d gravel down upon  his
opponent. Yama shielded his eyes with his left hand, but then  larger pieces
of stone began to rain down upon  him. These  rolled on  the ground, and, as
several  came  beneath  his boots,  he  lost  his footing and fell, slipping
backward  down the  slope.  The other  kicked  at  heavy  rocks  then,  even
dislodging a boulder and following it downhill, his blade held high.
     Unable to gain his footing  in time to meet the attack, Yama rolled and
slid back toward the stream. He  managed to brake himself at the edge of the
crevice,  but  he saw the boulder coming  and tried to draw back  out of its
way. As he  pushed at  the ground with both  hands, his blade  fell into the
waters below.
     With his dagger, which he drew as he sprang into a stumbling crouch, he
managed to parry the high cut of  the other's  blade.  The  boulder splashed
into the stream.
     Then his left hand shot  forward, seizing the wrist that had guided the
blade. He slashed upward with the dagger and felt his own wrist taken.
     They stood then, locking their strength, until Yama sat down and rolled
to his side, thrusting the other from him.
     Still,  both locks held,  and they  continued to roll from the force of
that  thrust. Then the edge of the  crevice was beside  them,  beneath them,
above them.  He felt the blade  go out of his  hand as it struck the  stream
bed.
     When  they  came  again  above the  surface  of the  water, gasping for
breath, each held only water in his hands.
     "Time  for  the final baptism,"  said Yama, and he lashed out with  his
left hand.
     The other blocked the punch, throwing one of his own.
     They moved to  the left  with the waters, until their feet struck  upon
rock and they fought, wading, along the length of the stream.
     It  widened  and  grew  more  shallow as  they moved, until  the waters
swirled about their waists. In  places, the banks began  to  fall nearer the
surface of the water.
     Yama landed blow after blow, both with his fists and  the  edges of his
hands; but  it was  as  if he assailed  a  statue, for the one  who had been
Kali's holy executioner took each blow without  changing his expression, and
he returned them with twisting punches of bone-breaking force. Most of these
blows  were  slowed by the water or  blocked by Yama's guard, but one landed
between  his rib cage and  hipbone and another glanced  on his left shoulder
and rebounded from his cheek.
     Yama cast himself into a backstroke and made for shallower water.
     The other followed and sprang  upon him, to be caught in his impervious
midsection by a red boot, as the front of his garment was jerked forward and
down. He continued on, passing over  Yama's head, to land upon his back on a
section of shale.
     Yama rose to his knees  and turned, as the other found  his footing and
drew a dagger from his belt. His face was still impassive as he dropped into
a crouch.
     For a moment their eyes met, but the other did not waver this time.
     "Now can I meet  your death-gaze, Yama," he stated, "and not be stopped
by it. You have taught me too well!"
     And as he lunged, Yama's hands came  away from  his waist, snapping his
wet sash like a whip about the other's thighs.
     He caught  him  and locked him  to him as he fell forward, dropping the
blade; and with a kick he bore them both back into deeper water.
     "None sing hymns to breath," said Yama. "But, oh to be without it!"
     Then  he  plunged downward, bearing  the other with  him, his arms like
steel loops about his body.
     Later, much later, as the  wet figure stood beside the stream, he spoke
softly and his breath came in gasps:
     "You were-- the greatest-- to be raised up against me-- in all the ages
I can remember. . . . It is indeed a pity . . ."
     Then, having crossed the stream,  he continued on his  way  through the
hills of stone, walking.

     Entering the town of Alundil, the traveler stopped at the first inn  he
came to.  He  took a  room and  ordered a  tub of water. He  bathed while  a
servant cleaned his garments.
     Before he had  his dinner, he moved to  the window and looked down into
the street. The smell of slizzard was strong upon the air, and the babble of
many voices arose from below.
     People  were   leaving  the  town.  In  the  courtyard   at  his  back,
preparations  for the departure of  a morning caravan were being made.  This
night  marked the  end  of  the spring  festival. Below him in  the  street,
businessmen were still trading,  mothers were  soothing tired children and a
local prince  was  returning with his  men from the  hunt, two fire-roosters
strapped to the back of a skittering slizzard. He watched a tired prostitute
discussing something with a priest, who appeared to  be even more  tired, as
he kept shaking  his head and finally walked away. One moon was already high
in the heavens--  seen  as golden through the Bridge  of the  Gods --  and a
second, smaller moon had just  appeared above the horizon.  There was a cool
tingle in the evening air, bearing to him, above the smells of the city, the
scents of the  growing  things of spring:  the  small shoots and  the tender
grasses, the clean  smell of the blue-green spring wheat, the  moist ground,
the roiling  freshet. Leaning forward, he could see the  Temple  that  stood
upon the hill.
