Green Lama-Mystic Warrior

by Kevin Olson

  It silently swung open, revealing a narrow passageway, small oil lanterns suspended along the wall. Although it would be easy to pull back and escape through the main halls of the opium den, the Green Lama knew that the answer was not to escape the problem, but rather to solve it.

  With a single graceful step, he moved into the dark passageway.

  The passageway offered insight into the way of the addict. As the Green Lama moved along the dimly lit crawlspace, he discovered several clandestine viewing holes set within the wall.

  Covering each hole was a tiny brass swing panel, which when raised or lowered, allowed a single eye to view the inhabitants within.

  Some of the addicts he witnessed were not much more than skin and bones. Others were a bit more robust, obviously more recreational users than the truly addicted.

  Again and again, he witnessed men lazily watching nothing more than smoke curling up from their pipes. In other rooms, pipes had already been dropped and heads had fallen into deep opium trances.

  Upon arriving at another door, the Green Lama found no viewing port. Rather than moving past it, he pulled on the door handle, which revealed a spartan room containing a desk, several filing boxes, an armoire, and a cork bulletin board covered with black-and-white photographs.

  Curious, the Green Lama stepped into the room.

  Only a few candles delivered any sort of light to this strange space. Moving silently to the desk and its bulletin board, the Green Lama stopped to survey the collection of photographs.

  He was shocked by what he found. There were images of some of the most powerful men in New York City, men who lived on both sides of the law. Photos of notorious gangsters, powerful politicians, all were positioned on the bulletin board.

  The Lama also noticed that while some remained untouched, others had been circled, and some crossed through. Even Lt. Caraway’s photo had been hung, two large, red circles around his head, apparently made with some sort of grease pencil.

  Next to the photos was a list of names. Several of the names at the top had been crossed through. These were the names of men involved in New York City’s organized crime families; gambling, protection money, narcotics, all fell into the wheelhouses of these men.

  But the name underneath was most intriguing. A simple American name, it proved to be of strong interest to the Green Lama.

  The name was Jethro Dumont.

  On the table were various newspaper clipping and magazines about New York City. The Lama also noticed something else. Here and there on the table, the Green Lama found lengthy black fibers. Twisting several in his fingers, the Lama found them to be of synthetic, man-made material.

  His investigation proceeded no further; the doors to the armoire sprang open.

  A dark shape hurtled out, dressed all in black. Before the Green Lama had a chance to defend himself, the invader slammed his head back against the teak wall, once and then again.

  Prior to succumbing to the encroaching darkness, the Green Lama couldn’t help but notice the massive head of his attacker....

  fff

  Swaying. Lightly back and forth.

  A cool, dank breeze rising up from below.

  Another gentle sway.

  Suddenly, the Green Lama was awake.

  He was suspended upside down, pressure in his head coming from the blood rushing to his skull. His eyes looked downward only to be confronted by a black, rock-lined hole.

  His hands and arms were free, but his feet were constrained. Straining to glance upward, he saw that his feet were tied together and apparently secured to a large hook on an ancient wooden winch.

  The Green Lama’s eyes strained to take in where he was. With the planked walls and the damp, earthen floor, he assumed that he was in the basement of the opium den. His inner sense told him he had been unconscious for mere minutes; too short of a time to have been removed from the premises.

  And what of his captors? As his eyes took in the basement around him, the dim lighting of the room gave up nothing more than a trio of dark figures aligned along the wooden planks of a support wall.

  And then, from out of the very blackness, a larger figure moved forth to stand in front of the captive Lama.

  Almost freakish in its shape, it slowly moved closer to the bound vigilante.

  The Green Lama’s gaze appraised the bizarre creature that now stood in front of him.

  This creature was an elephant.

  Light played across its massive head, gray like that of a corpse, and mottled with a dense, leathery texture. A thick trunk hung lifelessly, rocking every so slightly every time the creature breathed deeply. Two dirty tusks of bone pointed downward from either side of its trunk, ancient and weathered, as if they had just been unearthed.

  But these bizarre features on the hulking head did not disturb the inner calm of the Green Lama. But something else did provide a slight chill to his trained senses.

  It was the creature’s mad eyes.

  Peering out through deep wells in the face, its eyes were alive with crazed passion. Blinking, wet, they almost sparkled in their clarity.

  These were eyes that spoke of madness. And torture. And pain.

  And they were now focused entirely on the Green Lama.

  The creature’s true size was hard to distinguish, as long, black robes covered its frame. Hands extended through the folds of the robes; long, thin fingers clasped together. Only the finger on the right hand made any sort of movement, slowly twitching in some sort of rhythm of anticipation.

  “I am Nalgari,” hissed the masked creature, his voice muffled by the head covering, yet containing the exotic sound of the Orient.

  “This city is quick to tell mythic tales of its Green Lama,” the creature continued in a dark whisper. “But I believe you to be more myth and mirrors than a worthy foe.”

