"Some of them. Not all. I get the names mixed up."
"Do you remember the story of the Great Master Wang?"
"There are a lot of stories about Wang. He was a busy guy."
"But there is one story above all others. Before Wang, Masters of Sinanju were not as they are now."
"I know. They fought with sticks and knives and used poison."
"True. And they did not work alone. They had an army of followers, the night tigers of Sinanju. Since Wang, there have been no night tigers. No night tigers were needed. Why is that, Remo?"
"Because Wang was the first to learn the sun source."
"Indeed. It was a terrible time for the House of Sinanju. Wang's Master, who was known as Hung, had died before fully training Wang. It would have been the end of our way of life."
Chiun's voice took on the quavering bass that he used whenever repeating one of the legends of Sinanju.
"And lo, no sooner was the Master Hung cold in the ground than a great sadness descended upon the village of Sinanju. There was work, but there was no Master capable of redeeming the village. The night tigers of Sinanju grew lean with hunger. And they stole from the common villagers. And they killed. And they raped. And they did all manner of evil because their hands were idle and killing was all they knew.
"And Wang, seeing this, betook himself into the darkness to meditate. 'Woe is the House of Sinanju,' Wang said to the night sky. 'For our line is over.'
"And as he lay on the cold earth, lay on his back with his face turned up to the universe, he saw the stars wheeling in their slow course. These stars were cold, remote, and yet they burned like tiny suns. They were eternal. Not like men. But Wang, who had no hope, dared to dream of a time when men were like stars, cold but burning like an inner light. Immortal. 'If only men were like that,' thought Wang, 'our misfortunes would end.'
"Now some say that what transpired next occurred only in the mind of Wang, who had been without food for many days. Others say that it was his fast which opened his eyes to a greater truth. But all agree that when Master Wang returned to Sinanju, he was a different man, cold, remote, and in his eyes burned the fire of the universe.
"For as Wang told it, a great ring of fire descended from the heavens. And lo, this fire burned with a brilliance greater than the sun. And it spoke to Wang. And in a voice that only Wang could hear, it said that men did not use their minds and bodies as they should. And the fire taught Wang the first lesson of control, and in an instant, Wang had found the sun source."
"Sounds like the sun source found him," Remo said.
"Hush! And lo, it was a different Wang who returned to Sinanju that night. Tall he stood, and full of wrath. And he found the night tigers of Sinanju plotting against him, saying that this one or that one should become the next Master, for Wang was no more fit than the lowliest of them.
"Into the cooking fires of the village stepped Wang, unharmed by the flames though they lapped at his bare legs. And in a voice like the thunder of an earthquake, he said unto them:
"'Lo, I am the new Master of Sinanju. I bring with me a new light and a new era, for I have discovered the sun source. No more will there be many Masters. From this day forward, only one Master and one pupil will be worthy to learn the art of'Sinanju. No more will there be suffering and hunger. No more will it be necessary for other men of the village to fight and die.'
"And saying those words, the Master Wang, who we now call the Great Master Wang, fell upon the night tigers of Sinanju. And thak, thak, thak, these carrion were no more.
"And standing amid the dead, he proclaimed that from this day forward, the mightiest hand of Sinanju would never be raised against one who was of the village. And then he made a prophecy, though not even Wang knew whence his words had come. And he said:
"'One day there will be a Master of Sinanju who will find among the barbarians in the West one who was once dead. This Master will be so enamored of money that for great wealth he will teach the secrets of Sinanju to this pale one with the dead eyes. He will make him a night tiger, but the most awesome of night tigers. He will make him kin to the gods of India, and he will be Shiva, the Destroyer; Death, the shatterer of worlds. And this dead night tiger whom the Master of Sinanju will one day make whole will himself become the Master of Sinanju, and a new era will dawn, greater than any I am about to create.' "
Chiun sat back in his teak throne, his eyes shining with a beatific light.
"You, Remo," he said softly.
"I know the legend," Remo said. "You told it to me many times. I'm not sure I believe it."
"Do you remember the day you died?" asked Chiun.
"They strapped me in the electric chair. But it didn't work."
Chiun shook his head. "A sham death. It has no meaning. No. I mean that time after your training had begun. A coward attacked you with a pistol. You were not yet one with Sinanju, so he succeeded."
"I remember. You brought me back to life somehow," Remo said.
"I was prepared to let you die. I brought you back only because, in death, your body had aligned itself with the universe. You had taken Sinanju to your heart, as none since Wang had. I could not let you die, though you were white and ungrateful."
"That's when you started thinking I was the fulfillment of that freaking legend?" Remo asked.
"Yes, But it was not until much later that I was certain. It was in China. Do you remember our time in China?"
Remo nodded, wondering where all this was going. "Yeah. It was one of our earliest assignments. We were there to stop a conspiracy against the opening of diplomatic relations between the U S. and China. It seems like a long time ago."
"A moment in history," Chum said. "Do you remember how the deceivers in Peking poisoned you?"
"Yeah, I almost died."
"The poison was enough to kill ten men-no, twenty men. But you did not die. Near death, between death, surrounded by your assassins, you vomited up the poison, and so you lived. That's when I knew for a certainty that you were the true avatar of Shiva the Destroyer."
"Because I upchucked?"
"Many are the tales of Shiva," said Chiun calmly, ignoring Remo's outburst. "There was a time in the days before man when the gods of India were at war with demons. The gods of India were strong, but stronger still were the forces they battled. And so the gods took the great serpent called Vasuki and used him to churn the ocean of milk, for to make ambrosia which the gods would drink and so become more powerful. But the serpent called Vasuki, hanging upside down, began to vomit forth poison into the ocean of milk. And the gods, seeing this, knew that Vasuki's poison would contaminate the ambrosia and deprive them of the strength they needed to ensure victory and their continued existence.
"And lo, down descended Shiva, the red god of storms. Now, Shiva was a terrible god. Three faces had he. Six was the number of his arms. Great might had he. And when he saw the poison vomit forth, he stepped under the serpent called Vasuki and caught the awful poison in his mouth. And so Shiva sacrificed himself to save the world.
"But he did not die, Remo. His wife, who was called Parvati, seeing her consort sacrifice himself, flew swiftly to his side, and before Shiva could swallow the poison, she wrapped a scarf about his throat, strangling it, until Shiva vomited up the poison."
"She strangled him so he wouldn't die of poisoning," Remo said. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Shiva did not die," Ghiun corrected. "He vomited up the poison and Parvati undid her scarf. Shiva was unharmed, but for his throat."
Chiun leaned forward and with both hands pushed the collar of Remo's jersey down to expose his throat. "His throat had turned a bright blue. Like your throat, Remo."
"Coincidence," Remo said, standing up suddenly.