Chapter 3 The First Meeting

They lay on their mat, naked bodies entwined in the embrace of lovers.
Sachio was asleep, resting peacefully on Saharas chest. He was looking
down at her, softly tracing the lines of her face and body. She was
beautiful, a true masterpiece of humanity. He simply could not believe
how gorgeous she had become. He knew that beauty was only skin deep,
especially so with Sachio, and suppressed a shudder. A chill from the
horror of it all ran down his spine, and he felt cold, despite the warm air
and hot body lying atop him. He thought back to the first time he had
seen her, so many years ago in the Crab lands.

He had come to the Crab, hoping to join in a Twenty Goblin Winter, and to
become a clan samurai. He had tired of trying to eek out a life in the
Empire. He was sick of killing other men at the command of an unworthy
lord. He had enough of hunger and the life of a ronin. If he could become
a Crab, at least he would eat. The Crab, it was said, judged a man based
on his skills and actions, not on this birth and station. This idea appealed
to Sahara then, it still did.

So he made his way south, to the Carpenter Wall. Thousands of warriors

had traveled that route over the years, and so it was not unusual to see a
ragged looking samurai, in worn sandals and kimono, arrive tired and
hungry at the base of the wall. What was unusual, though, was the size of
the man who had arrived there that day. At over six and a half feet, he
towered over the other ragged bushi milling about. His passing brought
whispers and open-eyed stares from many of the people at the recruiting
center, here outside of Kyuden Hida.

Even the normally nonplussed Crab Bushi, who had seen almost
everything, whispered among them selves. Here was a man almost as
large as the Great Bear himself. Of course, this man was nowhere near as
muscular as the Legendary Hida Daimyo was, but hunger will wither a
man. With a couple weeks of hearty Crab fare in him, he would fill out
nicely, not like the Kisada-Sama, but close enough. If he were as strong
as he appeared to be, he would be a tremendous asset on the wall, or on
a mission beyond it.

The Yasuki in charge of new recruits that day, a taskmaster by the name
of Amasu, was not having a good day. And as everyone there knew, when
the Taskmaster is not having a good day, nobody is having a good day. It
was his last day here to get new troops, and this lot may just be the
absolute worst group of starved ponies he had ever seen. He had half a
mind to march right up to Kyuden Hida, and ask for a battalion of dead
bodies. Those, he would have an easier time of molding them into a
fighting force. This group of misfits, near do wells, and louse abouts,
would be the death of him, yet. How could such a plentiful field of raw
bodies, yield such a pitiful harvest of samurai. He had already seen and
evaluated hundreds of bushi, and almost none one of them had a lick of
potential. Somehow, the Fortunes and Kami, had again conspired to make
his life difficult.

With war and famine again ravaging the land, there was an abundance of
men willing to stand the wall for a bowl of noodles, and he should have
been able to pick and choose the best of the best. That was not to be so,
apparently. The Kami and Fortunes had retained anyone of worth, and
sent him the dregs of the samurai caste, and the sorriest bushi from all of
Rokugan. His orders were to refill the ranks as quickly as possible.
Normally, he would have been more selective, putting a hastily trained
recruit on the wall, or in the vanguard, was a recipe for disaster. If they
did not drop their weapons and run, they were usually frozen with fear. It
would take months of training to whip any of these men into the
semblance of a Crab Bushi, and he only had weeks. Most of these men
would die on their first watch.

It was a hard blow to his heart, for Amasu was not really a cruel man. He
understood that most of these people simply did not understand what
they were volunteering for. They saw the Twenty Goblin Winter as their
only way to join a major clan, and to receive a steady supply of food.
They didnt realize that more than half of them would be dead in a month,
and another two-thirds within a year. He knew, however, and it made his
job and life difficult. Sometimes, at night, if a storm was raging, he could
see the faces of those who he sent to their deaths, illuminated by the
flash of lightning. On those nights, he would go to an inn, and drink until
he was to numb to see.

Despite all of that, though, he understood the need for these men. Every
one of these men, either mounted the wall, or charging the hordes of the
enemy, served a purpose. They filled the ranks of the Crab, and every
one of them that died, did so in place of a trained Crab Warrior. That
warrior would live on, and push back the enemy for another day. The
fallen, then, would finally be true Crab, having given their lives to protect
the Empire from the Shadowlands. This was the Duty and Honor of the
Crab, and what death could be better for a samurai. His duty was to take
the rank and file, of the Empire, the unwanted and unguided, those
without hope, and those who others called hopeless, and give them a
great gift. He would put them on the path to the highest achievement any
samurai could accomplish. A Life of Honor, A Life of Duty, A Life of
Greatness, The Life of a Crab! And here were these new recruits, and
none of them were worthy of this gift.

