his eyes. Casca did the same, slightly behind Muramasa. A voice barked at them hoarsely and they were permitted to raise their heads. It was then that Casca, for the first and last time, laid eyes on Yoritomo Minamoto.
He was by any standards a most impressive specimen. His face was full fleshed with a sharp hooked nose set firmly between heavy eyebrows. His eyes were dark, steady, with no sign of emotion in them. Only stark, clear intelligence gave them any fire. He was wearing armor in the style of shida-kawa-odoshi , a breastplate of black stained steel engraved with the sign of the dragon and the mantis, accented by white and blue cords. Over this was a glorious surcoat of plum satin under a cloak of purest blue silk.
He sat cross legged on a slightly raised dais behind a long knee high black table. On either side of him sat men of importance. One he took to be related to Yoritomo, though he was younger and much leaner, more like a falcon where Yoritomo was an eagle. On the other side sat a samurai noble with heavy features accented by incredibly thin slits for eyes so fleshy you barely made them out. Across his lap lay a sheathed katana . Only he was armed. Casca took this to mean that he was a man whom Yoritomo trusted and was showing him honor by permitting him to have his weapons in his presence.
To his left and slightly behind, Yoshiko knelt. Casca almost lost his breath. He had never seen her in full dress. She was unbelievable. The women in the street he had seen in Kyushu were as weeds in a garden of orchids by comparison. She permitted herself only the slightest of smiles behind a painted fan, then lowered her eyes.
Yoritomo motioned for them to come closer. Muramasa slid ahead three knee lengths, then halted, placing his head back to the mat once more. Casca followed suit. Another bark and once more they were permitted to raise their heads. Casca had the idea that the retainer who had escorted them had been absolutely correct. One mistake and their heads would have rolled on the floor instantly.
Yoritomo spoke again, this time less harshly. The man with the sword addressed them. "My niece, Lady Yoshiko, has told us of your service to her and through her to our master. She has told us that you have slain many of the Taira dogs during your journey to us. That is good. There is nothing like the blood of an enemy to know one's friends."
A slight, almost silent hissing halted the conversation. The shoji slid open and their packs were brought in by a kneeling samurai who handed them over to the attendant samurai who opened the shoji , bowed his head to the floor, and backed out on his knees, never once raising his eyes. There was nothing but silence when Kujo gave the attendant at the shoji permission to open the packs. From them everything was removed, clothes and pots and the weapons they had taken from the Taira they had slain and their own weapons. Of the weapons, none attracted any attention but two. The first was that of Sakai no Taira, the sword Willow Song .
Yoritomo motioned for the blade to be brought to him. Taking it from its sheath, he admired the workmanship, careful not to touch the bare metal with his flesh. He handed it to his younger brother, Yeshitsune, who examined it closely, then whispered into Yoritomo's ear. Yoritomo nodded in agreement, then Yeshitsune gave it back to the attendant who placed it in front of Muramasa.
Yoritomo nodded his head and spoke to them directly, his voice as always, harsh, demanding, unforgiving to anyone and anything that failed him. "You, ronin . I know this weapon. It was the property of Sakai Taira, an old, old acquaintance of mine. How came you by it?"
Muramasa nearly swallowed his tongue, but somehow he found the words. "I took it from his dead hand, my Lord Yoritomo-sama." He used the title of respect when one spoke to a high lord. "I killed him in single combat and have brought this sword and the others to you, if you will accept such a poor thing from
He was by any standards a most impressive specimen. His face was full fleshed with a sharp hooked nose set firmly between heavy eyebrows. His eyes were dark, steady, with no sign of emotion in them. Only stark, clear intelligence gave them any fire. He was wearing armor in the style of shida-kawa-odoshi , a breastplate of black stained steel engraved with the sign of the dragon and the mantis, accented by white and blue cords. Over this was a glorious surcoat of plum satin under a cloak of purest blue silk.
He sat cross legged on a slightly raised dais behind a long knee high black table. On either side of him sat men of importance. One he took to be related to Yoritomo, though he was younger and much leaner, more like a falcon where Yoritomo was an eagle. On the other side sat a samurai noble with heavy features accented by incredibly thin slits for eyes so fleshy you barely made them out. Across his lap lay a sheathed katana . Only he was armed. Casca took this to mean that he was a man whom Yoritomo trusted and was showing him honor by permitting him to have his weapons in his presence.
To his left and slightly behind, Yoshiko knelt. Casca almost lost his breath. He had never seen her in full dress. She was unbelievable. The women in the street he had seen in Kyushu were as weeds in a garden of orchids by comparison. She permitted herself only the slightest of smiles behind a painted fan, then lowered her eyes.
Yoritomo motioned for them to come closer. Muramasa slid ahead three knee lengths, then halted, placing his head back to the mat once more. Casca followed suit. Another bark and once more they were permitted to raise their heads. Casca had the idea that the retainer who had escorted them had been absolutely correct. One mistake and their heads would have rolled on the floor instantly.
Yoritomo spoke again, this time less harshly. The man with the sword addressed them. "My niece, Lady Yoshiko, has told us of your service to her and through her to our master. She has told us that you have slain many of the Taira dogs during your journey to us. That is good. There is nothing like the blood of an enemy to know one's friends."
A slight, almost silent hissing halted the conversation. The shoji slid open and their packs were brought in by a kneeling samurai who handed them over to the attendant samurai who opened the shoji , bowed his head to the floor, and backed out on his knees, never once raising his eyes. There was nothing but silence when Kujo gave the attendant at the shoji permission to open the packs. From them everything was removed, clothes and pots and the weapons they had taken from the Taira they had slain and their own weapons. Of the weapons, none attracted any attention but two. The first was that of Sakai no Taira, the sword Willow Song .
Yoritomo motioned for the blade to be brought to him. Taking it from its sheath, he admired the workmanship, careful not to touch the bare metal with his flesh. He handed it to his younger brother, Yeshitsune, who examined it closely, then whispered into Yoritomo's ear. Yoritomo nodded in agreement, then Yeshitsune gave it back to the attendant who placed it in front of Muramasa.
Yoritomo nodded his head and spoke to them directly, his voice as always, harsh, demanding, unforgiving to anyone and anything that failed him. "You, ronin . I know this weapon. It was the property of Sakai Taira, an old, old acquaintance of mine. How came you by it?"
Muramasa nearly swallowed his tongue, but somehow he found the words. "I took it from his dead hand, my Lord Yoritomo-sama." He used the title of respect when one spoke to a high lord. "I killed him in single combat and have brought this sword and the others to you, if you will accept such a poor thing from
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