Warren Murphy: Assassins Play Off

"Do not be angry," said Chiun. "Your premier has saved you to die another day."

"Enough," said Nuihc. "Remo. Where is he?"

"He rests," said Chiun.

"I have challenged him. He is a coward not to be here."

"A coward. A coward. The traitor has given the wisdom to a coward," came cries from the crowd.

Chiun waited until the noise subsided.

"Who is the coward?" said Chiun. "Is it the injured white man? Or is it the cowardly squirrel who used three people to have him injured?"

"Enough, old man," said Nuihc.

"Not enough," said Chiun. "You fool these people now into thinking how brave Nuihc is. Did you tell them how you last faced the American? In the museum of the whale? And how he left you tied up, with your own belt, like a child?"

Nuihc's face flushed. "He had help. He did not do it alone."

"And did you tell them how you tried to kill the Master, in the oil fields of that faraway land? And how I left you to dry in the sun like a starfish?"

"You talk much, old man," said Nuihc bitterly. "But I have come here to get rid of the American for good. And then I, not you, am the Master of Sinanju. Because you have betrayed your people by giving the secrets to a white man."

"Traitor!"

"Traitor!" came the voices again.

"You have forgotten the legend of the night tiger," said Chiun. "Of the dead man whose face is pale and who will come from the dead and be trained by the Master to be the night tiger who cannot die. You have forgotten these things."

"Your legends are for children," said Nuihc with a sneer. "Bring on your American and we will see who cannot die."

"Where is he?"

"The white man… bring him forward!"

The voices raised in a roar and under them, Chiun spoke softly to Nuihc. "You may have Sinanju, Nuihc. Let Remo live. That is my price."

Loudly, so he could be heard by all, Nuihc answered. "I do not deal with the senile and the foolish. Remo must die. And you must be sent home." A hush fell over the crowd. In the old days, before the labors of the Masters of Sinanju had given the villagers sustenance, the old and the weak and the hungry babies were sent home—by being put into the cold waters of the bay to drown.

Chum looked carefully into Nuihc's eyes. There was no mercy there, no pity, no flicker of humanity.

His final offer.

"I will send myself home," said Chum. "But the man with white skin must live."

His voice was a tired plea for mercy for Remo.

His answer was a smile from Nuihc who said, "So long as he lives, Sinanju's secrets are not secrets. He has learned the ancient ways, now they must die with him. Now."

"Now!" came the cries.

"The American must die!"

And then it was that a voice rang over the shouts of the maddened townspeople. And so it was that they turned and cast their eyes toward the palace of the Master and a hush fell over them as there they saw, standing in the dust of the road, the white man dressed in a two-piece black suit without belt.

And his voice rang over the heads of the villagers like an alarm bell and they looked at each other in amazement because the white man spoke in the tongue of the villagers, and his words were the words of that land and its old ways, and what he did say was.

"I am created Shiva, the Destroyer, death, the shatterer of worlds. The dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju. What is this dog meat that now challenges me?"

And the crowd was hushed, for their tongues were coated with the powder of fear.

Chiun was looking at Nuihc when Remo's voice sounded. The old man saw Nuihc's eyes widen with surprise and perhaps fear.

Kim Il Sung looked shocked, also frightened, but fright could be forgiven in one who was not of the House of Sinanju.

Chiun turned slowly. Had the gods heard his prayers and visited a miracle of healing upon Remo?

But the hope faded when he saw Remo, standing there heavily, most of his weight on his uninjured left leg, his hands and arms still hanging awkwardly close to his body, resting on his hip bones to take the pressure of their weight off his damaged shoulders.

When Chiun thought of the pain Remo had endured to dress and to walk down that dusty road to the village square, his heart filled with love, but also pity because now Remo faced Nuihc's murderous vengeance.

Nuihc saw too. He saw the wrists resting awkwardly on hips; he saw the weight resting heavily on Remo's left leg. With a smile that promised death, he walked from the small group of men toward Remo.

Remo stood there, his brain throbbing from the pain of his walk. Nuihc was supposed to deliver the fourth blow to Remo's left leg, the blow that would cripple or kill him.

He had a chance if Nuihc got careless. If he got close enough to Remo, the bigger American might be able to drag him down with his weight and get in some kind of blow. It was all he had. As he looked up and saw Nuihc's eyes meeting his, he knew it would not be enough.

Over Nuihc's head, Remo could see Chiun standing still, his face draped in sorrow. He knew the torment that must be in Chiun's mind now—his affection for Remo, and his refusal to disgrace the House by hitting a villager, even if that villager was Nuihc.

Nuihc stopped now. He was out of Remo's reach.

"So you still walk," he said.

"Get on with it, dog meat," said Remo.

"As you will."

Remo waited for him to come closer, to deliver the fourth stroke, the one to Remo's left leg.

Nuihc did not do it. His right leg flashed out and the point of his foot smashed into the knot of muscles at Remo's right shoulder. Remo screamed as the muscles reseparated.

His wrist dropped from its resting place on his hip. The weight of his arm could not pain any more than the shoulder itself did.

Slowly Nuihc moved around behind Remo, as if the American were a stationary object. Remo could not turn to see the blow coming. He felt it land, inside the muscles in the back of his left shoulder. Again he screamed with the pain, as he could feel the fibers of muscle tearing.

Still he stood.

Nuihc was back in front of him, his face contorted with hatred.

"So you are Shiva?" he said. "You are a weak white man, weak as all white men are weak, corrupted as all Americans are corrupted. How does this feel, night tiger?" he shouted and drove his left foot into the bunch of muscles in Remo's already injured right thigh.

Another scream.

Remo went down. His face hit into the dust. The powder coated his lips. His mind felt each muscle of his body and each one shouted its pain. He did not try to rise. He knew the effort was hopeless.

Nuihc stood over him. "I do not even need the fourth blow for you," he sneered. "I will save it for a few moments. Remember. It is coming."

He turned back to Chiun and Kim Il Sung.

The crowd cheered.

"Hail Nuihc. Hail the new Master. Look at the weak American." And they laughed as they pointed at Remo.

Nuihc walked away. Remo lay in the street, the dust on his lips, and he felt the dirt sticking to his face, and for a moment he did not know why it was sticking, and then he realized it was because he was crying.

And then even crying was too painful for him and he just lay in the street, hoping that Nuihc would kill him quickly.

Nuihc stood next to Chiun and Sung.

"There he is, eating the dirt of Sinanju. This is the one, the outsider to whom the ancient one gave the secrets because he said the white man was strong and wise. Look at him. Do you think him strong now?"

The townspeople looked again at Remo. One laughed aloud. And then another, and another, until all of them were laughing as they looked at Remo, face down in the dirt, not moving.

Nuihc joined in the laughter and when they stopped, he asked in a loud voice, "And what do you think of the wisdom of one who picked that white man for his strength? I say, Chiun is too old. Too old to be your protector. Too old to be the Master of Sinanju. Too old for anything except to go home again as the aged and the weak and the foolish did in the olden times."