Prince Jen's blood had been aboil from the moment Natha had dared to strike him. The sight of the grinning, garishly daubed face, the hand outstretched and fingers twitching, swept away every shred of caution. He had already parted with one gift. He would not part with another.
"No need to shed blood," Natha said soothingly, "neither yours nor mine. You've shown a bold face, you've made the noble gesture. Enough. I need a sword more than you do. Throw it down and there's an end. I won't kill you or the dumpling eater unless I have to. My word on it."
Prince Jen raised the sword point. Seeing their chief threatened, a couple of Natha's companions started forward. Natha waved them away. "We have a fighting cricket here. I can deal with him."
Natha's hand went to his own sword hilt. Prince Jen crouched, ready for the attack. Natha drew out only the jagged stump of a blade.
"I broke this against those Kwan-tzu yokels." Natha tossed aside the shattered weapon. "I must have another. You can't expect me to go unarmed." Natha spread his empty hands "not in my trade. We can settle the matter reasonably between us."
Prince Jen had been well instructed in swordplay, but Natha suddenly leaped faster than his eyes could follow. He swung the blade wildly, borne back against the cavern wall. In the instant, Natha seized him by the hair with one hand and by the throat with the other.
"Here's the nub of it," Natha said through clenched teeth. "You try a stab at me. If you can. The question: Will you do it before I snap your neck? Think it over. Quickly. You manage to put that blade in my belly? Do you suppose my people would let you or your friends out of here alive?"
Prince Jen gave a stifled cry as Natha tightened his grip. His stomach heaved, a sickening tide welled into his throat; he was drowning in it. His world had become suddenly very small: only a black whirlpool and his death at the bottom of it. He could not tell whether he was screaming or weeping.
He made a last effort to break free. His head swam, his eyes dimmed. He opened his hand. The sword fell to the ground.
Natha grunted in satisfaction. He threw Prince Jen aside and picked up sword and scabbard. He hefted the weapon, swung it around, then nodded.
"It will serve." Natha motioned toward Mafoo and the half-conscious Prince Jen. "We can use their boots. Take them. The fancy robes, too."
Prince Jen was hardly aware of his robe being stripped away or the boots wrenched from his feet. He crouched against the wall, his head bowed. Natha stared down coldly at him.
"I'd have killed you, had I wished. Like that." Natha snapped his fingers. "You knew it. Death. You smelled it, didn't you? And didn't like the stink of it. Cheer up. None of us does. Be glad I kept my word."
He made an exaggerated bow to Voyaging Moon. "Not for his sake. A small courtesy to you. I hope our paths cross again in pleasanter ways. Meantime, send the boy home to his doting parents."
Natha turned on his heels. His comrades followed him out of the cavern. Voyaging Moon knelt beside Prince Jen and put a hand on his arm.
"Forget the sword. It's gone, and that's that," she said. "You're lucky he didn't break your neck for sheer amusement. You did the only sensible, reasonable thing."
"No." Prince Jen's face burned. "Master Hu would have been ashamed of me. Reason! Sense! It was fear. Only fear."
"Still a good reason," Voyaging Moon said, "and a very common emotion. Your subjects know it well."
"I am not one of my subjects."
"Oh, that's right. I forgot." Voyaging Moon smiled. "Then, count yourself even luckier."
• • • • •
We must now, for the time being, leave Jen unhappy and ashamed so that we can follow Natha Yellow Scarf and the sword he gained. That story is told in the next chapter.
8
• The Tale of the Thirsty Sword •
THE BANDIT NATHA YELLOW SCARF had once been a peasant with a small farm of his own. Bad times fell upon him and he borrowed money from a more prosperous neighbor. This man, however, secretly coveted the land and wanted to add it to his holdings; and so, when the time came to repay, he falsified accounts to make the debt appear triple the sum. Natha pleaded his case in the law court, but the magistrate had been bribed to judge against him. Stripped of house, land, and livestock and left with little more than the shirt on his back, Natha turned to banditry. Others who had suffered like injustices came soon to join him.
