The Old Men of Omi by I. J. Parker Read Free Book Online Page B

his shirt to dry himself.
    “Good Morning, Tora!” Akitada called out. When Tora turned, he gaped. “What the devil has happened to you?”
    Tora grinned and touched his left cheek. “You mean this? Does it show?”
    “Yes. You have a black eye. What have you been up to now? You know we have to behave ourselves while we are guests of the governor.”
    “Not my fault. I got a fist in my face when I asked a bunch of monks what they were up to.”
    Akitada raised his brows. “Oh. I don’t suppose you feel much like a work-out then?”
    Tora snorted. “What makes you think that, sir?” He grinned. “About those monks …”
    “Later! Get your sword.”
    He followed Tora to his room in the guest quarters and was astonished to see that he had tidied up the place. His bedding was rolled up neatly, and he had placed his clothes carefully over a stand with his sword hanging from its end and his empty saddle bag folded underneath. Akitada had expected something quite different. Had Tora’s wife taught him so well? He watched as Tora tucked his jacket into his trousers, put on boots, and took down his sword.
    “We could go outside, but there’s gravel. In the stable yard we’d have more solid ground,” Tora said.
    “I don’t relish being watched by the grooms. As for the gravel, are you trying to make excuses again?”
    Tora grinned. “Never! You’d better watch yourself, sir!”
    They laughed and jumped lightly down into the small courtyard outside Tora’s room. The area was small and private, being fenced in. Akitada felt surprisingly well and immediately went into the familiar crouching stance. Tora followed suit, and with a mutual shout they began their practice. This consisted of a series of set exchanges to remind them of the appropriate responses to each move. Tora took the lead. He was clearly more familiar with the sequence. Akitada bit his lip: he had forgotten too much.
    Worse, he was soon out of breath and his reactions slowed. Sweat started trickling down his face and back.
    “It’s getting warm. Let’s shed these shirts,” he proposed.
    They stripped to their trousers and continued. For a while, the cool air on Akitada’s wet skin felt wonderfully refreshing, and he got in a few good moves. But soon he tired again and made mistakes. Ashamed of his poor performance, he kept on a while longer until a badly handled move made him slow to respond to the next attack, and Tora’s sword almost sliced into his arm.
    They stopped. Akitada was bent double to catch his breath, and Tora wiped more perspiration from his face.
    “You need regular practice, sir,” Tora said, eying Akitada’s exhausted stance.
    “Yes. That was a shameful performance,” Akitada acknowledged, straightening. “I had no idea that a few months of doing nothing could ruin a man so completely.” He stretched. “I’m past it, Tora. I’m an old man. I don’t think I’ll ever be as good again as I was.”
    “Hmm,” said Tora judiciously. “I’ve slowed down a lot, too, but a man should never give up. We’ll practice every day. And I’ll get hold of a set of staves. I like using bo for a smoother movement. How about it?”
    Akitada smiled. Tora had taught him the use of the fighting stick many years ago. At the time it was the only weapon a man like Tora was allowed. His sword fighting skills, acquired during a brief military stint, were mediocre, and Akitada had traded lessons with the sword for those with the bo. The memories cheered him, and he said, “Very well. It shall be as you say. I’m in your hands. Now tell me about your eye.”
    Tora did so, concisely and with a good deal of anger. When he was finished, Akitada nodded.
    “I share your anger, but there’s nothing I can do. If this man is really one of their peasants, they have a right to order him back to his fields.” He put on his shirt again and thought for a moment. “I suppose you could look into the matter, because they may well come back. From your