  The Lama’s only response was silence. Now was not the time to talk. Now was the time to listen, to ascertain his enemy’s intention, and to find an opportunity to exploit their vulnerabilities.

  “The Green Lama! The mystic scourge of the underworld! The holy protector of the innocent!”

  The creature turned away for a moment as if in reflection.

  “But what manner of man are you? Do you even know? Should I call you Dr. Pali? Or are you Jethro Dumont?”

  For the first time, the Green Lama felt vulnerable. He was accustomed to the mad rantings of a lunatic. But this was different. Somehow this creature knew two of his identities.

  Who was the beast in front in him?

  “I’ve accepted your presence as a sign of what is to come. Like the still water that recedes before the tsunami, the death of the Green Lama will herald the great change that strikes without mercy to destroy all that’s in its path.”

  Before the Lama could reply, Nalgari turned to the shadowy figures behind him and said, “Submit him to the ordeal.”

  With that order, the trio of men stepped out of the darkness. These were the hairless ones from upstairs in the opium den. They moved to the base of the winch from which the Green Lama hung suspended. Here they released the peg lock from a large crank mechanism.

  The Lama’s eyes followed the path of the crank mechanism to a rope running along the winch from which he was suspended. Looking down again, seeing a circular hole lined by stone walls, the Green Lama realized that he was hanging above an old well probably dug one hundred and fifty years ago when parts of Manhattan were still farmlands.

  With a sudden lurch, he felt the rope release, and slowly, he was lowered into the well.

  It took but a few moments for his head to descend past the lip of the well and into the darkness below.

  Stacked and mortared stones were now his only view, and even that was fading fast, as he dropped deeper into the pit, any sight extinguished
by the lack of light falling into the depths of the pits.

  Secure that his entire body was now enveloped in darkness, the Green Lama claimed control of his core muscles, and in a singular motion, brought his upper body up to grasp the ropes securing his feet.

  The knots were tight, but he was not daunted, for Jethro Dumont had been trained in the art of escapism by one of the Europe’s most-esteemed escape artists, Sardo the Great. His fingers began to make quick work of the knotting structure, but the Green Lama was cautious with his progress.

  He had no idea how far below him lay the well floor, and he had no interest in taking a mystery plunge into the void.

  Suddenly his descent came to a violent stop, his body jerking hard. Looking above, the Green Lama could see a dimly lit circle indicating the opening of the well, which he now guessed was at least forty to fifty feet above him.

  The smell had gotten much worse at this level of the well, a mixture of sickly sweetness and eye-watering bitterness. It was the smell of rot and decay.

  He swung his body gently, moving his arms, trying to ascertain the size and nature of his surrounding. Stone walls seemed to surround him on all sides.

  He then extended his arms straight down, and he was relieved to brush his fingers against solid ground. He much preferred having the earth below him while planning an escape.

  But the relief was momentary. His fingers had continued to play over the ground, and he felt piles of odd, seemingly random pieces of wood. He picked up a few pieces in his hands, and he ran his fingers along their surface. Continuing his investigation, he felt mottled areas on the end of the object, forgiving and somewhat spongy to his touch.

  Bringing the piece to his noise, the Green Lama gently breathed in and he was not pleased with the scent. He knew the smell. It was marrow.

  The object in his hand was a bone.

  Based on its size, it probably was that of a small animal. Dropping the bone back to the ground, he let his fingers once again play across the ground below him. As he suspected, what he had initially felt was a pile of bones, one atop the other, the discarded remains of many creatures who had been dispatched to this same pit.

  The Green Lama then heard a sound break the silence of the pit. It was the sound of a shape slowly moving across the ground, disturbing the floor of bones, as it came toward him. To the Lama’s hearing, its movements were both strong and cautious, as if attempting to ascertain its surroundings and the intruder in its midst.

  And then the Green Lama heard it hiss.

  fff

  The hairless ones began the process of raising the Green Lama.

  They had waited patiently above the entrance to the well, hoping to hear cries for mercy from the pit. But none ever came.

  They could only stand solemnly and watch the rope.

  At first, the movement was ever so slight when the rope reached the base, just a simple sway that could have been caused by breeze or draft.

  And then the rope seemed to come alive. Almost spastically, it quickly jerked and shuddered. It jerked again and again, and then it stopped.

  No more movement came, and eventually the rope returned to its gently swaying.

  The elephant head turned to his men, signaling them with outstretched hand to raise the body from below.

  Slowly they did, bringing the rope up with each turn of the crank.

  The body of the Green Lama cleared the lip of the well, and the hairless ones gasped.

  For the sight before them was not only that of the Green Lama. His body was now entirely covered by the reptilian mass of a reticulated python.

  Close to eight meters in length, the python coiled around the unmoving form of the Lama; its olive drab and fern green scale pattern melding perfectly with the man’s green garb. The python appeared to have suffocated the human who had been dropped into its lair, constricting its coils to squeeze the very life out of the mystic warrior.

