"Indeed it does. It is apparently the chief object to which heads are sacrificed—or was, before it was lost. The golden skull is almaduan, the very soul stuff of the Ifugaos."
"How was it lost?" Scotty inquired.
"In a war," Okola said, quite seriously, "between the kabunian, the gods of the sky world, and the dalun, the gods of the underworld. The dalun won. They took the head and disappeared into the ground somewhere in Banaue. Behind them, they left a great taboo. If an Ifugao tries to follow them into the underworld to reclaim the skull, great misfortune will come. An earthquake will destroy the terraces. The people will starve. They will be haunted by the dodingerot—ghouls who dwell in tombs and bite the faces of intruders."
"Then the Ifugaos will take a dim view of our hunting their golden skull," Rick guessed.
"They might if they knew about it," Dr. Okola said. "Actually, what I have just told you is almost forgotten lore. I doubt that the Ifugao man in the street—or, properly, man in the rice terraces—has ever heard of it. A few old priests may remember."
Irineo Lazada clapped his hands and rose. "Coffee in the living room, gentlemen. You know, I begin to have some hope for this golden skull. I had not really taken your expedition seriously until Dr. Okola's recital."
Tony Briotti picked him up quickly. "Then that is why you have failed to issue our permit?"
Rick stopped in his tracks. Was there trouble about their permit? He had wondered about the reason for this dinner with the Assistant Secretary of the Interior. Perhaps it was to persuade him.
Lazada smiled. "The government doesn't want to stir up trouble among the mountain tribes. We do not have enough constabulary for police duty in the mountains. A small detachment at Baguio is the best we can do."
"I assure you that we will not stir up trouble," Tony Briotti said.