Chapter 1 To protect and to serve

Four bodies, their faded brown kimonos soaking up blood from their
recently inflicted wounds, lay upon the road. Above them, scanning back
and forth, to ensure no others of their group were left, stood an
impressive figure. Over six and a half feet tall, and totally encased in
metal armor, his katana was poised at his hip, dripping blood that, until
recently, resided in the bodies at his feet. Satisfied that no other ronin
were about, he snapped his blade to clean off the blood, and then brought
it up to his eyes to inspect the blade. Turning the katana over and back,
he squatted down, itself and amazing feat for someone in that armor, and
wiped his blade on the kimono of one of the dead. While down wiping his
katana, he reached between two of the dead ronin, and retrieved a silken
bag that they had been carrying only minutes earlier. Then he stood up,
again inspected his katana, and slid it reverently back into its saya. Next
he bent over and collected all of the dead samurais swords, bundling
them together and tying them with one of the ronins obi.

He then took the swords and the sack and strode over towards the center
of the small village that the ronin had just departed from. Calling the
small cluster of shacks a village was a generous use of the word, but what
else could you call the common buildings of a farming community.
Prostrate upon the ground were the heimen and hinin of the village. This
was the second time today they were face down in the dirt, having
assumed that that position when the ronin had arrived nearly an hour ago.
They had maintained their deep bows the whole time the ronin were
present, only rising to fetch whatever goods the ronin ordered be brought
out. Rice, Sake, Cloth, Vegetables, Fish, Coins, the ronin went on and on,
demanding everything the villagers had. They would have protested, but
long exposure to these types of bandits had taught them the harsh
consequences of noncompliance. The grave markers in the little
cemetery at the south of town clearly displayed the price of disobedience,
and these people were cost savvy enough to obey.

It was, in fact, only a few minutes ago, that the ronin finally left, and they
were just beginning to rise, after the ronin had reached the road. They
looked wistfully at their goods, in the sack that the ronin had also stolen
from them. They would have to work longer hours now, to make up the
loss, and would have to tighten their belts against hunger. If only they
could be rid of the bandits, they would at least be able to feed both their
children and themselves. It was at that time, that the tall stranger
seemed to materialize out of nowhere, as if in answer to their prayers for
deliverance.
How anyone that large, and in full battle armor, could move so gracefully
and silently was quite beyond the villagers, but there he was in the road,
waiting for the ronin. The ronin had not even seen him there, and nearly
walked into him, as he stood there, hands on his hips. They could not
hear him, nor could they hear what the ronin said in reply, but they could
see this drama unfold clearly enough. First the stranger pointed at the
bag. The ronin motioned towards the village. The stranger pointed
towards the ronin, and they responded with shaking heads and by looking
away. Finally the tall one pointed toward the bag, and then toward the
village.

At this, the ronin burst into laughter, the villagers could hear it as far away
as they were, and began to point at the stranger, waving him off the road,
or shooing him away. The tall man never even twitched. One of the ronin,
apparently having heard enough, tried to walk past the man, but he
quickly concluded that maneuver was not a sound strategic tactic. This
message was conveyed to the ronin by the stranger reaching out in front
of him, placing a large metal hand on the ronins chest, and assisting the
ronin in completing a standing backward leap of about 10 feet in distance.

With that, the ronin reached for, and drew their swords. They stood
together, in a cluster, shouting at the man. He never even twitched.
Louder and louder grew the ronin, until, in desperation, they charged the
stranger, in a loose diamond formation. He took one step back, drew his
katana, and met all four ronin head on. The skirmish was quick and
brutal, with one ronin, then another, falling in rapid succession.

A fan of blood sprayed from the first ronin, blinding his companion who
was to his right rear flank, as the strangers blade leapt from its saya, and
sliced the leading ronin into two pieces. The strangers katana never even
slowed, even as it ripped through the ronin. The armored warrior stepped
forward and to the right with his strike, crossing his left foot in front of his
right, grasping the hilt with both hands. When his blade cleared the body
of the first ronin, he rolled his wrists, one over the other, twirling the blade
in a tight circle, changing its path from the upward angle it had been
following, to a downward one, without losing any speed or power.

Unfortunately for the second ronin, his body was occupying the downward
path that the katana had just switched to. The blade entered his belly
before he could react, and it cut him open from below his ribcage on the
right side of his body, to his left kidney. Blood and entrails spilled upon
the road, and he fell to his knees, dropping his katana, and clutching at
the wound.
The ronin, who had been in the back of the diamond, now attacked the
stranger with all his might, swinging a great blow meant to cleave the
stranger in half at the waist. The ronin, however, did not appreciate the
speed or skills of the warrior he was facing. With his legs still crossed, it
was an easy maneuver for him to execute a quick about face, dropping his
body by about a foot, and moving towards his attacker. This
accomplished two things; first, it stole much of power from the ronins
strike, as the stranger was now much closer to his attacker. Secondly,
and more importantly, it brought the solid metal back of his armor in line
with the katana stroke that was supposed to hit him where it ended at the
small of his back. The katana rang out in protest, but with the strike
weakened, all it did was scratch and slightly dent some armor. The
warrior, with his back to his opponent, reversed the grip of his right hand,
and using only his wrist again, swung his katana in a low arc. The blade
reversed direction, and with a quick pull of his arms, the stranger plunged
his blade diagonally through the ronins chest. The ronin gurgled as the
katana pierced his heart and lungs, and his knees buckled as life left his
body.

