Casca 19: The Samurai Read Free Page B

katana in Muramasa's hand flashed again. The head fell free, the mouth open and moving as if it had one last thing it wanted to say. Then the body slumped forward.
    Reaching into his robe top, Muramasa removed a silk cloth and carefully wiped the blood from his sword. Then with a quick, sure movement, he reversed the blade and slid it into its scabbard, signifying everything was finished.
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
    Muramasa moved to his kills. After separating the head of the man with one arm, he began stripping the bodies. Nodding his head at Casca, he indicated for him to do the same to the man he'd killed. Casca went to it with alacrity, glad to don the robes of the dead samurai. They were a bit small, but as they wore them loose here, they'd fit well enough.
    Best of all were the weapons: a long sword, a katana similar to Muramasa's, and a shorter one Muramasa called a tachi . Inside the robe was a small red silk purse with several silver coins and a few of copper. He had money again. Just the touch of it made him feel more like a civilized man of means.
    When they finished stripping the bodies of all of value, Muramasa glanced at the sea. The tide was beginning to go out. With Casca's help, he moved the bodies into the water, letting the ocean take them out from where, with luck, they would never return. The heads being heavier than water, Muramasa simply tossed them out as far as he could, leaving it to the crabs to clean them up.
    Gathering their spoils, they returned to their cave to figure out what their next course of action would be.
    By words, signs, and grunts, Muramasa made it clear they had to move. The long arm of someone or something called Taira had reached out for him. Casca thought it most likely they had been spotted by a peasant who turned them in for a reward. But then it could have just been an accident the three samurai had come along when they did. But it was best not to count on accidents. Making up two packs of their goods, they left the cave, Muramasa taking him along a narrow black rock path away from the ocean and island. Once they were in the open, Muramasa moved with strong, long, sure strides for someone who was a bit bow legged, and Casca had to struggle to keep up with him. His strength had not fully returned. He stuck his two new swords in his waistband as he saw Muramasa do. He didn't know that to any samurai who saw them wearing their swords in such a fashion it was a deadly insult, which could only be answered with death. But he was now a ronin too, though he still didn't understand just what it meant to be a ronin . They were outside the law and most would die while still quite young, unless they found a master to attach themselves to.
    The wearing of the two swords meant nothing to Casca. He'd done it before a dozen times; a long blade and a short one were normal, but to Muramasa it was something that ate at his soul. True, he wore the bushi , but he was not entitled to them. He would, if he lived long enough, one day be samurai. That he swore to himself long ago. He would have the right to wear the two swords before he died, and to be ready for that time he had to have a plan. Perhaps the pale scar faced one would be of help in this matter. For to be noticed by the great men, the daimyos , one had to be special. With the pale strange looking barbarian beside him, he would most certainly be noticed no matter where he went. That, of course, could also prove to present some problems, as it would not be long before the samurai and hirelings of the Taira family knew of his existence. But then again, as always, it was what was in one's karma that really mattered; nothing could change that.
    Leading the way, skirting the scattered villages, Muramasa took him away from the coast, climbing higher into the range of blue hazed mountains lying a few miles inland. From what he saw, the countryside was similar to the lands of Chin – square, carefully tended fields of rice and small plots of