by Chris Blake
It seemed Zuma had been thinking the same thing. “Look!” she cried out, pointing behind Goro. “Salt thief! And he’s getting away!”
Goro grunted with surprise, and turned round in his saddle.
“Run!” Zuma hissed at Tom.
They both darted off in different directions, trying to find a gap in the ring of horsemen.
Tom managed to take two steps before he felt the sharp tip of a sword pressing into his chest. He stopped in his tracks. The samurai holding the sword smirked at him triumphantly. Looking across at Zuma, Tom saw that she had met the same fate. They were trapped.
“Nice try,” said Goro. “But you’re going nowhere.”
Tom and Zuma could do nothing to stop one of the horsemen climbing down and tying their wrists together with rope, along with Oda’s. Chilli buzzed round the Samurai’s heels, yapping angrily.
“Tell your dog to be quiet,” Goro said nastily. “Or he’ll regret it.”
“Shh, Chilli!” Zuma said. “Don’t let that big meanie hurt you.”
They began marching through the long grass, with samurai riders guarding them on either side. It wasn’t easy keeping up with the horsemen. Tom and Zuma’s feet were soon sore and the ropes dug painfully into their wrists. Marching was thirsty work. The sun was rising in the sky and it was getting hotter.
“Sorry for getting you into so much trouble,” Oda whispered to Tom. “It was good of you to try and help me.”
Tom looked up at the boy’s anxious face. “Don’t worry about it,” he told him. “Zuma and I have been in tight spots before. But why were you stealing salt? I thought thieves liked gold and jewels.”
“I’m no thief,” Oda said stiffly. “The people in my village need salt to stop their food from rotting, so they can keep feeding themselves. But Goro has been keeping all the salt to himself. I was only stealing from him to stop my people from starving.”
“What about this Dragon?” asked Zuma. “What’s he got to do with all this?”
Oda looked at her as if she were mad. “You don’t know who the Dragon is?” he said.
She shrugged. “Tom told you – we’re travellers.”
“Then you must be a very long way from home,” said Oda. “Everyone knows Lord Uesugi Kenshin, the Dragon. He is the daimyo of Echigo Province.”
“The what-yo?” Zuma blinked, shaking her head.
“A daimyo is a sort of powerful Japanese lord, isn’t it?” Tom asked.
“Exactly,” Oda replied. “Only the shogun, who rules the whole country, is more powerful than the Dragon.”
“Is he as fierce as his name sounds?” Zuma asked.
“I have never seen him,” Oda whispered, “but they say the Dragon is the most feared warrior in Japan, and a master of warfare.”
Zuma wrinkled her nose at Tom. “I’m beginning to think that searching through the grass for my coin might have been more fun,” she whispered.
“Too late for that,” Tom told her, as they reached the top of a hill. “Look!”
Zuma gasped. Below them a city of tents stretched out across the valley, and smoke from the camp fires drifted across the sky. A thousand banners fluttered in the breeze. At the centre of the camp was a red tent that looked bigger than a mansion, ringed by guards. Two banners rose high into the air on either side of the entrance.
“Behold,” Goro said triumphantly. “The Dragon’s Lair!”
Even though Tom was tired and thirsty after the long march across the plains, he still felt a thrill of excitement as they entered the samurai camp. The Dragon’s men seemed to have only one thing on their minds – battle. The air rang with sharp cracks as warriors trained with wooden practice swords. Blacksmiths stood over blazing furnaces, sharpening weapons. Samurai warriors marched past in full armour, some wearing metal facemasks that were designed to look like demons. Others had helmets decorated with great wings or discs of metal.
Outside the Dragon’s tent, Goro dismounted. Immediately, the guards stood aside for him. Goro’s soldiers grabbed Tom, Zuma and Oda by their arms. The three prisoners were roughly pushed through the entrance of the tent.
It was dim inside. The air was thick with sweet-smelling smoke. In the centre a huge man with a long black moustache was sitting on a throne. He was wearing layers of thick black armour studded with bright red and blue beads. A pair of giant golden antlers rose from his helmet. Tom gulped. The man was the fiercest warrior he had ever seen. No wonder his nickname was the Dragon.
