he was alone with Yang Kuei-fei. Sometimes desire for her nearly drove him mad, to think she was so many li away, beyond his grasp when even his fingers hungered for her flesh. He was forced to seek solace with one of the women who always linger near an army encampment. Though she was reputed to be voluptuous, to him her body was repulsive, so repulsive that after his desire had in some degree been lessened, he vomited from nausea.
"Get out! Get out!" he cried, and drew his sword as though he would destroy forever this amorous caricature.
That night he wallowed in wine, and awakened weak and dizzy, with a taste that gouged his tongue. In disgust, he rushed down to a mountain spring and lay with his head in such a position that the cold water rushed over his face until he could not breathe. Again and again, he plunged his head into the stream until he was so cold his teeth chattered. But his head was clear and the monstrous taste had been spewed from his mouth.
However, not always did he give way to violence. He had serious work to do. Every day messengers were coming to him with news of the forces of fighting men available in all key positions of the Empire. They were woefully inadequate. China was impregnable not because of her ability to resist invasion, but because of the legends that had been built up through endless centuries of culture. Then, too, there was the Great Wall, ten thousand li in length. This was a formidable barrier
to the invader from outside, but what of the enemy
