Chapter 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 the grain of

rice in two, Jack had cut the samurai, slicing through his obi, hakama

trousers and headband.

First the man's obi hit the ground.

Then his hakama fell in a heap.

Finally the samurai's headband floated down through the air, the

scorpion kamon cut exactly in half.

The warrior turned on Jack and roared, bringing his sword up to

retaliate.

'First blood!" announced Masamoto, quickly stepping between the two

of them to halt the fight.

The samurai blinked in disbelief. He had the tiniest trickle of blood

running down his forehead from where Jack had nicked him with his

kissaki.

'My apologies,' said Jack, bowing to stifle a grin. 'I didn't mean to

hurt you.'

One of the spectators began to laugh.

Then another joined in. And another. Soon the whole crowd was in fits

of laughter, many of the women waving their little fingers at the defeated

warrior. Slowly it dawned on the samurai that he was totally naked, his

hakama around his ankles. The warrior glanced around, mortified at his loss

of face. Pulling up the remains of his clothing round him, he fled from the

duelling ground.

Jack was swamped by his friends and a whole host of other students from

the Niten Ichi Ryū, all clamouring to congratulate him.

Jack took in little of what was being said. His mind was lost in the

moment of the duel. Mushin. He had mastered mushin. Or, at the very least,

experienced it. More importantly, for a brief moment, his sword had existed

in his heart. It had become part of him.

The sword was truly the soul of a samurai.

The crowd opened out to allow Masamoto and Sensei Hosokawa

through.

'A masterful ruse, Jack-kun. You had me fooled,' commended

Masamoto. 'If you cannot defeat your opponent physically, then you have

to trick his mind. You have earned my respect.'

'I understand, Masamoto-sama,' replied Jack, bowing, and thanking

God that he'd been forgiven for his lie over the rutter.

When he looked up again, Sensei Hosokawa stood before him. His

sharp eyes studied Jack as he pulled pensively at the sharp stub of his beard.

Then his sword master grinned, broad and proud.

'Jack-kun, you are ready. You've proved to me you truly comprehend

the Way of the Sword.'