The Blazing Tempest

DISCLAIMER: This story is a non-commercial work of fiction based on the anime/manga Samurai 7. Original copyright of Samurai 7 belongs to Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto, Hideo Oguni, MICO, GDH, GONZO. Absolutely no monetary gain has been made with this work.


THE BLAZING TEMPEST
By Rory V. Pascual (Edited by Saiyukihana)
© Original Version 2001; Samurai 7 Version June 18, 2006


Chapter One

The sun was setting, casting a fiery glow upon the grassy knoll and the gravestone on top of it. A lone figure stood before the grave – a dashing young man with unruly, shoulder-length golden hair. He was clad in a sleeveless shirt, trousers and riding boots. His red cloak fluttered in the wind. Bending down, he laid a bunch of wild flowers on the grave.

"It's not long enough," he whispered sadly. "For awhile, I thought we'd be together forever, but it wasn't meant to be. You even made me forget the vow I made. But the wheel has turned once again, and I must settle the unfinished business I've neglected to attend to for the past fifteen years. Forgive me, my darling Yukino! Wherever you are, I hope you'll understand why I have to break my promise to you."

Behind him, a man cleared his throat. Turning, he saw the scribe who had come to fetch him. He has a kind face, the face of a man you could trust with your life and the secret of your past. His hair and wispy mustache were flecked with gray. He wore a monocle over one eye. His age and his short stature, however, did not stop him from going where he liked. Once a warrior, always a warrior.

"We must be on our way, Shichiroji," the scribe urged him. "The caravan leaves in three months and you must see my Master before we depart."

"Which master are you referring to?" the Samurai queried, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Masamune, I am finding this very confusing. You told me that your Master desires my services in leading the caravan through the desert, to ensure the safety of his prized whore. If he needs me that badly, he could afford to wait."

"No, not THAT master," Masamune replied, the disdain obvious in his voice. "I was talking about my TRUE master, him whom I serve at all times. Forgive me, but it is not my place to explain. He will be the one to answer all your questions. However, it is imperative that you speak with him in secrecy. I believe he has...a boon...to ask of you."

"Does he know that my services do not come cheap?"

The scribe frowned at that question. It was against his better judgment to approach this warrior with that other, 'unofficial' matter. Shichiroji's apparent greed only raised more doubts as to his worth to his Master. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to fulfill the task that was given him. However, he swore to himself that he will keep a close eye on this infamous ronin.

"Yes, he does," Masamune confirmed. "And he is willing to pay handsomely."

A grin quirked up the corners of the samurai's lips. "If that's the case, I accede to your desire for haste. Don't worry, Masamune! We shall make it."

Looking back at the grave, Shichiroji blew a kiss. "Farewell, Yukino!"

With long, confident strides, the Warrior went towards the scribe.

