The Convict's Sword Read Online Free PDF

mid-teens, were facing each other barefoot on the gleaming wood floor, while their teacher moved around them, calling out instructions. They were using wooden swords, but even a wooden sword could do considerable damage. As Akitada and Tora watched, one of the youngsters did not parry properly and had his wrist injured by his opponent. He bore the pain manfully, only asking the master’s assistant, who was putting on a splint and a bandage, if he would ever fight again.
    The accident created an opportunity for Akitada to speak to Master Takizawa. But the name Utsunomiya meant nothing to the man.
    “I never had a student by that name,” he said. “A colleague of mine once had quite a good pupil called Haseo. But his family name was different.”
    They walked to the next school, where they met with nearly the same answer, although the master in this instance—they had to wait through two instruction sessions before he was at liberty to speak to them—suggested that a serious student of swordsmanship was likely to invest in a good sword made by a master swordsmith. Such an order was expensive and not many really fine swords were sold. The swordsmith would remember his customer. He provided them with the name of the best smith.
    As they approached the Left Market, Tora said, “We could stop for a bowl of noodles or a cup of wine now, sir.”
    “Later. We have hours until the evening rice.”
    Tora drew in his breath. “I was hoping to introduce you to Tomoe, sir. She leaves early.”
    Akitada glowered at him. “Surely even you can see that this is more important than your affairs. And please spare me the particulars.”
    Tora, who had opened his mouth in protest, snapped it shut and looked offended instead.
    They walked in silence through a quarter where all sorts of artisans lived and worked. Signs at gates or on door curtains advertised lacquer work, wood carving, paper making, weaving, and dyeing. Each craft had its own street, and each crafts-man belonged to his own guild. The swordsmiths shared their section with the attendant trades of the polishers, as well as of makers of scabbards, pommels, sword guards, and sword stands. Most of the houses here backed on the Arizu River, a small branch of the Kamo. Good, pure water was essential to their craft. Iron sand and carbon could be brought in from Bizen Province, but not water, and all three were ingredients in the forging of steel blades that were both hard and flexible.
    The name they sought was inscribed beside the gate of a small villa: Sukenari Munechika. The size of the property and the fact that the owner had two names meant that he was descended from a family that had once been noble, and that he was held in high esteem, well above the rest of the craftsmen and merchants.
    A servant received them with a bow and took their shoes. The house was quiet, but from a distance they could hear the steady rhythm of hammers striking steel. They stepped up into a large beautiful room, softly lit through paper screens. It was nearly empty, except for a few silk cushions on thick grass mats and an alcove with a calligraphy scroll and a single sword displayed on a stand.
    “The master is at work, but I shall announce the gentlemen,” said the servant with another bow and disappeared on silent feet.
    They sat down and looked at the sword in its scabbard covered with intricate silver overlay. The calligraphy on the scroll was also quite beautiful.
    Tora asked, “What does it say, sir?”
    Akitada read, “Using the sword when there is no other choice is also Heaven’s Way.”
    Tora nodded. “Very good. We soldiers know that sometimes you have to kill to save lives. Right?”
    “Yes. The master is also a philosopher, it seems.”
    “I’ve watched a swordsmith. Before he starts, he prays to the gods to favor his work. It’s very inspiring.”
    “Yes.” Akitada’s mind went back to Haseo, who had wanted a sword in his hand more than anything else in the world. Akitada,