The Black Shōgun Before the Age of the Samurai – Tamuramaro
A Shōgun Without the Samurai
We all know the great shōguns of Japan. Tokugawa Ieyasu – the architect of enduring peace, who in the 17th century extinguished the flames of the Sengoku period that had consumed the Archipelago for generations, laying the foundation for modern Japan. Or earlier, in the samurai Middle Ages – Minamoto no Yoritomo, founder of the first bakufu in Kamakura, who amidst fratricidal wars forged the foundations of military domination by the bushi class. When we say “shōgun” today, we almost always evoke the mature era of the samurai: castles, family crests (mon), feudal hierarchy, and honor codes. In our imagination, the shōgun has become the symbol and apex of the samurai world. The central question in Japan’s history seemed to be: shōgun or emperor? The power of the sword or the throne?
And yet today, we pose a different question – one asked more rarely, but just as fascinating: could a shōgun have existed before the samurai? Yes – in a raw, warlike, and… imperial form. Today, we will meet the greatest among them – the Black Shōgun Tamuramaro.
The title Sei-i Taishōgun, written with the characters 「征」 (conquest), 「夷」 (barbarians), 「大」 (great), 「将」 (general), and 「軍」 (army). It was an extraordinary function, temporarily bestowed by the emperor not to govern the country, but to wage war in his name – wars against peoples who refused to acknowledge the throne’s authority in Heian-kyō. At a time when the samurai had not yet been born (the word saburau in this sense only began to appear in the 9th–10th century, and their ethos emerged only in the late Heian period), the emperor had other men of the sword. The greatest of them was Sakanoue no Tamuramaro (758–811) – commander, official, master of logistics, and at the same time a figure whose dark legend survived the centuries like an echo of long-forgotten wars.
For decades, Yamato – that is, the inhabitants of the nascent Japanese state – had tried to subjugate the northern reaches of Honshū, inhabited by the independent people known as the Emishi. The mountainous, wild terrain and guerrilla resistance tactics, however, rendered every imperial army helpless to break the impasse. The solution came in the form of one man. When Emperor Kanmu laid eyes on Tamuramaro, he immediately recognized in him the remedy for the empire’s generations-old affliction. And indeed – step by step, methodically, Tamuramaro dismantled the resistance of the Emishi: he surrounded them, divided them, sowed discord, transforming undisciplined detachments into a well-oiled machine of conquest. It was said he rode a horse whose eyes burned red, wearing a helmet shaped like the maw of a bear or an oni demon, and that his black lacquered armor absorbed all light that touched it. But it was not legend that made him fearsome – it was iron discipline, nerves of steel, and logistical genius. So, before the bushi ethos was born, before Japan’s soil heard the word bakufu, there was Tamuramaro – the first shōgun, who never founded his own clan, but forever changed the course of history. Let us meet him today.
The Yamato Army Prepares for Battle
The morning mist drifted lazily above the marshy plains of Michinoku. The air smelled of smoke and damp bark. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled – or perhaps a wolf. A red dawn blazed on the horizon, crimson like the seal of the imperial court, and seemed to foretell not morning, but bloodshed.
In the open field, beneath tall poplars and tufts of stunted grass, the Yamato army was gathering – grim, silent, organized in a way that Japan was only just beginning to recognize as modernity. These were not yet the samurai known from later centuries, but the armed extension of imperial will, recruited from southern provinces, from warrior families, from loyal local clans. Their armor was still far from the elegance of the Heian period – simple, functional, heavy with lacquered leather and bronze. In the cold morning light, their keiko-style armor gleamed, laced with fabric cords and reinforced with metal plates.
At the front stood the archers – stocky men with wide yumi bows, reflexive and asymmetrical, reaching nearly two meters in length. Each had a quiver at the hip and light armor – for speed was more important than defense. Beside them, the infantry – peasants in lacquered armor, forerunners of the ashigaru who would appear centuries later, young and old alike, with yari spears, iron-tipped and leaf-shaped, wearing straw sandals reinforced with hemp. Many of them had never before left their rice fields. Their eyes betrayed fear – not of death, but of the Emishi, imagined as wolf-men and spirits, unpredictable and inhuman.
