At the apex of her flight, she acquired a sudden halo of feathered shafts. They seemed to spring from her body like porcupine quills. But in fact, several plainly impaled her head and vitals, entering from one direction and emerging from the other.
Kali plummeted like a stricken bird. Her howl followed her down. When she hit the ground, she splintered. She didn't move until a group of men carrying great war bows descended upon her. And then she moved only because they flung her dead corpse into the nearby banks of the Tigris River, which was already running red with the blood of Iraiti soldiers.
Remo watched this from the palace parapet.
"We're in Abominadad, right?" he asked Chiun.
"Correct."
"Then why do I see Mongols down below?"
"Because you do."
Remo was silent a long moment. "Are those your Mongols or mine?" he asked at last.
"They are our Mongols," said Chiun, suppressing a smile as his proud eyes searched his son's face.
Boldbator Khan rode up to the Master of Sinanju and his pupil, his broad countenance beaming and bloodspattered. He dismounted his white pony, which dropped excrement with Herculean abandon. Boldbator wore a long del of blue brocade.
"Sain Baina," Master of Sinanju," he said gruffly.
Chiun acknowledged the hail with a formal, "Sain Baino."
"What're you guys doing here?" asked Remo, ever the informal.
"We followed the Seven Giants as our Master bade us."
"Seven Giants?"
Boldbator Khan of the New Golden Horde pointed a stubby finger into the night sky, where the Big Dipper shone. Remo counted seven stars and said, "Oh. We call it the Big Dipper."
"Everyone knows that it is really the Seven Giants." Boldbator addressed the Master of Sinanju. "We searched in vain for the Ishtar Gate, O friend of the old days."
"The barbarians never rebuilt it since you last visited their land," Chiun supplied. "Laziness, no doubt."
Another Mongol came running up, dragging something long and limp in one hand. He wore a black leather vest and his face resembled a weather-beaten brass gong.
"Remo! It is good to see you again, White Tiger."
"Hyah, Kula. What's with the freaking bag?"
Kula the thief lifted a long canvas bag. "It is for the freaking caliph," he said proudly.
"Not much of a present," Remo noted. "Looks empty."
Kula smiled happily, saying, "Soon it will not be."
"Where is the evil one?" asked Boldbator.
"Dead," said Chiun. "I have dispatched him."
The moon faces of the two Mongols collapsed into expressions so tragic they were almost comical.
"The horses will be disappointed," said Bolbator. Kula threw away the bag with a muttered curse.
"Am I missing something here?" Remo wondered.
"It is a fine Mongol tradition," Chiun explained. "One sews up the offending monarch in a bag and tramples out his life under the hooves of wild horses."
"If we're talking about Maddas Hinsein, it sounds good to me," Remo allowed. "Except I got him." He frowned. "Didn't I?"
"That he has been dealt with is all that matters, not proper credit," Chiun sniffed.
"If you say so," said Remo, tearing a length of scarlet silk from his disheveled harem pants and using it to wipe his brow. To his surprise, he encountered a round bump like a pigeon's egg.
"What the heck is this?" he demanded.
"Do not touch it!" Chiun said, slapping Remo's hands away like those of a child. "We will deal with that later."
"Hey, is that any way to act during a family reunion?"
"There would not have been need of a reunion had you not been so reckless in your ways," Chiun scolded. "Your obtuseness has caused me much suffering. How could you not comprehend the gesture my essence made as it appeared before you? Even Smith understood this."
"Bully for Smith. Where the hell were you the last three months-hiding? I thought you were dead."
"You only wished I was dead. You coveted my Mastership. "
"Bulldooky!"
"And you never informed the village of my demise."
Remo folded his arms. "What demise? You aren't dead."
"We will discuss this later," Chiun flared, one eye darting to the interested Mongol faces. "After the company has left."
"If this is a party," Remo said, looking down at the ruins of Abominadad, "I'd hate to see these guys at a riot. No offense."
"None taken." Kula beamed, nocking an arrow and letting it fly in Remo's direction. It whizzed by Remo's ear.
A Renaissance Guardsman, picking his way through some rubble, caught the shaft square in the eye. He screamed like a piano wire snapping. It was that short.
"This is good sport," said Kula, grinning.
"Looks like war to me," Remo muttered, checking his ear. It was still there.
"Yes, good sport. If you do not mind, we have many Arabs to massacre." They started off.