Venom: A Thriller in Paradise (The Thriller in Paradise Series Book 3) by Rob Swigart Page B

there.”
    He rose to his feet in one swift, fluid motion and struck Chazz hard on the breastbone. Chazz felt the breath rush from him as he instinctively went backwards into a roll, rising so quickly the students, seated spellbound on the other side of the mat, leaned back as one in alarm. Chazz roared and struck out.
    His technique was good, even flawless. But he missed Shinawa altogether. The old man seemed to melt to one side without moving, and Chazz Koenig found himself flying. He took a high back fall, slapped the mat and was up and charging again. His face flushed with anger. This was too much! He raised his left hand and struck in a swift
yokomen
strike with the blade of his hand to the side of Shinawa’s head. Again the old man was not where the blow landed. Instead he stepped softly inside the curve of Chazz’s attack, smoothly picked up its motion, pivoted on the balls of his feet, and again Chazz was flying, forward this time. He somersaulted in the air, landed with only the sound of a slap on the mat, sprang to his feet, and stepped forward for another attack.
    Suddenly, he stopped. The old man had not moved. He was standing quietly, watching Chazz with his slight smile, his eyes narrow but twinkling. His hands were extended slightly before the knot in the strings of his black-skirted
hakama
, and Chazz saw no opening anywhere for an attack. The old man was relaxed but totally aware.
    The two men stood facing one another for a long moment. No one moved. There was no sound in the dojo. Chazz let his own awareness settle. His eyes went soft, taking in everything through a peripheral sensitivity. He could feel the energy flow through his body, out through his fingertips. His breathing became the breath of the room itself, the breath of everyone in it.
    There was no rush, suddenly, no hurry to do anything. All he had to do was wait. Shinawa’s attention would waver first. He was certain of that. The
suki
, that momentary lapse in concentration that created the opening, would appear.
    Chazz saw, as if he were inside the legendary moment when two swordsmen met on a narrow bridge in Japan, that neither one would back down. They stood facing one another, hands near the hilts of their swords, ready to draw as soon as the opening appeared. After five minutes of motionless waiting, the two men bowed to one another, turned, and walked away. Neither one had left the opening.
    But there it was! Chazz moved forward, ready with his strike, and found Shinawa’s hand in his face, a fraction from his nose, which, if the old man’s timing had not been so precise and his movement so meticulous, would now be broken. He stopped himself too, and leaned back slightly, to allow the right amount of room to prevent injury.
    Chazz smiled.
    Shinawa smiled too, a broad grin. He shook his head, still smiling. “You are still written in sand, but it is getting better, isn’t it?”
    “The sand is getting wet,” Chazz said softly.
    Shinawa held up a finger and shook it. He turned slightly to take in the class. “The sand is getting wet. But the anger was there for a moment, too. The anger is an attachment. It must flow through like water, giving energy without controlling action. So now, Koenig-san, what is your intent?”
    “Not to suffer and to save others from suffering.”
    “What is your intent?”
    “To not give way to foolishness or greed or anger.”
    “What is your intent?”
    “To live a life of wisdom and kindness.”
    “That is the highest ethical goal of aikido. To protect yourself and the one attacking you. Do not forget, though, that the first goal is to protect yourself. What else is your intent?”
    “To teach this class.”
    Shinawa bowed and stepped off the mat.
    Chazz took his place in front of them, seated on his heels in the Japanese style. When he felt the calm gather, he turned to face the
kamiza
, the heavy wooden frame containing a picture of O’Sensei, founder of aikido, who in the photograph was a