Fang Yu stepped back, her eyes hard. Remo fell back onto the bed. He bounced once, then lay still.
Fang Yu trembled on her feet. Every nerve quivered in anticipation of the consummation Remo had started. Her eyes were angry, her mouth dry.
She hurried into the bathroom and masturbated herself into a semblance of calmness.
Only then could she bring herself to go to the telephone.
"Jiao-Shi," she reported, "he is my slave."
A sibilant voice said only, "Await the coming of my Blue Bees." And the line went dead.
Chapter 30
They were ten thousand strong as they neared Sayn Shanda.
Night had fallen. They rode four hours more, until the moon was high and the wind like knives of cold glass in their dels.
"This is a good place," the Master of Sinanju said.
Boldbator Khan wheeled and gave the order to pitch camp.
An hour later, the last of the Mongols in the rear received word. Gers were set up, first the expandable trellislike wicker walls to which doors were hung. Roof spokes were fitted over this. Then came the layers of blankets and felt which transformed the skeletal circles into cocoons of warmth in the gravel-and-sand desolation.
Boldbator personally erected Chiun's tent.
Inside, their body heat began to warm the cool air. Zhang Zingzong made tea.
"We could have reached Sayn Shanda before dawn," Boldbator told the Master of Sinanju. It was statement, not a challenge. The Master of Sinanju was many minutes in replying.
"Word out of Holodo Suma troubles me," he said.
Boldbator grunted. "The Chinese sent an army by rail. It is a very Chinese thing to do. And they have failed, which is also very Chinese. It is a good augury."
"Two questions trouble me," Chiun continued. "Who commands the force that stopped them? And how long before Beijing sends more of their green ants?"
"There is talk of one called the white tiger."
"Do you know of such a Mongol?"
"No. It is said he is a Westerner."
Chiun's eyes narrowed in the candlelight.
"A white-commanding Mongols?"
"They say he fights like a tiger. That he has killed wolves with his bare hands. And brought down an entire Chinese train. You have lived among Westerners, Master. Is there any among them that can accomplish these things?"
"None who matter," said the Master of Sinanju dismissively as he accepted tea from Zhang Zingzong.
Zhang retired to a corner, where he lit a cigarette.
"Take that outside," Chiun snapped impatiently.
"But these are Double Pleasure brand," Zhang protested. "An excellent tobacco."
"I am sick of your stinking tobacco," Chiun said. Zhang went outside to smoke.
"He is more trouble than he is worth," Boldbator snorted.
"He was a hero once. Perhaps he will show these qualities again. But I doubt it."
They drank tea in silence. The hours passed. Zhang returned to fix dinner-rice for Chiun, a boiled lamb's head for Boldbator.
They were about to retire when a guard slapped the door, disturbing the inner blanket covering.
"Enter," Boldbator commanded.
A tall man in a Mongolian army uniform entered and bowed. He was one of many the Golden Horde had collected along the way. Sent from Ulan Bator to investigate the migration of horsemen, they had invariably succumbed to the call of nomad blood.
"A woman approaches," the Mongol reported. "A Chinese woman, on horseback."
"Tell the man who captures her that she is his to do with as he desires," Boldbator grumbled.
"She has asked to meet with the Master of Sinanju," the Mongol guard continued. "She says she bears an important message for him."
"From whom?" Chiun demanded.
"I am not certain, O Master. Her Chinese is not the dialect I know. But it seemed that she said her message came from the One Without a Name."
The Master of Sinanju paled visibly. Boldbator noticed it and his heart quailed. What manner of being, he wondered, did the Master of Sinanju fear?
Chiun rose up in silence. "Lead the way," he said. "I would speak with this Chinese woman."
Boldbator followed the Master of Sinanju out. Zhang Zingzong trailed curiously, even though he had no idea what had been said. His grasp of the Mongolian tongue had not improved during the many days of contact with them.
The Master of Sinanju walked the great distance to the outer picket in silence. He stopped when he came to a bay horse, on which a young Chinese woman sat nervously, surrounded by Mongols on foot.
"I am the Master of Sinanju," Chiun intoned, tight-voiced.
"I am called Fang Yu," the woman returned in the accent of a citified Chinese. "My teacher, who is known to you, demands your presence."
"I recognize no demands," Chiun said haughtily.
"We hold one whose fate is of moment to you."
"I know of no such person," Chiun said stubbornly.