text: He had climbed into the tree-clad hills behind Miyako after wandering through the large and confusing city the better part of the day. The noise and the constant bustle annoyed him, and he knew that he would soon have to lash out. Instead he had wandered away, past the Golden Pavilion built by a shogun long since gone. The tree-shaded slopes soothed him and he had time to think, something he had not done since setting his mind on getting to Miyako. For the first time he needed to consider what to do with himself. The age of glorious deeds on the battlefield was long since gone. The clerks and the cautious old men ruled now.
  
  He paused beside a mountain stream that ran down to the city below, perhaps to be captured in the garden of a temple or villa, perhaps to be lost forever in the narrow alleyways where the common people lived.
  
  "What are you doing here?" a harsh voice broke into his reverie.
  
  Sugiyama raised his eyes slowly. A constable dressed in the uniform of his trade--pale blue trousers and a checked kimono tucked into his sash--and carrying the badge and weapon of his office--a jutte baton--was standing peering at him. Recognizing he was facing a samurai, he mediated his tone somewhat. "You are?" he asked politely.
  
  Sugiyama did not answer. He was unreasonably tired of the city people and their silky ways. He slid forward. The constable, recognizing the sudden menace, raised his jutte to chest level. Sugiyama's pose relaxed. The constable, misinterpreting Sugiyama's relaxed fighting pose as nonaggression, started to say "I arrest ..."
  
  Sugiyama's perfect draw cut off the constable's head at the neck. Without pausing in his stride or looking back at the headless body spraying the trees, Sugiyama cleaned his sword and resheathed it. His dark figure receded into the darkness of the trees as setting sun and drying blood conspired to paint the forest crimson.
  
  Before him a giant figure suddenly loomed. Sugiyama drew to a halt in a small clearing. He recognized the features and grinned broadly.
  
  "You again! How did you enjoy your swim? Clean already?"
  
  The large samurai regarded him patiently, then just as patiently drew his sword. There was something different about the draw this time, and Sugiyama realized that things had changed. The samurai looked different, his draw held signs of hidden strength and determination. He was now a dangerous man indeed. Sugiyama's jeers died on his lips and he silently prepared himself for battle.
  
  A glimmer of motion caught their eyes. Each of the two warriors turned his head slightly. A man carrying a gun had emerged from the trees behind them. He kept to cover, tracing something on the ground. Raising his eyes he saw the two samurai and stopped. He blinked once, otherwise he was as still as the ground on which he stood.
  
  Isei had come upon the headless body on his way back into the town. The nun had left him to his contemplations, but had extracted a promise that he would return and meet her. Curious and a bit apprehensive he followed the tracks in the forest mold. He did not want to have anything to do with murder, but did not want to be ambushed either. The ninja's attempts to kill him were still fresh in his mind. He was so intent on his tracking, and the two warriors in the clearing were so still, that for the first time in his life he came upon prey completely unaware of its presence. He wanted to turn and fade into the forest, but found he had passed by a large rock that barred his way. Warily he watched the others, noting the drawn swords. The Isei of several days before would have made some pacific gesture, smiled ingratiatingly and faded away as a mountain outcaste should. The new Isei merely stood his ground, waiting to see what would develop.
  
  The three men faced each other in the clearing, none daring to make a move. Isei's eyes shifted quickly from one to the other of the samurai facing him. Samurai meant trouble, and these were obviously out for it. Isei gnawed his lips fearfully. The bigger man would obviously not be easy prey for his own short nata hatchet as the samurai near the lake had been. The other one ... Perhaps. But there was a look in the slimmer man's eye that bode evil for any one foolish enough to come close to him. Isei began a judicious retreat only to find himself blocked by the bole of a massive cedar.
  
  Sugiyama watched the two hunters warily. The musket was a problem, but the lowlife was obviously fearful of him. So the only problem was this pesky ronin who seemed to have some grudge against him. He watched the big man carefully. The fact that he had managed to survive an attack was in itself remarkable.
  
  Jiro considered his options carefully. He had no idea who this ragged sanka was, but he seemed interested in being part of the fight. In any case, he was obviously not retreating. And he seemed fearful of the samurai presence, yet determined too.
  
  Jiro shifted his weight. Sugiyama acted. He slid forward in a glide that carried him over the rotten leaves like a shadow. His left arm flashed and a tiny glittering kozuka knife flew from his scabbard to Isei's eye. Then Sugiyama turned and struck at Jiro. Without moving anything more than his hands, Isei twisted the barrel of his matchlock and fired. The kozuka shattered and in the smoke of the black powder, he himself had scrambled through the bushes to his side and up the slope.
  
  Jiro deflected Sugiyama's rush. Their blades rang together and they stepped apart. Sugiyama readied himself for the giant samurai's counter. Instead Jiro called out in surprise, "The gunner! The murderer!" and then he too was gone, crashing through the woods after Isei, leaving a puzzled Sugiyama far behind.
  