     He summoned a servant  to bring his  dinner in his chamber and  to send
for a local merchant.
     He ate slowly, not paying  especial attention to  his food, and when he
had finished, the merchant was shown in.
     The  man bore a cloak full of samples,  and of these he finally decided
upon a long,  curved  blade and a short,  straight dagger,  both of which he
thrust into his sash.
     Then  he  went out  into the evening and  walked along the rutted  main
street  of the town. Lovers  embraced  in  doorways. He passed a house where
mourners  were wailing for  one dead. A beggar  limped after him for  half a
block, until  he turned and glanced  into his  eyes,  saying,  "You  are not
lame," and then the man hurried  away,  losing himself in  a crowd  that was
passing. Overhead,  the  fireworks began  to burst  against the sky, sending
long, cherry-colored streamers  down toward the ground. From the Temple came
the sound  of the gourd horns playing the  <i>nagaswaram</i>  music. A man stumbled
from out a doorway, brushing against him, and he broke the man's wrist as he
felt  his hand fall upon his purse. The man uttered a curse and  called  for
help, but he pushed him into the drainage  ditch and walked on, turning away
his two companions with one dark look.
     At last, he came to the Temple, hesitated a moment and passed within.
     He entered the inner courtyard behind  a priest  who was  carrying in a
small statue from an outer niche.
     He surveyed the courtyard,  then quickly moved to the place occupied by
the statue of the goddess Kali. He studied her for a long while, drawing his
blade  and placing it at her  feet. When he picked it up and turned away, he
saw that the  priest was watching him. He nodded to the man, who immediately
approached and bade him a good evening.
     "Good evening, priest," he replied.
     "May Kali sanctify your blade, warrior."
     "Thank you. She has."
     The priest smiled. "You speak as if you knew that for certain."
     "And that is presumptuous of me, eh?"
     "Well, it may not be in the best of taste."
     "Nevertheless,  I  felt  her  power  come  over  me as I gazed upon her
shrine."
     The  priest shuddered.  "Despite  my  office,"  he  stated, "that is  a
feeling of power I can do without."
     "You fear her power?"
     "Let us  say,"  said the priest, "that  despite its  magnificence,  the
shrine  of Kali is  not so  frequently  visited as  are  those  of  Lakshmi,
Sarasvati, Shakti, Sitala, Ratri and the other less awesome goddesses."
     "But she is greater than any of these."
     "And more terrible."
     "So? Despite her strength, she is not an unjust goddess."
     The priest  smiled. "What man who has lived  for more  than a score  of
years desires  justice, warrior? For  my part, I find mercy infinitely  more
attractive. Give me a forgiving deity any day."
     "Well taken," said the  other, "but I am, as you say, a warrior. My own
nature  is close to hers. We think  alike,  the  goddess and I. We generally
agree on most matters. When we do not, I remember that she is also a woman."
     "I live here," said the priest, "and I  do not speak that intimately of
my charges, the gods."
     "In public, that is," said the  other.  "Tell me not of priests. I have
drunk with  many of  you, and know you to be  as blasphemous as the  rest of
mankind."
     "There is a time and  place  for everything," said the priest, glancing
back at Kali's statue.
     "Aye, aye. Now  tell me  why the  base  of Yama's  shrine has not  been
scrubbed recently. It is dusty."
     "It was cleaned but yesterday, but so many have  passed before it since
then that it has felt considerable usage."
     The other smiled. "Why then are there no offerings laid at his feet, no
remains of sacrifices?"
     "No one  gives flowers to  Death," said  the priest. "They just come to
look and go  away. We priests have always felt  the  two statues to  be well
situated. They make a terrible pair, do they not? Death, and the mistress of
destruction?"
     "A mighty team," said the other. "But do you  mean to  tell me  that no
one makes sacrifice to Yama? No one at all?"'
     "Other than we priests, when the calendar of devotions requires it, and
an occasional townsman, when  a loved one is upon the death-bed and has been
refused  direct  incarnation--  other  than these,  no, I  have  never  seen
sacrifice made to Yama, simply, sincerely, with good will or affection."
     "He must feel offended."
     "Not  so,  warrior.  For  are  not all  living  things,  in themselves,
sacrifices to Death?"
     "Indeed, you  speak truly. What  need  has he for  their  good will  or
affection? Gifts are unnecessary, for he takes what he wants."