  The python held its head high near the Lama’s feet, as if preparing to ingest its victim. Turning its attention away from the Lama, the python’s forked tongue darted out to test the air of the room, its head smoothly sliding back and forth.

  And then, all at once, the python burst forth from the body of the Green Lama, flying across the room and directly into the assembled group of hairless ones.

  Like lightning, the terrified beast struck out at the men around it. Hissing, while alternately inflating and flattening its body, it stuck out at the men with open jaw and dripping fangs.

  At the same time, the Green Lama contracted his core muscles to bring his body up, his hands releasing the few remaining knots just barely holding him to the well’s rope. Once free, he used his hands to swiftly pull his entire body up atop the winch.

  Like a gargoyle, he surveyed the scene in front of him, his dark, hooded cloak hanging over the well below him.

  For the first time, he saw the hairless ones moving in panic. Not a surprise though; even the bravest of men are not accustomed to having a nearly thirty foot python thrown into their midst.

  A grim smile crossed the face of the Lama as he pulled the crimson scarf free from his neck. He then leapt into the fray.

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  When hanging in the well, the Green Lama had surmised from the sound of the slow, creeping movement that this was one large reptile. It sounded like the beast was using a rectilinear form of movement, the wide scales on its belly gripping the bed of bones while pushing forward with its other scales.

  While in Southeast Asia, he had seen several large pythons move with this same method. And if it was a python moving on him, he knew exactly how it would intend to kill him.

  A constricting snake kills its prey by suffocation. Moving in harmony with the victim’s breath, the python squeezes every time its prey exhales, slowing getting tighter and tighter, until its intended meal can breathe no more.

  At that thought, the snake struck. It must have reared back and shot its form directly at the Green Lama.

  His body was thrown violently around the well, as the large snake quickly threw its coils around the Lama’s body.

  The Lama knew that his only hope for survival was to use a technique that came from years of yoga and meditation practice, one that instantly slowed his breathing and, in turn, his heart rate.

  Immediately, he moved his thoughts away from the reptile constricting around him and conjured up vivid memories of diving into freezing waters. His mind instantly moved his body into an active diving reflex, allowing for his heart rate to slow down ten to twenty percent.

  The Green Lama quickly exhaled and did a gentle uddiyana bandha ma-neuver, pulling the abdomen under the rib cage. This result in an increase to his levels of carbon dioxide, slowing his heart beat even further.

  Calmly and with great care, the Lama than brought the tip of his tongue up to press against the back of his upper teeth and the roof of the mouth in a jiva bandha position. Once again, this yoga technique was used to increase the slowing of the heart.

  Through its thick coils, a python can sense the heartbeat of its prey. As the heartbeat of the Lama slowed, the snake began to relax. This confused the reptile. It now found itself in a position that went against instinct; its warm-blooded prey instantaneously moving from quick breaths and rapid heartbeats to a state of non breathing with diminished cardiac activity. Should it continue to attack? Or was the struggle over? The simple-minded predator chose to wait for the answer to come from its prey.

  And the Green Lama relaxed, hanging still in corpse pose, waiting for his chance to strike as well.

  fff

  As the Green Lama prepared to take down his enemies, his feeling was one of elation. Following his intense survival meditation in the well, the sudden blood flow to his brain left the jade warrior with a sense of immense clarity and focused alertness
.

  It was exactly what he needed.

  Two of the hairless ones were ina struggle with the great python; one wrapped in its constricting coils, while its large, fanged jaw head struck out at the other one.

  The Green Lama had confused the poor, simple beast, and now the frightened predator sought to strike out at those it perceived as a threat.

  As the Green Lama and the python were raised out of the well, the mystic allowed for his muscles to contract, bringing his arms closer and closer, allowing the slightest amount of slack to exist between his form and that of the snake.

  When they came to a rest after clearing the lip of the well, the Green Lama brought his body to life. He opened his mouth, taking in fresh oxygen to his air-starved muscles. He then tensed and exploded, his arms suddenly pushing out against the now-relaxed coils of the snake around him, sending the beast flying from him and directly into his enemies.

  The attack of the python left only one member of the hairless ones to deal with. The man, momentarily stunned by what happened, reached to his waist to draw a Mauser pistol from a belt holster.

  The gun had barely cleared the leather when the Green Lama struck with his kata. Cleverly worn around his neck or waist, this five foot long ceremonial scarf was his offensive weapon of choice. Dense weights sewn into either end of the scarf allowed him to deploy it like a crimson whip, this time striking out at the gun of the enemy before him.

  With a snap and then the sound of a cracking bone, the hairless one dropped the pistol to the earthen floor. Before he could begin to think about picking it up, the Lama was on him, his hands moving in a series of rapid ju-jitsu strikes to the face and chest, knocking him off balance, before turning into him, a hand wrapping around the man’s back, only to slam him to the ground with a hip throw.

  The Lama raised his head to find Nalgiri. The bizarre creature was at the far end of the sub-basement, running up a flight of old wooden steps in hopes of escape.