At the rear – cavalry, the stately tsuwamono (兵, warriors, not yet samurai for several centuries to come). Horses from the provinces of Mutsu and Hitachi, small but enduring. Riders clad in deerskin armor, lacquered black and adorned with simple symbols – a star, a flame, a maple leaf. Each bore a tachi (太刀) – a sword longer than later katana, worn edge-down, suspended from a wide belt. Some carried horagai (法螺貝) conch shells at the saddle, from which they drew sounds that signaled the army – deep, low tones like groans from within the earth. Others struck taiko (太鼓 – “great drums”) – command drums carried on the backs of war servants, pounding rhythmically, like the army’s heartbeat.
At the center of the headquarters fluttered the commander’s military banner – purple silk adorned with golden thread, embroidered with the characters Sei-i Taishōgun (征夷大将軍), the title bestowed by the emperor. Though it bore no image of the sun, everyone knew that its authority came from the very descendant of Amaterasu. Around the banner stood a makeshift altar – wooden, provisional, built from pure hinoki wood. A priest in white robes recited ritual norito prayers, beseeching the gods for victory. Incense rose into the air like the spirits of ancestors. The gunji (郡司 – local officials, aristocrats commanding troops from their own provinces) knelt, touching their foreheads to the ground.
And then he appeared.
A sudden, total silence fell, as if even the wind had fled into the forest. Among the armed men – murmurs and the clinking of armor and swords ceased, and even breath seemed to halt.
Tamuramaro. The Black Shōgun.
He rode a tall warhorse, its flanks protected by lacquered leather plates, its eyes burning. Tamuramaro’s armor, gleaming with the deep black of lacquer, clung to his body like a second skin. On his shoulders rested a dark, heavy cloak of bear fur – a trophy from one of his northern campaigns, or perhaps just a legend that no one dared question. His helmet, with a wide visor and tall crest, adorned with stylized horn patterns and a bronze grimace, resembled the face of an oni – a demon of the mountains and night. The leather armor plates, stiffened with bronzed metal, gleamed like black mirrors, and at his hip – fastened edge-down – lay a long, curved tachi, ready for the charge. With each step of the horse, the commander’s silk cloak rose and fell heavily, as if the entire unit were bowing to the northern sky.
Tamuramaro said nothing. He rode slowly along the formation, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his gaze piercing like a blade. Some foot soldiers lowered their eyes. Others whispered prayers. But soon after – they raised their heads. For his silence was heavier than commands, and his presence was a sign that the emperor truly watched.
— If he stands with us, no darkness can consume us – thought the soldiers, though not one dared utter even a louder breath.
And then – at the signal of the Black Shōgun – the army moved. Quietly, without clamor, like a wave of steel and leather, pushed forward by the hand of the gods into the northern mist.
Who Was Tamuramaro?
Before the appearance of the well-known figures of shōguns in Japanese history—Tokugawa Ieyasu with his isolationist vision of Edo, or earlier, Minamoto no Yoritomo, the first military leader to rule from Kamakura—there was Sakanoue no Tamuramaro (758–811). A man not of myth, but of the realities of an era that was just beginning to form the foundations of Japanese administration and military structure. He was born into a military family with a long tradition of service, and his life unfolded during a time of transformation—when the imperial court was striving to solidify its authority over the distant, not fully subjugated northern provinces.
Tamuramaro was a general and official, a loyal servant of Emperor Kanmu. He stood out not only for his military prowess but also for his organizational talent, discipline, and austere ethos. It was he who was entrusted with one of the most remarkable titles in Japanese history—Sei-i Taishōgun (征夷大将軍), which literally means “Great General for the Subjugation of the Barbarians.”
At that time, the title of shōgun was not yet a permanent institution. It certainly did not denote a ruler of the country, but rather a temporary military designation granted only for the duration of specific campaigns. The term “barbarians” referred then to the Emishi—peoples inhabiting the northern regions of Honshū, who resisted the central authority of Yamato (more on them here: Emishi – The Forgotten People of the Japanese Islands Before Yamato and the Ainu). Tamuramaro was not the first to bear this title, but he was the first to fulfill it successfully—conquering and pacifying significant areas of the north, establishing garrisons, administrative posts, and temples, and even erecting burial mounds dedicated to the fallen.
However, he held no independent power—in contrast to later shōguns, he remained directly under the emperor’s command. He did not found a new capital, did not create a military lineage of his own, and did not govern in place of an absent monarch. He was an executor of imperial court policy, not an alternative to it.