     "Like Kali," acknowledged the priest. "And in the cases of both deities
have I often  sought justification for atheism. Unfortunately, they manifest
themselves  too  strongly  in the world  for  their  existence to be  denied
effectively. Pity."
     The  warrior laughed.  "A  priest who  is an unwilling believer! I like
that. It tickles  my funny bone! Here, buy  yourself a barrel of soma--  for
sacrificial purposes."
     "Thank you, warrior. I shall. Join me in a small libation now -- on the
Temple?"
     "By Kali, I will!" said the other. "But a small one only."
     He accompanied the  priest into the  central building and down a flight
of stairs into the cellar, where a barrel of soma was tapped and two beakers
drawn.
     "To your health and long life," he said, raising it.
     "To your morbid patrons-- Yama and Kali," said the priest.
     "Thank you."
     They gulped the  potent brew, and  the priest drew  two more.  "To warm
your throat against the night."
     "Very good."
     "It is a good thing  to see some of these travelers  depart,"  said the
priest. "Their devotions have enriched the Temple, but  they have also tired
the staff considerably."
     "To the departure of the pilgrims!"
     "To the departure of the pilgrims!"
     They drank again.
     "I thought that most of them came to see the Buddha," said Yama.
     "That is true," replied  the priest,  "but on the  other hand, they are
not anxious to antagonize the gods by this. So, before they visit the purple
grove, they generally make sacrifice or donate to the Temple for prayers."
     "What do you know of the one called Tathagatha, and of his teachings?"
     The  other looked away.  "I am a priest  of  the  gods  and  a Brahmin,
warrior. I do not wish to speak of this one."
     "So, he has gotten to you, too?"
     "Enough!  I  have made my wishes known to you.  It is  not a subject on
which I will discourse."
     "It matters not-- and will matter less shortly. Thank you for the soma.
Good evening, priest."
     "Good evening, warrior. May the gods smile upon your path."
     "And yours also."
     Mounting  the  stairs, he departed the Temple and continued on his  way
through the city, walking.

     When  he  came  to  the  purple  grove,  there were three  moons in the
heavens, small camplights behind the trees, pale blossoms of fire in the sky
above  the town, and  a breeze with  a certain  dampness in  it stirring the
growth about him.
     He moved silently ahead, entering the grove.
     When he came into  the lighted area, he was faced with row  upon row of
motionless, seated figures. Each wore a yellow robe with a yellow cowl drawn
over the head. Hundreds of them were seated so, and not one uttered a sound.
     He approached the one nearest him. "I have come  to see Tathagatha, the
Buddha," he said.
     The man did not seem to hear him.
     "Where is he?"
     The man did not reply.
     He  bent  forward and  stared into the  monk's half-closed  eyes. For a
moment, he glared into them, but it was  as though the other was asleep, for
the eyes did not even meet with his.
     Then he raised his voice, so  that all within the grove might hear him:
"I have come to see Tathagatha, the Buddha," he said. "Where is he?"
     It was as though he addressed a  field of stones. "Do you think to hide
him in this manner?" he called out. "Do you think that because you are many,
and all dressed alike, and  because  you will not answer  me, that for these
reasons I cannot find him among you?"
     There  was only the sighing of the wind,  passing through from the back
of the grove. The light flickered and the purple fronds stirred.
     He laughed.  "In this, you may be right," he  admitted.  "But  you must
move sometime, if you intend to go on living-- and I can wait as long as any
man."
     Then he seated himself upon the ground,  his back against the blue bark
of a tall  tree, his blade across his knees. Immediately, he was seized with
drowsiness. His head  nodded and  jerked upward several times. Then his chin
came to rest upon his breast and he snored.
     Was  walking, across  a  blue-green plain, the  grasses bending down to
form a pathway before him. At the end of this pathway was a massive tree,  a
tree such as did not grow upon the world, but rather held the world together
with its roots, and with its branches  reached up  to utter leaves among the
stars.
     At  its base sat a  man, cross-legged, a faint smile upon his lips.  He
knew this man to be the Buddha, and he approached and stood before him.
     "Greetings, oh  Death," said the seated one,  crowned with a  rose-hued
aureole that was bright in the shadow of the tree.
     Yama did not reply, but drew his blade.
     The Buddha continued to  smile, and as Yama  moved  forward  he heard a
sound like distant music.
     He halted and looked about him, his blade still upraised.
