Samurai Assassin

Time Hunters: Samurai Assassin

Chris Blake

Travel through time with Tom on more

Gladiator Clash

Knight Quest

Viking Raiders

Greek Warriors

Pirate Mutiny

Egyptian Curse

Cowboy Showdown

Samurai Assassin

Outback Outlaw

Stone Age Rampage

Mohican Brave

Aztec Attack

For games, competitions and more visit:

www.time-hunters.com

With special thanks to Martin Howard

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1: Rain Stops Play

Chapter 2: Far From Home

Chapter 3: Salt Thief

Chapter 4: The Dragon

Chapter 5: Ring Master

Chapter 6: Heat of Battle

Chapter 7: Don’t Look Down!

Chapter 8: Bump in the Night

Chapter 9: Instrument of Death

Chapter 10: Game On

Weapons

Feudal Japan Timeline

Time Hunters Timeline

Fantastic Facts

The Hunt Continues …

Discover a New Time Hunters Quest!

Copyright

About the Publisher

1500 AD, Mexico

As far as Zuma was concerned, there were only two good things about being a human sacrifice. One was the lovely black pendant the tribal elders had given her to wear. The other was the little Chihuahua dog the high priest had just placed next to her.

I’ve always wanted a pet, thought Zuma, as the trembling pup snuggled up close. Though this does seem like an extreme way to get one.

Zuma lay on an altar at the top of the Great Pyramid. In honour of the mighty Aztec rain god, Tlaloc, she’d been painted bright blue and wore a feathered headdress.

The entire village had turned out to watch the slave girl be sacrificed in exchange for plentiful rainfall and a good harvest. She could see her master strutting in the crowd below, proud to have supplied the slave for today’s sacrifice. He looked a little relieved too. And Zuma couldn’t blame him. As slaves went, she was a troublesome one, always trying to run away. But she couldn’t help it – her greatest dream was to be free!

Zuma had spent the entire ten years of her life in slavery, and she was sick of it. She knew she should be honoured to be a sacrifice, but she had a much better plan – to escape!

“Besides,” she said, frowning at her painted skin, “blue is not my colour!”

“Hush, slave!” said the high priest, Acalan, his face hidden by a jade mask. “The ceremony is about to begin.” He raised his knife in the air.

“Shame I’ll be missing it,” said Zuma. “Tell Tlaloc I’d like to take a rain check.” As the priest lowered the knife, she pulled up her knees and kicked him hard in the stomach with both feet.

“Oof!” The priest doubled over, clutching his belly. The blade clattered to the floor.

Zuma rolled off the altar, dodging the other priests, who fell over each other in their attempts to catch her. One priest jumped into her path, but the little Chihuahua dog sank his teeth into the man’s ankle. As the priest howled in pain, Zuma whistled to the dog.

“Nice work, doggie!” she said. “I’m getting out of here and you’re coming with me!” She scooped him up and dashed down the steps of the pyramid.

“Grab her!” groaned the high priest from above.

Many hands reached out to catch the slave girl, but Zuma was fast and determined. She bolted towards the jungle bordering the pyramid. Charging into the cool green leaves, she ran until she could no longer hear the shouts of the crowd.

“We did it,” she said to the dog. “We’re free!”

As she spoke, the sky erupted in a loud rumble of thunder, making the dog yelp. “Thunder’s nothing to be scared of,” said Zuma.

“Don’t be so sure about that!” came a deep voice above her.

Zuma looked up to see a creature with blue skin and long, sharp fangs, like a jaguar. He carried a wooden drum and wore a feathered headdress, just like Zuma’s.

She knew at once who it was. “Tlaloc!” she gasped.

The rain god’s bulging eyes glared down at her. “You have dishonoured me!” he bellowed. “No sacrifice has ever escaped before!”

“Really? I’m the first?” Zuma beamed with pride, but the feeling didn’t last long. Tlaloc’s scowl was too scary. “I’m sorry!” she said quietly. “I just wanted to be free.”