That was why the Taskmaster was not happy, and when a Taskmaster is
not happy, nobody is happy! One of his aides rushed into Amasus office.
Out of breath, he quickly informed Amasu of the large stranger in the
courtyard below. Anyone who warranted an aide rushing into his office
was clearly someone Amasu had to see for himself. Amasu ordered his
aide to follow him, and descended the stairs to see this site for himself.
Halfway down, he paused to peer out of an arrow-slit. There the man was.
By the fortunes, he was huge, like the Great Bear himself. Now this was a
warrior that could be called a Crab. He could feel his pulse quicken as he
took in the mans form, He was thin, no doubt the results of hunger, but
looked healthy otherwise. He wore his katana and wakizashi easily; no
novice to swordplay was he. He stood straight, shoulders back; he was no
one to trifle with. Amasu looked closely at the mans eyes, they swept
back and forth, not jerking to and fro, but moving smoothly, like a stream
from the mountains. He would not be easily startled, this one. Finally,
Amasu observed his overall posture and stance. He stood easily, with a
friendly demeanor, but did not look out of place, like so many of the
others around him. Amasu was excited, in all his years; he had never
seen a recruit like this. Here was a man of potential. Amasu thanked the
Kami, for whom else would have sent him this gift. Amasu took a deep
breath; it would not do for a Taskmaster to seem excited. He slowed his
heart, and steadied his breathing, and then continued down to the
courtyard below.

As Amasu stepped outside, he was accosted by the smells and odors of

these raw pledges. By the Kami, didnt any of them bathe? He quickly
remembered why he let his aides sort these men out, and only saw those
deemed worthy of an audience. They were at least washed before being
allowed to come to his office. He was, however, a Crab, and it would take
more than the stench of men to keep him from his duty. He strode out,
looking this way and that, seemingly inspecting the recruits, all the while
moving closer to the large man. He would ask a question or two of this
one and that one, usually insulting and intimidating them.

Can you use that sword, samurai-kun? I doubt it

You couldnt scare a geisha
Have you ever seen a battle not stitched into a tapestry, huh?
What province do you come from, Oni Food Mura
if you had to live on your wits, you would starve
I have seen goblin dung tougher than you
Throw this one over the wall, it would improve his smell
He finally made his way to the tall stranger. So, you are a big one, arent
ya? You must be part Ogre. Well, we know how to cut down big beast
here at the wall, dont we boys, he said, talking to the Crab milling about.
You look a little thin, though. Wasnt there a village you could eat on the
way here? The Crab laughed, they had seen taskmasters at work often
enough, and knew what was going on. A taskmasters job is to train and
motivate the troops. They have a special set of skills, to get this job done.
Chief among these is to enrage someone to the point of insanity. The
taskmaster knows that an angry enemy is his to defeat, and they have
developed an entire repertoire of physical stances and verbal insults, to
accomplish this. So you want to be a Crab. You better be careful, with
that pretty face, and your size, an Oni may decide to take you for a mate.
Amasu continued on, trying to enrage the stranger, but he stood there
silently. He would not rise to the bait, and Amasu had to admire a man
with that much self-control, though he wouldnt admit it. Finally, Amasu
called his aide over. Against my better judgment, I am going to allow this
man to join my latest training regiment. Take him to the mess, and get
some food in him, before he falls over from hunger. Be sure he is ready to
march with me on the hour of the Monkey. Oh, and be sure he gets to the
commissary and appropriately provisioned. With that, Amasu turned and
returned to his office.

Sahara followed the aide to the mess hall. It was a large stone building,
bigger than any Sahara had ever been inside of. At one end, was the
kitchens, smoking and steaming, preparing food for the thousands of
troops who called Kyuden Hida home. The fires here never stopped, and it
took a small army of cooks, bakers, and aids to keep the food flowing.
The aide motioned for Sahara to get in line, and the aide said he would
return in an hour to collect him. Sahara followed the man in front of him,
and just did what he did. He took two bowls, a pair of chopsticks, and a
cup. As they side- stepped down the board, they got rice, vegetables,
fish, and bread. The second bowl was filled with soba noodles. He left the
chow line, and looked for a place to sit. Against the far wall, he found a
spot, and sat down to eat. On the table was a pitcher full of water, and he
filled his cup. Sahara had not eaten in two days, and this may have been
the greatest meal he ever tasted. He ate quickly, enjoying his meal, but
always kept watch on what was happening around him.

He noticed all types of samurai here. Some were in dark blue silk
kimonos, trimmed in silver, with large Crab Mon emblazoned on the
shoulders, chest and back. Obviously, they had guard duty up in the
castle. Others wore full battle armor, and ate with haste. They must be
on wall duty, and are here grabbing a meal between attacks. Many others
wore rugged dark blue kimonos with the Crab Clan and Family mons on
them. Still others were dirty, covered in mud and filth, eating like they
had not had a meal in a month. Those warriors must have just returned
from beyond the wall, Sahara guessed. He was sitting down with his third
bowl, when he first noticed the little samurai.

Barely five feet tall, the samurai had his katana strapped across his back,
otherwise it would have dragged on the ground. He wore a worn brown
cloak over his shoulders, with the hood up, under the katana. Sahara
would not have even notice him, had he not been standing on the table
shouting at one of the wall duty samurai. Sahara could not make out the
words, over the cacophony of noise in the mess, but one thing was clear.
This little samurai was not happy about something, and he was making it
known. The big burly Crab warrior was obviously not impressed at this
little persons argument, and was shouting back. Sahara noticed
something strange happening around them. The samurai with the little
one were backing away, while the friends of the big man were moving
closer. One thing was certain, though; this argument was about to
explode into violence. Sure enough, the small samurai slapped the big
one across the face, and jumped off the table.