From then on, great landowners, high officials, and traveling merchants trembled when the Yellow Scarves, as they called themselves, prowled the countryside. Ruthless though they were, they often shared their plunder with the needy. As a result, the Yellow Scarves were coming to be admired by the poor while feared by the rich.
Now, having taken robes, sword, and horses from the travelers in the cave, the Yellow Scarves galloped off in haste; for the men of Kwan-tzu, regrouping after the earlier skirmish, were still on their heels. Natha intended leading his men into hiding, but a scheme took shape in his mind. He ordered a halt. Leaving his companions to divide the loot, he went off to ponder his idea.
Natha sat down on a boulder. Chewing over questions about his plan, he drew the sword and toyed with it. The hilt fit his hand as if made for it. The keen edge shimmered.
"Fine prize. Better than I thought," he said. He stood and made a few passes in the air. His eye lit on a young pine tree. Thinking to test the blade against it, he swung the sword lightly and easily. It cut through the trunk so swiftly and cleanly that the tree remained standing. Natha stared, hardly believing what he had done.
Their nest disturbed, hornets swarmed out. Natha waved the sword to fend them off. In a twinkling, the blade sliced them to bits. One angry insect flew at him. The blade seemed to leap instantly and cut it in two.
"This sword grows interesting," Natha said. He laughed and brandished the weapon. "I think we'll get on well together."
He rejoined his companions to find them grumbling and scowling. One, a narrow-faced, hardmouthed fellow called Feng, had decked himself out in Prince Jen's robe.
"We've been well tricked," Feng called out, handing Natha a document that had been tucked away in the garment. "That young fop told the truth."
Natha squinted at the official calligraphy and vermilion seal. He understood it was a royal warrant, its bearer indeed the Young Lord Prince. Some of the Yellow Scarves clamored to go back and lay hands on him, kill him outright, or hold him for ransom.
"Be silent, all of you," burst out Natha, swallowing his anger at being duped. "Go back after him? He's long gone by now. Kill him? No, let him slink home with his tail between his legs. He can tell King T'ai that here, in these mountains, I'm a ruler better than he can ever be. Ransom? What I took is worth as much as any ransom."
Natha tore the warrant to bits and threw the shreds to the ground. He strode some dozen paces away and ordered Feng to shoot an arrow at him.
"Let it fly as near to me as you can. Mind your aim," Natha said. "Nick me and you'll get a nick from this blade."
Feng, puzzled, did as Natha bade him. He drew his bow and sent a shaft hissing toward his chief. In a trice, Natha swung up the sword and with a quick stroke cut the arrow in two as it sped by him. He did likewise with two more shafts aimed still closer. Now confident, he commanded Feng to loose a third arrow straight at his breast. This, as well, Natha cut to bits with a single stroke before the arrow came near its mark.
The Yellow Scarves gaped in wonder. The astonished Feng, shaking his head, stepped up to Natha. "What's the trick? How's it done?" Feng reached out. "Give it here. Let me try." Natha struck Feng's hand away. "Paws off! All of you. This is mine, no other's."
He then called his followers around him and told them his plan, for the sword had given him a resource better than he could have devised. Natha had first intended to make a hasty raid on Kwan-tzu before the village men returned. Now a bolder thought had come to him. The sword seemed to have filled him with such strength and determination that he knew he could not fail.
So, instead of eluding
the villagers, Natha and his companions turned and sought them out, soon coming upon them in a clearing where they had stopped to rest. The villagers sprang up and would have beset the V ellow Scarves; but Natha strode to face them, holding aloft the sword and demanding for them to hear him.
His tone and bearing stopped them in their tracks. His voice rang as he addressed them, calling them brothers, reminding them they had never suffered at his hands and many had benefited.
"Now you want to capture and kill us," Natha cried. "Only tell me one thing: What will you gain? Will your wives and children be better fed? Will the merchants and moneylenders be generous to you? Will Cha-wei listen closer to your grievances? Will he give you even grudging thanks?"
"And you?" one of the villagers called out. "What will you give us?"
