Page:Modern Japanese Stories.pdf/120

Sadayū is ready to oppose you.” There was a murmur of disapproval from the spectators at Sadayū’s disloyal presumption. Lord Tadanao smiled bitterly.

“Well then, you are a true retainer of Lord Tadanao. But do not think of me as your lord. If my guard is down, do not hesitate. Strike!”

Lord Tadanao withdrew five or six yards, brandishing his spear as he spoke, and took up his position.

Sadayū now picked up the spear brought by the pages and removed the sheath from its blade. “Your pardon!” he cried. And he stood at the ready, facing his lord.

All eyes were fixed upon the scene in dreadful fascination and horror. The watchers sat tensed and breathless, as if entranced, following every move in the battle being fought to a finish between master and man.

Lord Tadanao was obsessed by one thought. If he could only find out—find out with certainty—the real extent of his strength and skill, he could want nothing more. He was not conscious of himself as daimyō of a province, nor did he think of his opponent as a retainer. He merely fought, with courage and determination.

But Sadayū had, from the outset, determined the issue. After three brief exchanges he took the point of Lord Tadanao’s spear high on his left thigh, toppled backwards, and crashed to the floor.

The spectators, one and all, heaved a deep sigh of relief. The body of the wounded Sadayū was quickly borne from the arena by a group of his colleagues.

Lord Tadanao, however, felt no joy of victory. Sadayū’s defeat, he saw only too clearly, was of the same self-inflicted variety as his defeat of yesterday, and in Lord Tadanao’s heart there was now an aching loneliness far worse, even, than last night’s words had brought. The realization that the wretched Sadayū was ready to feed his lord with false victories if it cost him his very life had reimplanted at the core of Lord Tadanao’s being, even more deeply than before, his terrible uneasiness