Casca 19: The Samurai Read Free Page A

still be able to give Muramasa warning before they attacked.
    Sliding his body over the cold, wet boulders, he slid like a snake. It wasn't too difficult. The three men's attention was on Muramasa, who continued with his exercises. When they reached the last line of boulders, separating them from the beach where Muramasa worked his sword play, they hesitated a moment, conferring with hushed voices and gestures. Casca knew that turtle head was giving them their instructions. He was about fifteen feet behind them, gathering his legs under him, ready to make a lunge and take out at least one of them, then get his weapon, and give Muramasa time to come to his aid. He was still preparing to lunge when without warning they burst out at a run. Swords held high, they raced at Muramasa, who seemed oblivious to all about him. Casca started to yell a warning when Muramasa turned faster than anything he'd ever seen, making his movement still seem no more than a part of his exercises. He whirled down and came up with a two handed stroke Casca had never seen before. It sliced an attacker's sword arm off. Coming up from under the armpit without ceasing his movement, he circled back around, ready for the others. The man who had just lost his arm stood still for a moment, gazing with wonder at his limb lying on the black sand, the hand still holding the grip of his katana . Then he fell to his knees and waited to die as his life's blood poured from the amputated shoulder.
    The other two were on Muramasa, not hesitating for their wounded comrade. They tried to get Muramasa between them. His sword flickered around them, parrying, thrusting, slicing, blocking every strike they made. Casca was on his feet, moving. With their concentration on Muramasa, they didn't hear the hiss of his feet on the sand. He grabbed the upraised sword arm of the one with the scalp lock. Twisting him around, he struck him across the throat with his left elbow, crushing the larynx. Ripping the sword from his hand, he turned to aid Muramasa.
    The turtle head was just now aware the game had changed. Backing off, he lowered his katana to where its tip nearly touched the earth and sucked in a great breath of air, preparing himself to meet both of them. There was no fear in his eyes beneath the comical helmet. Only deadly acceptance of his karma.
    With a shake of his head, Muramasa told Casca to stay out of it. Setting forward, his body at right angles, he raised his katana in a two handed grip, stepping forward with a sliding dance motion. The turtle head countered. They began to move slowly, gracefully.
    Casca knew that Muramasa was treating him to an object lesson in the art of the sword. He squatted down, sitting on the back of the man he'd just killed to watch the two men on the beach engage in their dance of death. He had to admit it was beautiful. Never had he seen such style. They would instantly rush, meet, their swords ringing off each other, then be on opposite sides again, sucking in air, growling beneath their breath as they gathered themselves again. Then once more they rushed at each other, both with upraised blades held in double hands, and it was over.
    Casca wasn't sure he'd seen the stroke. One second Muramasa's sword was in the air above his head. Then he was down in a whirling motion and coming back up, the razor edge slicing open the turtle head from groin to chest. And then he was back in his preparatory stance with upraised blade, his face calm, expressionless, except for a glazed look to the eyes as if he'd just reached the peak of sexual satisfaction.
    Turtle head dropped to his knees, his sword falling from his hands as he tried to hold bulging intestines from spilling out of his abdomen. He raised his eyes to Muramasa and spoke a few words rapidly. Muramasa grunted and bowed his head slightly. Stepping forward to the man's side, he waited. Turtle head half bowed from the waist, extending his head out, baring the nape of the neck. Instantly the