     They came from all quarters, the four  Regents of the world, come  down
from  Mount  Sumernu:  the Master of the  North  advanced,  followed by  his
Yakshas, all in gold, mounted on yellow horses,  bearing shields that blazed
with golden light; the Angel of  the South came  on, followed by his  hosts,
the Kumbhandas, mounted upon blue steeds and bearing sapphire shields;  from
the East rode the  Regent whose horsemen carry shields of pearl, and who are
clad all in silver; and from the West there came the One whose Nagas mounted
blood-red  horses, were clad all in  red and  held before  them  shields  of
coral. Their hooves did not appear to touch the grasses, and  the only sound
in the air was the music, which grew louder.
     "Why do the Regents of the world approach?" Yama found himself saying.
     "They come to bear my bones away," replied the Buddha, still smiling.
     The four Regents drew rein, their hordes at their backs, and Yama faced
them.
     "You come to  bear his bones away,"  said Yama, "but who  will come for
yours?"
     The Regents dismounted.
     "You may not have this man, oh Death," said the Master  of  the  North,
"for he belongs to the world, and we of the world will defend him."
     "Hear me, Regents who dwell upon Sumernu," said Yama, taking his Aspect
upon  him.  "Into your hands  is given the keeping of  the world, but  Death
takes whom  he will from out the world, and whenever he chooses.  It is  not
given to you to dispute my Attributes, or the ways of their working."
     The four Regents moved to a position between Yama and Tathagatha.
     "We do dispute your way  with this one. Lord Yama. For in his  hands he
holds  the  destiny of our world.  You  may  touch  him  only  after  having
overthrown the four Powers."
     "So be it," said Yama. "Which among you will be first to oppose me?"
     "I will," said the speaker, drawing his golden blade.
     Yama, his Aspect  upon him, sheared through  the soft metal like butter
and laid  the flat  of  his  scimitar along  the Regent's head,  sending him
sprawling upon the ground.
     A  great cry came up  from the  ranks  of the Yakshas, and  two of  the
golden horsemen came forward  to  bear away their  leader. Then they  turned
their mounts and rode back into the North;
     "Who is next?"
     The  Regent  of the East  came before  him, bearing a straight blade of
silver and a net woven of moonbeams. "I," he said, and he cast with the net.
     Yama set  his foot upon it, caught  it in his fingers, jerked the other
off  balance.  As the  Regent  stumbled forward, he reversed his  blade  and
struck him in the jaw with its pommel.
     Two  silver  warriors  glared at him, then dropped  their eyes, as they
bore their Master away  to the  East, a discordant  music  trailing in their
wake.
     "Next!" said Yama.
     Then  there  came before him the burly  leader of the  Nagas, who threw
down  his weapons and stripped off his tunic, saying, "I  will  wrestle with
you, deathgod."
     Yama laid his weapons aside and removed his upper garments.
     All the  while  this was happening, the Buddha sat in the shade of  the
great tree, smiling, as though the passage of arms meant nothing to him.
     The Chief of the Nagas  caught Yama behind the neck with his left hand,
pulling his head forward.  Yama did the same to him;  and the other did then
twist his body, casting his  right arm over  Yama's left shoulder and behind
his neck, locking it then tight about his head, which he now drew down  hard
against his hip, turning his body as he dragged the other forward.
     Reaching up behind the Naga Chief's back, Yama caught his left shoulder
in his left hand and then moved his right hand behind the Regent's knees, so
that he lifted both  his legs off the  ground while  drawing back  upon  his
shoulder.
     For a  moment he held this one cradled  in  his arms like a child, then
raised him up to shoulder level and dropped away his arms.
     When the Regent struck  the ground, Yama fell  upon him with his  knees
and rose again. The other did not.
     When the riders  of the West had departed, only the Angel of the South,
clad all in blue, stood before the Buddha.
     "And you?" asked the deathgod, raising his weapons again.
     "I  will not  take up weapons of steel  or leather or stone, as a child
takes up toys,  to face you, god of death. Nor will  I match the strength of
my  body against yours," said the  Angel. "I know I  will be bested if  I do
these things, for none may dispute you with arms."
     "Then climb back upon your blue stallion and ride away," said Yama, "if
you will not fight."
     The Angel  did not answer,  but cast his  blue shield into the  air, so
that  it spun like a wheel of sapphire, growing larger and larger as it hung
above them.
     Then it  fell to the ground and began to sink into it, without a sound,
still growing as it vanished from sight, the grasses  coming  together again
above the spot where it had struck.
     "And what does that signify?" asked Yama.
     "I  do not actively contest. I merely  defend.  Mine  is  the power  of
passive  opposition. Mine is the  power  of life, as  yours is  the power of
death. While you can destroy anything I send against you, you cannot destroy
everything,  oh Death. Mine is  the power  of the shield, but not the sword.
