BATTLE305Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡivFmaQtAEu
305Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFfoq9EE6rz
The smell of venison, roasting over a bonfire, drifted past Robinson's head without tempting him, and the happy conversation of the Japanese workers, as they prepared for the first real meal in months, brought no softening of the stern set of his face.

This morning he had buried Yoshihiro and Kazuo beside the graves of the three men killed in the tunnel blast.  There had been too many deaths already.

The telegram had confirmed what he had inferred already:  Korea was sending for him, still wanting his blood.  He had dismissed the idea of leaving before the messenger arrived for him; there was still work to do here.

Very distantly he sensed hoofbeats and narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight to look for the riders.  There were three of them approaching, their pace stately and unhurried. The two outer riders kept a deferential pace or two behind the central figure, giving the effect of an honor guard.

The men near Robinson fell silent as the riders entered the camp, and the workers saw that the riders were Koreans.  When the horses were directly in front of Robinson, the leader reined in and addressed him.

"You are Robinson?"

Robinson bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.  "And you?" he asked.

Without answering, the little man on the lead horse raised his hands above his head, folding back his sleeves, then turned his forearms toward Robinson.  On them were just such tattoos as Robinson's arms bore---the symbolic representation of Hyongcha (the tiger) and Yongno (the dragon).305Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwKj9gR0WlJ

Seeing them, the Japanese around Robinson bowed respectfully.305Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO7H1CuFDtS

Meeting the little monk's eyes, Robinson observed, "You have come a long way."

"From the ashes of the Hwrangdo temple."

The words were meant to hurt as well as to warn, Robinson knew.  He replied simply, "The monks live. Honor lives."

"But the American Colonel Wright does not!"305Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRL7vLaVUQP

Robinson thought of his years of training, of the grand masters who taught by precept and example the integrity of the self and the futility of possessions.  The monk before him had been trained in the same way, he knew.  Could anyone so betray his upbringing?

"For money?" Robinson asked the monk and saw instantly that his guess had been correct.  "But a Hwrangdo monk does not sell himself for a handful of rice!"

"A man can tire of begging," the little monk replied.  "And you are more than a handful of rice!  I have spent many months searching for you, and it has long been known that you have escaped to this country.  Fortunately, the telegram from Mr. Kyung found me less than fifty miles from here."305Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqtFmr29nnT

"Thus," Robinson said, allowing his scorn to show, "you have found me.'  He turned and walked off.

Behind him, he heard the monk address the laborers.  "We are on business of the Korean crown.  We will need food, water, the use of a tent....Take these horses and see to them, please."

The royal manner came readily to the renegade, Robinson thought wryly.  Strange, how hard it was for him even now to believe that a fellow priest could so value money and position----Their combat would test the skills of both to the utmost, Robinson thought and remembered something Master Kang had told him:  "Those who deny evil in man remain weak and defenseless.  Deal with evil through strength...."

Robinson entered his tent and sat down to meditate.