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wearing. His office was dominated by an expanse of U-shaped desk with the cyclops monolith of the desktop computer squatting in the corner every modern executive's little electric shrine.
    The desk surface was uncluttered. Some papers were fanned out in front of his chair the way a magician spreads out a deck of cards before beginning the act. I wouldn't have been surprised to find out they were glued together to make that display. The whole office didn't really feel like it was an actual work site. It had all the qualities of a replica showroom labeled "Important Executive."
    The Important Executive came around to greet me. "Hello, Professor, thanks for coming by." He shook my hand and I noticed him taking a look at it. I was probably something of a disappointment. I'm not really big and I don't look particularly dangerous. Akkadian was checking to see whether I had the signs of hand conditioning you see in some karate students: enlarged knuckles, calluses, etc. My fingers are a bit thick. Weird muscles have also developed in my forearms, but the only sign of advanced training in my hands is the bulge in the web between my thumb and forefinger I've developed from all the sword work with Yamashita.
    He motioned me to a small sitting area of low chairs and we sat. Bobby and I chatted pleasantly, mostly about his experience training and deep love for the martial arts. He knew something of my background and I talked a bit about Yamashita.
    "You know," he smiled, "despite appearances, the Manhattan martial arts scene is a pretty small world."
    I nodded. "Seems that way sometimes."
    "But I don't hear much about Yamashita Sensei," he commented. Which was true. My teacher is almost as secretive as he is selective. "It would be fantastic to be able to visit the dojo. He really sounds impressive."
    The subject of visitors was not one I cared to bring up with my teacher just now. I smiled noncommittally and nodded again. I noticed I was doing a lot of it lately. After a while I said, "I hope I can be of some help to you. You need some PR pieces done for a sword exhibit?"
    That got him back on track. "Yeah. Let me show you what we've got planned." He gestured me toward the desk. It looked like it was made of marble.
    We wandered over to the desk and he pushed the fan of papers to one side. To my surprise, they actually were unconnected. He ruined the display effect, but the creature outside would probably come in later and restore it. "I've managed to get some fantastic blades for this show. You would not believe what a pain the Japanese have been about letting this stuff out of the country. The security bond alone is killing me."
    He opened a manila file and spread out some papers. "What I'm putting together, Professor Burke, is a display of rare Japanese weapons, all of which have a documented association with some of the most famous warriors in martial arts history."
    I looked at one sheet of paper. It listed a series of weapons types, descriptions of individual pieces, and estimated value. There were katana the long sword of the samurai as well as short swords and knives, the spears known as yari, and naginata long poles with wicked curved blades used to hack riders out of the saddle. They would interest any martial arts freak, but what was really fascinating were the names of the original owners of these items.
    "Wow," I said, looking at the list.
    Akkadian looked pleased, "You bet. Some of these pieces are being allowed out of Japan for the first time. Some of them, as a matter of fact, are already here. And every one of them linked to famous warriors."
    He read aloud from the list: "Yagyu Munenori, Yamaoka Tesshu," he paused significantly, then continued, "... Miyamoto Musashi."
    I could feel Bobby eyeing me for a reaction. He's famous, but Musashi had never been one of my favorites. He's known as the "sword saint," but it was a funny kind of sainthood. He was a minor seventeenth-century samurai whose single-minded pursuit of