Life will oppose you, Lord Yama, to defend your victim."
     The  Blue  One turned then,  mounted his blue steed and  rode  into the
South,  the  Kumbhandas at  his back. The sound of the music did not go with
him, but remained in the air he had occupied.
     Yama advanced once more, his  blade in his hand. "Their efforts came to
naught," he said. "Your time is come."
     He struck forward with his blade.
     The  blow  did not  land, however, as a branch from the great tree fell
between them and struck the scimitar from his grasp.
     He reached for  it  and  the grasses  bent to  cover it  over,  weaving
themselves into a tight, unbreakable net.
     Cursing, he drew his dagger and struck again.
     One mighty branch bent down, came  swaying  before his target, so  that
his  blade  was imbedded deeply in its  fibers. Then the branch lashed again
skyward, carrying the weapon with it, high out of reach.
     The Buddha's eyes were closed in meditation and his halo glowed  in the
shadows.
     Yama  took a step forward, raising  his hands,  and the grasses knotted
themselves about his ankles, holding him where he stood.
     He  struggled  for a moment, tugging at their unyielding roots. Then he
stopped  and raised both  hands  high, throwing his  head  far  back,  death
leaping from his eyes.
     "Hear me, oh Powers!" he  cried. "From this  moment  forward, this spot
shall bear  the curse  of Yama! No  living thing shall  ever stir again upon
this ground! No bird shall sing, nor snake slither  here! It shall be barren
and stark, a  place  of rocks and shifting sand! Not a spear of grass  shall
ever be upraised from here against the sky! I speak this curse and lay  this
doom upon the defenders of my enemy!"
     The  grasses began  to wither, but before they  had released him  there
came a  great splintering,  cracking noise,  as  the  tree whose  roots held
together the world and in whose branches the stars were caught, as fish in a
net, swayed forward, splitting down its middle, its uppermost  limbs tearing
apart the sky,  its  roots opening chasms in  the ground, its leaves falling
like blue-green  rain  about  him. A massive section  of  its  trunk toppled
toward him, casting before it a shadow dark as night.
     In  the distance, he  still saw  the Buddha,  seated in meditation,  as
though unaware of the chaos that erupted about him.
     Then there was only blackness and a sound like the crashing of thunder.

     Yama jerked his head, his eyes springing open.
     He sat in the purple grove, his back  against the  bole of a blue tree,
his blade across his knees.
     Nothing seemed to have changed.
     The rows of monks were seated, as in meditation, before him. The breeze
was still cool and moist and the lights still flickered as it passed.
     Yama stood, knowing then, somehow, where  he must go to find that which
he sought.
     He moved past the monks, following a well-beaten path that led far into
the interior of the wood.
     He came upon a purple pavilion, but it was empty.
     He  moved  on, tracing  the path  back  to  where  the  wood  became  a
wilderness. Here, the ground  was damp and a faint mist sprang up about him.
But  the way  was still  clear  before him, illuminated by the light  of the
three moons.
     The trail led downward, the blue  and purple  trees growing shorter and
more twisted here than they did above. Small  pools of  water, with floating
patches of leprous, silver scum, began to appear at the sides  of the trail.
A  marshland  smell  came  to his nostrils,  and  the  wheezing  of  strange
creatures came out of clumps of brush.
     He heard  the sound of  singing, coming  from far up behind him, and he
realized that the monks he had left  were now awake  and  stirring about the
grove. They had finished with the task of combining their thoughts to  force
upon him  the vision  of  their leader's  invincibility. Their chanting  was
probably a signal, reaching out to --
     There!  He  was  seated  upon a  rock  in  the middle  of a  field, the
moonlight falling full upon him.
     Yama drew his blade and advanced.
     When he was about twenty paces away, the other turned his head.
     "Greetings, oh Death," he said.
     "Greetings, Tathagatha."
     "Tell me why you are here."
     "It has been decided that the Buddha must die."
     "That does not answer my question, however. Why have you come here?"
     "Are you not the Buddha?"
     "I have been called Buddha, and  Tathagatha,  and  the Enlightened One,
and many  other things. But, in  answer to your  question, no, I am not  the
Buddha. You have already succeeded in what  you  set out to do. You slew the
real Buddha this day."
     "My memory  must  indeed be  growing weak, for I  confess that I do not
remember doing this thing."
     "The  real  Buddha was named by us  Sugata," replied the other. "Before
that, he was known as Rild."
     "Rild!" Yama chuckled. "You are trying to tell me that he was more than
an executioner whom you talked out of doing his job?"
