Although the samurai supposedly had ceased to exist, their cherished sword had not. The level of craftsmanship had ensured the katanas would last for countless decades. Made of high-carbon steel, each blade had taken months to be constructed. The skilled smiths had applied layer after layer of carefully forged metal until the weapons they produced could cut through heavy armor. Such a sword rarely broke, rarely even became nicked, and retained its razor-sharpness indefinitely.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi felt supremely honored to possess his katana. As a man who believed in the code of conduct of the samurai, the way of bushido, he exalted ideals largely abandoned by the descendants of the original proponents. As a Warrior, he lived the way of the warrior.
Now, as the pair of Spartans came at him, their short swords arcing at his body, Rikki demonstrated the peerless swordsmanship that had earned him the right to carry the katana. He moved and shifted with deceptive ease and economy of movement, parrying a swipe by the trooper on his left that would have taken off his leg, then pivoting to counter a swing at his neck.
Even as he countered the neck stroke, Rikki took the offensive. He slid the katana off the short sword and executed a hidari-men, an oblique slash at the Spartan’s left temple. The katana’s edge bit into the man’s bronze helmet, and the softer metal parted as readily as butter. Rikki drove the blade several inches into the head, then pulled it out and spun, reversing his grip on the hilt, and spearing the tip under his left arm straight into the chest of the first soldier, who was about to aim a blow at the nape of his neck. Still in motion, Rikki yanked the katana free and skipped backwards, ready to continue if necessary.
It wasn’t.
Both Spartans crumpled.
The remaining four were trying to overwhelm Blade.
Rikki went to the giant’s aid, wondering in the back of his mind where the bowman might be, and called out to attract attention. “Try me!”
Two of the soldiers whirled and instantly came at him. Like all of the Spartans, their swordsmanship was superb. Had they been confronting a typical foe, they would surely have prevailed.
But the martial artist wasn’t typical.
Eager to end the fray, Rikki terminated the shorter of his foes with a throat cut. He turned to confront the other man, and at that moment the unforeseen occurred. His left foot slipped on a patch of blood, throwing him off balance, exposing his chest and head. He saw it coming.
The second Spartan’s sword whistled through the air at his face.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Blade had downed one of his adversaries, and was blocking a terrific blow aimed at his abdomen, when he glimpsed Rikki’s predicament out of the corner of his right eye. He leaped backwards and whipped his right arm overhead, about to throw the knife, but he was already too late.
An arrow caught the Spartan about to slay Rikki squarely in the center of the back, and the soldier arched his spine and stiffened, his arms flinging outward. Before he could hope to recover, to continue fighting, another arrow struck him within an inch of the first. He turned slowly, his mouth set in a defiant snarl, and fell.
The distraction almost cost Blade his own life. His opponent tried to take his legs off at the knees, and he barely deflected the short sword in time. The blades clanged loudly and continued to clang as Blade parried more strikes. The greater reach of the short sword compelled him to retreat as he fought, and in just a few long strides he bumped into the SEAL. The Spartan drove his weapon at the giant’s stomach. Blade countered with his right knife, then sliced his left Bowie across the soldier’s extended wrist, severing tendons and muscles and drawing a spurt of blood.
Grimacing, the Spartan backpedaled.
The Warrior wasn’t about to close again. Why risk impalement when he finally had the opening he needed? His arms a blur, he raised both hands above his head and surged them down again, releasing both hilts at the proper moment.
The twin knives covered the intervening space in a millisecond, and both sank into the soldier with distinct thuds. His face contorted in agony, the Spartan made one last effort to stab the giant, but collapsed in mid-stride.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was standing over the soldier who’d taken the arrows in the back, his features reflecting sadness.
“Are you okay?” Blade asked, moving to his fallen foe and wrenching the Bowies out. He proceeded to wipe them on the trooper’s cloak.
“This man was brave,” Rikki said. “All Spartans are brave. It’s not fitting for such courageous fighters to be shot in the back.”
“It was him or you,” Teucer declared. He stood next to the open door. “I didn’t have time to ask him to turn around.”
“I know,” Rikki responded, and frowned. “You did what you had to do.”
Blade rose and slipped the Bowies into their sheaths, then regarded the dead Spartans for a moment. “I take no joy in killing them,” he commented.
“Is there ever joy in slaying others?” Rikki inquired.
“Sometimes.”
“Oh?”
“When I killed a drug dealer in Miami, I felt a certain joy. There have been other instances, and I’m not about to list them all now. But I’ve learned we can’t always remain detached from our work. Sometimes the act of exterminating evil can be personally gratifying,” Blade observed.
“But these Spartans weren’t evil. They were simply misguided,” Rikki stated.
“More’s the pity,” Blade agreed, and walked over to the bowman. “How did you get over here? The last I saw, you were next to the rear bumper.”
“A bow isn’t much use at infighting. I needed to put a little distance between those short swords and me, so I scooted to the front as they charged,” Teucer detailed and grinned. “Besides, someone had to prevent them from getting inside after someone else conveniently left the door wide open.”
“You did well. This might be your first official mission away from the Home, but you’re performing as well as any of the more experienced Warriors,” Blade said.
“Thanks.”
Blade gazed to the north and saw several citizens near an ornate building. They were staring at him in transparent hostility. “Let’s get going before more soldiers show up.”
“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Teucer said, and climbed inside.
“Perhaps we should simply leave Sparta,” Rikki suggested, moving toward the front of the transport. “After all, do we really have the right to interfere in their internal affairs? Wouldn’t the wise course be to stay neutral and let them decide the outcome?”
“And what if Agesilaus wins? We lose any chance of Sparta joining the Federation.”
“I know,” Rikki said, and paused. “We’re caught between a rock and a hard place, as the saying goes.”
Blade studied his friend. “You admire them a lot, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Rikki confessed.
“So do I. And because I respect them, I’m not about to run off and leave them at the mercy of Agesilaus. They deserve better than to be ruled by a petty dictator,” Blade said.
Rikki simply nodded and hurried to the far side of the van.
So now what? Blade asked himself as he took his seat. He intended to offer his services to General Leonidas. Would the Spartan accept? If so, defeating Agesilaus would be easy. The SEAL’s firepower could devastate the madman’s bodyguard contingent. He doubted, though, whether Leonidas would agree to such a proposal. If the general was anything like Captain Chilon, he would insist on conducting the battle the traditional way, using swords and spears instead of guns and other armaments.
“Look,” Teucer declared, and leaned forward to point to the east.