"You might say that," Remo said.
"Why not just reach up, then, and pull him off?" Reva said. "You're bigger than he is."
"That's true," Remo said. "There are a lot of things bigger than he is. Bags of leaves. Packing boxes. Blow-up dolls. And most people."
"I don't understand."
"They've all got just about an equal chance of getting him off that camel," Remo said.
"As big as you are?" she said.
"Lady, you don't understand and you never will. Forget it."
"You're telling me that you're not stronger than he is?"
"I'm telling you that when he doesn't want to be moved, he won't be moved. Strength has nothing to do with it."
"Well, what does?"
"Tradition, lady. Thousands of years of it. And you don't know gnat's breath about it, so forget it."
"Now, you talk about tradition. But when he talks of it, you make fun of it."
Remo lowered his voice to make sure that Chiun, fifty yards ahead of them, could not hear him. "That's different. He's always talking about other people's tra-
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ditions, and they're mostly crap. I'm talking about his tradition, and that's something else. He is tradition. Even though I don't want to hear him talking about it all the time."
"That doesn't make any sense," she whispered back.
"He never makes any sense," Chiun called out.
The camel stopped fifteen yards before a large tent set up in the corner of the encampment, its back against the initially sparse grass of the oasis. One entire side of the tent was open, and the pathway to the tent was lined on both sides by forty Arabs in long robes.
The camel driver dropped the animal's reins and ran into the tent. A moment later, he came back and brought the animal to its knees so Chiun could dismount. There was a handclap from inside the tent, and the forty Arabs in robes dropped to their knees before Chiun and placed their foreheads against the sand.
When Remo came to his side, Chiun said, "Now you'll see people who know how to act."
A man stepped from the tent. He was tall, in his early fifties, burly but shapeless in his flowing red and brown striped robe. The hands that jutted from the sleeves of the robe were knotted and strong looking. The man's face was weathered with the genes of the Arab and the aging of the sun.
He walked toward Chiun, Remo, and Reva, a smile laid over the deep creases of his brown face. He stopped before them, then bowed and touched stomach, chest, and forehead in an Islamic greeting.
"Salaam aleikim, Master of Sinanju," he said. "After, lo, these many years, we feel one of our brothers has returned to our midst."
Chiun returned the greeting. "Salaam aleikim," he said.
"Shalom," said Remo.
Sheik Fareem looked at Remo, and Chiun said, "We had best speak English in front of the child. He knows not your language."
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"Our land still rings with the glory of the deeds of your illustrious ancestor," the sheik told Chiun.
"And in our ancient scrolls you and yours are written of as wise and honorable rulers," Chiun said.
"What is this all about?" Reva asked Remo. "What scrolls?"
"It's too long to explain," Remo said. "But basically what this is all about is that Chiun's great-granduncle killed somebody for these wogs, and they paid their bill in full."
"Oh," she said.
"And these are your friends?" the sheik asked Chiun, nodding toward Remo and the woman.
"Actually, no," Chiun said. "The white man is . . ." He paused, then stepped forward to whisper to the sheik. Remo heard him say, "He's really a servant, but he doesn't like to hear that. He is of no consequence because he understands neither tradition nor obligation." Chiun stepped back. "I do not know who or what the woman is, except she flew us here in her plane."
Sheik Fareem nodded. "She shall be treated with the greatest courtesy, then. She shall be allowed in the tent with my wives and concubines. A great honor for a Western woman."
He turned to the men and waved them up from their knees, when Reva approached him and spoke. "Your Excellency, I am Reva Bleem. I am from the Puressence Company."
The sheik's face wrinkled and then opened in a look of understanding. "Oh," he said. "I see. Then you may sit with us, woman."
He turned from her as if she were particularly uninteresting and reached out a hand for Chiun's elbow. "Now, Magnificence, you must partake of our hospitality. You and your servant and the woman."
"You are gracious, Excellency, to open your tents to such as them. But then the Hamidi family has always been gracious."
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"Is this almost a wrap?" Remo asked. "Can we get out of this sun someday soon?"
"Of course. My tent is yours," the sheik said. He snapped his fingers, and one of the men behind him stepped forward and tossed a long cloak over Reva Bleem's shoulders. She looked surprised but tied it closed at the throat.
As they walked toward the tent, she asked Remo, "What's that about?"
"Who knows?" Remo said. "Probably some nonsense about not showing your legs in the sheik's presence or something. Ignore it."
The tent, shaded by trees, was cool despite the desert heat. Chiun and Fareem sat on tufted chairs atop a small wooden platform, while Remo and Reva were consigned to cushions on the sand floor below the level of the platform.
The sheik clapped his hands and said with a small smile on his swarthy face, "I have often read of the ancient ways. There will be tea for you."
Chiun smiled and nodded. "It is correct," he said.
"Can we talk some business?" Remo said.
"Forgive him," Chiun said. "He is young."