“You will never be free!” Tlaloc hissed. “Unless you can escape again …”

Tlaloc banged his drum, and thunder rolled through the jungle.

He pounded the drum a second time, and thick black clouds gathered high above the treetops.

“This isn’t looking good,” Zuma whispered. Holding the dog tightly, she closed her eyes.

On the third deafening drum roll, the jungle floor began to shake and a powerful force tugged at Zuma. She felt her whole body being swallowed up inside … the drum!

Tom looked out of the window and grinned. It was a beautiful summer’s day, and he couldn’t wait to get outside.

“You’re going to love tennis,” he said to Zuma. “It’s great fun.”

Zuma picked up Tom’s tennis racquet and looked at it curiously. A frown wrinkled her blue-painted face. “What’s this?” she asked. “Is it some sort of weapon?” Without waiting for a reply, the Aztec girl shrieked a battle cry and took a wild swing with the racquet.

Tom yelped as she knocked one of his mum’s best ornaments off a shelf. He dived across the room, catching the china figure just before it hit the floor.

“Be careful!” he gasped. “You know I’m the only person who can see and hear you. If you break anything, I’ll get the blame!”

A low growl made Tom turn round. Chilli, Zuma’s Chihuahua dog, was crouched on the sofa, baring his teeth at one of the cushions as though it was a rival dog. Then he leaped on the cushion and began pulling out the stuffing with his teeth.

Tom groaned. “And please keep Chilli under control,” he added.

Zuma wasn’t listening. She was still inspecting the tennis racquet. “It’s not very sharp,” she said. “Which part do you hit your enemies with?”

Tom grabbed the racquet out of Zuma’s hands before she could do any more damage.

“It isn’t a weapon. Tennis is a game,” he explained. “Two players use these racquets to hit a ball to each other across a net.”

“Oh, a game,” Zuma replied. “My people had games too.”

Tom instantly forgot about Chilli eating his mum’s cushions. He loved history and hearing Zuma’s stories about the Aztec world. “What sort of games?” he asked.

“The most popular was called Ulama,” Zuma told him. “Two teams knocked a ball round a court using their hips. The ball was very heavy so the players were always covered in bruises. Though of course it didn’t matter for some of them.”

“Let me guess,” said Tom. “The players were sacrificed after every game, right?”

“Don’t be silly!” Zuma rolled her eyes. “Only the losing team was sacrificed.”

Tom shook his head. He was amazed that Zuma could talk about human sacrifice so calmly. After all, she had narrowly escaped being sacrificed to the rain god, Tlaloc! Though the Aztec god did get his own back by magically trapping her in a drum. And if Tom hadn’t beaten the drum in his dad’s museum, she’d still be locked inside it.

Since then, Tom had been trying to help Zuma win back her freedom by finding six gold coins that Tlaloc had scattered throughout time. They had found one in the American Wild West, but there were five more to collect – and Tom knew Tlaloc wasn’t going to make their challenges easy!

But until the god appeared again, there was time for a game of tennis. And Zuma and Chilli could cause less damage in the garden than they could inside Tom’s house.

“Come on,” he said firmly. “There’s another racquet in the shed. I’ll show you how to play.”

Opening the back door to the garden, Tom blinked in surprise. Seconds ago the sky had been bright and sunny. Now it was pouring with rain!

Zuma nervously peered outside. “Is it Tlaloc?” she asked. The Aztec god usually appeared in a cloud of rain.

“I don’t think so,” replied Tom. “It’s probably just a shower. But we can’t play tennis now. Let’s go inside and play on my computer instead.”

He led the way upstairs, Chilli bounding round his ankles.

“Com-puter?” said Zuma. “What’s that?”

But Tom didn’t get a chance to explain. As he walked into his bedroom, he stopped suddenly, making Zuma walk into his back. Chilli began growling.

“Uh-oh!” said Tom quietly. It was raining inside his bedroom.

Tom and Zuma looked up. The ceiling was covered with dark, swirling clouds. Thunder rumbled and a loud, threatening laugh boomed out.