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Shichiroji declared, "Come, Masamune! We shall ride!"

~~~~~~~~~~

It was way past midnight when their ship arrived in El Djezair. The inhabitants of the port city were hushed in deep slumber. The two men disembarked, leading their horses down the gangplank. With Shichiroji's assist, the scribe got on his chestnut mare. Fitted to the horse was a special saddle, built for his specific needs.

"This way," Masamune whispered in his ear, pointing to the heart of the city.

Shichiroji frowned as he gazed in the opposite direction where a majestic edifice of white marble stood. "I thought we were going to the Palace?" His white Arabian stallion, Thanatos, fidgeted restlessly, aware of the unease in his master.

"No," the scribe replied. "Not there. That is the official residence of my lord the Amanushi's esteemed friend, the Sultan. He has, in turn, allotted different...lodgings...for my Master that are specific to his duties."

Though he was burning with curiosity, Shichiroji chose not to pry and, instead, followed the scribe into El Djezair. All his questions will be answered in due time.

The two men rode into the city, following a tortuous route. Shichiroji knew the reason for this. Ever since they arrived, he could feel eyes watching them. However, as Shichiroji suspected, their pursuers were not content with just watching them. Sure enough, as they turned at a street corner, hooded thugs wielding scimitars immediately accosted them.

"ROBBERS!" Masamune shouted in alarm as his horse reared up.

But then, as the Samurai was about to snap his trusty spear to its full length, a dark shadow leaped from the rooftop, the sword in his hand flashing in the moonlight. Before both men could even blink, pained cries escaped from the robbers' lips as the shadow zipped between them. In that split second, Shichiroji had seen how their rescuer slashed each man down by swinging his blade in a wide circle. The robbers did not stand a chance against that deadly move. The thugs fell dead to the ground.

Shichiroji was surprised to find that their rescuer was clad in the garb of the infamous Japanese assassin, known as the ninja. From head to toe, he was dressed entirely in black. His face, though hidden in shadow, was also covered by a mask. But the Shichiroji could feel his eyes upon him, measuring him. The Samurai granted him that same intense perusal. This man would be a worthy adversary.

With a salute, their mysterious savior literally flew into the air and vanished at the rooftops.

Shichiroji handed the reins to Masamune. "Take my horse! I'll catch up with you!"

Before the scribe could argue, the Warrior leaped to the roof as well. Masamune's jaw dropped at the sight of the two men's extraordinary agility.

On the rooftops, Shichiroji pursued the assassin, leaping from building to building, house to house. Anyone who would watch the two men from the highest tower would think that they were flying. At certain points where the houses were meters apart, they were actually gliding, their feet moving as if they were walking on air.

"Wait!" Shichiroji called out to the man ahead, seeing the distance between them increasing. "I want to talk to you!"

The assassin came to a halt, standing on the narrow edge of a stone wall, his lithe figure silhouetted in the brightness of the full moon. Instead of answering, he again gave the Samurai a snappy salute and jumped down. As he stepped onto the wall, Shichiroji saw the ninja disappear into the shadows of the compound. As the Warrior leaped down, he startled Masamune's horse that had just entered through a small gate. Shichiroji grabbed the reins, swiftly bringing the animal under control.

"You scared me half to death!" the scribe exclaimed as Shichiroji helped him down. It did not escape Masamune's notice that Thanatos, which tagged along behind him, remained calm, a trait of a battle-ready steed.

"The ninja!" Shichiroji said breathlessly. "He's here!"

"I don't think so. Wherever his home is, it is definitely not here. This place is too well-guarded for anyone to get in or out."

"You could make an exception of ninjas."

Masamune gave the Warrior a meaningful smile. "I don't think we have anything to worry about this particular ninja."

"Why do you say that?"

"Didn't he just save our lives? I've heard that he has been helping the poor citizens of this city. He steals money from thieves and brigands, and distributes it to the poor folk."

Shichiroji smiled wryly. "A hero, is he?" Ignoring Masamune's pointed glare, he asked, "Where are we?"

Earlier, he had a good view of the compound. A lavish garden surrounded this rectangular edifice made of marble. Before it was a large courtyard. The compound was enclosed by high stone walls. Judging from the yellowing of some of the stones, it was obvious that the walls had been standing for a very long time now and had new stones added only recently. Aside from the main doors in front, the only other entrance to the building was a small wooden side door.

"My Master would not have us go through the main doors," Masamune whispered to him as he tapped on the door three times using the rusty ring. "He wants your early arrival here kept a secret as much as possible."

The tell-tale aura of another warrior hit Shichiroji like a ton of falling bricks. Then, a Black man in flowing desert garb opened the door. There was a scar at the left side of his face. On his head, he wore a turban.

