Shike by Robert J. Shea (classic children's novels txt) 📖

in the floor, tipping it upwards to expose an iron ring. Pulling on the ring, he raised a slab covering a chamber under the floor.

“Down there you’ll be able to hear everything. There is an entrance to a tunnel leading from that chamber to what used to be the monks’ quarters. Slip down the mountain and go to the Teak Blossom Temple at Hakata, where your mother and your old friends are.”

“I don’t want to hide. I will not abandon you.”

Taitaro laughed. “Jebu, I have been a Zinja abbot for twenty-three years. Do you really think I’d have any trouble escaping from a party of samurai? No one can hurt me unless I permit it. Now, get down there.”

It was so dark that Jebu could not see the floor of the chamber below. He jumped into the blackness and fell further than he had expected to, his feet striking stone with an impact that stunned him. Taitaro closed the slab over him, and Jebu was in darkness. It was so like. the night of his initiation that it brought back all the memories of that ordeal. He felt his way to a corner of the room, sat down and waited in total darkness.

Carrying his candle, Taitaro slowly crossed the temple to the entrance. He questioned himself, wondering why he had bothered to hide Jebu. The two of them could easily defeat or escape from a group of samurai.

It was because he was tired of bloodshed. He wanted to see if he could deal with these samurai quietly and send them away in peace. If Jebu were with him, there would inevitably be fighting.

The mounted warriors galloped up to the temple steps and stopped. Taitaro held up his candle to get a better look at the horsemen. They had Red Dragons embroidered on the breasts of their surcoats.

A deep voice addressed Taitaro. “Old monk, I remember you. You are the Abbot Taitaro.” The voice spoke in Chinese.

With the aid of the candle Taitaro peered at the man who had spoken. Taitaro recognized him instantly, with a shiver of mingled anticipation and dread.

The huge man wore a fur-trimmed iron helmet topped by a single spike that came to a needle-sharp point. The collar of his red cloak was edged with silver-grey fur. His silk surcoat was a bright scarlet. His eyes were ice blue. His reddish-brown moustache hung in long strands on either side of his mouth. His cheekbones were broad and prominent, his face deeply lined and scarred, his skin tanned to brown leather by sun and wind and sand. He was wide through every part of his body-shoulders, chest, arms, legs.

“I know you, as well,” said Taitaro, answering in Chinese. “But I do not know your name.”

“I am Arghun Baghadur.” The big man jumped from his horse, handing the rein to a samurai beside him, and climbed the steps of the temple with the rolling gait of one who has spent a lifetime in the saddle.

Taitaro said, “As you see, this temple is undefended. You and your men are welcome to enter and rest yourselves.”

Eollowing Taitaro into the temple, Arghun said, “We need not waste time, Abbot Taitaro. I seek the monk called Jebu. I have followed his trail all over Honshu and Kyushu. I know he came here.” Arghun spoke Chinese heavily, gutturally.

Taitaro was delighted. This was a splendid stroke of good fortune for Jebu. With a little skilful prodding it might be possible to get this barbarian to tell the full story of Jebu’s father, for Jebu’s benefit.

Taitaro pointed to the Red Dragon on Arghun’s surcoat. “Do you seek him on behalf of the Takashi, or for some other reason?”

“While in this Land of the Dwarfs it suits my convenience to ally myself with the Takashi clan. But I pursue my own ends. I have come here, as you must know, to slay the monk Jebu. Where is he?”

Taitaro sighed and seated himself, gesturing that Arghun should do the same. He positioned himself at one side of the slab under which Jebu was hiding.

“I felt chilled and sent Jebu out into the forest to cut firewood for me.”

Arghun strode to the temple entrance. He wore felt riding boots and his tread was soft, despite his size.

He called out to his men. “Search the woods around here for a tall, red-haired monk. Bring him to me unharmed.”

Taitaro said, “Let the will of heaven be done. I can do no more to protect Jebu. But I do not understand. This young man was a baby when you came here last. He had done nothing to you then. He has done no harm to you now. Why do you want to kill him?”

“It is a sacred obligation I have undertaken, and I may not rest until I fulfil it. Surely, as a warrior monk you can understand that. Genghis Khan is dead now, but his command binds me: Let Jamuga and all his seed be slain, let his blood vanish from the earth.”

“Ah, yes,” said Taitaro. “Jamuga told me of his people. Herdsmen living in the cold, dry plains north of China.”

Arghun laughed. “We Mongols are no longer tent-dwelling cattle herders, old man. We are conquerors, and we live in palaces.”

“It is a cruel thing to put a man to death for his father’s offence.”

“At the will of Genghis Khan whole cities have been wiped out. Every man, woman and child has been killed, every building levelled. Now riders can pass over the spot and herdsmen graze their cattle without ever knowing there was a city there. It was a small matter for Genghis Khan to decree the destruction of one family. When the Great Khan is offended, expiation must be made throughout heaven and earth.”