That is precisely why the figure of Tamuramaro—today little known—represents a fascinating shadow of the true beginnings of Japan’s military system, before the samurai ethos emerged, before the bushidō code was solidified in literature, and before the shogunate became the center of real power.
(More on the evolution of the title shōgun—from a commander of imperial campaigns to the supreme military ruler—you can read in my text: What Does “Shōgun” Really Mean? One word that forged the Japan of samurai in steel and blood).
The Life of Sakanoue no Tamuramaro
Origins and Background
In the year 758, in the very heart of Yamato, at a time when Japan was still a land of ritual hierarchy rather than feudal power, a boy was born whose name would, in time, inspire fear on both sides of the Ōu Mountains. His lineage, the Sakanoue family, hailed from the kuge class—the court aristocracy, who had served the emperor for generations. They were loyal to the throne, but not without ambition and temperament. It was said that Tamuramaro’s ancestors descended from a line of border guards and military commanders, which made their family somewhat more… unsettling compared to the more refined, literary aristocracy of the time.
Even as a youth, Sakanoue no Tamuramaro distinguished himself at the imperial court not only through impeccable manners but also with a silent discipline and an exceptional memory, which made him a candidate for future administrative responsibilities. He received a classical education—knowledge of Chinese classics, calligraphy, grammar, and ceremonial protocol—but his true talent shone brightest outside the palace walls.
In the final decades of the 8th century, Japan was undergoing intense transformation. Emperor Kanmu (781–806), determined to free himself from the influence of the powerful Fujiwara clan, decided not only to move the capital—first to Nagaoka-kyō (784), then to Heian-kyō (today’s Kyōto, in 794)—but also to begin a genuine expansion into the north. Success in the north would make his authority independent from the all-encompassing web of Fujiwara connections. The areas of today’s Akita, Iwate, and Aomori prefectures remained beyond Yamato’s control—ruled by Emishi clans who recognized neither the emperor’s authority nor the dominance of the proto-Japanese state.
It was precisely in this atmosphere of tension, political upheaval, and the dream of “civilizing the wild north” that Tamuramaro began his career. First as an official—dispatched to the provinces to oversee harvests, inspect local goods, verify taxes, and enforce decrees from the capital. These were tasks as dangerous as they were tedious—local magnates often concealed their wealth, incited peasants, and nature itself could be unforgiving. These early missions shaped Tamuramaro into not only a seasoned logistician but also a man hardened to discomfort, one who understood the diversity of the provinces, their fears, and the brutal truth: Yamato’s power ended where ceremonial order ended, and to extend it—ruthless force was needed.
His first military assignments date back to the 770s, when imperial expeditions against the Emishi ended in a series of costly defeats. Previous generals—including Ki no Kosami and Ōtomo no Otomaro—failed to break the resistance in the north. Tamuramaro served alongside them as an auxiliary officer, gaining experience in conducting campaigns in difficult terrain: forests, mountains, and the swamps of Mutsu. He learned the language of the Emishi, studied their tactics, rituals, fortification methods, and ways of life.
But he also witnessed another truth—the gulf between courtly ambitions and provincial realities was vast. Many commanders returned to Heian-kyō empty-handed. Others—like Otomaro—fell from grace or died prematurely. In this world, victory went not to the one with the most soldiers, but to the one who understood the landscape, the resistance, and the rhythm of the northern wind.
In the eyes of Emperor Kanmu, Tamuramaro earned the reputation of a man “hard as iron, silent as stone, but loyal as a pair of komainu (lion-dogs) guarding the temple gate.” When the capital of Heian was founded in 794, and the new era was to begin with the symbolic subjugation of the barbarian north, the choice was obvious. Tamuramaro was to set out not only as a general—but as Sei-i Taishōgun.
Campaigns Against the Emishi (794–802)
Tamuramaro had no time to celebrate his promotion. When Emperor Kanmu moved the capital to the newly established Heian-kyō, in the shadow of joyful processions and palace construction loomed a long-standing threat that haunted the court. In the distant north, where forests were dense and mountains wild and inaccessible, resistance persisted. There lived the Emishi—defiant inhabitants of the land of Michinoku, descendants of ancient peoples (perhaps related to the later Ainu, about whom we write in a series of articles, e.g. here: Indigenous Inhabitants of Hokkaidō: The Ainu – Resourceful and Entrepreneurial Rulers of Ice and Waves in the Sea of Okhotsk), with a language incomprehensible to the court and customs that seemed barbaric in the eyes of Yamato officials. For generations, they had resisted—sometimes yielding, sometimes rebelling—posing a constant problem for the imperial administration.
