The high palanquin was carried by twenty men and guarded by four hundred strong tribal warriors. Those abstract, ancient, smoking, towering volcano patterns symbolized the divinity of the great volcano—the unquestioned supreme authority of all the tribes of Colima.
At that moment, upon this divine palanquin, an aged old man and a young boy sat side by side, proclaiming an unmistakable succession to all the Colima tribes. The tiger-headed, tiger-brained boy widened his eyes and crawled to the edge of the palanquin without showing the slightest fear. He stared curiously at the dense ranks of escorting warriors, at the Copper Spears in their hands and the Iron Axes at their waists, then cried out in a milky little voice.
"A-Ba... who?"
"Hm?..."
The elderly Great Chief of Colima paused slightly, followed the boy's gaze, then burst into laughter.
"My grandson, they are your warriors, the axes and spears in your hands! They are loyal to me, and they will follow you too! They will fight wars for you, kill people for you! They are your true strength, haaha!..."
The young Yanshan stared with his round, bright eyes, watching the marching warriors for a good long while. He wanted to reach out and grab the gleaming golden spearhead, but his arms were clearly too short, nowhere near long enough. After trying twice, he turned back again, looked at his maternal grandfather, and asked in a milky yet tigerish voice.
"A-Ba... who?"
"Hm? Kill who?..."
The Great Chief of Colima froze again, then laughed even more heartily, the wrinkles on his face seeming to fly.
"Anyone at all! My grandson, so long as they block your path or threaten you, they should be killed as early as possible, without the slightest mercy!... Even if they are my other grandsons, your brothers by