  The samurai bent and examined his kozuka. It had been a fine piece of metal. Well tempered and balanced. The lead ball had hit it squarely, shattering the steel into splinters of lead-streaked worthless metal. "Lucky bastard," Sugiyama said slowly. But somewhere, deep within him, he had the uncomfortable feeling that luck was not at all the case. He glared about him one last time, then grinned and sheathed his sword. This was the second time the giant samurai had run. Dead twice in all but the spilling of his blood, and still moving: a coward with luck.
  
  It was turning dark and Sugiyama descended unwillingly towards the city. It attracted and repelled him in equal measures. A figure moved below, loomed out of the dark on a path converging to his own. Closer up he saw it was a woman. A nun, to be precise, her face hidden behind a cowl, but her body nonetheless female for that. The heat in his loins, which he had ignored till now, burst into flame again. He caught up to her, grasped her shoulder and spun her around.
  
  She turned and raked her clawed hand at his face without a word.
  
  Sugiyama glared through the dark at the woman before him. He had come on her providentially. His need for a woman was great, and he did not care if she were a nun. It was sufficient that she was a woman.
  
  She pushed away his grasping hand impatiently, hurrying to some unknown destination in the forest.
  
  "Get out of my way and depart," she said in a thick unknown accent, trying to glide away. "Don't you see who I am?"
  
  "I've had nuns before, and I'll have you," he snarled. His failure to kill the giant ronin still smarted. She made a movement and he slipped aside, barely in time to avoid the swing of the weighted chain she had procured from her sleeve. He drew his sheathed short sword and the chain wrapped itself around the sheath in its next swing. Sugiyama stepped forward suddenly and sank his fist into the soft midriff. The nun dropped the chain and doubled over. Sugiyama spun her around and raised her skirts. She was still sobbing for breath as he plunged his erection deep between her buttocks.
  
  The delightful sharp pain tore through Rosamund's anus as he missed his target. She screamed loudly and he pulled her to him forcefully, disregarding her cries, concerned only with the tight warm dryness of her channel. Holding her hip firmly with one hand he resettled his shuto in his sash, then set out to enjoy her fully. She was still bent almost double, though much of her breath had returned. Sugiyama tugged violently at her tits, noticing that they were the largest and finest he had ever felt. The nipples were prominent and the full bags jiggled pleasurably under his hands. He heard the sounds of his belly smacking against her full ass with pleasure, and he explored her loins with a free hand while the other controlled the speed of his motions in her tight hole. He discovered her prominent clitoris and played with it, then found, without much surprise or concern, that he was in her backside, rather than her cunt.
  
  She twisted in his grasp and he noted with growing surprise that she was forcing herself on him, rather than the reverse. His motions did not slacken, but his confidence did as she called out to him to hurry, to drive into her.
  
  His over-full balls exploded a stream of gluey sperm into the depths of her belly. She let out a disappointed howl and turned her furious face to his. In the dark he could not make out her features, but her anger was plain to see.
  
  "You cockless bastard," she sneered. "You aren't able to content a woman you accost."
  
  Taken aback by the charge, Sugiyama tried to drive his shrivelling cock deeper into her, to no avail. She taunted him with his unmanliness and he lost all control, hitting out with his hands and biting at the clothes on her back with his strong teeth. She wriggled and struggled again, but it was plain she expected that and more from him, and moreover, she was enjoying it. Breathing heavily he managed to control himself. He armored himself with the disdain he normally had for the lower orders and sought to withdraw. Sensing his intentions Rosamund tightened her anal muscles. For the first time in his lifetime, Sugiyama yelped in pain as his cock was squeezed by a smooth corrugated muscular vise. He hit her brutally on her buttocks, but the pain only caused her to cry in obvious pleasure. She backed up suddenly and, intent only on his own escape, he found himself sprawled on the ground with the nun's figure towering over his loins. She ground herself forcefully into him, her ass muscles squeezing him for all he was worth. His cock stiffened in her nether orifice and she began bouncing quickly, shafting herself to pleasure. Bemused and somewhat frightened, Sugiyama was powerless to do anything but watch, completely detached from the action. He felt her hands on his balls and again the fear washed over him. But rather than emasculating him, she merely toyed with the bags until he felt the remains of his semen squeezed upwards into her willing and demanding body.
  
  Rosamund rose from the anonymous samurai's body and wiped herself with the skirts of his loose trousers. She pulled down her robes, then walked into the forest without a backwards glance.
  
  Sugiyama studied the camellia blossom intently. It offended his senses. Though perfect now, he knew that it would soon wilt and fade, die sickly like an old man. Quicker than thought his sword was cutting through the fragile stem. The tree did not move, as if a tribute to his skill while the blossom fell to the ground. He felt at peace for the first time since he had had the courtesan. The foreign woman gave him the same sense of peace, and he tried to understand how she was different from any other woman he had known.