Natha would have been a commanding figure in any circumstances, but now, sword flashing and his words stirring the villagers' hearts, he seemed to stand even taller. His eyes blazed, his voice thundered:
"What will I give you? Why, brothers, no less than what you deserve. I'll give you Kwan-tzu!"
The villagers roared agreement, shouted allegiance to Natha when they heard what else he promised. And so, joining forces, the Yellow Scarves and their wouldbe captors galloped back to the village.
There, following Natha's orders, before Cha-wei or any local dignitary understood what was afoot, the villagers broke into the granaries and the storehouses of food and clothing, smashing and burning the shops of any who stood against them. The richest merchants and moneylenders were dragged from their houses, cash boxes pried open, and all their valuables heaped in the public square. Under Natha's instructions, the Yellow Scarves shared out the plunder among the rejoicing villagers, laughing and dancing as if at a festival.
The yamen officials and servants, wailing, weeping, eyes rolling in terror, were also herded into the square. Natha strode back and forth, spitting curses at them for their greed and dishonesty, arrogance and laziness. He declared himself chief of Kwan-tzu and demanded their sworn obedience. If any hesitated for so much as a moment, he turned them over to the rough justice of the crowd.
Those who vowed to serve faithfully and dutifully were set free. Two men remained: Official of the Third Rank Cha-wei, blubbering and kowtowing; and a spice merchant begging for his life, moaning louder than Cha-wei.
"Look at me!" Natha shouted. "Do you know who I am?"
The two stared up at him. Their pleading words shriveled in their throats. They could only nod. For, indeed, Cha-wei was the magistrate who had connived against Natha. The other was the man who had cheated Natha of his landholdings and, profiting from them, had set himself up and made a fortune as a spice merchant.
Natha smiled. "I will be merciful." With one blow of the sword, he struck off their heads. That night, Natha lodged in Cha-wei's yamen, in Cha-wei's apartments, and slept in Cha-wei's bed. To ward dawn, he was roused by a faint voice crying: "Give me to drink."
Thinking it was one of the servants, wakeful and restless, Natha paid no heed, rolled over, and slept again.
Next day, with the Yellow Scarves in attendance upon him, Natha summoned all villagers with grievances to declare them and have them redressed. Some who came complained of having been cheated in business transactions, others of being given short weight from dishonest scales, still others whose petitions had been ignored. Natha heard each one and decided each case fairly.
The last man appeared uneasy and reluctant to speak. Finally, at Natha's urging, he drew himself up and stated:
"Honorable Sir, when the goods were shared out, someone laid hands on much more than his proper portion. Also, he forced others to give him many strings of cash."
Several witnesses came forward to bear out this testimony. Natha replied angrily that such conduct called for severe punishment and demanded the name of the criminal.
"Honorable Sir," the villager stammered, "it was a Yellow Scarf one of your own men." He pointed toward Feng, standing by Natha in the Chamber of Audience.
Natha turned to Feng. "True?" Feng shrugged. "What do villagers need with all that cash? Without us, they'd have had nothing. We deserve the greater share."
"You acted no better than Cha-wei or any greedy official," Natha retorted. "This is my judgment."
He leaped to his feet, drew the sword, and, before Feng could speak further, cut him down on the spot. The Yellow Scarves, outraged, started toward Natha; but he threatened them with the sword and declared he had done only simple justice. In the end, fearing his wrath, they agreed it was so. Natha ordered Feng's head hung at the yamen gate as a warning to all who dealt unjustly with their fellows.
Again that night, Natha was awakened by the same voice crying:
"Give me to drink."
Natha sprang up. The voice seemed to be in the chamber. He lit a lamp and, suspecting some treachery, peered into every corner and cabinet. The voice called out once more. Natha stopped short. He turned his gaze upon the sword, for the words had come from it.
Frightened at first, Natha raised a hand to ward off any ghost or demon. But the sword whispered and murmured so cajolingly and with such plaintive insistence that his fear quickly vanished. He sat down on the bed, the sword across his knees.
