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

hand. Then it, too, was on the earth. Sakai dropped to his knees, staring at his bloody stumps. He had only seconds to live and knew it. Raising his eyes to Muramasa, he pleaded without saying a word and leaned forward, extending his neck out. Well Drinker whistled through the air and Sakai's head rolled free of its body.
    Muramasa stood back from the body of his victim, eyes red with blood passion, chest heaving, sweat rolling freely down his face and arms. It was, again, beyond sexual experience. He knew he was close to the edge of some unknown nirvana. Casca's wondering eyes were ignored. If the gaijin had come to him at that time, he might have turned Well Drinker on him.
    Casca could feel the vibrations transmitting from Muramasa. Instinctively he waited for the trembling to pass and his breathing to return to normal. Then and only then did he speak. "We go now?”
    Muramasa turned to stare at the unexpected voice that had interrupted his thoughts. It took a moment for it to register. Then his eyes cleared, the fog lifting from them.
    " Hai . We go."
    Casca rounded up the horses. They had lost one but that left them two including the fine bay gelding Sakai had been riding. After stripping the bodies of goods and weapons, they were quite well outfitted. Casca tossed the naked bodies over the side of the ditch. That might give them a little time before someone found the remains and a search for the killers was started. Mounted on the saddles were zutsu cases with Mongol style laminated bows and shafts in them. Obviously the retainers of Lord Sakai had not deigned them worth killing by arrows.
    After tossing the last body over, Casca finished packing their goods in the saddlebags and tied down what was loose where he could. Like the deceased and mutilated Sakai, he was not a great horseman, though the gods alone knew how many thousands of leagues he had ridden on the back of a horse over the centuries. The only thing he liked about them was that he knew they would save a lot of time wherever they were going and give his feet a rest while he built up callouses on his ass. Settling into the saddle, he waited for the sword maker.
    Muramasa shook his head as he looked at the remains of Sakai. It was a shame; the fine robes of silk were so cut up and bloody. They had been of great value. Just the outer robe was worth enough to feed a peasant family for two years.
    With a sigh of regret, Muramasa swung up into the saddle of Sakai's animal. As for the clothes, as always he had taken the best. Once he had looked closely at Casca to see if this had caused the barbarian any concern. Obviously it had not, or perhaps he was just not able to read the face of this strange gaijin . To his eyes, they all looked very much alike – ugly. Turning his animal's head back the way they had come, Muramasa led them back up the trail into the mountains. Now that they had killed Sakai and his vassals, there would sooner or later be a hue and cry for them. The farther away they were by then the better. If they could make it to where one of the supporters of Yoritomo was in power, then they would have a chance.
    The swords they brought with them of the dead vassals of the Taira and their master would be their passports to honor and employment in the forces of the Minamoto – which would bring Muramasa that much closer to his heart's desire. He would be samurai. Perhaps even one day he would be daimyo , a great land owner with many koku of rice granted to him each year by Lord Yoritomo. It was good to have dreams, for what was one without them? And then when he had the right to the dai-sho , he would complete what he had begun at the spring of his fathers. When he had forged Well Drinker, he had not made a companion blade, for the temptation to carry it as dai-sho would then have been too much.
    When he was truly samurai, then he would forge the little brother to Well Drinker. The thought chilled him that the companion to Well Drinker might also have