"You will remove your shoes and your shirt."
Stripping to the waist, Remo stepped out of his shoes, complaining, "I'm going through a lot of shoes lately."
"Sandals wear better."
"I'll stick with shoes."
Chiun extracted a small vial of glass from one sleeve and, as the giant sumo wrestler waited patiently as a mute Buddha, he shook the vial around the ring of clay.
"What are you doing?" Remo asked, one eye on the inscrutable face of the sumo wrestler.
"Blessing the ring with salt."
"I thought that looked like one of the salt shakers from the hotel restaurant."
"They will not miss it." Finishing, Chiun said, "You may enter and face your worthy opponent."
Remo stepped into the circle, feeling the cool, moist clay against the bare soles of his feet.
The great sumo regarded him with a dour face. He bowed from the waist. The merest of bows. Ten degrees.
Remo bowed equally in return, saying, "I'll try to make this quick."
"Suit yourself, skinny," rumbled the sumo.
"You speak English?"
"So sue me."
"Huh?"
"Private joke. It's my stage name. I'm as American as you, chopstick legs. Born on Oahu. Raised on MTV. Destined to stomp your gourd."
"Says you."
And with a speed that surprised even Remo, the giant lunged, sweeping his great flabby arms around in a bear hug.
Remo ducked under the scissors of flesh and aimed two stiffened fingers for a nerve cluster under one sweaty armpit.
The fingers sunk in up to the second knuckle and came out again. Remo wove to one side so the falling sumo didn't land on him.
Except that the sumo didn't fall. He laughed again and took Remo's shoulders in each hand. Remo felt himself lifted off his feet and, when he landed outside the ring, he rolled and snapped to his feet unharmed.
He found himself facing the Master of Sinanju. "Does that mean I lose?" Remo asked.
"You wish. I neglected to say two falls out of three."
"Good," said Remo, jumping back into the ring.
The sumo lifted one foot and slammed it down. The other came down a moment later. He assumed a crouching defensive posture.
"Get set for a ride, skinny."
"Any time you're ready, fat boy."
From outside the ring, the voice of the Master of Sinanju floated out. "In the time of the early Chrysanthemum Throne, a shogun of Japan, jealous of the spreading fame of Sinanju and unable to secure the secrets of the House, sought to create an invincible army that would protect him from a rival shogun. These warriors were called sumo."
"I never heard that," said Sosumi.
"History is written by the victorious," Chiun countered.
Remo circled his foe warily. The sumo held his ground as if daring Remo to strike first.
"This shogun discovered that no weapon, no samurai or ninja, was proof against Sinanju," intoned Chiun.
A hand as broad as a seat cushion swatted at Remo. Remo evaded it easily. Still, the speed of the sumo was greater than he imagined possible.
"The shogun knew that there was no speed equal to Sinanju. No blow faster than Sinanju. And no skill greater than Sinanju. So he consulted his advisers for a defense against Sinanju."
Remo feinted for the blubbery, rolling stomach and came around with an open-handed spank to the kidneys.
"He discovered an armor that was proof against the blows and strikes of Sinanju."
With a meaty smack, Remo's hand bounced harmlessly off-and the sumo laughed boisterously.
"This was called fat," said Chiun.
Remo tried for the solar plexus. He stepped in, using the hard heels of his hands, machine-gunning the rolls of fat that lay there.
"Fat, the shogun discovered, was proof against the blows that could otherwise paralyze nerves and break bones."
The sumo's stomach muscles rolled like pink waves. He laughed from deep within his gargantuan belly. A red mark like a rash bloomed where Remo had struck, but otherwise no harm had been done.
"For fat gave before the hand of Sinanju, accepting and resisting like water."
"I can see that, damn it," Remo said in frustration.
"Big surprise, huh, skinny?" The sumo laughed. "You thought a big guy like me would be a pushover for your slick kung fu moves. Not so easy, huh?"
"Get stuffed."
"How do you think I got to where I am?"
"Fat, dumb and happy?"
"Yokozuna. That means 'grand champion.' I'm the first American to pull it off."
The Master of Sinanju resumed his tale. "The shogun surrounded himself with giant men who shook the earth with their tread. Word was sent out to the countryside. The Master of Sinanju of those days was challenged to assassinate the shogun, if he dared."
Remo eyed the ankles like fleshy tree stumps. "What do the rules say about tripping?"
"Tripping is forbidden," Chiun said.
The sumo grinned like a Mack truck. "You gotta grab me about the waist and try to muscle me out of the ring," he said. "Too bad you don't have the wingspan for it."
"Master Yowin came to Japan to meet this challenge," Chiun continued from the shadows. "By night he stole into the sleeping chamber of the shogun, but a wall of living flesh blocked him. Blows were struck and landed forcefully. But the sumo wall stood resolute. And in the safety of his bed, the shogun laughed heartily and long."
Stepping back, Remo coiled his muscles tightly. He drew in a deep breath and sprang.
Both hands slammed into the sumo's great chest. He staggered back. Staggered one step, then two-but five feet from the periphery of the ring of clay, he recovered and flung his bulk forward like a cannonball with pumping legs.
Remo backpedaled, staying one tantalizing step ahead of the sumo. When he felt the bite of gravel under his right heel, he leaped high over the Sumo's head, pivoted and gave the sweaty pink back a hard push.
Sosumi leaned like a sequoia in a hurricane-his upper body tipped out of the ring, but his feet stood firm, like immobile roots. Body nearly perpendicular to his legs, he grunted explosively as he fought the natural tendency of his great bulk to topple.
Remo watched in helpless frustration as he slowly righted himself and turned to face him again.
"I'm going to kick your ass for that," Sosumi warned.
"Can I kick him?" Remo asked Chiun.
"You cannot kick him below the waist or above the neck, nor may you land an injurious blow."
"That means my feet are tied," Remo growled.
"It means only what I have said," Chiun intoned. "Nothing more, and not a breath less."
"It means your ass is sassafras." Sosumi grinned, lifting his meaty paws before Remo's face.
Watching those giant hands, Remo stepped back and planted his bare feet in the moist clay, digging his toes in.
"Rules say whoever touches clay with anything but his feet, loses, right?" said Remo.
"Yes," said Chiun.
"Then get ready to lose, tubby," Remo told the looming sumo.
Sosumi lunged without warning. Remo was ready, exploding off his feet and launching a double kick so sudden and violent Sosumi felt Remo's left foot bouncing off his right hand and the right foot rebounding from his left hand as one jarring impact.
The sumo staggered back a half step-no more. His eyes held a stunned light. But he quickly blinked it away. "Hah!" he laughed. "If that's your best shot-"
"You lose," announced Chiun.
"What are you talking about?"
"You have touched clay. You have lost this round."
Frantically Sosumi looked around. He was still in the ring. His knees were clean. He looked behind him, and his nearly naked cheeks were clean. "Where? Where did I touch clay? Show me."
"Look upon your unwitting palms, sumo," said Chiun.
Sosumi unclenched his fists. And the angry lines of his face collapsed in shock. They were brownish gray. "No fair. You wiped your feet off on my hands!"