed to recognize the threat. Nagaq's surviving acolytes turned their attention to Chiun, but it was already too late for them to save themselves.

Too easy, thought Chiun as he swept through their ranks without resistance, cleaving flesh and bone the way a butcher opens lifeless carcasses. There was no contest, and he finished swiftly, picking up one of their fallen spears and hefting it, considering its usefulness before he frowned and cast it to the side.

Chiun did not feel pity for his enemies. It had been their choice to attack, when they could just as easily have run into the jungle and concealed themselves. If they elected to do battle with the Master of Sinanju, it was understood—by Chiun, at least—that they would die in sundry violent and humiliating ways. There was no dignity in foolishness, and Chiun felt nothing but contempt for those who threw their lives away in hopeless causes.

He returned his full attention to the clash of giants in the courtyard. It wouldn't be long, pure logic said, before a winner was revealed.

His heart was with the elephant, but if he had been forced to bet, Chiun would have put his money on the reptile.

Remo was a dozen paces from the lean-to when the tribesman drove his spear through Audrey's abdomen, below the ribs, and hoisted her as if she were a fish, still wriggling on the tip of his harpoon. She screamed—a wild, unearthly sound, half pain, half disbelief—and Remo saw the warrior tilt his head back, opening his mouth to catch the first warm drops of blood that showered on his face.

It was the moment something snapped inside him, and a red haze blurred his vision for perhaps two heartbeats. Remo had been sent to kill this woman, and he would have done the job without complaint, but there was something so barbaric in the act of her impalement, something so inhuman in that thirst for blood, that Remo voluntarily let go of his reserve, felt fury energize him as he closed the final distance to his prey.

The tribesman saw Death coming through his one good eye, but there was little he could do about it. The man's first instinct was to drop the spear, drop Audrey and retreat in the direction of the lean-to.

He never made it. Remo caught him by the nape and hauled him back before the tribesman reached the threshold of his sanctuary. Simple pressure at the point where skull met spine would do the trick, but Remo didn't let his adversary off that easily. Instead, he hauled the native back and set him on his big, splayed feet, stood waiting for the guy to make his move.

The cyclops blinked twice, muttered something in his native tongue and threw a roundhouse punch at Remo's head. It was the final voluntary move his body ever made. His arm was snapped like kindling at wrist and elbow, twisted from the shoulder socket with a gruesome sucking sound. Before the native even knew he was disarmed, before the agony could register, his own arm whipped around and struck him in the face with force enough to crush his nose and cheekbones, shearing off his front teeth at the gum line. One more stroke before he fell, and that was all it took to split his skull, the lifeless body falling next to Audrey.

Remo knelt beside the woman, cradling her head without a sudden motion that would fire new jolts of pain off through her body. He didn't remove the spear or otherwise disturb it, understanding that her wound was hopeless from the dark blood soaking through her denim shirt in front and back. A modern hospital with trauma surgeons standing by might just have saved her, but there was a shortage of facilities in the Malaysian jungle. Even with a helicopter on the scene right now, she would have bled to death or died from shock within the first few minutes, miles away from any kind of help.

So Remo, helpless, brushed the hair back from her face and asked her how she felt.

"Like shit," she told him honestly. "It isn't fair."