Servants scuttled out of the way as Goro approached the throne. The Dragon said nothing. His face was blank as he looked down at the young samurai.
Goro bowed deeply. “My Lord Kenshin, I have brought criminals to face your justice.” He held up a hand. A shove sent Tom stumbling forward. Zuma and Oda were also pushed in front of the throne.
“What is their crime?” The Dragon’s voice was deep and rumbling.
Pointing at Oda, Goro said, “This one is a salt thief. These two travellers tried to help him escape. When I captured them, they spoke to me disrespectfully.”
As Goro finished speaking, Oda sank to his knees. He bowed until his head was almost touching the floor. “Lord Dragon,” he said, “I beg your forgiveness. I stole the salt because the people in my village are starving. Their food goes bad in the heat while the stores of Goro’s castle are overflowing.”
The Dragon’s face darkened. His eyebrows met in a scowl. Tom felt the blood drain from his face. Lord Kenshin looked furious.
Then, to Tom’s amazement, the Dragon turned his angry face on Goro.
“Is this true?” he asked, his voice icy cold. “Do the people of your lands go hungry?”
“My Lord,” said Goro. “They are only peasants. Who cares if—?”
The Dragon cut him off with a chop of his hand. “Your greed forces the innocent to starve while you have plenty,” he bellowed. “You have no honour, and I will not have a man without honour in my army. Take your belongings and go back to your father’s house.”
Goro’s jaw dropped open. “B-but my Lord,” he stammered. “If I d-do not fight with you it w-will bring great shame on my family!”
“You have already brought great shame on your family!” the Dragon roared. “Now get out of my sight!”
For a moment it looked like Goro would argue. His mouth opened then closed again. Finally, shaking and pale, he bowed. Without another word, he turned and walked away in disgrace.
Tom had no time to enjoy the moment. The Dragon immediately turned back to the three prisoners. A servant came over and handed him a silver goblet brimming with water. At the sight of the goblet, Tom couldn’t help licking his lips. He was really thirsty.
“You look like you need a drink, boy,” said the Dragon. “Here.”
Beckoning his servants forward, he told them to untie Tom, Zuma and Oda’s hands.
Then the Dragon handed the goblet to Tom, who took a large gulp of water. He passed the goblet to Zuma, who did the same before giving it to Oda.
“Water good?” asked the Dragon.
Tom nodded gratefully.
“Excellent,” said the warlord, taking back the goblet. “Someone always taste the Dragon’s water before he drinks. In case water poisoned.”
Tom stared at him in disbelief. Suddenly the Dragon roared with laughter. He clapped Tom on the back so hard his teeth rattled.
“Don’t worry – water not poisoned. The Dragon just likes to share a joke,” he said. Now he was laughing he didn’t seem nearly so fierce. He wiped a tear from his eye and drank the water in one swig. But when he had given the servant the empty goblet the Dragon’s face was serious once more.
“Now, back to business,” he said. He pointed at Oda. “Goro was wrong to hoard the salt,” he told the boy. “But it is also wrong to steal.”
Oda bowed again. “Yes, my Lord,” he mumbled.
“I will give your village salt from my own stores,” the Dragon continued. “But you will have to load every barrel on to the c
arts as punishment. And you will also spend a week working in my kitchens.”
Oda looked happy, and relieved. Tom didn’t think the teenager could bow any lower, but somehow he managed it. “It would be an honour, my Lord,” he said. “May I also ask that you pardon my friends?” He pointed at Tom and Zuma. “Unarmed, they stood against Goro and twelve of his men. They risked their lives to save mine.”
The Dragon looked from Tom to Zuma with new interest.
“You acted bravely,” he said.
“It was nothing,” said Tom, blushing. “We just happened to be there.”
“Your modesty matches your courage,” the Dragon replied. “It will be rewarded. You will do me the service of carrying my personal banner into battle.”
Oda gasped. Carrying a warlord’s banner was a mark of great respect.
“Battle, my Lord?” Tom swallowed nervously.
The Dragon smiled. “Perhaps you have not heard. My army is about to fight the Tiger.”
