"It is a very great country in size," said Chiun. "Not so great in culture."
Frowning, Kula flung aside a tapestry and pressed his flat nose to a window. He squinted.
"I see no yak herds."
"They have no yaks," said Chiun.
"Not one?"
"Perhaps a few underfed buffalo," Chiun allowed.
"Not enough to reimburse the invasion army," added Remo.
Kula's scowl darkened. "Then we will bring yaks with us. As a peace offering. To lull the white man into thinking that we bring peace."
"You're pretty open with your master invasion plan," said Remo. "You don't expect to just ride into every city and town from Outer Mongolia to L.A. and announce you're now in charge."
Kula scooted away from the window. "Of course not."
"So how do you figure to pull it off?"
"It is simple. Japan has purchased many places in America and other citified lands."
"True."
"When they have bought up most of the world, we will take over Japan. Struck numb with fear, the rest will fall into place."
"Sounds like a long-term project to me."
"Rome was not sacked in a day," Kula said unconcernedly.
"You meant Rome wasn't built in a day," corrected Remo.
"Do you think one can simply sack an empire in an afternoon?"
"I got news for you. The American people will fight back."
"I will show you something," Kula said, digging a thick leather-bound book from an ornate chest. He opened it to a certain page and presented it to Remo.
Remo took it and saw that the book was open to the entry on Genghis Khan. Kula's thick finger pointed to the final paragraph.
In the past unsympathetic Persian, Chinese and Arab writers condemned Genghis as a ruthless and cruel destroyer, but his terrorism was in reality calculated psychological warfare. He never set out to annihilate a people, like Hitler, or a social class, like Stalin and Mao. Although Genghis did destroy some centers of culture, his administration was generally very tolerant in religious matters and toward ethnic minorities. Today China champions and Russia condemns him, while in Mongolia he is venerated as a symbol of Mongolian nationhood.
"What idiot wrote this?" Remo demanded.
"It is from a very wise and famous American book called the Encyclopedia," said Kula proudly.
Reno looked. He was holding an encyclopedia, all right. One found on the shelves of every library, school and university in the nation.
"This takes political correctness to new lows," he muttered, surrendering the book.
Kula beamed. "Boldbator Khan has made a study of Western thinking. As long as we slay and pillage without regard for race, creed or color, no one will condemn us. And of course we will be merciful in our conquests. If a city submits to us without resistance, only the adult males will be put to the sword."
"You are too kind to us poor backward Americans," said Remo.
"Pax Mongolia is the wave of the future," said Kula, beaming.
"It will be a good thing," said Chiun, "to bring Eastern culture to this benighted land."
Remo looked at him and demanded, "You mean to tell me that when the Mongol cavalry rides in, you're just going to watch? What about the gold America pays you?"
"The gold of Emperor Smith reserves the services of Sinanju for the express purpose of disposing of America's enemies upon demand," said Chiun. "Not in preventing possible invasions. If Emperor Smith decrees Boldbator Khan an enemy to be slain, I will slay him. With regret, of course," he added for Kula's benefit.
"And if you slay my Khan, I will be forced to seek your illustrious head in revenge," returned Kula. "Although it will pain me to lop it off."
"If the Wheel of the Inexorable decrees these events," inserted Lobsang, "what mortal hand can stay them?"
"We will all be reincarnated anyway," Kula said, laughing. "Except the White Tiger, who, being Christian, is disqualified from rebirth."
"I don't want to be reincarnated," muttered Remo. "So there."
"Remo means that he does not wish to be reincarnated as a Christian," said Chiun.
"Bulldooky," said Remo. He got up to get a glass of water from the washroom sink. When he came back, both Kula and Lobsang looked at the paper cup in his hand with horrified expressions.
"What?" said Remo.
"You do not know enough not to drink water intended for washing the hands?" Kula said.
Remo emptied the paper cup in one satisfied gulp, saying, "Well water doesn't agree with me."
Chapter 7
On the morning of her sixtieth birthday, Squirrelly Chicane awoke, expecting wisdom.
She flung off her sleeping mask and blinked blue eyes at the California sunshine flooding in through the windows. Outside, the surging Pacific gnashed at her private Malibu beachfront.
"I'm sixty!" she cried, sitting up. Her hair was the color and texture of carrot shavings. "I'm a crone. The wisdom that comes to every woman in her rightful time is mine!"
There was no wisdom in the sunshine. It hurt her eyes. The pounding of the ocean made her head throb in sympathy.
"Gotta align my chakras," she muttered, closing her dancing blue eyes.
But her chakras wouldn't align. Especially the yellow one. It was being stubborn again.
The phone rang.