text: The yamabushi gang outnumbered Jiro's party significantly. There was little time for consultation about tactics. Jiro and his friends drifted through the forest as silently as possible, weapons at the ready, taking up positions as best they could, hoping to split their attackers' forces. Jiro doubled back and circled the small shrine under the spread of a cryptomeria cautiously. Beads of moisture roughened the satiny flesh of his blade. He stepped into the clearing and came face to face with Hachibei and three other men. They screamed and charged. Behind them Daisangyoja started chanting spells again. Jiro parried two cuts at his head and rolled away from a thrust at his belly. As he did so, he tripped on a gnarled root and fell heavily on his hip. Behind him he heard the hiss of a staff descending on his exposed back, its iron rings clinking softly. He twisted desperately, knowing it to be too late. There was a surprised grunt, and then several meaty thuds mixed in with his opponents' cries. Jiro completed his roll and rose to his feet.
  
  Two of the yamabushi were lying on the ground. One's neck was at an unnatural angle; the other's cheek seemed caved in. Hachibei and the fourth yamabushi were facing Tatsunoyama, both breathing heavily, while the massive wrestler seemed perfectly composed. Keeping an eye on the two yamabushi, Tatsunoyama bowed briefly.
  
  "Mr. Miura, I see I have the pleasure of assisting you again."
  
  Jiro bowed in return, smiled, and said, "I am most grateful Tatsunoyama-zeki," and threw one of his sheath knives. The little throwing knife found its mark properly in Hachibei's wrist. He howled and dropped his short sword. Jiro slid forward almost casually, and his long blade flickered in the forest gloom. Hachibei stood for a moment while Jiro froze in place, his sword guard held near his ear. A gush of blood fountained from the yamabushi leader's neck. His torso fell in one direction; his head rolled in another.
  
  The other yamabushi had turned to flee when his leader was hit. Tatsunoyama made a prodigious hop. His open hand rose in a short arc and chopped down, followed by the other. The yamabushi's head shook, and he fell silently. Jiro spun and charged. Daisangyoja slid smoothly aside. His fist parried Jiro's blade. His other hand smashed down onto the samurai's wrist. Jiro twisted, and his shoulder knocked the yamabushi's fist off target. Both opponents leaped back, breathing heavily.
  
  A female scream sounded through the woods. Jiro called to Tatsunoyama over his shoulder, "That is some of my friends. The yamabushi are attacking us. Please help."
  
  Tatsunoyama strode to the shrine and opened the door. He reached inside. A touselled dark head with a sour expression appeared, followed by its twin. Lady One and Lady Two glared at Jiro's back. They would obviously have enjoyed seeing him slaughtered, but they ran after their massive lover as he strode purposefully into the forest.
  
  Jiro balanced carefully on the balls of his feet. He would not underestimate the yamabushi leader again. His sword flickered twice, a cut to the head and then one to the body. The yamabushi parried each blow with a clang of metal. Jiro looked at the man's fists. From each side of his right fist protruded a diamond-shaped metal knob. In his left he carried a similar device—a kongo in the shape of a crown. The spikes of the crowns could catch a sword blade in time for the right hand to deliver a crippling blow. They circled. Jiro tried a thrust but was repelled. He drew his short sword, holding it unconventionally, hilt forward. He struck with his great sword, once, then again. Daisangyoja anticipated both blows and guarded against them smoothly. He was beginning to smile, showing his confidence, when Jiro managed the unexpected. With an agility unusual for so large a man and a humility exceptional for a samurai, he rolled forward on the ground. His short sword cut across Daisangyoja's shins. The yamabushi leader leaped into the air and landed several feet away as Jiro came to his feet and charged.
  
  For a short second the yamabushi stared in horror at the spattering of blood that rained from one of his feet. Then, in an almost superhuman display of strength, he leaped back again and was gone into the wood, Jiro breathed deeply, wondering whether to chase him. Then another female scream sounded from the forest, and he hurried to find its source.
  
  Far below them the festival had started. The parade was getting organized before marching to the shrine. Large wooden tabards in the shape of shields decorated with fan-shaped sunbursts were assembled in a line. The torch carriers who would oppose the tabards' progress stood by their massive barrel-shaped torches. Their black gauze hats were set at the proper angle, and the drummers and conchers were ready. In the dancing square the last dengaku troupe wound up its act.