Tom shot an excited glance at Zuma. The riddle had mentioned something about a tiger. She looked back at him, her eyebrows raised. She was clearly thinking the same thing – Tom had no choice but to accept the Dragon’s offer.
“I will carry your banner, Lord Dragon,” Tom said. “But isn’t this a very big army to fight one animal?”
The Dragon roared with laughter, slapping his knee. “I see you like a joke too,” he chuckled. “As I am called the Dragon, so my greatest rival, Lord Takeda Shingen, is called the Tiger. We have been at war for many years, and our greatest battle is about to begin. By joining it, you will earn a place in history.”
Tom bowed, saying, “Thank you, Lord Dragon. He then turned to Oda. “Would you like some help loading the barrels of salt?” Tom asked.
“When I was a slave, I often went hungry,” said Zuma. “I’ll lend a hand too.”
Again the Dragon looked impressed. He nodded at Tom and Zuma. “You can help Oda, but be ready to ride to war when the time comes. It is time to clip the Tiger’s claws.”
As they left the tent, Tom’s heart was in his mouth. He was going into battle! The riddle had said nothing about war. Honour was one thing, but he had seen the ferocious weapons and fighting skills of the samurai up close. Staying alive would be their biggest challenge yet …
Tom and Zuma puffed and panted as they heaved a heavy barrel of salt on to a cart. “This quest is turning out to be hard work,” said Zuma, blowing out her cheeks.
“You can say that again,” Tom agreed. He wiped sweat from his eyes. “These barrels weigh a ton!”
The flap to the store tent opened and Oda appeared. The gangly teenager was rolling yet another barrel towards the cart. “Only another sixty-eight to go,” he grinned.
Tom and Zuma groaned. As Chilli sniffed round one of the barrels, the little dog discovered a small hole in the wood. He dived at it happily. Before Zuma could stop him, the dog licked at the salt. A second later, he jumped away with a yelp.
Zuma laughed. “Serves you right, you greedy pup,” she said.
Oda chuckled too. Looking from Tom to Zuma, he said, “You two look hot. Why don’t you take a break? I can lift these on my own.”
Before Tom could protest, Oda lifted one of the heavy barrels as if it was filled with feathers.
“Thanks, Oda,” said Zuma. She sat in the shade of the cart and poured Chilli a bowl of water. “Will you have enough salt for your village now?”
“More than enough,” Oda replied, picking up another barrel.
“It was amazing that the Dragon just gave it to you,” said Tom.
“It’s not the first time he’s sent salt to starving villages,” Oda replied. “He once did the same for the people of the Tiger’s province.”
Tom frowned. “I thought the Tiger was his enemy,” he said.
“The Lord Dragon is an honourable man,” explained Oda. “He once said that ‘Wars are to be won with swords and spears, not rice and salt.’”
“What does that mean?” Zuma asked.
“It means that to attack when your enemy’s people are starving would be dishonourable. The samurai follow the path of Bushido. The rules are strict. Any samurai would prefer death to dishonour. To the samurai, honour is everything. A dishonourable victory would be worse than a defeat.” He paused and reached into his pocket. “And speaking of honour, I have a gift for you.”
Tom and Zuma looked at the small leather pouch Oda was holding out.
“You don’t need to give us anything,” said Tom.
“It’s only a little salt,” Oda said. “Thanks to the Dragon’s generosity, my village will have plenty for a long time. Please take it as a mark of my thanks and friendship.”
Tom took the pouch. “Thank you, Oda,” he said.
“Hey, you!” a voice called out. Tom and Oda turned to see a grey-haired samurai walking towards them. “You with the barrel,” the man shouted.
“Oh no! What trouble are we in now?” muttered Zuma.
“I’ve been watching the way you lift those things,” said the samurai, looking Oda up and down. “You’ve got strength in that skinny body of yours.”
Oda looked confused, but bowed.
The samurai slapped him on the shoulder. “I have organised some wrestling to entertain us while we wait for the battle to begin. You look like you might enjoy a match. Am I right?”
Oda nodded excitedly.
