James Axler – Keepers of the Sun

The man had broken easily through the flimsy wall panel, following the lead of his long blade, emerging in a crouch just ahead of Ryan.

He was short and stocky, and dressed entirely in black. A round skullcap of metal protected his head, with cheek plates on either side. A loose scarf of black silk was wrapped around his face, revealing only the eyes, which were dark, glittering and totally blank. They stared fixedly at Ryan.

The man wore some kind of light body armor below a shirt of black satin, the metal gleaming in the glow of the oil lamps. He held the sword pointed downward and stood stock-still, watching the white man.

Ryan guessed that the assassin hadn’t expected to find an Occidental in the fortress and was trying to work out how best to cope with the discovery. But there was the remote possibility that this man was a follower of Takei Yashimoto and had been sent by the vengeful samurai to murder his enemies.

For a few moments the two men stood frozen, a dozen feet apart. Ryan had been working the fingers of his right hand, removing the stiffness caused by the blow to the automatic, which now lay in the corner of the passage, way beyond his reach.

“My fight is not with you, gaijin ,” the voice whispered. “Still time go back your room. Close eyes and memory. Not your fight.”

“Man nearly takes my arm off turns it into my fight. Man who slaughters unarmed women and children turns it into my fight,” Ryan stated, drawing the panga.

There was a whisper of breath in the silence that could have been a laugh. “You use your clumsy great knife against my katana . I will cut you in half, stupid gaijin .”

“Talk comes cheap. Not like stabbing a little boy. Not so bastard easy.”

The man still held off from the attack, unable to restrain his boasting.

“My sword is the sharpest in the world. When it was made it was laid in a flowing river. A feather was put in river and floated over edge and was cut in half.”

Ryan was content to let the warrior talk. The longer he kept him there, the better the chance of help arriving. The idea of tackling the swordsman with his eighteen inch panga wasn’t one that Ryan relished.

“I can cut locust in half and half again, in middle of flight. Cut human hair in half and half and half more. Cut helmet in two pieces. Fight an army on own. Defeat greatest samurai ever born. Behead a dragon in air.” He was shuffling forward an inch at a time, his eyes never leaving Ryan’s face.

The great palace of Mashashige was still and silent. There was just the sound of the two men breathing.

From the way the man held the sword, it was obvious to Ryan that at some point he would have to heft it shoulder high to make the downward cut that the weight and shape of the blade dictated. And that would be the chance. He had little doubt that the samurai would be a skillful swordsman, able to use the much longer weapon against the shorter panga.

“If you have gods, gaijin , now is time to pray to them. Your poor blood dishonors my steel.”

The men were a scant five feet apart.

Ryan’s breathing was slow and steady, controlled, since he knew that the moment was close.

He concentrated on the tip of the slightly curved blade, watching for it to move.

Now.

The instant it started to lift, Ryan dived in, using the panga like a heavy cutlass, jabbing with the needle point at the samurai, who had begun a half step backward to give himself more room for the devastating downward slash. Committed to swinging the sword upward, there was no time to parry the unexpected attack from the one-eyed gaijin .

Ryan had deliberately aimed low, knowing that it would be more difficult to deflect his thrust. He aimed at the man’s upper thigh, guessing that he wasn’t likely to be wearing armor there, though his whole chest and stomach were protected.