Sheryl leaned over to Chiun. "Will you look at them! I've never been here before. But darned if they don't look sort of Asian about the eyes."
"Don't you read books?" Bill Roam said. "Every one of us sorry redskins came across the Aleutian Islands from Asia."
"I have never heard that," Chiun said.
"How could you, chief? You're one of the ones who got left behind. But it's a fact. If the anthropologists can be believed."
The last tribesmen slipped in and took their places on the floor in stony silence.
"That's everyone," the fat old man named Donno called out as he closed the door.
"You forgetting the chief?" Roam asked.
"Not me, Sunny Joe. He took off for Las Vegas with the money he got for leasing the reservation to that Bronzini fella. Said he was gonna double it or get drunk."
"Probably both," Roam muttered.
"What kind of leader deserts his people in their hour of need?" Chiun said querulously.
"A savvy one," Roam remarked dryly. He stood up; raising his hands, palms open. "These are my friends," he announced. "I bring them here because they seek retisae. The man is called Chiun. The girl is Sheryl. They are here because there is trouble in the city."
"What kind of trouble, Sunny Joe?" a wizened old man asked.
"An army has come from across the seas. They have captured the city."
The tribespeople turned to one another. They buzzed in conversation. As it settled down, an old woman with iron-gray pigtails asked, "Are we in danger, Sunny Joe?"
"Not now. But when the government sends in troops, we could be in the middle of a powerful lot of fighting."
"What can we do? We aren't fighters."
"I am the Sunny Joe of this tribe," Bill Roam rumbled. "I will protect you. Don't anyone worry. When the bad times came, my father, the Sunny Joe before me, kept us fed. During the hard days of the last century, his father watched over his people. Before the whites came, your forebears lived in peace going back all the way to the days of the first Sunny Joe, Ko Jong Oh. This will not change while I walk the ground of our ancestors. "
Chiun had been listening to this with growing interest on his parchment face. His head snapped around suddenly.
"What name did you speak?" he insisted.
Roam looked over. "Ko Jong Oh. He was the first Sunny Joe."
"What is the name of this tribe?" Chiun demanded. "I must know."
"We are the Sun On Jos. Why?"
"I am known as the Master of Sinanju. The place I come from is called Sinanju. Does that name mean anything to you?"
"No," said Sunny Joe Roam. "Should it?"
"We have a legend among my people," said Chiun slowly, "of the sons of a Master of Sinanju, my ancestor, whose wife bore him two sons: One was named Kojing." Chiun paused. In a firm voice he added, "The other went by the name Kojong."
"Ko Jong Oh was the progenitor of the Sun On Jos," Roam said slowly. "Coincidence."
"It is tradition that the son of the Master of Sinanju be trained to follow in his father's footsteps," Chiun said, his voice rising so that everyone heard him clearly. "For Masters of Sinanju were great warriors. But only one Master of Sinanju could exist in a generation. The mother of Kojing and Kojong knew this. And she knew that if the father of the boys learned she had borne him twins, one would be put to death to prevent a dangerous rivalry when they became men. But the mother of the two youths could not bring herself to do this. She concealed Kojong from his own father. And when it became time to train Kojing, the mother artfully switched babies every other day, so that both Kojing and Kojong were trained in what we call the art of Sinanju."
Chiun's hazel eyes swept the faces in the room. The eyes that looked back were so like those of his own village, far away on the West Korea Bay. The men and the old men. They had unfamiliar faces, but each was touched by something Chiun recognized.
Chiun resumed his story, his voice deepening.
"The father, who was called Nonja, never knew this, for he was old when he sired the twins. His eyes were failing. Thus, the artifice went unsuspected. And one day, Master Nonja died, He went into the Void never knowing that he left behind two heirs, not one. On that day, Kojing and Kojong appeared together in the village for the first time, and the truth was revealed for all to see. No one knew what to do, and for the first time in history, there were two Masters of Sinanju."
Chiun took in a deep breath that expanded his frail chest.
"It was Kojong who provided the solution," he continued. "He announced that he was leaving the village to find a place in the outer world. He swore never to pass along the secrets of the sun source, but to pass along the spirit of Sinanju in case there would ever come a time that Sinanju would need it."
Chiun looked at Sunny Joe Roam. Bill Roam spoke up slowly.
"We have a legend too," he said. "Of Ko Jong Oh, who came from across the western sea. From the east. He was the first Sunny Joe, for he bore the spirit of Son On Jo. He taught the Indians the ways of peace, how to farm and not hunt the buffalo for meat. He showed the Indians another way, and in gratitude, they, our ancestors, took on the tribal name of Sun On Jo. Each generation, his eldest son would replace him as the guardian of the tribe. Only these sons, which we call Sunny Joes, were allowed to fight. And then only to protect the tribe. For the Sun On Jos believed that if they used their magic powers to kill, it would bring down upon the entire tribe the wrath of the Great Spirit Magician, Sun On Jo-He Who Breathes the Sun. "
Chiun nodded. "Your words ring true. Kojong understood if he plied the art of Sinanju, the art of the assassin, he would be in competition with the true Master of Sinanju, and would have to be sought out and destroyed, for nothing must interfere with the work of the Master of Sinanju. Not even competition from blood."
"You think we're kin?" Roam asked slowly.
"Do you doubt it?"
Bill Roam paused before answering.
"When I was young," he said at last, "I believed in it all. A lot has happened to me since then. I'm not sure what I believe now. There are a lot of legends in the world, full of great warriors, civilizers, culture heroes. Just because your legend and mine have a few syllables in common, I don't see that that's any reason to get all worked up about it. Especially now."
"What happened to you to crush your faith, you who are to your people what I am to mine?" Chiun inquired. Before Bill Roam could answer, a racket outside the meetinghouse caused the assembled Sun On Jos to jump to the windows.
"Sounds like a tank," Sheryl breathed. Bill Roam pushed his way to the door.
Outside, the Master of Sinanju joined him. They watched a sand-powdered tank rattle up the road, spinning a slow worm of dust in its wake. Its engine sputtered and missed like a recalcitrant lawn mower.
"Think we've been double-crossed, chief?" Roam asked Chiun.
"We are dealing with the Japanese," Chiun replied. "For them not to display treachery would be surprising, not the opposite."
The tank suddenly stopped. Its engine died out.
The driver's hatch popped up, and Bill Roam turned and shouted at the faces huddled in the doorway. "Everyone, back inside! I'll handle this!"
Turning to Chiun, he said, "if I don't make it, I'm counting on you to protect my people. Savvy?"
Chiun looked up curiously. "You believe?"
"No. But you do. And I'm going to count on that."