Free The Disfavored Hero by Jessica Amanda Salmonson Page A

“You too have two swords! I see one sheathed across your back!”
    â€œI have never drawn that one,” he said cryptically, and his one sword slipped toward her, cutting her waist-guard so that it flopped loose.
    â€œYou were soiled by your mission in the Celestial Kingdoms,” said Ugo. “You went away with the balance of a samurai, strong like a tower. You returned with the balance of a scale. What becomes of the scale that loses one dish? It falls! It is not samurai.”
    â€œI am samurai!”
    â€œIn the name of honor, you have slain many to uphold that status. But could the sorcerer of Ho have contained a true samurai for the span of a month? You bear steel wrought on foreign land. It binds you to that land.”
    â€œThese were wrought by a Naiponese smith!” she shouted, shaking her swords in feeble threat.
    â€œWho conspired against his country!” The executioner was wise, and angry. “Your mission was to kill him and destroy his offensive weapons. You disobeyed, so great was your attraction for the alien blades. The glamour began then, the glamour which Huan magnified to hold you. With a proper soul, you could not have been so captivated. With a proper sword, even the Mikado’s executioner could not laugh at you.”
    They had stood each other off a while, glowering, Ugo’s footwork and eyes a perfect lesson in watchful balance. He held his sword firmly in two hands, out to his left with point up, and scooted the left foot nearer Tomoe, daring her to challenge. She held one of her swords over head, the other straight out from her side.
    They clashed, fell away, clashed again, then stood like frozen dancers back to back. Ugo’s sword moved under his arm to reach behind, but Tomoe had leapt forward to evade the point, and turned to face Ugo once more. He turned slowly, with absolute precision, and held his sword straight above his head as if to condemn Tomoe’s two-sword style by his singular upright stance.
    His certainty burned at her, and she knew she must defeat that self-assurance which marked Ugo’s face with serene pride. Even if they must die together, at least she would not die alone. So without regard for her own life, Tomoe Gozen screamed in rage and moved violently to the kill.
    Although she moved with the swiftest grace, it seemed that all occurred at a slower pace, giving her ample opportunity to observe every motion and counter-motion. She held Ugo in her sight, but for the briefest instance it seemed that he had winked out of existence, passing as he did through some blind spot in her vision. When he reappeared, she knew that her onslaught would fail its mark and his would not. She raised her swords, crossed to fashion an X, and caught a blow which otherwise would have carved her in twain. The power of the executioner forced her to one knee. She grimaced, tried to push his one sword upward with her two so that she could stand. Sweat broke across her brow, but the bejeweled Ugo could not be budged, and more, he seemed wholly unstressed.
    He spoke down to her without strain, “I can spare you, Tomoe Gozen. I am told that if you throw down your swords, and return to the one Way of the Warrior, I am to set you free.”
    Through clenched teeth she demanded to know, “How can I be a warrior without my swords?”
    He leapt back so quickly that she almost fell forward, and certainly in that moment he could have beheaded her had he chosen. He sheathed his sword with care, and removed the scabbarded blade from his back, saying, “You shall have another sword.”
    She looked at him with scorn.
    â€œA sword made properly for a samurai.”
    Still, Tomoe sneered.
    Ugo said, “Only one hand has drawn this sword since Okio, Master Smith of the Imperial City, placed it in its sheath.”
    â€œWhose hand has drawn that sword?” Tomoe asked, half in contempt, half in curiosity.
    â€œNo hand that soils the