"He waits for you," the man said. "Allah be praised that you have finally arrived!"

"This is Katayama Gorobei," Masamune introduced the warrior. "My Master's personal bodyguard."

"You are Japanese?" Shichiroji inquired, surprised to find a countryman with dark skin.

"Half-Japanese," Gorobei answered with a smile. "My beloved mother married a moor. As Masamune had told you, I have been ordered to protect the one you shall speak with." He then parted his robe a bit to reveal his katana. "And I shall do so with my life."

"Your Master will not come to harm at my hands," the Samurai swore to him. "I have been hired to lead the caravan into the desert, and bring the Amanushi's prized whore back to his realm."

The moor's eyes narrowed at that word 'whore.' Turning to Masamune, Gorobei said, "Good thing that you arrived at this time. Tessai went to the Palace to get the Amanushi's latest instructions. I suspect that we shall be leaving tomorrow."

Masamune nodded. "Then, we'll have all the privacy we need."

Gorobei waved the two men in. "Come! I will take you to him."

Masamune quickly interrupted, "There is no need, Gorobei. Just stand watch, my friend. There are many eyes watching in the city tonight. And we need to be warned of Tessai's arrival."

Gorobei simply nodded his head and strode off into the garden.

As the two men walked on, Shichiroji found himself disturbed by the building's design. Covering a large area and only two storeys high, it obviously housed many rooms. But the windows were too small, covered by intricate latticework that it was impossible to see through.

The minute they entered, the Warrior smelled the heady aroma of perfume and incense. They went through a small corridor with closed rooms on both sides. At the end of the hallway was a huge public bath. The floors were tiled with marble. Steps led down into the scented pool. Lilies floated on the water.

"What is this place?" Shichiroji couldn't help but ask. "It looks like a harem."

Masamune opened another small door. Glancing back at the Samurai, he replied, "As a matter of fact, yes, it is."

"For a royal whorehouse," Shichiroji remarked, "there seems to be a lack of activity."

"My Master...he is a power unto himself." The scribe said this with obvious pride. "Since he came to El Djezair, he had all but taken complete control of the harem, much to the chagrin of the Sultan. But the Sultan eventually saw things his way."

"I don't understand."

Masamune laughed. "Before we came here, this harem was a war zone. The concubines constantly bickered, or worse, fought among themselves as to who was the Sultan's favorite. Just imagine it -- a household of very unhappy women all enamored over one man. Even the Sultan himself was having difficulty controlling them. What my Master did was to divide the women into groups, allotting a specific day for each group to visit the Palace. Sometimes, he changes the schedules depending upon the needs of the Sultan, but he always makes certain that each woman gets to go to the Palace, at least once a week. This way, none of the women get neglected. Each gets to spend time with their beloved Sultan. Since each of the women possesses...special skills, the Sultan is always guaranteed a variety to keep him interested. Of course, my Master is adamant about assigning a day of rest for the women, like today -- a day wherein they could just be themselves and forget their roles as Royal Prostitutes. Even the Sultan benefits from this day of rest as well -- no kingdom to worry about, no women to bother him with their petty rivalries."

"But what about the days when the women are not supposed to go to the Palace?"

"That is the best part," Masamune beamed. "My Master has discovered that the concubines have other, more important, skills. Some are excellent weavers, painters or pottery makers. Others are wonderful cooks. Many of the older mistresses are healers. He thought it a shame that such great talents were being wasted. Without discussing it with anyone, my Master opened the doors of the harem to the poor citizens of El Djezair. He assigned specific tasks to the women to make them productive, and especially to give them back that feeling of self-worth. Those who excel in handicrafts taught the wives in the city. The healers treated the sick, and passed on their knowledge to the young women. The Sultan's oldest mistress taught little children how to read and told them stories."

"This is unprecedented!" Shichiroji gaped at Masamune in shock. "How did the Sultan react to this?"

"At first, he was very angry. He even ordered that my Master be put to the lash for his impertinence. En masse, the concubines went to the Palace and spoke in my Master's defense, saying that they found pleasure and fulfillment in serving the Sultan's subjects. Not only that, the people themselves have expressed their joy that their great ruler had sent his beautiful wives to alleviate some of their hardships and give them hope. The Sultan saw the import of my Master's wisdom and ordered that he be released to oversee the running of his estate while he is still in El Djezair."

"You and Gorobei speak very fondly of him," the Samurai commented, before quickly adding, "for a whoremaster."

"It's not just us. All the people who live within these walls love him. He means a lot to everyone here. Even the Sultan has seen his great worth. Unfortunately, the esteemed ruler could do nothing, since my Master is the valued...servant...of his good friend, the Amanushi. The Amanushi is a very powerful man among the desert tribes. The Sultan could not risk an all-out war with the Bedouin over a servant."