"What are you?" he asked, in wonder. "Why do you speak? What do you want of me?"
The sword only replied, "Give me to drink." Natha questioned it no further. He felt sure now that some marvelous thing had come into his hands. "And why?" he asked himself. "Clearly, because I alone deserve to wield it."
Natha said nothing of this to any of his companions. In the days following, however, he kept himself a little apart from them, the sword ever at hand. The Yellow Scarves wondered about this behavior but dared not question him, for the forbidding look on Natha's face warned them off. Nevertheless, Natha governed more justly than Cha-wei or any official had.
At this time, word reached Natha that the prefect of the district, learning of the happenings in Kwan-tzu, had sent a strong force of warriors to recapture the village. That night, Natha pondered what best to do, and if he should withdraw and lead his Yellow Scarves to a safe hiding place in the uplands. Deep in thought, turning questions over in his mind, Natha was roused by the insistent voice:
"Give me to drink."
"Yes!" cried Natha. "So I will!"
Next day, Natha ordered his Yellow Scarves and all the men he could muster out of Kwan-tzu. Instead of retreating at the approach of the warriors, Natha struck first. He himself galloped foremost into the fray, and laid about him ferociously with the sword, cutting down so many of his opponents that the rest, in terror and despair, flung away their weapons and surrendered to him. As he had done before with the villagers, Natha offered to spare their lives if they would swear allegiance to him. This they gladly did, and Natha led them all triumphantly to Kwan-tzu.
But now, with such a number of new followers, Natha was hard-pressed for provisions to feed them. Though he required the villagers to give up much of their own small stores of food, it was not enough. Villagers and warriors alike grew hungry and restless, and some began muttering doubts about Natha's wisdom.
"Give me to drink," the sword whispered.
And Natha called a party of warriors to him and led them into the countryside, demanding victuals from the peasant farmers and tribute from the smallest hamlets. Where Natha once shared his takings, he demanded these folk to empty most of their larders. Some did so, but many refused. From them, Natha carried off all they had, burned their farmhouses as an example to the others; and, if any raised hand or voice against him, he slew them.
The poorest found their only hope in joining his growing forces, but this in turn obliged him to plunder still farther afield.
Always, the sword murmured, "Give me to drink."
The provincial governor, alarmed to learn that Natha Yellow Scarf had come to hold sway over much of the region, determined to settle the matter once and for all. He ordered every warrior at his disposal
to advance on Kwan-tzu, crush this challenge to his authority, and take Natha dead or alive.
Reports of the heavily armed force soon came to Natha. For the first time, his resolution faltered. He knew his followers were greatly outnumbered; he doubted that even he could convince such an army to join him. Prudence dictated retreat. About to give that order, he heard the voice of the sword:
"Give me to drink."
And so, once more, he led out his men. They fell upon the governor's warriors as Natha plunged into the thick of the fight like a maddened tiger. Those who saw him that day believed he had grown gigantic in stature and his horse had become a dragon. Foam flecked Natha's lips, his frenzied roars drowned out the din of battle as the sword flashed in lightning bolts, hewing and slashing, cutting down all before him, pursuing and killing even those who fled in terror.
Before the day was out, the provincial troops broke in panic and scattered, leaving their dead and wounded behind them.
Natha, spattered with the blood of his enemies, galloped to the crest of a little hill, where he threw back his head and laughed in jubilation at the sight of the shattered army.
"Who can stand against me?" he cried. He started to signal a return to Kwan-tzu, then halted and spat scornfully.
"One wretched village?" he said. "A handful of miserable peasants? Is that to be my realm? Pitiful! Shall I choose to be so small? Why not choose to be great?"
The sword whispered: "Give me to drink."
• • • • •
What becomes of Natha Yellow Scarf lies hidden in the future. For now, we go hack to Prince Jen and his friends where we left them in the cavern. Robbed and terrorized by bandits, they are worse off than ever. What can they possibly do? That is told in the next chapter.
9
• When is a Prince Not a Prince? •
The Remarkable Journey of Prince Jen Page 5
