Casca 19: The Samurai by Barry Sadler Read Free Book Online

the action, he was the servant of the blade. Never had he felt so alive. He did not wish to share any of the blood with his big nosed companion. There was even a slight sense of anger that the barbarian had taken one of his kills from him.
    Sakai Taira was no mean swordsman as he had proved time and again over forty three years of battles for the honor of his family. Stepping forward, he called to Muramasa, "Are you ready to die, slime from the gut of an eta whore?"
    Muramasa bowed formally. Straightening, he brought Well Drinker up slowly, then instantly went into an eye splitting series of movements, slices, and cuts. He never left his basic position: right foot forward, body slightly leaning, his weight evenly distributed with his center, strong, ready to move in any direction as the katana danced in his hands, catching the light of the afternoon sun.
    " Hai , I am ready, are you, for this day another Taira worm will feed the earth with his blood. Now let us dance the dance of swords for the enlightenment of the gaijin ."
    Sakai felt his face flush with blood, Stepping forward, he didn't wait, but went into a whirling attack designed to break down his opponent's defense by forcing him to respond to each attack, which would in the end leave him open for the killing blow. The opening did not come. Two minutes passed and the katana of the ronin never wavered. The detestable scum laughed at his feeble efforts, driving Sakai to greater fury in his attacks.
    Muramasa laughed evilly and with great pleasure. Half a dozen times he could have ended the contest. No! Well Drinker could have ended it. But the game had to be played a bit longer. Sometimes it was not enough to simply kill. The opponent must be humiliated, ashamed. That made his death sweeter, and Muramasa knew full well the shame in Sakai's soul, to be beaten by a common soldier. If there had been a way to stop the contest at this point, he had no doubt that Sakai would have had to perform seppuku to relieve his name of the dishonor being cast upon it with each block and counterblow from the bandit with the shining sword.
    Three minutes and Muramasa's arm felt as fresh as when the first blow was struck, but the strain was telling on Sakai. His face was florid and his movements were becoming slower and more awkward. The years of rich food and soft women instead of practice were taking their toll. He was going to die and now he knew it. Drawing back, he prepared himself for his final attack. From his obi he withdrew the companion to his katana , a shorter blade of something over a foot in length. Now that he had accepted his death, he would take this laughing ronin with him. A calmness pulled the blood back from his face. The trembling in his arms ceased as he regained control of his breathing, sucking the air deep into his lower abdomen. Muramasa knew what was taking place. Sakai was committing himself to death at this moment.
    Casca also sensed that the game was about to reach its finale.
     
     

CHAPTER SIX
    Resting his weight on the haft of the naginata , Casca concentrated on the fight, if it could be called that. It was obvious from the opening moves that Sakai was seriously outmatched and Muramasa was toying with him. What he had seen Muramasa do in the past was nothing compared to the lesson he was giving the samurai lord. Muramasa began to surgically dismantle Sakai, cutting his expensive robes into ribbons, barely touching the flesh beneath. He cut only enough to open the skin so it would bleed but never enough to maim or kill.
    Sakai halted, drew back, and removed his mask. Beneath it his face was a combination of red flushed skin and white lips. He sucked in breath to feed his burning lungs. Muramasa gave him his chance to take in fresh air. And then he moved, this time with a difference. The game was over; now it was time to kill. And kill he did. Before Sakai could counter, his sword arm was taken off at the elbow, leaving him his shorter blade in his left