Shichiroji said thoughtfully, "Is he truly that important to you?"

"More than you know. Gorobei is not the only one willing to die for him." Masamune looked sharply at the warrior. "I will not allow that he be hurt in anyway, as well as the whore he is tasked to protect."

The Samurai grinned. "You have gotten my curiosity piqued, and it's not just because of your mysterious master. My instincts are telling me that our elusive friend, the ninja, is a member of this caravan. There is more to this situation than meets the eye. If there is anything I love more than getting my revenge, it's solving an intriguing mystery."

"Revenge?" Masamune frowned.

"That is my business, I'm afraid. Not yours." Shichiroji clapped his hands in eagerness. "Well, when do I meet this Master of yours?"

They stopped before two large doors. "Perhaps sooner than you think."

It was then that Shichiroji felt it -- a faint vibration in the air, like the gentle wind being elicited by a butterfly's flapping wings upon his face. Why did that sensation seem so familiar and yet disturbing to him?

Masamune flung the doors open for the warrior. Shichiroji saw that it was a receiving chamber for important guests. There was a large chair on the dais, a smaller seat at its right side. But Shichiroji's eyes focused upon the figure sitting on the steps.

Like Gorobei, the man was dressed in Arab garments. But from head to toe, he was all in black. He wore a turban on his head, the tail covering his face, that only his piercing dark eyes could be seen.

"You could have used the chairs," the Samurai suggested.

The man was obviously taken aback by that statement. His head fell back as he laughed, his voice a rich baritone. He then stood up with flawless grace.

"Do you want to know the language of chairs?" the man asked him as he went up the dais. Going towards the larger seat, he placed his left hand on the armrest while laying his right elbow on the back. "It would be presumptuous of me to sit in this chair since I am not the true master of this harem."

"And the one on the right?" queried Shichiroji.

There was bitterness in the man's voice as he went behind the smaller chair. "Just a cruel reminder of your actual place in the grand scheme of things." He changed the subject. "But we're not here to talk about chairs."

Shichiroji cocked an eyebrow up. "What are we going to talk about exactly?"

Disregarding his earlier statement, the man plopped down on the large chair, draping a long leg over an armrest. "I need someone to help trainme, and I was hoping you would be the one."

That statement confused the Warrior. "Train you? In what?"

"The art of the sword."

It was Shichiroji's turn to be caught by surprise. "Why me? Why not Gorobei?"

"Gorobei's knowledge of the sword is very limited. I've had other trainers. But it's still not enough. I want to be trained by a Master Samurai, like you, Shichiroji."

"I don't understand. You lead a very sheltered life. Why do you need to learn swords work?"

The man let out a wistful sigh. "Because I have no intention of living the rest of my life like this. I have been denied my true calling long enough."

"And, may I ask, what is your 'true calling'?"

"That is no longer your concern," the man said curtly.

"Where will I train you?" asked Shichiroji. "If you want me to train you in secret, it would be difficult in the desert. And you need a blade."

"That won't be a problem. There are places in the desert where we could spar in secrecy. I cannot keep a fixed schedule, however, on account of my duties. When I find the time, which will usually be at night, I will ask Masamune or Gorobei to fetch you, or I shall do so myself. An hour or two would suffice. I am a fast learner." The man paused. "As for a sword, you may think I have none, but I do, though I do not carry it out in the open. The minute they see me with a blade, they will confiscate it and have me flogged. I am not allowed to bear a sword, you see." He gave a wry laugh. "I guess they're afraid that I might hurt myself."

"Do you want to do that?" Shichiroji asked. "Hurt yourself?"

"There was a time when I contemplated it," the man admitted. "But I cannot fulfill my destiny if I'm dead now, can I? At this moment...well, I think my Master and his...associates...should be concerned about my hurting THEM more than anything else."

A grin quirked up Shichiroji's lips. "I love a cunning fellow! However, there is something more to this...arrangement. Something I find...suspicious."

With a quick nod to Masamune, the scribe came forward and handed his Master a pouch. He then tossed it into Shichiroji's. Taking it, the Warrior looked inside and saw that it was filled with gold.

"I intend to make it worth your while. Aside from leading the caravan, Shichiroji, I am willing to pay you with gold for the lessons," the man stated firmly. "Also, you may avail of the...services...provided here this evening. I have heard you recently lost your beloved wife. A lonely man needs comforting in a warm bed."

At these words, three robed woman emerged from the shadows. The torchlight seductively silhouetted their naked forms within their billowing garments.

Shichiroji shook his head. "No. I need no women."

There was silence as the man looked at him. Standing up, he said, "Perhaps...you have other tastes. You seek variety this time around."

