Free TUN-HUANG by Yasushi Inoué

blue sky and the expanse of white sand from a strange angle. As he hung upside-down from his horse, a huge man with a blood-splattered face came into view. He spoke to Hsing-te from above.
    “So you made it, too!” The voice had a familiar ring. It was Wang-li.
    “And you, of all people, have also survived, I see,” Hsing-te said. Wang-li was silent.
    “What a sight you are.” Wang-li pulled Hsing-te upright on his horse.
    “I’m glad you made it,” Hsing-te said as he looked at his commander. To this Wang-li answered, “That’s what I should say. We’re going to form a suicide corps and invade Kan-chou. I’m going to join it. I’ll let you come, too.”
    The company commander spoke gently. Hsing-te again slipped off his saddle. The war cries from the battlefield could still be heard, but they were now distant and faint.
    Shortly after this, three thousand vanguard troops were selected from among the survivors and were told to proceed immediately to Kan-chou. Wang-li was promoted to commander of five hundred men, and Hsing-te was transferred to his unit.
    When the men started forth, Hsing-te followed in a trance-like state, continually rocked by his horse, to which he was still tied. The troops rested briefly whenever the unit came across a spring or river. During each rest period, Wang-li brought water to Hsing-te.
    That day the troops continued their march far into the night, and the order to encamp was given only after they had reached an oasis. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, orchards of pears and plums stretched out as far as one could see. When Hsing-te dismounted from his horse, he fell to the ground and slept as if dead. When he awoke in the morning, he found himself in an area of numerous irrigation ditches and cultivated fields. Beyond the fields was a hill, and he could see a city wall. It was Kan-chou.
    In the clear, crisp air of early dawn, the troops rode to the approach of the city gate, at which point hundreds of men let loose a hail of arrows into the garrison. There was no response. After about half a minute, another hail of arrows was shot off. Again, there was no sign of resistance from within.
    Wang-li came up to Hsing-te, who was sitting on the ground. The commander’s face was still covered with blood and looked as horrible as the day before, but it was impossible to tell whether it was his own blood or that of the enemy’s.
    “A suicide platoon of fifty men will enter the city. I’ll take you along, too,” Wang-li said.
    The fifty men selected crept toward the gate. They banded together with drawn swords and entered the city. Inside there was a pond full of clear water and two horses standing by its edge, but not a single human being was in sight. Nearby were a few houses enclosed within mud walls; each house was surrounded by trees with thick foliage.
    The men continued further into the city. Each time they turned a corner, they cautiously spread out in single file. At Wang-li’s orders, Hsing-te was sent to the head of the group. The number of dwellings gradually increased, but still there was not a soul in sight. Only once did an arrow come flying out; it hit a mounted horse. Thus they knew that the city was not completely abandoned.
    Whenever Hsing-te came to a fork in the road, he let his horse choose its own direction. The group turned many corners, entered many homes, and passed many wide streets. But they failed to find anyone.
    On Wang-li’s orders, Hsing-te set off at a gallop. Behind him the fifty invaders charged recklessly through the large fortress. As they raced about two arrows came flying out again, but both fell limply on the ground. They had been shot from a good distance. It seemed that there should be more people to fight the enemy, but almost all the Kan-chou natives had run off, abandoning the land which they had held for many years.
    “Make smoke signals with wolf manure,” Wang-li ordered. When he realized that Wang-li had spoken to him, Hsing-te