“Tlaloc!” cried Zuma.

The face of the Aztec god formed in the clouds above them. His skin was as blue as Zuma’s. Eyes bulged out of his feathered head. When Tlaloc opened his mouth, Tom saw two rows of sharp fangs. He gulped. The god looked even angrier than before.

“Tremble, slave – it is indeed Tlaloc!” the god thundered. “Enough games! It is time for your next challenge. And this time you will not be so lucky …”

Before Tom could say anything, Tlaloc’s face disappeared. The rain grew softer, turning into a sparkling mist. Chilli whimpered, and Zuma scooped up the little dog into her arms. As the mist thickened, Tom felt like he was standing on air. He closed his eyes as he travelled down the tunnels of time.

And then, suddenly, Tom felt solid ground beneath his feet.

“Where are we?” Zuma asked.

Nervously, Tom opened his eyes. He never knew where they were going to end up next. This time they were standing on a grassy plain, surrounded by hills. There was no one else in sight. The only sounds were the breeze blowing through the knee-high grass and the chirping of crickets.

Tom shaded his eyes from the hot sun with his hands.

“I’ve no idea,” he said. “All I can see is grass and hills. We could be anywhere.”

“Well, you’re the history expert,” said Zuma. “What about these clothes – are they a clue?”

Tom turned and saw that the Aztec girl’s blue body paint had vanished, revealing her glowing, golden-brown skin. Her feathered headdress had also disappeared and her dark hair was pulled into a tight topknot above her head. She was dressed in a long yellow robe with loose sleeves, tied in place by a wide white belt. Her shoes looked like wooden flip-flops.

“Well? Got any ideas?” she asked.

Tom looked down at himself. He was wearing a similar robe, though his was grey with a black belt. He nodded. “I’ve seen these clothes before, in books. They’re called kimonos. The Japanese wear them. So we must be in Japan.”

Zuma frowned.

“Japan is an island country in the Pacific Ocean,” Tom told her. “We’re a long way from home.”

“Wherever we are, Tlaloc’s gold coin is here somewhere,” said Zuma. “You don’t think it’s hidden in all this grass, do you? We’ll be here forever.”

“And it would be the most boring quest ever,” Tom added.

“It doesn’t sound like Tlaloc’s style, does it?” Zuma said. “He’s much more of a ‘horrible screaming danger’ type of god.”

“Why don’t you ask your necklace?” Tom suggested. “It helped us before.”

Zuma’s necklace had a black pendant with special powers. Last time they had travelled through time, it had given them a riddle with clues to help them find the gold coin.

“Good idea,” said Zuma. She grinned. “I knew there was a reason I let you come along.”

Holding up the black pendant, Zuma chanted:

“Mirror, mirror, on a chain,

Can you help us? Please explain!

We are lost and must be told

How to find the coins of gold.”

Tom waited, holding his breath. Slowly, silver letters began to emerge on the pendant’s polished surface. They spelled out another riddle:

In the land of warriors, great and old,

A pinch of salt is worth its weight in gold.

The Tiger’s claws will leave a scar;

What keeps you cool may take you far.

Act with honour to impress a lord;

Heroes not thieves will get their reward.

When all is dark make for the light

Beware the masked man who walks in the night.

The two of them stared at the letters in silence. Tom was the first to speak. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What’s salt got to do with anything?”

Zuma flapped her hand to shush him. “Be quiet! I can hear something,” she whispered.

Tom listened closely. Sure enough, there was a thunderous rumble in the distance. It sounded like it was getting closer.

“Oh no, not Tlaloc again,” he groaned.

“It’s not Tlaloc,” said Zuma. “Look – over there!”

Tom’s eyes followed Zuma’s pointing finger. She had spotted a tall teenage boy sprinting down a hill as if his life depended on it.

A few seconds later, Tom saw why.

The noise wasn’t thunder – it was the hooves of galloping horses. A group of horsemen charged over the hill. Their leader saw the running boy and pointed, screaming at the men behind. He urged his sweating horse to go faster. Looking over his shoulder, the boy yelled in fright. The horsemen were gaining on him. He put on a fresh spurt of speed, heading straight for Tom and Zuma.