Half an hour later, Tom and Zuma were standing at the front of a cheering crowd. A large circle had been made in the ground. In the middle of the circle, Oda was wrestling a much larger man. They were wearing just simple cloths round their middles, and both of them were covered in sweat. It was the third match Tom and Zuma had watched and the rules were simple. The winner was the first man to force his opponent out of the ring or to make him touch the ground with any part of the body except his feet.
“Go on, Oda, pull him down!” Zuma yelled.
“Throw him out of the ring!” Tom shouted.
“He’ll never win,” said the grey-haired samurai who had organised the match. “Kashegi is the Echigo Province champion. It was unlucky for your friend that he was picked to fight him.”
Oda’s opponent was a heavy, battle-scarred warrior. He was older than Oda and had muscles like tree trunks. But Oda was faster and almost as strong. As Kashegi charged, Oda dodged and caught the warrior in an unexpected grip. The crowd cheered.
“Your friend fights well,” said the grey-haired samurai. He sounded surprised and pleased.
But just then Kashegi found his footing. He shoved back, hard. Oda staggered and almost fell.
Next to Tom, the grey-haired samurai said, “Your friend put up a good fight, but Kashegi is stronger. He will finish it now.”
“Don’t bet on it!” said Tom.
Once again, speed came to Oda’s rescue. When Kashegi threw himself across the ring to finish him off, Oda ducked. He slammed his shoulder into the great samurai’s belly and grabbed him round the legs. Then Oda straightened up with a massive effort. Tom could see his muscles straining as he lifted the huge warrior.
Yelling with shock, Kashegi was flipped over Oda’s back. He landed on his own back in the middle of the circle with a loud thump.
The crowd exploded with applause and Tom and Zuma cheered for their new friend. The grey-haired samurai clapped loudly. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he shouted over the noise. “He could become a great champion.”
Ten minutes later, Oda was still grinning, even as they headed back to the cart.
“You were brilliant!” Zuma told him, for the sixteenth time.
“Incredible,” Tom agreed. “You fight really well. Have you ever thought of becoming a samurai?”
The smile on Oda’s face faded. “I would love to be a samurai,” he said. “But most of them are sons of noblemen, like Goro. There is no room in their ranks for peasant farmers like me.”
“Ha,” said Zuma, with a scowl. “It’s like when I was a slave. All anyone t
hought I was good for was hard work and being sacrificed.”
Glumly, Oda continued. “All I could hope to become is a ninja.”
“A ninja?” said Tom. “Like a hired assassin? Cool!”
Oda shook his head. “The ninja are sneaky killers and cunning spies,” he said disapprovingly. “They will stop at nothing if they are paid enough and they don’t care about honour. I’d rather spend the rest of my life as a farmer.”
Before Tom could ask Oda any more questions, a great drum boomed out across the Dragon’s camp. Horns blared and commands rang out. The samurai stopped whatever they were doing and scrambled for their weapons.
“What’s happening?” Zuma asked, looking round.
A second later she got her answer. One of the Dragon’s servants darted through the crowd. Stopping in front of Tom, he bowed and said, “Lord Kenshin sends you this message: the Tiger’s army has reached the plains. A horse and his banner are waiting for you. We ride to war at once!”
The two great armies lined up, facing each other across a grassy plain. Warriors gripped their spears in silence, waiting for the order to charge. Some were on foot, some on horseback. Each warrior had his own banner attached to his back. Everyone was tense and stony-faced.
Tom and Zuma sat on horseback on a hill looking out over the battlefield. They had been ordered to watch the battle alongside the Dragon. Tom was holding the Dragon’s banner, a silk rectangle covered in Japanese writing attached to a long wooden pole. It flapped in the wind above his head. Around them was a small group of important generals, and men with drums, horns and flags.
“I wish they’d get going,” muttered Zuma. “All this waiting is making me nervous.”
There was a little bark of agreement from inside her breastplate. Zuma had stored Chilli there to keep him out of harm’s way. No one wanted to see a horse accidentally treading on the little dog. Oda was back at the camp, loading up the last salt barrels, and then he was going on to the Dragon’s castle to start work in the kitchens.