Tamuramaro was sent to complete what others had started and abandoned. From 794 to 802, he led a military campaign intended not only to defeat the Emishi, but to break their spirit and bring the northern lands into the imperial orbit of power. It was no easy task. The terrain was treacherous—marshes, fast-flowing rivers, and forested slopes favored guerrilla raids by local warriors armed with bows and spears. Sometimes the fight was not for a battlefield, but for a bridge, a ford, a narrow mountain pass. Relentless rains, winter snowstorms, and ambushes meant that the imperial army had to learn—to adapt.
Who Stood Against the Imperial Forces?
Two of the most powerful Emishi leaders: Aterui and More. Aterui—sometimes called the “Wild Prince of the North”—was known for his brilliant tactics and mastery of the terrain. He had defeated several expeditions previously sent from Nara and orchestrated a massacre along the Kitakami River. Tamuramaro had to change his approach: he began constructing forts and strongholds, including those in Izawa and Shiwa, which served not only as military bases but also as centers of administration and propaganda. Where the sword could not reach, cunning did—Tamuramaro forged alliances with local Emishi tribes who had already laid down their arms, bribing them with gifts, titles, and intermarriage.
After eight years of war, in 802, Aterui and More—out of courage and resolve, but also in recognition of their inevitable defeat—surrendered their arms and personally submitted to Tamuramaro. The general was moved—he knew the worth of an enemy who had fought with honor and dignity. He sent them to the capital with a plea for clemency. But Nagaoka and Heian-kyō knew no mercy—the Emishi were still, for many, a symbol of rebellion and darkness. Aterui and More were executed, despite Tamuramaro's desperate pleas for their lives. For a commander who believed in the warrior’s honor, it was a deep fracture—a shadow that would never leave him (for more on this event and on the wars between Yamato and the Emishi, see here: Forgotten Wars of Ancient Japan – The Emishi Versus Yamato).
But politics knows only victors. Tamuramaro’s success was undeniable. Japan expanded its borders, the Emishi were pushed into the shadows of history, and the empire triumphed. In the eyes of the court, Tamuramaro became the embodiment of effectiveness—a silent yet ruthless instrument in the hands of the throne.
The Shadow of Power – His Role After the Campaigns
After the victories in the north, Tamuramaro did not fade into obscurity. On the contrary—his star shone ever brighter. He became not only a general but a trusted advisor. In 810, when a dramatic coup erupted—the rebellion of former Emperor Heizei, who sought to regain power—Tamuramaro stood beside Kanmu and his successor, Emperor Saga. Once again, he led troops—this time against his own countrymen in Yamato. It was a bloody internal conflict from which the empire would take a long time to recover.
As a reward, Tamuramaro was granted titles reserved for only the highest officials. Dainagon—Grand Counselor, and later Hyōbu-kyō—Minister of War. Yet his actions revealed a growing reserve—as if the shadow of Aterui, condemned to death by the executioner of Yamato despite the Black Shōgun’s promise, still loomed behind him.
Perhaps it was for this reason that, in these later years, Tamuramaro turned toward spiritual matters. He supported the construction of Kiyomizu-dera temple in Heian-kyō—a complex built on the steep slope of Higashiyama, overlooking the city. It is said that Tamuramaro personally funded part of the structure, offering prayers to the Buddha for the souls of the fallen—his own soldiers, but also his former enemies. Did he think then of the betrayed Aterui?
He died in the year 811, at the age of 53. He was buried on a hill at the eastern edge of Heian-kyō. It was there, according to legend, that Shōgun-zuka (将軍塚) was erected—a symbolic tomb and monument from which Tamuramaro’s spirit was said to watch over the capital and guard its fate. The place remains a site of pilgrimage to this day.
In the centuries that followed, as memory merged with legend, Tamuramaro began to be venerated as a guardian spirit of warriors, a patron of victory and prudence. He never sat on a throne, never founded a dynasty—but became a model for those who came after: for the Minamoto, the Ashikaga, and the Tokugawa. The quiet, black shōgun from before the samurai era—a man who served in the shadow of the throne but became a legend himself.