As the horsemen drew nearer, Tom recognised their armour from an exhibit in his dad’s museum. It belonged to medieval Japanese warriors called samurai. Each warrior wore an iron breastplate, and skirts of overlapping leather protected their legs. Their helmets were decorated with what looked like alien antennae. Strapped to the samurai’s backs were curved swords called katana. In the safety of the museum, Tom had thought the katana looked really cool. Up close they looked like deadly weapons.

“They’re samurai warriors!” he called out to Zuma.

“They’re big bullies, that’s what they are!” she shouted back.

The boy was only a few metres from Tom and Zuma when he stumbled, twisting his ankle. He fell to the ground with a cry of pain.

Before Tom could blink, Zuma had run over to his side. “Can you get up?” she asked. “Here … lean on me.”

“Lean on me too,” added Tom, running over to join them. Whatever magic Tlaloc used to transport them across time also made it possible for Tom and Zuma to communicate with everyone they met.

“Don’t worry about me,” the boy panted, staggering to his feet. “Get out of here before they catch you as well!”

“Tom!” shouted Zuma.

When Tom looked up, his face went white with fear. A wave of samurai horsemen was crashing down on them!

Tom’s heart thumped like a drum. There was nowhere to hide. The tiny part of his brain that wasn’t terrified told him it was useless to run. There was no way to escape the galloping horses. The three of them, and Chilli, would be trampled beneath the flying hooves.

He closed his eyes. Then a voice shouted, “Halt!”

Tom opened his eyes, amazed he was still alive. The samurai had pulled up their horses at the last second, and were now fanning out round Tom, Zuma and the boy. Within seconds, they were surrounded.

The same voice that had given the command spoke again. “Who are you?” it said, in a sneering tone.

Tom looked up. The samurai leader was glaring down at him from the back of his snorting black stallion. Beneath all the heavy armour, Tom could see he was a young man – barely older than the boy he had been chasing. His face was proud, his eyes cruel and arrogant.

“We’re travellers,” Tom said quickly.

At his feet, Chilli growled. “Good doggie. Brave doggie,” whispered Zuma, trying to calm down her pet.

“Well, travellers, I am Goro, the son of an important nobleman. You may bow.”

Zuma snorted loudly. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t bow to anyone.”

Goro’s eyes blazed with anger. “You try to help Oda, the salt thief, and then you refuse to bow?” he barked. “Do you wish to share his punishment?”

“Salt thief?” giggled Zuma. “He stole some salt? Is that all?”

“Be silent, girl!” Goro commanded.

Zuma ignored him. “What a mighty warrior you are,” she taunted. “Leading your men in a brave quest to capture a salt thief.”

Goro’s face had turned purple with rage. Tom elbowed Zuma. “Have you seen their swords?” he whispered. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Enough!” screamed Goro. “Perhaps watching me thrash Oda until he is black and blue will silence you.” He held up a thick bamboo cane and the sunlight flashed on a silver ring he wore on his finger.

“Don’t you dare,” snapped Zuma. She stamped her foot. “I used to be a slave, so I know what it’s like to be unfairly punished. If you want to thrash him, you’ll have to get past me first.”

“And me,” Tom said, stepping in front of Oda.

Surprised, Goro lowered the cane. A sly grin crept across his face. “No,” he said finally. “A thrashing would be too kind a punishment. The Dragon himself will punish you for your insolence.”

Oda turned pale. Tom wanted to tell him not to worry and that there were no such things as dragons, but he decided to keep quiet. Goro was angry enough already. Whatever the samurai had meant, Tom knew that they had to escape. The riddle had mentioned a tiger, but said nothing about dragons. The last thing he wanted was to become a prisoner of the samurai.

It seemed Zuma had been thinking the same thing. “Look!” she cried out, pointing behind Goro. “Salt thief! And he’s getting away!”

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