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It was 1882 when Sokaku Takeda, twenty-three years of age, strode imperiously into the Fukushima courtroom. At the head of the room the magistrate felt a cold wind. It was a new era, the Samurai were being disarmed, and yet this proud peacock didn't seem to understand this.
At the side of the courtroom, on a polished table, a sword had been placed. That weapon had killed so many men, had injured so many, yet when the magistrate looked at the cold-eyed Samurai who owned the weapon, there was no expression on his face. Looking into the eyes of the young man was like looking into a well at midnight, a bottomless well, with no moon.
The magistrate considered what he had heard concerning this peerless samurai. He had begun traveling the country when he was just thirteen, a warrior's pilgrimage, training with top swordsmen, even members of the shogunate's Kobusho. He had killed scores of men, taking on all challengers, and now he had come to Fukushima.
The magistrate studied the young man, who studied him back. The judge had old eyes, and he was trying to agree with Imperial edict and put an end to the ways of the Samurai. The young man had haughty eyes, and those eyes pierced the old man like a winter wind, taking his measure, seeing through him, daring him.
Under the gaze of such piercing eyes, the magistrate felt old and alone. He had no doubts that if the young man wasn't pleased by his verdict, whether he had a sword or not, that young man might pass his own verdict on the court. And that verdict might be a bloody one, indeed!
"You have killed many workers." The judge was terrified. He forced himself to speak.
"They came at me with picks and shovels. I merely defended myself." Young Sokaku Takeda showed no remorse.
"So many lives lost." The magistrate shook his head. Inside, he was quivering.
"Those men should not have attacked me." There was no expression on his face. He was in no danger in this courtroom.
The old man considered the defendant for a fear filled moment. The young man was so brave and fierce, he so proud. "It was self defense, so we must let you go, but your weapon stays here."
Still no emotion. "The age of the Samurai is over," admonished the magistrate. Still, the young man merely stared at the judge, and the magistrate, in spite of his position, felt like he was the blusterer.
Disarmed, he was no less dangerous. Spoken down to, he was yet above his foe. And Sokaku Takeda, not cowed at all, strode proudly from the courtroom.
At the side of the courtroom, on a polished table, a sword had been placed. That weapon had killed so many men, had injured so many, yet when the magistrate looked at the cold-eyed Samurai who owned the weapon, there was no expression on his face. Looking into the eyes of the young man was like looking into a well at midnight, a bottomless well, with no moon.
The magistrate considered what he had heard concerning this peerless samurai. He had begun traveling the country when he was just thirteen, a warrior's pilgrimage, training with top swordsmen, even members of the shogunate's Kobusho. He had killed scores of men, taking on all challengers, and now he had come to Fukushima.
The magistrate studied the young man, who studied him back. The judge had old eyes, and he was trying to agree with Imperial edict and put an end to the ways of the Samurai. The young man had haughty eyes, and those eyes pierced the old man like a winter wind, taking his measure, seeing through him, daring him.
Under the gaze of such piercing eyes, the magistrate felt old and alone. He had no doubts that if the young man wasn't pleased by his verdict, whether he had a sword or not, that young man might pass his own verdict on the court. And that verdict might be a bloody one, indeed!
"You have killed many workers." The judge was terrified. He forced himself to speak.
"They came at me with picks and shovels. I merely defended myself." Young Sokaku Takeda showed no remorse.
"So many lives lost." The magistrate shook his head. Inside, he was quivering.
"Those men should not have attacked me." There was no expression on his face. He was in no danger in this courtroom.
The old man considered the defendant for a fear filled moment. The young man was so brave and fierce, he so proud. "It was self defense, so we must let you go, but your weapon stays here."
Still no emotion. "The age of the Samurai is over," admonished the magistrate. Still, the young man merely stared at the judge, and the magistrate, in spite of his position, felt like he was the blusterer.
Disarmed, he was no less dangerous. Spoken down to, he was yet above his foe. And Sokaku Takeda, not cowed at all, strode proudly from the courtroom.
About the Author:
Al Case has practiced martial arts for 40 years. You can download his free ebook at Monster Martial Arts. Grab a totally unique version of this article from the Uber Article Directory
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