New Legends of an Ancient Shōgun
The figure of Sakanoue no Tamuramaro (758–811), a well-documented general from the early Heian period, is surrounded by a curious aura of uncertainty. In Japanese military tradition, he is often depicted in black lacquered armor, with a helmet bearing a demonic expression and a reserved, yet fearsome, demeanor. In cultural and folk accounts, this “Black Shōgun” has become not only a synonym of loyalty to the throne but also a symbol of military prowess and mystery. The color of his equipment—black, light-absorbing, lacquered leather and metal—eventually took on a metaphorical dimension: he was like Japan’s “black knight,” a commander standing at the boundary between light and shadow, imperial order and barbarian wilderness.
In the context of 20th-century historiography, however, radically different interpretations emerged, moving beyond aesthetic and symbolic frameworks. Some thinkers associated with the Afrocentric movement—such as W.E.B. DuBois, Joel A. Rogers, Runoko Rashidi, and Basil Hall Chamberlain (though his approach was more philological than Afrocentric)—began to speculate that Tamuramaro might have been Black or of African descent. These theories, however, are not based on Japanese sources but on speculative interpretations of iconography, place names, oral legends, and alleged connections between Japan and ancient Africa or the Middle East.
Joel A. Rogers, known for his publication 100 Amazing Facts About the Negro, suggested that Black warriors may have appeared in various Asian cultures, including Japan. Runoko Rashidi, in numerous lectures and popular articles, pointed to Tamuramaro as a possible example of a “Black hero” in East Asian history—though without citing specific written or archaeological sources to support this thesis. These arguments often rely on etymology, visual traits in depictions, and supposed ancient cultural exchanges—elements that clearly fall short of modern standards for historical research.
In reality, no Japanese sources from the Nara or Heian periods suggest African ancestry for Tamuramaro, nor do they mention the color of his skin. Chronicles such as the Shoku Nihongi or Nihon Kōki describe him solely in administrative, military, and ritual contexts. The very term “Black Shōgun” appears only in folklore and literature of later eras, most likely as a reference to his black armor and role as the “silent executor” of imperial will. In Japanese culture, black carried many meanings—from elegance to threat—but it was not associated with race. Moreover, there is no confirmed evidence of the presence of people of African descent in Japan during the Heian period.
So why did such interpretations arise—and gain a certain popularity in some circles? History, like any cultural narrative, is sensitive to the identity needs and political climates of successive eras. Afrocentric readings of Tamuramaro’s story tell us less about him than about the desire to find Black heroes in global historical narratives. In the face of marginalization and silence in a history dominated by Western perspectives, Afrocentric movements sought—and still seek—figures who could symbolize the presence of Africans even in distant cultural spheres such as Japan.
The Legacy of Tamuramaro
Sakanoue no Tamuramaro was like a sword that first cut through the thicket—not for his own glory, but in the name of the throne he served with iron loyalty. Though he was not a samurai in the sense we now associate with the word, his life and actions shaped the idea of what an ideal warrior should be: courageous, composed, loyal to the end, yet capable of reflection, compassion, and spiritual depth.
Tamuramaro did not found a warrior clan of his own, did not seek power over Japan, and did not establish a bakufu. He was a general in the service of the emperor—a man of an era that still believed in the undivided sovereignty of the court in Heian-kyō. Unlike Yoritomo or Tokugawa, his power did not stem from actual territorial control but from imperial mandate. He was a blade held in the sovereign’s hand—and he never left that hand.
And yet it was he who blazed the trail for those who would come after. In command structures, in armor iconography, in battle rituals and strategies, Tamuramaro was a harbinger of the world that was yet to be born. His figure appears later in epic literature, in war legends, in Buddhist temples as a protective deity, among paintings and stone tablets commemorating ancient heroes. He is a hero without an epic of his own, yet a patron of Japan’s rulers across several eras.
In today’s Japan, Tamuramaro’s name is of course known, but less so than Yoritomo’s or Ieyasu’s. He fades in the shadow of the great shōguns who seized power for themselves, whose eras were colorful and bloody, full of drama and politics. But that is precisely why he is worth remembering—as a quiet foreshadowing of the shogunate: still loyal to imperial authority, yet already harboring the seeds of ambition.
Let him not remain in our memory merely as the mythical “Black Shōgun” of ancient legends. Let him be remembered for what he truly was: an outstanding and exceptionally well-organized commander, whose sword was not yet that of a samurai—but was already cutting across the horizon of the future.
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未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
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