The Crab Warrior bellowed in rage, a simple slap could never have hurt
that behemoth, and lunged at the little samurai. The little samurai
danced back, and grabbed the warriors outstretched arms, pulling him
along. As the big man stumbled forward, off balance, the little one lifted a
knee directly into his face.

All over the room, you could hear the ohh and aghhs from the bushi
watching this fight. Cheering and jeering the combatants on, and Sahara
could see samurai placing wagers on this side or that side, gambling on
the outcome of this fight.

The large man fell onto the floor, blood oozing from the spot where he
used to have teeth, and from his mangled nose. As he lay there, one of
his friends tried to hit the little samurai, but he was ready for that. He
stepped to the outside of the incoming punch, using his left hand to gently
push the fist out wide to the right, while his right hand shot up from the
floor, with the first two fingers extended, and the last two curled back,
and pushed the two extended fingers into the new attackers eye. The
new assailant lurched backwards, and the little samurai grabbed the arm
that had tried to deliver the punch.

The small man spun around and under the larger mans arm, and grasping
the big mans wrist in both hands, brought it straight down over his
shoulder. The arm descended easily, until the elbow hit his opponents
shoulder, there it resisted for just a moment before bending in a direction
that the human arm was not meant to bend in. The man cried out in pain,
as his arm dangled uselessly, by his side. More groans exploded from the
spectators, both in sympathetic pain, and in having lost their wagers.
Money traded hands, and new odds and bets were shouted out over the
sounds of the hall.

The little samurai, meanwhile, was busy retreating from his original
opponent. While lying on the floor, he looked under the table, and saw
something he could use. When he got up, he was holding a huge dai-
tsuchi, in his hands. The little samurai jumped away as the man swung
his hammer in a wide sweep, shrugging his katana off his back, and
holding it by its saya. The other diners had backed off, giving plenty of
clearance to the combatants. The small samurai did not seem to be
worried, or in any way concerned, he just kept circling, and then dove and
rolled under one of the tables. The Crab Warrior, not to be denied his
victim, swing the dai-tsuchi up over his head, and dropping his body with
the blow, brought that huge wood and metal mallet in an arc into and
through the thick oak table. Bowls, cups, water and food exploded into
the air, filling the air with debris, before falling back to the ground. As this
happened, the small samurai turned and launch himself back towards his
attacker, staying low to the ground and using the broken table and debris
storm as a visual shield, to hide his maneuver. He rolled over two times
and got behind the big man, jumped up onto his feet, and stepped on a
stool. From there he launched himself up into the air and back towards
his attacker. As the large Crab with the hammer stood up, the smaller
man landed squarely on his back. The small man slipped his sheathed
katana, up under the large mans left arm and chin, and locked it inside of
his right elbow, up by the big mans right ear. The small man reached
across the larger mans head, and grasped the left rear of his head, still
holding the katana in his left hand. Drawing his left hand back the full
force of the fulcrum came into play, and started to choke the big man. It
should be noted that armor is made to stop piercing and slashing attacks,
and is very thick and tough, however, it also has to be flexible enough to
allow movement, and the large mans armor shifted under the force of this
lever. The large man thrashed about, and had to drop his hammer. He
tried to reach around, but could not. He then reached back, over his
shoulders, to try and grab his attacker, but did not have the flexibility to
get a good hold, and only got a hold of the small mans cloak. The big
bushi, his vision filling with pools of black, a result of the choke hold, and
pulled with all his strength. He was hoping to overpower the weaker
opponent. He bucked his hips and tugged, but was disappointed to only
hear the ripping sound as the cloak tore off the small fighters frame.
The cloak, tattered and worn from service, could not withstand the mighty
pull and the seams burst. The big man, having put his all into that pull,
and being choked out, staggered forward onto one knee, and his hands.
The little combatant, with his cloak gone, now laid across the larger mans
back, maintaining the choke. Sahara saw a long knot of dirty brown hair
fall from the small ones back. That was no scalp knot, as samurai were
supposed to have, it was a braid. This was not a man, this was a woman.
The big man made one last attempt to get free. He reach across his
chest, and over his shoulder, to claw the eyes of his tormentor. She
simply lifted her head, and turned her face away from the hand, and
towards Sahara. Sahara was looking at one of the ugliest girls he had
ever seen, made worse by the rage he saw etched on her face.

The big crab, finally collapsed, unconscious, but the girl did not let go.
She maintained the hold, and was clearly planning to kill this man. At this
time, the other samurai she had been with, jumped in, and pulled her,
kicking and screaming, off of the unconscious warrior. Sahara was so
engrossed in this drama, that he did not even notice the aides return.
The aide was standing by the girl, telling her something, and barking
orders. He waved to Sahara, calling him over. The aide introduced them,
Sahara to Hiruma Sachio. They would be traveling north with Amasu, to
Koten, to begin Saharas training and for Sachio to await her next
assignment.