     "Many people  are executioners who have been talked  out of doing their
jobs," replied the one on the rock.  "Rild gave up his mission willingly and
became a follower  of the  Way. He was the only man  I ever  knew  to really
achieve enlightenment."
     "Is  this  not  a  pacifistic  religion,  this  thing  you  have   been
spreading?"
     "Yes."
     Yama threw  back his  head and laughed.  "Gods! Then it is well you are
not preaching a militant one! Your foremost disciple, enlightenment and all,
near had my head this afternoon!"
     A tired look  came over the Buddha's wide countenance. "Do you think he
could actually have beaten you?"
     Yama was silent a moment, then, "No," he said.
     "Do you think he knew this?"
     "Perhaps," Yama replied.
     "Did you not know one another prior to this day's meeting? Have you not
seen one another at practice?"
     "Yes," said Yama. "We were acquainted."
     "Then he knew your skill and realized the outcome of the encounter."
     Yama was silent.
     "He went willingly to his  martyrdom,  unknown to me at  the time. I do
not feel that he went with real hope of beating you."
     "Why, then?"
     "To prove a point."
     "What point could he hope to prove in such a manner?"
     "I do  not know. I only know that it must be as I have said, for I knew
him. I have  listened  too  often to his sermons, to his subtle parables, to
believe that  he would do a thing such  as this without a purpose.  You have
slain the true Buddha, deathgod. You know what I am."
     "Siddhartha," said Yama, "I know that  you are a fraud. I know that you
are  not  an Enlightened One.  I realize that your doctrine is a thing which
could  have  been remembered by any  among the First. You chose to resurrect
it,  pretending to be its  originator. You decided to spread it, in hopes of
raising an opposition to  the religion by which the true gods rule. I admire
the  effort. It was cleverly planned and executed. But your biggest mistake,
I feel, is that you picked a pacifistic creed with which to oppose an active
one.  I  am curious  why you did  this  thing,  when there were so many more
appropriate religions from which to choose."
     "Perhaps I  was just curious  to see how such  a  countercurrent  would
flow," replied the other.
     "No, Sam, that is not it," answered Yama. "I feel it is  only part of a
larger  plan you  have  laid,  and  that for  all these years  -- while  you
pretended  to  be  a saint and preached sermons  in which  you did not truly
believe yourself-- you  have  been making  other plans. An  army,  great  in
space, may  offer opposition  in a brief  span  of time. One  man,  brief in
space, must  spread his opposition across a period of many years if he is to
have  a chance of succeeding. You are  aware  of this, and now that you have
sown the seeds of this stolen creed, you are planning to move on  to another
phase of opposition. You  are trying  to be a  one-man antithesis to Heaven,
opposing the will of the gods across the years, in many ways and from behind
many masks. But it will end here and now, false Buddha."
     "Why, Yama?" he asked.
     "It  was considered quite carefully,"  said Yama. "We did  not  want to
make you a martyr, encouraging more than ever the growth  of  this thing you
have been teaching.  On the other  hand,  if  you were not stopped, it would
still continue to grow.  It was decided,  therefore, that you must meet your
end at the hands of an agent  of Heaven-- thus showing which religion is the
stronger.  So,  martyr  or  no, Buddhism  will  be  a  second-rate  religion
henceforth. That is why you must now die the real death."
     "When I asked 'Why?' I meant something different. You have answered the
wrong question. I meant, why have you come to do this thing, Yama? Why  have
you, master of arms, master of sciences, come as lackey to a crew of drunken
body-changers, who are not qualified to polish your blade  or wash out  your
test  tubes? Why  do you, who might be  the freest spirit of us  all, demean
yourself by serving your inferiors?"
     "For that, your death shall not be a clean one."
     "Why? I  did but  ask a question,  which  must  have  long since passed
through more  minds than my own. I did not take offense when you called me a
false Buddha. I know what I am. Who are you, deathgod?"
     Yama placed his blade within his sash and withdrew a pipe, which he had
purchased at the inn earlier  in the day. He  filled its bowl  with tobacco,
lit it, and smoked.
     "It is obvious that we must talk a little longer, if only to clear both
our  minds of  questions," he stated, "so I may  as well be comfortable." He
seated himself upon a low rock.  "First, a man  may in some ways be superior
to his fellows and still serve them, if  together they serve a  common cause
which is greater than any one man. I believe that I serve such a cause, or I
would not be doing it. I take it that you feel the same way concerning  what
you do, or you  would not put up with this  life of miserable  asceticism --
though I note that  you are not so gaunt as your followers. You were offered
godhood some  years  ago in  Mahartha,  as I recall, and you  mocked Brahma,
raided the Palace of  Karma,  and filled all  the pray-machines of the  city
with slugs . . ."
