Then, noticing he was not alone, he stuck his tongue out in Remo's direction as far as it would go.
"Who the hell are you?" Remo demanded.
Behind him, down the stairs, a door banged open and a pungent human scent came to Remo's sensitive nostrils. He was in the act of turning when a booming voice cried, "Ho, White Tiger! I bring you death. Catch it if you can!"
And the unmistakable sound of a knife whizzing toward his exposed back came to Remo's ears.
Chapter 3
The skills that Remo Williams had learned under the tutelage of Chiun, the last Master of Sinanju, were so ingrained that his reactions to danger were automatic.
All thrown blades make a specific sound. Remo had learned to differentiate among these sounds in the long-ago days of his early Sinanju training when the Master of Sinanju would pluck assorted dull knives, daggers and even scissors from his wide sleeves and send them arrowing toward Remo's back.
Remo acquired numerous bruises and minor nicks, but had learned to move first and think later whenever his ears told his brain that a deadly instrument was zipping toward him. As his training progressed, these weapons were sharpened finer and finer with a whetstone. Chiun made Remo sharpen them himself.
"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" Remo had said one day.
"Yes," the Master of Sinanju had replied blandly.
"You admit it, huh?"
The Master of Sinanju had shrugged carelessly. "I admit it. For your enemies will attempt to kill you in earnest. If I am to instill in you the reflexes that will save your life, I must do my best to motivate them in like earnestness. That is why you must sharpen these tools yourself, so that your dull white senses fully comprehend the danger you face."
And Remo had. The training progressed from bruises to punctures and the occasional scar. Then it was second nature to twist out of the way. When no blade could catch him unawares, Remo was taken to the next level. Turning the weapon against his attacker.
Now, as the dagger neared his back, Remo slid off to one side, pivoting. His hands, impelled by chemical reactions in his brain he no longer thought about, swept around and clasped the dagger-he knew it was a dagger before he saw it because they sounded heavier in flight than a stiletto or a bowie knife-capturing it. Its momentum, redirected, became a part of Remo's pivoting until he let go.
Still in motion, the dagger spun around and returned to the one who had thrown it, point first. It was called "Returning the Angry Coin."
The blade buried itself in a wall with a heavy thunk.
And under its quivering bone hilt, a crouching man boomed out joyful laughter.
"Very good, White Tiger! Very good indeed!"
The attacker straightened, his face a beaming brazen gong in which dark almond eyes twinkled with good humor.
"Kula! What are you doing here!"
Kula the Mongol surged up the stairs and threw out his great arms in welcome.
Fading off to one side, Remo ducked the bear hug.
"Where's Chiun?" he demanded, keeping a safe distance. Mongols ate and drank things that caused their pores to leak unpleasant odors Remo would rather not inhale.
"Preparing our tea, as a good host should." The Mongol squinted. "Are you not pleased to see me?"
Remo wasn't sure if he was or he wasn't. He didn't like company. He never had company, as a matter of fact. And every time Chiun had company, trouble usually followed.
"Chiun never mentioned that you were coming," Remo pointed out.
"How could he? He did not know."
"Then how'd you find us?"
"I called the magic number and the secret address was revealed to me by the Master of Sinanju's servant, Pullyang."
"What magic number?"
"1-800-SINANJU"
"Chiun has a toll-free number!"
"Does not everyone these days?"
"You, too?"
Kula nodded. "1-800-PILLAGE. What is your magic number?"
"I don't have one."
"Ah, you have not earned the right. I see." Kula tried to give Remo a reassuring clap on the back, but ended up smacking himself in the face. Remo wasn't there when the hand reached his back. He was suddenly to Kula's right. "Do not worry, White Tiger, you will receive your magic number when you are deemed worthy. I was given mine by Boldbator Khan himself. His magic number is 1-800-GENGHIS. "
"Look, in America call me Remo. Okay?"
Kula the Mongol looked injured. "You have forgotten the days when you and I harried Chinese soldiers-you the White Tiger and I your strong right arm?"
"I haven't forgotten it. I just put that stuff behind me."
"There is a statue celebrating your glory in the lobby of the Hotel Genghis Khan in Ulan Bator."
"There is?" said Remo, brightening.
"Truly. It commemorates your mighty deeds. Of course, we gave you Mongolian eyes so as not to frighten our children with your fearsome round eyes."
"Good move," said Remo. "Now, where's Chiun?"
"He is below, communing with the Bunji Lama."
"Who's the Bunji Lama?"
"A great man, alas."
"Why is that 'alas'?"
"You will know why when you come face-to-face with the Bunji Lama!'