«If you do not learn to breathe properly, you will learn to do nothing properly. This is most important and you must practice correct breathing until it becomes instinctive. Ordinarily, further training would await that time. Under these conditions, it cannot.»

He rose and went to a black lacquered cabinet from which he removed a black metal metronome. He placed it on the table between himself and Remo.

For Remo, there followed the most boring afternoon of his life. Chiun explained different breathing techniques, and recommended a course of two beats inhale, two beats hold breath, two beats exhale for Remo.

Remo practiced it all afternoon as the metronome clicked and Chiun talked. He caught only parts of what the old Oriental was saying: the ki-ai, spirit breath, welding your breath with that of the universal in order to weld the universal's power to your power.

Press down the breath, Chiun exhorted. Pull it down into your groin, down in behind the complex of nerves that control the emotions… down, down, down.

Calm those nerves. Calm nerves make a calm man and a calm man feels no fear. As you breathe, meditate. Clear your mind of thoughts and impressions from outside you. Then the thing inside you… your mission… can receive all your attention.

He went on and on into the evening. Then he told Remo: «You do very well. And already you walk well. Balance and breathing. There is little else. Tomorrow we specialize.»

The next morning Chiun explained the difference between the self-defense arts: the difference between a «do,» a way; and a «jitsu,» a technique.

«You have learned judo in the military,» Chiun said as a half-question.

Remo nodded. Chiun frowned. «There is much then to unlearn.»

«You have learned to fall?» he asked.

Remo nodded, recalling the judo falling technique of hit, roll and slap with your arm to dissipate the force of the fall.

«Forget it,» Chiun said. «Instead of falling like the dummy, we learn to fall like the dishcloth.»

They moved out toward the mats on the gymnasium floor. «This is aiki-do, Mr. Williams,» he said. «It is a defense art pure and simple. The art of escaping, not being hurt and coming back to fight. Judo is a system of straight lines; in aiki we would emulate the circle. Throw me over your shoulder, Mr. Williams.»

Remo moved around in front of Chiun, grabbed his arm and tossed the tiny little man over his shoulder. Judo technique would call for Chiun to hit the mats, roll, and slap out with his arm to nullify the force of the fall. Instead, he hit like a ball, rolled, spun and ended on his feet facing Remo, all in one motion.

«This is what you must learn,» Chiun said. «Now encircle me from behind.»

Remo moved up behind Chiun, then grabbed him around the chest, pinning his arms to his sides.

In judo, there are many responses to this attack, all of them violent. Smash the head back into the face of your attacker; twist your body to the side and drive your elbow into your attacker's throat; stamp onto your opponent's instep; bend down and grab your assailant's ankles through your legs, pull up and smash back into his stomach.

Chiun tried none of them.

Remo perversely began to apply more pressure. He felt Chiun wince and his muscles tighten. Chiun reached up and placed one hand on each of Remo's wrists. With steady, even pressure:, he simply pulled Remo's hands apart… an inch… two inches… until finally they broke apart. Chiun spun, came up under Remo's armpit, and flashed him over his back into a pile at the edge of the mat.

Remo sat there, dazed.

Chiun said: «You forgot to roll.»

Remo rose slowly. «How the hell did you do that? Christ knows I'm stronger than you.»

«Yes, you are, but your strength is rarely directed from one point to another point. Instead it sprays out from your muscles in many directions. I simply concentrated my puny strength in the saika tanden, the abdomen's nerve center, and then directed it through my arms outward. I could pull apart ten men's hands that way, and you could do the same with twenty men, when you learn. And you will.» He continued the drill.

Three mornings later, Chiun told Remo: «You have had enough aiki. It is a defense art and you are not to be a defender. You are to learn attack. I have been told we have not much more time so we must hurry.»

He led Remo to the pounding posts at the end of the gym. As they walked, he explained, «There are many types of offensive arts in the East and all are excellent if performed well. We must, however, concentrate on one and karate is by far the most versatile.»

They stood within the rectangle made by the four shoulder-high Y-shaped posts.

Chiun continued: «The story is told of the beginning of karate that many years ago the peasants of a Chinese province were disarmed by their evil ruler. Dharma, who began the science of Zen, lived in that time. And he knew his people must be able to protect themselves. So he called them to a meeting.»

Even as he spoke, Chiun was setting inch-thick pine blocks into the Y-shaped posts.

«Dharma told his people they must defend themselves. He said, 'We have lost our knives, so turn every finger into a knife'…» And with the points of his fingers, Chiun snaked out at one pine board. Its two halves dropped with a clunk on the floor.

«And Dharma said, 'We no longer have maces, so every fist must be a mace'…» and with his fist clenched, Chiun thumped out, splitting the board in the second Y-post.

Chiun stood before the third post. «Without spears, every arm must be a spear,» he quoted, and he punched out stiff-armed, jolting the third block into two pieces. He stood there momentarily looking at the solid two-by-four Y-post from which the two halves of the board had fallen.

He inhaled deeply. «And Dharma said: 'Make every open hand into a sword!'…» The last words were almost shouted in a violent expulsion of air. And Chiun's open hand splashed forward, its side smacking against the two-by-four with a report like a rifle shot. And then the post wasn't there. It tumbled and fell, severed cleanly three feet from its base.

Chiun turned to Remo. «This is the art of the open hand, which we know as karate and carry on today. You will learn it.»

Remo picked up the broken top section of two-by-four and looked at its splintered edge. He had to admit it. Chiun was impressive. What could stop this little man if he took a notion to kill? Who could fail to fall in front of those terrifying hands?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

During the aiki training, Remo had been taught the body's main pressure points. There were hundreds of them, Chiun had told him, but only about sixty were of any practical value and only eight were reliable killers.

«These are the eight you will concentrate on,» Chiun said.

After lunch, Remo found two life-size dummies mounted on spring bases in the gym. They wore the white gym uniforms, but had red spots painted at both temples, the adam's apple, the solar plexus, both kidneys, the base of the skull and a spot that he learned later was the seventh major vertebra.

«There is one karate hand formation. It is the basis of all others,» Chiun began as they sat on the mats facing the dummies. He opened his hand, palm up, and extended all the fingers. «The thumb must be cocked,» he said, «much as the hammer on a pistol. There should be a pulling motion extending back into your forearm. This, in turn,» he continued, «results in an extension-a pushing forward-of your little finger. The three center fingers are slightly bent at the ends and the entire hand is slightly bowed.»

He brought his hand into position. «Feel my forearm,» he told Remo. Remo did. It was like braided rope.

«It is not exertion, but tension, that creates this toughness,» Chiun said. «And it is not strength, but this tension, which makes the hand such a weapon.»