Samurai and Other Stories Read Online Free

man cowered beneath the dark bulky figure, hands raised in front of his face.
    “I will give you half,” he said, wailing. “Please. Take half.”
    Duncan had half a mind to let the attacker do his job. But the Captain had been right all along. Duncan had a duty, a sworn duty.
    What kind of man would I be if I let him die like a trapped animal?
    Even as the flashing blade came down, Duncan had stepped forward. His sword blocked the attack and Moorhouse scurried away.  
    Duncan heard the scrape as the Captain dragged the chest out of the temple, but by then it was too late to do anything other than fight for his life.

    *     *     *

    The Dharma is without life, because it is free of the dust of life.
    It is selfless, because it is free of the dust of desire.
    It is lifeless, because it is free from birth and death.
    It is without personality, because it has no origin and no destiny.
    There is only now.  
    I will serve, and I will protect.  
    There is nothing more.

    *     *     *

    The Samurai pressed an attack that took all Duncan’s skill to repel, the silver blade flashing and spinning in a dizzying set of thrusts and slices. Duncan had no thought of attacking—everything was defence and parry, trying to keep the blade from vital organs. He took a deep slash to his left forearm and felt blood flow in his sleeve, but there was no time to assess the extent of the wound as the Samurai came on mercilessly.
    From the corner of his eye Duncan saw Moorhouse drag the chest away. He retreated along the same path, keeping himself between the attack and the little man.
    “For pity’s sake man,” Duncan shouted. “Leave the chest. Head for the longboat. There is no sense in dying for a bit of gold.”
    If Moorhouse heard, he paid no attention. He had already dragged the chest as far as the steps down the cliff and was trying to manoeuvre the box over the lip.
    Duncan blocked a blow that was heading for his skull and succeeded in gaining a second’s respite.
    “It is sheer folly,” he shouted. “You’ll never get that box down that flight alone.”
    Moorhouse laughed bitterly.
    “Yet I must try, for there will be no life for me without it.”
    With that he pulled the chest over the lip and was gone from sight.
    The Samurai pushed forward in another attack, and once more Duncan was forced to retreat. Soon he found himself backing towards the lip at the top of the staircase. He took one step down, then another. The Samurai was now high above him, raining blows down towards his head that Duncan was hard pressed to defend.  
    He descended as fast as he was able but quickly came up against Moorhouse and the chest.
    “Let it go man,” Duncan shouted. “Or we will both be dead in seconds.”
    Moorhouse didn’t reply, merely started to drag the chest faster. Duncan could not turn to watch. The Samurai came after him, the sword coming down like lightning bolts. Duncan’s whole arm was numb and his sword had been badly notched in many places, but he had no choice but to keep up the defence for as long as he was able.
    The descent seemed to go on forever. Duncan took another long cut, just above the bicep in his right arm, and immediately he felt the strength start to drain from him.
    “Faster!” he shouted to Moorhouse, then had to duck as the Samurai aimed a kick at his head. He stumbled, almost fell, and put his foot down to balance himself. Instead of finding a step, he found Moorhouse’s hand, stepping down hard on it. Bones broke under his foot. The little man screamed then fell away, the scream ending in a distant thud.
    Duncan risked a look.
    The broken body of the Captain lay some twenty feet below. The chest lay on top of him. It had landed square on his head, crushing the skull.
    Duncan looked up, expecting the attack to cease and the Samurai to go still once more, but the blows still came relentlessly, even when they reached the foot of the stairs.
    His retreat became frantic, barely stopping the