The Hiltless Saber
Wand Smoke: The Seven Scholars
It was the third evening of the third day since the mooring of Tòngkŭ at the fragrant port of Hēung Góng. After the terror galley’s most recent victory over one of the Raajh’s commandeered privateer junks, Tòngkŭ could hardly have been called seaworthy. So riddled was its hull that Captain Fènghuáng had to sell all their oarsman just to afford the price of repairs.
Three days in and with four more to wait, exile Dōraku could not take it anymore. From dawn till dusk since the crew had holed up in a wharf boarding house, he’d passed the time playing Chaturanga with the monk Rinzai. For three straight days, he’d played; and for three straight days, he’d lost. Each game ended the same no matter what the former Dà Kòu swordsman tried: the monk would entangle Dōraku’s chariots with tricky infantry formations then counter cavalry or elephant assaults with the clever positioning of his counsellor. Just when the swordsman thought he would capture Rinzai’s raajh, victory would slip through his fingers—just as defeat snuck through the opening in his attack like a knife finding a brigandine’s gaps.
Thus humiliated that third night, Dōraku could suffer the shame no longer. He stormed out the boarding house, onto the wharf, then into the Hēung Góng alleys in search of a triumph he could confidently attain.
It did not take long for the exiled Dà Kòu to discover what he sought. Under the shadowy eaves behind a towering, tiered brothel, a gang of Wō Kòu Clan bandits had gathered to extort any wealthy clients trying to sneak in or out the back door. Despite the dim, rosy light, the scarved and tattooed Wō Kòu identified their unmarked rival clan’s clothing and weapons right off. And just as instantly, Dōraku drew the two sabers sheathed at his sash. He slashed the bandits down almost to a man, but there proved a coward among them. This one ran for the alley’s opposite end, enraging the swordsman. He would not allow victory to escape him yet again.
Dōraku flew from beneath the shadowy eaves in pursuit of his final victim. When he alighted onto the street, however, he found not one Wō Kòu bandit but half a dozen Dà Kòu Clan elders and their retainers all drunk and eager to enjoy an evening’s revelry. Moreover, they’d caught the Wō Kòu coward as he fled the alley and were celebrating their good fortune—a free opportunity to slay their enemy.
Dōraku panicked. He’d come to the alleys, abandoning his dignity for the sake of giving chase, all to obtain certain triumph. Now the object of his conquest was in another man’s hands when seconds before it was at his fingertips. He could stomach it.
Sabers bared and bloody, the exile barked, “I’ve come too far and gotten too close. The Wō Kòu is mine. Turn him over! I’ll cut you all down if I have to.”
Dōraku strut into the center of the street, allowing himself to be surrounded by Dà Kòu swords and hatchetmen. In the red lantern light, their steel winked like happy yokai eyes.
Dōraku considered his situation. Perhaps they would slay him, but he’d rather die a dog’s death than face his shipmates having lived without attaining his end. “Come on, then!” he said, squeezing the silk hilt-wrap slicked wet with fresh blood—no matter. His grip was unyielding. If he could not kill his prey, he would die with both swords firm in his grasp. He pointed his long saber at a retainer particularly deep in his cup. Somehow, he’d failed to notice this man before, but now that he did, the drunk’s unsteady feet and boisterous levity offended him. “You there! Why not you first?”
“Who, me?” replied a familiar voice. It was no drunkard at all, but monk Rinzai disguised in a Dà Kòu Clansman robe. “Why don’t we just say that we fought instead? I don’t mind telling the crew I lost. You on the other hand—” He pointed a stolen hatchet and burst into laughter. “You’re no better than Kŏng or Ryōshin! Once you have your teeth sunk into something, you’ll see your head hacked off before releasing it!”
“Who is this!” yelled a startled Dà Kòu elder.
An adjacent swordsman shouted, “A spy! Kill him!”
But before the elder could confirm his retainer’s order, the mischievous monk had spun and vanished, leaving the hatchet and robe a pile on the ground.
“After him!” the swordsman yelled, and off half the clan ran, the other half hanging behind, clinging to their Wō Kòu prisoner with their hands and to Dōraku with their eyes. By the exile’s count, fewer than seven men remained. Mayhap he would attain his end yet.
He raised his long saber and pointed his short sword toward the captive. “Last chance. Hand him over.”
The startled Dà Kòu elder glared. “Filthy exile.” Then he commanded his men, “Don’t give this dog the satisfaction. Take the Wō Kòu pig’s head!”
At once, one of the lingering retainers positioned himself alongside the captive while two hatchetmen forced the bandit to his knees. The remaining three, another elder and two swordsmen who had been flanking Dōraku, rushed around to put themselves between the pirate and the beheading.
Meanwhile, the exile gave a curt bow and retreated through the brothel alley.
The following evening, back at the boarding house, Dōraku sat across from Rinzai at the Chaturanga table. He’d been playing with the monk all morning through midday and still had not won a game. Now it was getting late. Rinzai, exhausted from the previous evening’s night-flight, was on the verge of yet another tricky victory when suddenly he decided to retire.
“That’s enough for me,” he said, yawning and pushing his raajh into indefensible territory.
Dōraku stayed behind and studied the game board. Rinzai had left victory within his grasp, but he felt unsatisfied with winning a thrown match. So he instead imagined the monk’s raajh was one space back. He wondered what Rinzai would have done had he been playing seriously, and he pondered how he might have overcome the monk’s tactic, if winning against him was even possible.
All night, the swordsman theorized until his eyelids grew too heavy and he fell fast asleep. When he woke the following morning, yet before the Chaturanga board, it was Kŏng and Chuang sat across from him, each scholar studying the game.
“Impossible,” Kŏng muttered over and over again.
Chuang only laughed and corrected his fellow. “On the contrary! It seems that our resident bumpkin has finally learned how one seizes a hiltless saber.”