Warrior Spirit

“Sounds like a real prize.”

Ken’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe if he’s there tonight we’ll let you train with him.” He laughed. “Now that’d be entertaining.”

Annja shook her head. “I’m not here to be anyone’s entertainment.”

“True, true. We have more important things to do than beat Magoof into smithereens. He’ll do that himself anyway. Rumor is it’s only a matter of time before he gets thrown out for being such an idiot.”

They passed a ramshackle hotel. Ken pointed it out. “This is where the rowdy foreigners stay when they’re over here making asses of themselves.”

Annja frowned. “Forgive me for saying so, but it seems like you don’t think too much of the non-Japanese who train with you.”

Ken shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t. Most of the people who come here to learn this art are too full of themselves to ever become truly good at it. There are exceptions and certain dojos that produce decent people. They are, unfortunately, the rarity rather than the norm.”

“Is it really that bad?” Annja wasn’t sure she was going to fit in with this crowd.

“Worse, actually. There are hotels in Tokyo that refuse to host foreigners associated with this dojo because in the past, those who stayed there trashed their rooms and partied and destroyed furniture. Maybe they’d never been away from home before—maybe they’re simply immature fools. But whatever the case, they have marred the reputation of the school.”

“And the grandmaster? What does he do about it?” Annja had images of this wizened old man beating the snot out of people who disgraced his name and style.

Ken smiled. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Ken stopped. “Annja, you have to realize that this art is ninjitsu . Ninjitsu is something entirely Japanese but at the same time it is something wholly un-Japanese. By virtue of its very nature, the art can seem to contradict itself constantly. What is expected is what never occurs. And the unexpected is routine. Only by accepting that you’ll never know what to expect will you be able to glimpse what the art can truly accomplish.”

“Expect the unexpected, then. Is that it?”

“Maybe. But it’s more like don’t expect anything. Because there’s no rhyme or reason to any of what happens inside the dojo. Or for that matter, outside of it, either.”

“That’s a terribly confusing way to go through life,” Annja said.

Ken nodded. “Remember, this is a martial art. Ninjitsu teaches you to be prepared for warfare. And there’s nothing sacred in war. The moment you think you’ve got it figured out or that you know what’s coming, a good enemy will use that against you and kill you.”

“Good point.”

“The grandmaster believes that it’s his responsibility to convey that as best he can to those who wish to study with him. So he deliberately does things that seem completely bizarre. For those who get it, the lessons are priceless. For those who don’t…well, who really cares about them?”

Annja smiled. “You’re going to tell me that most of these people don’t get it, right?”

“Yes. For the majority, this is just a fun way to show off. What they don’t realize is they are showing off exactly how little they truly know.”

“And the grandmaster’s not concerned about them leaving with this information?”

“Nope. He knows that when he’s gone, these fools will fade away. They’ve got no real skill to fall back on. The few who do sincerely study will know how to carry on. That’s it,” Ken said.

“It all seems rather Darwin.”

“It is. Because it has to be. Ninjitsu has survived for so long, much of that time in secret, solely because it was carried on by the sincere. The idiots were disposed of long before they ever got close to being a threat.”

“Buried in the swamp reeds, I suppose,” Annja said.

Ken’s smile twitched and he chuckled. “Exactly. Now come on, let’s introduce you to the real art of ninjitsu .”

8

The outer shoji rice-paper screen slid back smoothly on its runners. Annja could hear the raucous sound of laughter spill out from within the dojo about the same time as two bodies fell back on the small stoop and nearly crashed into her.

“As I said.” Ken glanced at her. “Looks like it’s busy.”

They had to push their way into the dojo proper. Students of almost every ethnicity jockeyed for training spots on the tatami mat floor. Ken pointed to the right side to a small doorway.

“You can get changed in the bathroom.”

Annja noticed that many of the students simply dropped their trousers wherever they stood, unconcerned about displaying their underwear or lack thereof. She frowned and found such displays tasteless and crude.

The bathroom itself was small, but spacious enough to get changed into her black training pants and top. When she emerged, Ken had already changed. He wore a heavy gi , and around his waist he wore a black belt that was fraying almost white in many areas.

“That looks like you’ve been wearing it for years,” Annja said.

Ken smiled. “I have been.” He nodded to the main floor. “Let’s try to find a spot to train.”

They stepped over the outstretched legs and arms of students engaged in limbering themselves up before class. At the far end of the dojo on a shelf looking down over the entire expanse, Annja could see a small temple.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“The kamidana . It’s the spiritual seat of power for the dojo. Special items are placed up there for the benefit of all students. Those are pictures of past grandmasters, special rice and plantings to help bless the environment.”

Annja looked around some more. On the walls were racks with various weapons, mostly padded for training. “I’ve never even seen some of these weapons before.”

Ken nodded. “We have an assortment of strange tools, taken not just from ninjitsu but from all Japanese martial arts. The grandmaster also likes to borrow the weapons from other cultures and apply the ninjitsu skills to their use. Makes for an interesting class. Painful, but always fascinating.”

Annja looked at the students. “And all of these people are here to see him?”

“Well, some are here to train. Some are here to be seen. And some are here for grade.”

“Grade?”

“Testing at the end of the class. For the fifth degree black belt—the godan —test. It’s a very special test, or at least, it once was before every Tom, Dick and Harry came waltzing through on a whim.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see the test at the end of the class and maybe later when we get something to eat, I’ll explain it a little bit more.” Ken nodded toward the door. “ Sensei ’s here now, so class will start soon.”

Annja turned, possibly expecting to see some powerhouse of a figure striding into the dojo. Instead, she saw a diminutive man perhaps five feet tall, with a bit of a potbelly. His smile was huge, though, and he certainly seemed to be jolly. From what Ken had told her about ninjitsu , however, Annja suspected this was merely for show for those who needed a smile to reassure them.

The grandmaster walked past Ken, who bowed low and said something in Japanese. The grandmaster patted him on the arm and kept walking toward the kamidana shelf.

Ken nudged Annja toward the back of the room. Someone clapped and instantly, all talk ceased. All the students lined up. Annja got several frowns from some of the black belts who were forced to bow in to her left. She had no idea whether she’d just violated some unspoken rule or not, but tried her best to blend in.