Before the Warrior could answer in the negative, the man gestured to Masamune once more. "Take him to the special chamber."

It seemed to Shichiroji that the scribe knew what his Master was talking about, "But, Master..."

"He is a guest in this, our temporary home, Masamune," he answered softly, with such weariness in his voice. "I want him entertained, to see exactly what we could offer him." He bowed to the Warrior. "Please accept my hospitality, Shichiroji. So you could seriously consider my request."

Before he could leave, Shichiroji exclaimed. "Wait!" The man looked at him curiously. "If I should decide to teach you, what should I call you? You already know my name."

"You want to know my name?" He thought for a moment. "You may just call me 'Shinno'."

"Shinno…" the Samurai tested the name on his tongue. "The Japanese word for 'prince'."

Shichiroji felt a gentle tug on his arm. Masamune stood at his side, motioning to him that they should leave. The Warrior was about to accord the whoremaster a gracious bow, but he stopped when he saw that Shinno was gone, the movement of the curtains marking his departure.

As the two men walked deeper into the harem, Shichiroji commented, "I was going to say 'yes'."

"It doesn't matter," Masamune assured him. "Shinno is right. You are a guest here. Even if you had answered 'no,' we couldn't allow your not seeing the services we provide here."

Shichiroji laughed. "'Services'? You must mean prostitution."

"I do not want to call it that exactly. But then again, in a way, that is true." Masamune gazed disappointingly at the Samurai beside him. "But may I remind you that the people here did not choose to be this way. Fate and circumstances forced them to live like this." He looked knowingly at Shichiroji. "If I remember correctly, you were once a prostitute yourself."

"It's not as if I had a choice back then, Masamune. I was a prisoner of war. But the people here have choices. They could leave this kind of life if they wanted to, like I have done."

"If the master is a kind and loving one like the Sultan, I doubt that." The scribe shook his head. "But not if they have a master like the Amanushi."

Soon, they stopped before a small door.

"Where are we, Masamune?" Shichiroji's voice was suddenly hushed. "Who's in there?"

There was a sad, little smile on the scribe's face. "Only the best we have to offer."

When Masamune opened the door, the Samurai found himself inside a beautiful chamber. A large fountain and a scented bath were constructed in one corner. Another corner held a small library with an assortment of books and an escritoire. Shichiroji could not help but grimace as his eyes fell upon two racks, filled with an assortment of devilish-looking devices and chains. He knew immediately what they were used for.

Noticing what caught the Warrior's eye. Masamune remarked, "The Sultan is known for his perverse tastes."

"I could see that."

It was then that Shichiroji saw the huge four-post bed. With its great size, he had no doubt that, at the most, six people could lie in it. But at this moment, only one was lying on the bed, covered by a white sheet that was tacked securely to the wooden frame. Whether it was female or male, the Samurai could not tell from the dim torchlight. Judging from the coils of silk around the four posts of the bed, Shichiroji knew the person was tied.

Turning to the scribe, the Warrior asked, "Don't tell me that this is...""

Going towards the bed, Masamune revealed, "The Amanushi's favorite – Takeru. Born deaf and dumb, but the flesh speaks more than words. However, under no circumstances are you allowed to behold the face of the Amanushi's concubine, nor that of Shinno's. That pleasure is reserved for the Amanushi and his close associates alone."

"The Amanushi may not like me bedding his prized whore," mused the Samurai.

"He will never know, I assure you. There are small tears on the sheet. You may put your hands through them and examine and use my Lord's concubine to your heart's desire."

For a while, Shichiroji could not move. Despite his hesitation, he slowly raised his hand and slid it through the tear where he could discern a face.

At once, his hand encountered a smooth cheek. His fingers caressed the prominent bone, going down to the ear, tracing the shape. Then, Shichiroji felt silky hair that disappeared down that strong back.

Releasing the strands, Shichiroji's hand went over the neck, feeling the tickle of a beard at his chin and a distinct prominence over the throat.

"He's a man!" the Warrior exclaimed in shock.

Masamune asked in dismay. "Is he not to your liking?"

But as Shichiroji's fingers cupped the other cheek, the man turned his face to his open palm and pressed his lips to it in a most gentle kiss. He rubbed his face against the Samurai's hand, like a puppy nuzzling on his master's hand. Shichiroji gasped as pillowy soft lips captured his middle finger and the tip sucked on.

As that talented mouth worked on his finger, Shichiroji felt the tongue lick the length. The lips moved.

// Please! // Shichiroji swore that was the word being formed on those lips. // PLEASE! //

Gently, the Warrior pulled his hand out of the man's mouth and through the tear.

Removing his clothing slowly, Shichiroji answered the question Masamune had asked him earlier. "We shall see."

