The weight of the blade. The sheen of the steel. History has been made with the sword.
It makes you feel unstoppable. Nobody is going to come at you if you’re holding a sword.
As much as I long for a world where disputes are settled through duels, the world of martial weaponry is over.
Did that mean I had to set my dreams of becoming the next Miyamoto Musashi or Samurai Jack aside? Maybe not.
It turns out there are groups of dedicated martial artists keeping the tradition alive.
Seishinkan Martial Arts Dunedin teaches a wide syllabus of martial arts based on Japanese aiki-jujutsu. They meet up several times a week and run through weapon routines and choke holds.
The school teaches a wide syllabus, so to give me the most complete idea of how it all worked the club held a special session for me including all of the major styles.
I walked into the gym, a wooden school hall, to see two lines of sword-wielding warriors dressed in fine white robes.
These were the people all right. I awkwardly introduced myself wearing my dirty trackpants and baggy t-shirt.
These blunt weapons, called bokken, were safe ways to practice swordsmanship without accidentally slicing your partner.
It was not quite the katana of my dreams, but it felt pretty darn close.
They placed me in front of Brenda, a university student and blue belt who held her blade with the confidence of a samurai. Together we would go through a series of moves mimicking a battle.
Brenda stared me down with the eyes of a trained killer. I tried to stare back, but my presence was far from intimidating.
Following my instructor, I stepped forward, moved to deflect a blow, then very slowly brought the sword down on Brenda’s head.
Wood or steel, my sword definitely could have killed Brenda if it actually struck her. I was warned this was bad manners.
It was closer to a dance than a fight. To an observer we may have just looked like we were pretending to do a really slow action sequence, but it felt very dramatic at the time.
Sometimes the black belts would demonstrate at the normal speed. My slow motion fumblings were nothing compared to the flurry of their blades.
It was incredible to watch. The black belts moved with an inspirational sincerity. The hall echoed with their shouts.
The evening progressed and I made my way around the room trying out different forms and weapons, from staves to shortswords.
In preschool I was very proud of knowing my left from my right, but it turns out that well-trained wisdom went out the door the moment I was given a polearm.
My right hand was to flow over my left while left foot pushed past my right. This did not go as intended.
As we practised my instructors explained the reasoning behind each movement. The little hand wave I was doing was meant to be deflecting a knee strike. The finger poke was to strike the opponent in the eyes. It was quite fun to imagine as we moved through.
The most physically challenging of it all was groundwork, which was also the most practical of all the lessons.
It turns out there is a wide range of ways to pin people to the ground, most of which are very hard to escape from.
This was made clear when Jesse, an instructor, pinned me to the ground and told me to escape. I could not.
I’m about 60kg, significantly less than Jesse, a man nearly twice my age and three times as strong. I was powerless compared with him.
He taught me a few ways to turn the tables on an attacker who was on top of me. I used leg sweeps and got him in an arm lock. It was exhausting, but fun.
He also demonstrated a way he could break my arm by holding my shoulder and pressing back my wrist, which he kindly did not test.
We ended the session by bowing to the front of the hall, where photos of the school’s founders hung.
I was greatly impressed by everyone. They all treated their art with reverence, yet embraced the fun of it. They casually flicked between discussions of grading tests and the upcoming club barbecue.
We joked about my performance as we put our shoes back on, then I was invited out to the pub.
I graciously accepted.
