The Ring of Earth - Chris Bradford [40]
‘To be honest, I haven’t practised much,’ Jack admitted, feeling a little guilty. Another week had passed and, although he’d found the flute a pleasant enough pastime, he considered his energies better spent on skills more relevant to being a ninja and helping him on his journey to Nagasaki. ‘I’ve been concentrating on uki-ashi and the Secret Fists.’
‘You really should practise everyday.’
‘I’ve kept up my breath-control training,’ Jack added quickly.
‘The shakuhachi is more than meditation and breathing exercises.’
Soke picked up his flute and began to play. His soulful melody lulled Jack, who leant against the wall to respectfully listen. Partway through the tune, Soke raised the bamboo flute and pointed it in Jack’s direction.
All of a sudden, there was a sharp phut.
A black dart shot out from the end of the flute and pierced the wooden pillar beside Jack’s head. Jack was too startled to say anything. Hanzo, his mouth full of rice, spluttered with laughter.
Soke lowered his flute. ‘As I was saying, you really should keep up your practice.’
‘It’s a weapon?’ exclaimed Jack, regaining his composure.
Soke nodded. ‘A blowpipe in disguise.’
Putting down the flute, Soke stood and retrieved his walking stick. ‘If a ninja is going to travel freely, he has to carry weapons that don’t arouse suspicion.’ Soke tapped his cane. ‘As innocent-looking as this is, my walking stick makes a very effective hanbō. I can use the staff to strike, restrain or even throw an enemy.’
He twisted the head of the bamboo stick.
‘With a slight shinobi adaptation, it becomes even more lethal.’
Swinging the cane round his head, a short length of chain shot out and whipped through the air, its weighted end passing a hair’s breadth from Jack’s nose. For a second time, Jack swallowed back his shock. This wasn’t turning out to be the relaxed breakfast he’d expected.
Slipping the chain back inside his walking stick, Soke then pointed to the various farm tools that lay around the doma. ‘For a ninja, anything can become a weapon. We’ve adapted the rice flail into the nunchaku; the sickles we use for harvesting become deadly kama; the grappling hook is a kaginawa for both climbing and hooking an enemy. In fact, the more common the item, the better.’
Soke picked up one of the hashi he’d been using for breakfast. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the chopstick at Jack. It penetrated the wall like an arrow, the quivering shaft directly in line with Jack’s eyeball.
‘With the right technique, a hashi can become a very effective shuriken,’ explained Soke.
Jack pulled out the chopstick and examined it in amazement. He’d never take a hashi for granted again.
‘Come,’ beckoned Soke. ‘We’ll find Tenzen. He’s one of the best at shuriken-jutsu.’
The three of them wandered over to the village square, where they found Tenzen with Kajiya in his forge. They bowed their greetings to one another and Soke invited Tenzen to introduce Jack to the Art of the Shuriken.
‘Shuriken are a simple, but versatile weapon,’ explained Tenzen as Kajiya laid out a selection of throwing blades – some were straight iron spikes; others were flat and star-shaped; some looked like needles; others like knives.
‘As you can see, most are small enough to conceal in your hand. This gives us the element of surprise in a fight.’
Tenzen picked up an eight-pointed throwing star, a hole through its centre.
‘Although they can kill,’ he said gravely, ‘we mainly use shuriken to distract the enemy.’ He pointed to various parts of Jack’s body. ‘Targets are the eyes, face, hands or feet. Basically any area not protected by a samurai’s armour.’
‘Are these poisoned?’ Jack asked, recalling Dragon Eye’s devious tactics.
Tenzen shook his head. ‘You can poison the tips for a more lethal effect, but you have to be very, very careful when handling them yourself.