     The Buddha chuckled. Yama joined him  briefly and continued, "There are
no Accelerationists remaining  in  the  world, other than  yourself. It is a
dead issue, which should never have become an issue in the first place. I do
have  a certain respect for the manner in which you  have acquitted yourself
over the years. It  has  even  occurred to me that if you  could be  made to
realize  the  hopelessness  of  your  present position,  you might still  be
persuaded to join the hosts of Heaven. While I did come here to kill you, if
you can be convinced of this now and give me your word upon it, promising to
end your foolish fight, I will take it upon myself to vouch for you.  I will
take you back to  the Celestial City with me, where you may now accept  that
which you once refused. They will harken to me, because they need me."
     "No," said Sam, "for I am not convinced of the futility of my position,
and I fully intend to continue the show."
     The chanting came down from the camp in the  purple  grove.  One of the
moons disappeared beyond the treetops.
     "Why are your followers not beating the bushes, seeking to save you?"
     "They would come if I called, but I will not call. I do not need to."
     "Why did they cause me to dream that foolish dream?"
     The Buddha shrugged.
     "Why did they not arise and slay me as I slept?"
     "It is not their way."
     "You might  have, though, eh? If  you could  get away  with it? If none
would know the Buddha did it?"
     "Perhaps,"  said the other. "As you know,  the  personal  strengths and
weaknesses of a leader are no true indication of the merits of his cause."
     Yama drew upon his pipe. The smoke wreathed his head and eddied away to
join the fogs, which were now becoming more heavy upon the land.
     "I know we are alone here, and you are unarmed," said Yama.
     "We  are  alone  here. My traveling  gear is  hidden farther  along  my
route."
     "Your traveling gear?"
     "I  have  finished here. You guessed correctly. I have begun what I set
out to begin. After we have finished our conversation, I will depart."
     Yama chuckled. "The optimism of  a revolutionary always gives rise to a
sense of wonder. How do you propose to depart? On a magic carpet?"
     "I shall go as other men go."
     "That is rather condescending of you. Will the powers of the world rise
up  to defend  you?  I see no great tree to  shelter  you with its branches.
There is no clever grass to seize at my feet. Tell  me how you  will achieve
your departure?"
     "I'd rather surprise you."
     "What say we  fight? I do not like  to slaughter an unarmed man. If you
actually do  have supplies cached somewhere nearby, go fetch your blade.  It
is  better  than  no  chance at all.  I've  even  heard  it  said that  Lord
Siddhartha was, in his day, a formidable swordsman."
     "Thank you, no. Another time, perhaps. But not this time."
     Yama drew once more upon his pipe, stretched, and yawned. "I  can think
of  no more questions then, which I  wish to ask you. It is futile  to argue
with you. I have nothing more to say. Is there anything else  that you would
care to add to the conversation?"
     "Yes," said Sam. "What's she like,  that bitch Kali? There are  so many
different reports that I'm beginning to believe she is all things to all men
-- "
     Yama  hurled  the  pipe, which  struck him upon the shoulder and sent a
shower of sparks down his  arm. His scimitar  was  a bright flash about  his
head as he leapt forward.
     When  he struck the  sandy stretch  before  the rock,  his  motion  was
arrested.  He  almost  fell,  twisted  himself perpendicularly and  remained
standing. He struggled, but could not move.
     "Some  quicksand,"   said  Sam,  "is   quicker  than  other  quicksand.
Fortunately, you are  settling  into  that of the slower sort. So  you  have
considerable time yet remaining  at  your  disposal. I would like to prolong
the conversation, if I thought I had a chance of persuading you to join with
me.  But I know that  I do not-- no more than you could persuade me to go to
Heaven."
     "I will get free," said Yama softly, not  struggling. "I will  get free
somehow, and I will come after you again."
     "Yes," said Sam, "I feel this  to be true. In  fact, in a short while I
will instruct you  how  to  go about it. For the  moment,  however,  you are
something every  preacher longs for-- a captive audience,  representing  the
opposition. So, I have a brief sermon for you. Lord Yama."
     Yama hefted  his  blade, decided  against throwing it, thrust it  again
into his sash.
     "Preach on," he said, and he succeeded in catching the other's eyes.
