Remo felt a small blood vessel in his ear explode. A trickle of blood trailed down his neck.
"I will not die," Remo said.
Slowly he raised his arms toward the camera as if in salute. Then, using his arms as borders, he willed the area between them into focus until he could see the camera clearly. He shifted his weight slightly to center himself directly below it. Randy was talking, but he did not hear her now. Now the universe was a space between his two upheld arms, and nothing more. Only the television camera above him existed. Nothing more. One by one, Remo removed all other sensations from his mind. There were no memories, no past, and no future. Only the camera.
He closed his eyes. The camera was still there, its presence exerting gravity, the only object in Remo's consciousness. He felt it. He was ready.
His knees bent automatically. His back straight-
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ened. His heels left the floor, and he was springing reflexively as a cat toward the camera. His hands closed around it. It came away from the wall in a tangle of wires and bolts. It rested in his arms, the weapon he needed.
"You pig!" Randy screamed. But Remo did not open his eyes and pushed the sound out of his ears. He positioned himself in the center of the room and permitted the sound vibrations from the loudspeakers to touch his skin without entering his ears. He felt the corner sources of the speakers, and sent the camera spinning toward one, then another, then another. As the fourth speaker smashed to the ground in a fury of sparks, Remo allowed his concentration to dissipate. The speaker groaned once, then was silent.
Remo sank to the floor.
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Thirteen
Quiet.
Remo luxuriated in it. The ringing in his ears stopped. The throbbing from his burst eardrum subsided. His eyes rested on the dim, incense-smoky wall ahead. He pulled his mind back deep into semi-consciousness, away from all thought. There was more in store for him, of that he was sure. There would be plenty of time for worry later. Now he had to rest.
Then the light appeared. It came from nowhere, a blinding expanse of light where the blank wall used to be. It sent him reeling. He blinked and tried to shield his eyes, but the light was unrelenting.
Into it stepped the figure of a man, his shadow attenuated against the yellow-white light. "Come," he said gently. Remo recognized the voice as that of the guide who first escorted him into the palace.
"Where is Chiun?" Remo whispered. "The old man who was with me?"
"Do not ask, my friend. In the Palace of Vadass, it is always best not to ask." His voice was low and sad.
He helped Remo stand and supported him as he
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dragged himself toward the great light. "It hurts my eyes," Remo mumbled, his lips beginning to numb.
"Then do not look," the man said. "Here, to open one's eyes is to look upon pain. One must learn not to see what is too painful to watch."
As they neared the source of the light, Remo noticed fuzzily that the doorway he was walking toward wasn't a doorway at all, but rather the space where the wall once was. The walls must have slid away to form the opening, he thought.
"Where am I going?"
. "The royal throne room. The sheik and his woman await you." Remo looked at the man's face. He had remembered it as a handsome face, but now it was creased and careworn. "You were waiting in an adjoining chamber," the man continued. "You and . . . and the dead girl."
"Who was she? I want to know."
"She was not important," the man said bitterly. "Nothing is important here. I must speak with you no more." They walked the last few steps in silence.
The man left Remo when they entered the throne room. Its walls were covered with gold leaf, its brilliance painful. Remo squinted to see. On the gold walls blazed enormous sconces with dozens of candles, and a candelit chandelier 15 feet wide hung from the ceiling, as bright as the sun itself. The furniture was a mishmash of different styles and periods, the pillage of centuries. All but the throne itself, which stood out in Arabic splendor, framed in ornate gold filigree. The occupant of the throne, if there was one, was obscured by thick curtains of many layers of white silk.
Otherwise, the room was empty. It pained Remo to move, but he took a hesitant step forward. As he
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did, a monstrous pain crashed across his back, and he fell face first to the floor.
"One bows in the presence of royalty, Remo," Randy Nooner said, stepping out from behind him. She was swathed in gossamer veils and held a bronze staff in her hand.
"Chiun," Remo said. "Where's Chiun?"
"You'll see him soon enough. But you're going to answer some questions first. Over there." She prodded him with the staff. He pushed himself to his knees, but a blow across his shoulders knocked him down. "Crawl," she said slowly.
Remo crawled.
Near the throne, Randy sat cross-legged on a Victorian settee. She ripped the veil from her face. "Damn nuisance," she muttered. "I meant the veil, but that applies to you, too. Now, suppose you tell me why you came all the way to Quat, Remo. Ifs not in the tourist books."
Remo said nothing. Randy raised the bronze staff she carried and slammed it into his wounded shoulder. "Talk," she said.
"Artemis was making those recruits desert for you so that you could have your army. The officers who didn't see things your way on those bases were killed. You did that."
"Ah-ah, Remo. I told you long ago that the recruits were doing the killing. It was the truth. Oh, they had a little encouragement from Samantha's communion brew and Artemis's rhetoric, but the boys took care of their officers on their own. Artemis just gave them a taste of bloodlust with the chaplains they offed at those revival meetings of his. He loved Trilling, you know. He lived for it. An inspiration to the men."
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"But he worked for you."
Randy shrugged. "We all work for somebody."
"What about you?" Remo .asked groggüy.
She smiled. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to know now. You'll be dead before the day is over, even if you run away." She stood up and added, "Which you won't."
She strode over to the throne and pulled a tassled cord hanging down the side of the draped area. The curtains swung apart.
Remo blinked in amazement at the sight. On the middle of the great throne sat a tiny man of indeterminate age, his face as bland as a baby's, his black hair cropped close to his head. In his hands he held a glass ball, which he watched with unending fascination, oblivious to the presence of Remo or Randy Nooner. The man gurgled and cooed as he turned the ball slowly. His face broke into a broad smile, and he kicked his feet playfully into the air.
"Vadass the Sheik," Randy announced sardonically, laughter tumbling out of her.
His attention drawn to her, the baby-faced sheik began to cry until the guide who had brought Remo to the throne room appeared with a new toy to distract him. Without a word, the guide closed the curtains and slipped away.
"That's who I work for. Or what I work for, to be exact. He's got the mind of a cabbage." She cocked her head disgustedly toward the throne. "He's forty-three years old, if you can believe that. But he still needs a woman. That's where I fit in. You're looking at the soon-to-be Queen of Quat, baby."
"Why you?" Remo asked, trying to pull himself from the floor and failing.