Standing below in the darkness, Jebu felt himself trembling. It had taken him a few minutes to recall the spoken Chinese he had learned in the temple years ago. But he understood enough. This was the slayer of his father. Now this warrior hid come across the sea again, hunting him. It was dream-like, in a way. It was hard to believe they were actually talking about him.

There were still unanswered questions. Who, exactly, was Jamuga? Who was Genghis Khan? What had Jamuga done to call down upon ‘himself such relentless vindictiveness? But Jebu felt he had heard enough. It was time to act, while Arghun was still talking to Taitaro, before the Mongol became restless.

Mongol. Whatever a Mongol is, I’m partly one, too.

When he burst up through the temple floor, Arghun would be taken by surprise. That, plus his Zinja training, should be enough to enable him to kill the man who had killed his father. In the darkness he reached up to move the stone slab.

He found he could not touch the ceiling. He paced the room from wall to wall, reaching above his head as high as he could. His fingertips touched empty air. He felt the walls for a handhold. Except for the low opening to the tunnel Taitaro had told him about, the walls were smooth. He was caught like a cricket in a jar. There was no way to climb out.

Jebu clenched his fists and growled to himself. Taitaro had known about this. The old devil had planned it this way, to protect him.

Promising himself he would have a word with Taitaro, Jebu crouched and crept through the low tunnel. In total darkness, he had to feel his way. The tunnel was lined with stones which formed a vaulted roof to prevent collapse. It must have taken many months to build it that well, even though it was only about fifty feet long. But the tunnels under the temple were bored through the solid rock of the mountain. How long had they taken? The Zinja were patient.

Now the tunnel began to slant upwards. Jebu’s fingers touched rough stone. He pushed gently. The stone moved easily. A crack of light appeared, and he cautiously raised the stone a little more.

He heard the crackling and crashing of Arghun’s samurai stumbling around the brush-grown temple grounds searching for him. He raised the stone enough to be able to see his immediate vicinity. There was no one near by. He pushed himself out of the tunnel, creeping flat along the ground, and dropped the stone back into place.

Through weeds and shrubbery, Jebu snaked towards the temple. He darted up the steps. Cautiously, he peered into the temple entrance. He could see two dark, seated figures, one small, the other a bulk like a mountain, facing each other near the altar, a candle on the floor between them. Erom this distance he could not see Arghun’s face well. But the Mongol had his profile to Jebu and might detect a movement out of the corner of his eye if Jebu rushed him.

Thinking of shadows, Jebu edged around the entrance-way and crept along the back wall of the temple to the rear corner. He drew the collar of his hood up over his nose and mouth to muffle the sound of his breathing. At last he was behind Arghun.

Your armour is your mind. A naked man can utterly destroy a man clad in steel. Rely on nothing but the Self

Slowly, silently, he worked his way along the side wall of the temple. Taitaro would probably see him, but the abbot would give no sign. Jebu drew his Zinja sword. A further soundless progress towards the altar, and he was facing Arghun’s broad back.

Rely on nothing under heaven. You will not do the fighting. The Self will do the fighting.

The ritual sentences of preparation for combat were swept aside by an overwhelming urge to kill the man who had killed Jamuga. Jebu poised the Zinja sword, aiming the point at Arghun’s red-cloaked back. Then he sprang away from the wall, launching himself at Arghun.

Just before Jebu reached Arghun, the Mongol rolled to one side. Surprised, Jebu dived past him. Suddenly he was driving the point of his sword at Taitaro’s heart.

“No! Eather!” Jebu screamed. He heard Arghun laugh in the shadows.

Jebu’s Zinja-trained reflexes came to his aid and he swung the sword wide. Taitaro also moved quickly, springing to his feet. But they could not help falling into each other.

“Idiot! He saw you reflected in my eyes,” Taitaro snapped as the two of them went down together, disentangled themselves and quickly stood. Jebu was furious at himself. He had been taught about eye reflections and had forgotten.

Jebu saw that when Arghun evaded the sword thrust he had also seized the candle. It was on the altar now, and the Mongol was standing beside it. His sword, long and curved though not as long as a samurai sword, gleamed in his hand.

Arghun and Jebu stood looking at each other. Jebu could read nothing in the narrowed blue eyes. They were fierce and empty as the eyes of a falcon. The Mongol’s hair was hidden under his helmet, but the red moustache was a surprise. It was the same colour as his own hair. Why, he looks like me, Jebu realized.

Arghun grunted. “I knew if I kept the old man talking, you’d come sneaking around. You are Jamuga’s son, no doubt of that. You are as big as he was. But I think you will be easier to kill than he was. You’re just a child.”

Jebu was stung by the contempt in Arghun’s voice. “A very-welltrained child, Arghun. Who intends to kill you this night.”

Arghun shrugged. “There is training, and then there is experience.”

Without warning, Arghun leaped at him, bringing his sabre down in a stroke that would have cut Jebu in two had he not leaped backwards. Arghun kept charging him, thrusting and slashing.

Jebu ducked