     Sam swayed where he sat, but he spoke again:
     "It  is amazing," he said, "how that mutant  brain of yours generated a
mind capable  of  transferring its powers to  any  new  brain  you choose to
occupy. It has been  years since I last exercised my one ability, as I am at
this moment-- but it, too, behaves in a  similar manner. No matter what body
I inhabit, it appears that my power follows me into it also. I understand it
is still that way with most of us. Sitala, I hear, can control  temperatures
for  a  great distance  about her. When she  assumes  a new body,  the power
accompanies her into her new nervous system, though it comes only weakly  at
first. Agni, I know, can set fire to objects by staring at them for a period
of time and willing that they burn. Now, take for example the death-gaze you
are at this moment turning upon me. Is it not amazing how you keep this gift
about you in all times and places, over the centuries? I have often wondered
as to the  physiological basis  for the phenomenon. Have you ever researched
the area?"
     "Yes," said Yama, his eyes burning beneath his dark brows.
     "And what is the explanation? A person is born  with an abnormal brain,
his  psyche  is later  transferred  to a  normal  one  and  yet his abnormal
abilities are not destroyed in the transfer. Why does this thing happen?"
     "Because you really have only one  body-image, which is  electrical  as
well  as  chemical  in  nature. It begins  immediately  to  modify  its  new
physiological environment. The  new  body has  much about it which it treats
rather like a disease, attempting to cure it into being the old body. If the
body which you  now  inhabit were to be made  physically  immortal, it would
someday come to resemble your original body."
     "How interesting."
     "That is why the transferred power is weak at first, but grows stronger
as you continue occupancy. That is why it is best to cultivate an Attribute,
and perhaps to employ mechanical aids, also."
     "Well. That is something I have often wondered about. Thank you. By the
way, keep trying with your  death-gaze-- it is painful, you know. So that is
something, anyway. Now, as to the sermon-- a proud and arrogant man, such as
yourself-- with an  admittedly admirable quality of didacticism about  him--
was  given  to doing  research  in  the area  of  a certain  disfiguring and
degenerative disease. One day he contracted it himself. Since he had not yet
developed  a cure for the condition, he  did take time out to regard himself
in a  mirror and  say, 'But  on <i>me</i> it does look  good.' You are such a  man,
Yama. You will not attempt to fight your condition. Rather, you are proud of
it. You betrayed yourself in  your fury, so I  know that  I speak  the truth
when I say  that the  name of your disease is Kali. You would not give power
into the hands of the unworthy if that woman  did not bid  you do it. I knew
her of old, and  I am certain that  she  has not changed. She cannot love  a
man.  She cares  only for those who bring  her  gifts of chaos. If ever  you
cease to suit her purposes,  she will put  you aside, deathgod. I do not say
this because  we  are  enemies, but rather as  one man to another.  I  know.
Believe  me, I  do.  Perhaps it  is unfortunate  that  you were never really
young, Yama, and did not know your first love in the days of spring. .  .  .
The moral,  therefore, of  my sermon on this  small  mount is this-- even  a
mirror will not show you yourself, if you do not wish to see. Cross her once
to try  the truth of my words,  even in a small  matter, and see how quickly
she responds, and in what fashion. What will you do if  your own weapons are
turned against you, Death?"
     "You have finished speaking now?" asked Yama.
     "That's about it. A sermon is a warning, and you have been warned."
     "Whatever  your  power, Sam,  I  see  that  it is at this moment  proof
against my death-gaze. Consider yourself fortunate that I am weakened -- "
     "I do indeed, for my head is about to split. Damn your eyes!"
     "One day I will try  your power  again, and even if it should still  be
proof  against  my own,  you  will fall on that day. If not by my Attribute,
then by my blade."
     "If that is a  challenge, I choose to defer  acceptance. I suggest that
you do try my words before you attempt to make it good."
     At this point, the sand was halfway up Yama's thighs.
     Sam sighed and climbed down from his perch.
     "There is only one clear path to this rock, and I am about to follow it
away from here. Now,  I will tell you how  to gain your life, if you are not
too  proud. I have  instructed  the monks  to  come to my aid, here at  this
place, if they hear a cry  for help. I told you earlier that I was not going
to  call for  help, and that is true. If, however, you begin calling out for
aid with  that powerful  voice of yours, they shall be here before  you sink
too much farther. They will bring you safely to firm ground and will not try
to harm you, for such is their way. I like the thought  of the god of  death
being saved by the monks of Buddha. Good night, Yama, I'm going to leave you
now."
     Yama smiled. "There  will be another day, oh Buddha," he stated. "I can
wait for it. Flee now  as far and as fast as you can. The world is not large
enough to hide you from my wrath. I will follow you, and I will teach you of
the enlightenment