Only the skill and knowledge of Artuk the Wend forestalls an open conflict with Rana in the crucial scene “Sky Burial.” Omu remains a grudging ally, but secretly makes contact with the Tark, a barbaric clan leader who is also a strong proponent of the shamanistic traditions of the Bon religion that Omu adheres to. Omu is instrumental in fomenting the inevitable conflict between Rana and the Tark, and his devious plots also lead Rana’s newly adopted scout leader, Artuk into the thick of the conflict.

EXCERPT From Chapter 46 - Darkened Minds

Omu watched the ritual of the tea offering with sullen discontent, his mind filled with  disdain. He mastered his anger, sitting stolidly on his horse, silent and morose. Still, even he could not help but be swayed by the languorous mists of the Jagham brew. When the tea bowl was offered to him after Rana, he was amazed at the strange intoxicating vigor of the brew. The mellow sweetness of the leaf resolved into the most sublime hints of spice and herb, exerting a calm presence of mind and keen awareness that was extraordinary. What was this? For a moment he almost forgot his anger and resentment against Rana, but in time, particularly when he saw how the tea ceremony had melted away the defense of the city walls, he began to burn inwardly again, and bitterness returned to sour his palate.

 The ceremony concluded and Rana gave orders that camp was to be set on the open plain. Soon his troops set about the building of their tents and dugouts, planting clan standards about the perimeter of the encampment. Though Rana had proclaimed they marched under one banner, the reality of clan rivalry was still painfully obvious. The signs of the Dragon, the Hawk and the Boar seemed to glower at one another, strange spirits rising up from the encampment and fluttering in the swelling breeze of the day.

 It was clear to Omu that Rana was going to hold to protocol and wait for the Tark to present himself at the circle of his fire. Well, he thought, he may have a long wait, or a short one, depending on the mood of the Tark. He felt even more contempt for Rana now, a stripling whelp in his eyes, who hid behind the banner of another. He has no bones, he thought. Only the banner of Trisong Detsen. But Lhasa is far, and the Tark very near. Omu turned to Rana, his face set.

 “We wait here?” He asked, disapproving.

 “Yes. Will you set camp with us Lord Omu, or do you return to your Lance?” Rana edged his steed closer, studying Omu carefully.

 “The air here is too full of the trader’s perfumes to suit me. I rather prefer the smell of wood on the fire. Besides,” he added “I have never been one for the civilities of the Imperial Court.”

 “Oh?” Rana did not understand what Omu meant at first. But the sallow faced clansman explained.

 “Yes, I had thought the Emperor held court in Lhasa, but it seems he is here—complete with his Indian Guru defiling the ways of the Chöd. So, I will take my leave of this, Lord Rana, and return to my men. We too have drums and horns, and offerings to make. But we do not brew such sweetness as this trader’s tea. We are not children. We are the Krag Thung—The Blood Drinkers, and the teas we brew are offered in the skull of dung dmar.”

 Rana took pause at the remark. It was a flagrant reference to the Bön Heruka rite, and one that was clearly forbidden by the Emperor’s decree. He quelled his instinct to anger at Omu’s remark and spoke in a quiet voice. “Have you not heard,” he said. “The ways of the Bön are no longer favored.” His eyes played over the other man’s face, like a man seeking some hold on the wall of a sheer cliff. “Those that march in the Emperor’s name should take heed of that.”

 “It was you who raised the Imperial Standard here, Lord Rana, not I.” Omu spurred his horse and turned quickly away, riding hard to rejoin his men at the rear of the assembly