The Seventh Mountain by Gene Curtis Page B

what two freshmen boys… on opening day… of orientation…
are apt… to be wishing… to examine.”
    Mark and Nick walked to Vanmie Swords. There
were a lot of tables in the store, each with individual styles of
swords on them.
    The proprietor was a short lady. She was not
any taller than Mark himself. Her long, single braid of black hair
reached to her ankles. She was dressed in a black tunic trimmed in
silver. Her eyes were luminous brown. She turned and greeted them
as they entered.
    “Hello gentlemen.” Her voice was soft and
gentle, almost a whisper. “I am Joramina Vanmie. How may I help
you?”
    “We’re just looking, ma’am.” Mark looked
past her, to the case behind. Row upon row of trophies adorned the
shelves. Each trophy sported a figure with sword raised high.
    Ms. Vanmie smiled and stepped aside.
    “Are all those trophies yours?”
    “Yes sir. I’ve taken first place, for the
last fifty years, in single combat.”
    “Wow!” That was remarkable because of her
size and the fact that she looked hardly older than his mom, who
was twenty-nine, according to her.
    Mark’s attention was drawn to an
interruption in the back of the shop. He turned and saw Ralph
Lawrence waving a sword in the air.
    “I bet you could really cut someone’s head
off with this one!”
    Ricky Barns brandished a sword at Ralph. “On
guard!”
    Ralph swung his sword against Ricky’s.
CLANG!
    Ms. Vanmie raised her voice ever so
slightly. “If you damage it, you buy it.”
    Ralph and Ricky stopped, shrugged at each
other and put the swords down. They walked past Mark and Nick on
their way out. Ralph muttered, “I’ll see you in combat class.” He
butted Mark with his bulging belly.
    Mark scowled and shook his head.
“Whatever.”
    “You say you’re just looking. Help
yourselves.”
    “Yes ma’am. Ma’am… which swords are good for
learning with?”
    “Have you had any training?”
    Both boys answered, “No ma’am.”
    She picked up a tape measure and held her
arms out to the side. “I need to measure you.”
    Mark laid the staff against his shoulder and
held out his arms. Nick held out his arms too. Ms. Vanmie measured
their arms, legs, and waist.
    “I’m guessing that neither of you know your
style. And I think that it is safe to say that your skill level is
zero. What I am going to do next is to test your reflexive style of
defense. Follow me into the back room.” Nick followed her. Mark
grabbed up his staff and followed Nick.
    Both boys walked through the door and Ms.
Vanmie immediately said, “I’m going to hit you with this bamboo
pole. Defend yourself.”
    Mark heard the swoosh and ducked when the
bamboo pole passed over his head. Both boys jumped when the pole
passed low at their ankles. Mark flinched sideways when the pole
came down straight for his head. Instinctively, holding the staff
with both hands, he parried the would-be-blow to the side with his
staff. Nick used that instant to grab a wooden baton from the table
in front of him. There were tables all over, some with old swords,
some with wooden batons shaped like swords. He brandished the baton
in front of himself, awaiting the next blow. It never came.
    Ms. Vanmie twirled her pole in front of her,
then over her head, then behind her, and brought it to rest at her
side.
    “Mark, you have two styles. One is suited to
the gladius, a short sword. The other is suited to the katana.
Which do you wish to learn first?”
    “I know what a short sword is, I think. What
is a katana?”
    “A katana is an oriental design. It is a
thin, lightly curved blade with a slanted tip. In your case, the
best length is thirty-four inches.”
    She pulled a sheathed katana from a group of
swords on a nearby table and tossed it to him. It had the number
thirty-four stamped on the hilt.
    “The short sword is in the ‘grunt and clunk’
class of swords. It has a wide, double-edged blade with a point.
Both have their strengths and weaknesses. Thirty-four inches