The final ronin, who had been blinded in the blood-fan from his first fallen
companion, was just now clearing his eyes. His vision cleared just in time
to see a katana, ripped from the chest of his dead friend, swing in an arc
the speed towards his neck. He did not even feel the strike, and stepped
back, a moment to late, to avoid the cut. As his body stepped, however,
his head, no longer connected, stayed in the same place it had occupied a
moment ago, and then fell to the ground. The ronins body, now
headless, failed to complete its step, and collapsed in the heap of bodies
that had been its companions.

The villagers, at first delighted by the appearance of this stranger, were

quickly terrified by his very being. He killed the four ronin that has
terrorized them without even missing a step. What if this man was worse
than they ronin? After all, he wore no visible mon, and had no back
banner declaring his allegiance. The villagers, seeing him begin to walk
towards them, again dropped, face down in the dirt, and prayed that he
would leave them alone.

The man strode over towards the villagers; they could see his armored
legs and feet as he arrived. He now stood over the, and they kept their
eyes glued to the patch of dirt directly before their faces.

Who is the headman of this village? the voice, from within the helmet
asked. It had a metallic quality, thanks to the metal helmet and carried
an almost musical tone. The voice betrayed no hint of exertion, despite
the heavy armor and recent battle. Speak up, who is the headman
here?

I am sama, replied a frightened voice from the dirt. A hand rose slightly
to show who had done the speaking.

Come here, headman. Commanded the stranger. The headman rose up,
never taking his eyes from the ground, and stepped over towards the
man. Is this all those bandits took from you? he asked, holding forth the
bag. The headman nodded yes, and kept his gaze low. A meager haul
for a bandit, is this all you have? again, a nod of the head was all the
response the samurai received. Then the stranger asked, Isnt there a
city a days walk away to the south? A third nod, with no words. What is
your name headman? asked the man.

The headman, glancing up just enough to see the twin swords of a

samurai in the strangers obi, replied Baku sama

Baku, what clan is supposed to protect you? asked the samurai. Baku
shrugged, he truly did not know anymore. Being on the outskirts of
several major and minor clan lands, the peasantry usually was not aware
who currently controlled their little patch of ground in the eyes of the
court. Baku, look at me. All of you, look at me! demanded the samurai.

The peasants started to glance up, but stopped when they could see the
samurais obi. A lifetime of trained submission is not easily overcome by
a simple sentence, and though they wanted desperately to obey this
samurai, they simply could not glance upwards toward his face.

LOOK AT ME !!! roared the samurai, in a tone that spoke volumes of the
price of disobedience. All eyes snapped up to his head, before they could
even think to not look in his eyes. You are a pitiful site, all of you. You
work these fields, and have little to show for it. This has been a hard
season, and this is hard ground to work. You barely eek out enough to live
on, and then you have to surrender it to ronin scum and bandits, He
gazed around, and his eyes fell on several children, thin and gaunt, they
clearly had not been eating enough, and now they would have starved.
Do you see this symbol here, on my chest, said the samurai, pointing at
a mon embossed on his breastplate. It was something they had never
before seen, and they did not know what it meant. Does everyone see
it? They all nodded. This is the symbol of a new clan, of OUR new
clan, he said waving his arms to include the villagers. This is the
symbol of the Spider Clan. The Spider Clan will protect you! Spider
Samurai will protect you! We will protect you! Regardless of whoever
else claims this patch of ground, We, all of us hear, will know, that we
belong to the Spider Clan. The Spider Clan has pledged itself to
protecting You and Your families. All they ask in return is your friendship.
If you see a samurai with this symbol, rejoice, for he is your friend and
ally, and is there to keep the bandits and thieves away from your homes.
He is there to help you in the tough times, and to ease your burden as he
can. With this, the samurai drew several coins from his obi, and placed
them in Bakus hands. I must be on my way, to spread the good news of
the Spider Clan. I will take the swords of the dead with me, have an eta
dispose of the bodies, and Baku, take that money, and go to the city. Buy
food for my friends here, and some sweets for the children, a get what
you need to make this land a patch of paradise here on earth. With that,
the samurai lifted the sword bundle to his shoulder, and turned to go.

Sama, Baku said, respectfully and with reverence, Sama, may we have
your name so we can pray for your safety and health.

You can call me Sahara, replied the samurai over his shoulder as he
walked away.