With a bow, the scribe retreated to the curtains in the far corner of the room. Shichiroji knew Masamune had not left yet and was keeping an eye on the Amanushi's prized whore. But for now, this exquisite creature was his.

When he had stripped, Shichiroji climbed up on the bed, straddling the writhing form. Finding two large tears, he reached both his hands through, tracing the lines of the strong arms to the silken ties around his wrists. Descending, his palms cupped the hard mounds of his chest, his fingers playing with the sprinkling of soft down. When his hands found the tiny nipples, the body beneath him twitched.

Shichiroji stretched out on the bed. His lips caressed the covered face, smelling the delicious scent of apples, jasmine and incense. As he kissed the man, his fingers played with the nipples, pulling and pinching them into hardened nubs. Judging from the reactions he was eliciting from the body beneath him, the whore had not expected to pleasure an experienced lover. And, truly, Shichiroji was a master at many things.

Both men were being aroused by the passions consuming them. Their cocks had hardened, thrusting eagerly like a pair of swords in a duel, the fabric of the sheet, the only thing keeping them at bay.

As Shichiroji's hips moved, his member found a tear between the man's legs. With a twist of his body, he slipped his cock through the tear, his weeping tip brushing against a thigh.

Then, from behind the curtains, a concerned Masamune requested, "Please be gentle with him, my friend."

Recalling at last who he was bedding, Shichiroji felt anger rise inside him as the memories came flooding back. One dark night. The evil lord. The man he once called 'Taisho' and 'husband.' A most painful betrayal. Shichiroji gritted his teeth, wanting to get even, to strike out. The man beneath him -- the favorite catamite of the Amanushi -- was an excellent target.

In a rage, Shichiroji gripped the opening in the sheet between his legs and tore it wide open. The man gasped as his legs were forced wide apart. Then, a pain-filled cry was wrenched from his throat as he was brutally penetrated. The whore tried to pull away, but Shichiroji crushed him in a bear hug. His left hand felt a rough mark on the man's right shoulder.

"What is happening?" Masamune declared as he emerged from his hiding place. His eyes widened in shock, seeing the rough coupling of the two men. Raising a hand to Shichiroji, he pleaded, "No! Do not hurt him! Stop!"

But Shichiroji was beyond hearing. Freeing the silken ties, with fierce strength, he yanked the man onto his lap, tearing the sheet from its moorings. The whore screamed as he was impaled upon the Samurai's hard member. As Shichiroji continued his frenzied thrusts, the whore whimpered in pain, tears falling from his eyes. The Samurai cursed the lights that had burned down, wanting to see the face of the whore he was ravishing. Nevertheless, he still found those soft lips, insinuating his tongue between them, raping the whore's mouth as he was raping his channel below.

With a grunt and a final thrust, Shichiroji spilled his fluids into the man. A vicious twist and he yanked himself out of the whore, tearing his flesh even more. The man collapsed on the bed, sobbing, wrapping the torn sheet around him.

"You're right, Masamune," Shichiroji sneered at the distraught scholar, who was painfully making his way towards the figure on the bed. "He IS to my liking."

Tears were falling from Masamune's eyes as he sat down on the bed. He gasped, seeing the flecks of blood on the sheets, when he pulled the man up and into his embrace.

"Why did you hurt him?" Masamune demanded. "He only wanted to please you!"

"And he did please me!"

At that moment, Gorobei barged into the room. "What is going on? What's the meaning of this?" The man's eyes widened, seeing the pitiful state of the Amanushi's concubine. Snarling at Shichiroji, he declared, "I shall have your head for this!"

Strong, desperate hands squeezed Masamune's arms tightly. He gazed down at the man in his embrace, quickly shaking his head and giving the scribe's shoulders a frantic shake.

Although his feelings warred against that silent command, Masamune exclaimed, "Gorobei, lay down your sword! Our Master...ordered...this."

At first, Gorobei hesitated. Then, the whore turned his head slightly. Although much of his face was covered by the torn bed sheet, the moor could see those sable eyes staring sharply at him. With a grunt of disapproval, Gorobei sheathed his sword.

Donning his clothes, Shichiroji told the scribe, "Tell your Master I will teach him the art of the sword for ten pieces of gold each night, and, for my silence over his clandestine lessons..." He pointed to the trembling figure of the concubine. "I want him for my bed every night during our journey through the desert, which will be after our lessons." Bowing low, the Samurai declared, "I shall see Shinno tomorrow evening then, Masamune."

"Take him to his chamber, Gorobei," Masamune requested. He hastily added, "His safety is your responsibility."

The moor would have glowered at the scribe if the whore had not given him a much more menacing glare.

As Shichiroji strode out, he waved his hand dismissingly. "Do not bother to rise." With a lascivious wink at the whore, he said, "I shall see you again, Takeru, my sweet."

Shichiroji did not bother to look back as Gorobei closed the door behind them. If he had, he would have seen dark eyes staring at him, burning with fierce hatred.


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