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ka?"
    Muramasa bobbed his head up and down. " Hai, so desu? " As he acknowledged that he did understand, he dared to question whether all that Sakai had said was indeed a fact.
    Sakai could not tolerate such disrespect from this eta , this handler of dead things and offal. He was beneath his attention. To his goke'nin , he would give the opportunity to cleanse his road for him. As his sworn vassals they had only one duty, and that was to do his bidding at the cost of their lives if he so wished. To fail to do his bidding was to achieve the same end, only in an extremely more unpleasant manner.
    He spoke, barely able to control the anger in his body. "Kill those things which walk like men, but smell as if they are already long dead."
    Without pause the two horsemen instantly spurred their mounts on, drawing their swords at the same time they rushed down on Muramasa and Casca. Dropping his pack, Casca moved to the side of the road, jumping on a small ridge, a channel used to irrigate the rice fields, giving him a couple of more feet in height and forcing the on rushing riders to come to him on his ground. They would have to rein up or their horses would go over the side into the rice paddies.
    He needn't have worried too much about both of them reaching him. As they rode down on them, Muramasa drew Well Drinker, made a low, whirling movement with his body, dropped to knee level in a powerful swing, then twisted his body up, leaping into the air at the exact time the lead rider reached him. The lead samurai's sword was on the down swing when Well Drinker came into contact with his body at the waist. The impetus of the horse gave the razor edged katana all the force it needed to slice through the plates of lacquered armor as if they were thin silk. It entered the softer, warmer tissue beneath with enough force to slice the man's body almost in two. The samurai keeled over backwards in his saddle, his body trying to break at the spine. As he bent, intestines bulged forth and out over the front of his saddle to trail along the side of his wild eyed horse.
    The second rider was heading for Casca, his sword cutting wheels in the air as he closed on the barbarian , thinking Casca was only another hairy Ainu tribesman from the northern lands. Casca had no trouble in his use of the naginata in locking the horns of the halberd on the blade of the samurai. A quick pull and a twist and the samurai's sword flew over his head to be lost in the mud of the rice paddy. Then Casca made a quick circular cross blow that brought his broad blade snapping back to connect at the junction of the jaw and the samurai's throat rings. It was not a particularly heavy blow, but sufficient enough to open up the man's throat so he was well on his way to whatever heaven or hell he believed in. The horse reared as it came face to face with the barbarian standing on the bank of the dike and nearly sat on its haunches as it dropped its dying rider off its back. Leaping down from the dike, Casca moved to stand beside Muramasa as they faced the last of the enemy.
    Sakai had observed the actions of his men against the two ronin with detachment. Obviously his vassals deserved to die if they could not take the heads of two such as these. They were of no import. He would attend to that small detail himself now that these two had proved themselves to be at least worthy of the effort of drawing his sword, Willow Song, from its sheath. He did, however, take notice of Muramasa's movements against his samurai. They were quick and skillful. He would do better to face this one on earth where his feet were solidly planted, for he was not known as a great horseman. As for the gaijin , he refused to let the odds of two against one bother him. He had dealt with greater odds before.
    Muramasa motioned Casca back. His blood was singing a song of blood passion. Well Drinker was ready. They were as one, the shining steel and the master. And he the student who stood apart, detached from