One truck. Only a handful of men.
The bright light of the rising moon found no expression on the native's features.
Spear in hand, the sentry slipped down the round rock face. On bare feet he ran back toward the main Luzu village.
NIGHT DESCENDED on Africa like a settling shroud. As the moon yawned full in the star-choked sky, bathing the rolling plains in spectral white, the Blazer headed deeper into Luzuland.
In the truck's dashboard were ten deep indentations, the shape of the driver's fingers. Behind the wheel, between hateful glances at Remo, the man flexed each hand in turn, trying to force away the residual numbness.
Unlike the first leg of their journey, Remo's thoughts had found focus. As they drove, he stared out the windshield, alert to all that was around them.
The old rutted path grew worse. Around him, Deferens's men bounced and jostled on squeaking springs.
When they had at last traversed the plain and the truck broke through the claustrophobic stretch of dry grass, a rocky expanse funneled them into a string of low hills.
The instant they entered the ravine, Remo was alert to the men crouching high up on the canyon walls. When he looked, he saw dark figures silhouetted against the white glow of the night sky.
One of the men in the back had seen the natives, as well. Eyes growing wide, he scanned the jagged rock line far above. There were dozens of silent Luzus, washed in the black of night. They traced the path of the speeding truck.
"We got company," the man in back growled, already fumbling over the seat for one of the weapons crates.
It was all he managed to say before the window at his right shoulder shattered in around him and the business end of a hurled spear split his skull just above the ear.
The other man in back screamed.
In the front, the panicked driver spun left and right. "What happened?" he yelled, loosening his grip on the wheel.
The truck immediately pulled wildly to one side, scraping the wall of black stone in a shriek of sparks.
Remo grabbed the wheel, steering them back to the path. "Eyes on the road," he warned, annoyance in his voice as he watched the natives. "I want to get there in one piece."
As soon as he spoke, he detected multiple objects rocketing their way. Too many to avoid.
"Oh, great," Remo managed to grouse just as the windshield shattered at the impact of five hurled spears.
Remo caught the spear that was meant for him by its sharpened nose. A fingernail flick and it clattered harmlessly over into the back. Three more he harvested from the air. Unfortunately for the driver, Remo was too far away to stop the fifth.
The spear pounded the man square in the chest, prying ribs and puncturing lung. Releasing a shocked gasp of air, the driver promptly slumped over the wheel.
The truck was already losing control before yet another spear pierced a front tire. It exploded in a spray of tearing rubber and choking dust. Frayed black sheets flew away in anger as the racing truck dropped and spun.
As the truck whipped sideways, the naked wheel snagged a jagged rock. They went up and over.
In the passenger's side, Remo folded his arms in quiet irritation as the world spun upside down. Bodies and shattered glass whipped about the cab. The big truck rolled wildly, end over end, along the ravine road, roof and doors buckling as momentum propelled it forward.
Only when they finally crashed and rolled to a creaking, grinding stop, did Remo uncross his arms. "Chiun had better not hear about this," he muttered to himself. In response, the last survivor in the rear groaned.
Remo ignored the man.
The truck had landed at an angle on its crushed roof. Through the window slits, Remo saw dozens of bare ankles. His ears detected a chorus of thudding heartbeats. Brushing glass from his chinos, he climbed out into the cloud of softly rising dust.
About two hundred warriors encircled the wreck. At Remo's appearance, spears were raised menacingly. Remo didn't seem concerned with them in the least.
"You're all my witnesses," he said, addressing the multitude. "If anyone asks, I was not driving." He slapped more dust from the knees of his pants.
Behind Remo, the last of the men who had accompanied him from Bachsburg crawled out into the dirt, a British assault rifle clutched in his shaking hands.
"Mooka bastards!" he screamed.
His finger didn't have time to brush the trigger before a single spear struck him in the shoulder. It tore straight through flesh and bone, throwing him backward and pinning him to the crumpled hulk of the truck.
When the man opened his mouth to cry out in pain, another hurled spear flew inside it, snapping his head into the Blazer. His body slumped, held in place by the two spears. The gun slipped from his fingers.
Remo turned from the dead man. "Okay, I'm serious," he said to the Luzu army. "I don't want you telling anyone I did this, 'cause I didn't."
Chiun had been a real pain in the ass about his driving skills lately. On top of everything else, he didn't want to take the blame for this latest wreck. In response to his words, a spear flew his way.
When it was a hair from his eyeball, Remo batted it by the shaft. It clattered harmlessly to the rocky ground.
"Cut it out," he said, peeved. "And since you just killed my guides, I'd appreciate it if you'd take me to wherever Batubizee is."
At the mention of their chief, another dozen angry spears sailed at him. With unseen swatting hands, Remo lrnocked them all away.
"Listen, I hate to play on my celebrity status," Remo said as the last spear fell and the first murmurs of concern began to rise from the ranks of the Luzu, "but I am a Master of Sinanju."
Doubtful expressions blossomed on the faces of the Luzu warriors.
"You lie," one menaced.
Remo bit the inside of his cheek, wondering how to prove his identity to them. "It'd help if I'd brought my Sinanju decoder ring." He frowned, glancing around.
When he saw the machete in the hands of a nearby native, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Reaching over, Remo snagged the weapon. To the crowd, it was as if the blade had appeared in his hand by magic. Spears rose menacingly.
"Don't get your loincloths in a bunch," Remo grumbled.
He didn't raise the weapon against any of the Luzus. Instead, he marched around the side of the overturned truck.
Suspicious eyes tracked him as he went.
A door had been ripped off the Blazer in the crash. The bent shape nestled amid a pile of rocks near the wall of the ravine. Raising the machete, Remo slashed it down against the painted panel of the door. With a few rapid strokes, he etched a trapezoid in the steel. A final, single blow brought a bisecting slash mark through the geometric shape.
"There," Remo announced, turning from the door. "Satisfied?" He tossed the machete back to its owner.
The symbol of the House of Sinanju had the desired effect. Shocked gasps rose from the ranks of the Luzu army.
"Sinanju," a few men hissed, awed. With growing wonder, they looked on the stranger with the milk-white face.