Young Samurai_ The Way of the Sword - Chris Bradford [105]
Jack recalled Sensei Hosokawa’s words: ‘The three evils for a samurai are fear, doubt and confusion.’
He had defeated his fear.
He had overcome his confusion.
Now there was only doubt.
Jack studied the callous face of his opponent. The man’s grey eyes gave nothing away.
Not for the first time, Jack found himself staring into the face of death.
This time, though, he wouldn’t hesitate.
Jack noticed the samurai held his kissaki slightly too low, exposing a way in straight to the neck.
To every spectator watching, the attack was so quick that it was like the blur of a startled bird. Jack knocked the samurai’s sword to one side and struck at his target.
The blade whistled through the air.
And missed.
For the samurai, it had all been part of his plan. Enticing Jack in with an opportunity and countering with a driving thrust to the stomach that began at Jack’s bottom rib and finished its cut at the base of his belly.
A great cry of anguish broke from Akiko, Emi and the others, as Jack was skewered on the samurai’s sword.
50
NO SWORD
It was only by the greatest good fortune that Jack had managed to avoid being impaled. The blade had pierced the loose side of his gi, slicing straight through his jacket but to one side, almost grazing his flesh. The sword was so close Jack could feel the hard cool steel against his skin.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
Jack cursed himself, driving past his opponent, his gi ripping asunder in an effort to escape. He hastily created distance between himself and the samurai.
What had Masamoto said?
‘Whatever you do, don’t let him draw you in.’
That’s exactly what he had just done.
The samurai glanced at Jack’s exposed midriff, disappointed. ‘Don’t gaijin bleed?’
There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd.
‘Of course not!’ shouted a spectator. ‘Gaijin are like worms!’
The crowd erupted, some baying for Jack’s blood, others defending his honour.
Jack felt his own anger swell at the bigotry of the spectators. The majority seemed to have no concept of bushido. Where was the respect? The honour? The benevolence? The moral integrity of rectitude?
Drawing on his courage, Jack would show them exactly what it meant to be samurai.
Like Masamoto had told him to, Jack tossed his anger on to the water of his mind, letting it disappear in ripples.
He calmed his breathing and considered his strategy.
The first encounter had been too close.
He knew he wouldn’t get a second chance.
This time he would wait for the samurai, willing the warrior to enter his sphere of attack. Though Jack was now completely calm inside, he gave an outward impression of being distraught.
He let his sword shake. He appeared to attempt an escape, circling around until his back was to the sun and the samurai had to squint at him. He even began to blubber.
‘Please… don’t kill me…’ pleaded Jack.
Sasaki Bishamon shook his head, disgusted. There were boos from the crowd and Jack caught Masamoto hanging his head at Jack’s shameful surrender.
‘You’re pathetic. So much for the Great Gaijin Samurai,’ spat the warrior, flicking his sword at Jack. ‘It’s time I put you out of your misery.’
The samurai approached in slow deliberate steps, lifting the katana high to slice down through Jack, with the clear intent of not only drawing first blood, but making it the last blood Jack ever shed.
Jack willed his mind to flow like water.
Mushin.
No mind.
He let the baying of the crowd fade into the background.
No sound.
He let the samurai’s advance become still.
No distraction.
He let the sword in his hand become one with his heart.
No sword.
The samurai struck without mercy.
Time appeared to have slowed as a spontaneous knowledge of the warrior’s attack blossomed in Jack’s mind. He knew exactly where the samurai was directing his sword. He knew when to step within its arc so he could evade it. He knew where to strike and when.
Jack knew the hand of his mind now wielded the sword.
He acted intuitively.
In three quick swipes, the duel was over.
With the same accuracy that Sensei Hosokawa had cleaved