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"At least we're armed now," said Weatherhill, nodding at the stationary guns held by the robots.
Despite the turn of events, Kamatori could not conceal the expression of triumph on his face. He was back in total control. Pitt's near-miraculous resurrection had been for nothing. "The guns are tightly molded to the flexible arms of the robots. You cannot remove them with anything less than a cutting grinder. You are as helpless as before."
"Then we're in the same boat now that your bodyguards have been unplugged," said Pitt, tossing the magnet to Stacy.
"I have my katana." Kamatori's hand raised and touched the hilt of his native Japanese ancestral sword that rested in the sheath that stuck out behind his back. The sixty-one-centimeter blade was forged from an elastic magnetic iron combined with a hard steel edge. "And I also carry a wakizashi." He slipped a knife about twenty-four centimeters in length from a scabbard inside his sash, displaying its blade before resheathing it.
Pitt stepped back toward the doorway leading to Kamatori's antique arsenal and yanked the sword from the floor. "Not exactly Excalibur maybe, but it beats swinging a pillow."
The sword that Pitt had taken from a wall of Kamatori's study was a nineteenth-century Italian dueling saber with a blade ninety centimeters from hilt to tip. It was heavier than the modern fencing saber Pitt had used during his days at the Air Force Academy and not as flexible, but in the hand of a skilled fencer it could be used with great effect.
Pitt had no illusions of what he was plunging into. He didn't doubt for an instant that Kamatori was a practicing expert at the Japanese sword sport of kenjutsu, while he hadn't swung a blade in a practice match for over two years. But if he could just stay alive while Stacy somehow freed Mancuso and Weatherhill, or distracted Kamatori so Pitt might gain an advantage, there was a slim chance they could still escape the island.
"You dare to challenge me with that?" Kamatori sneered.
"Why not?" Pitt shrugged. "In truth samurai warriors were little more than overblown toads. I figure you were bred from the same slime pond."
Kamatori brushed off the insult. "So you're to wear a halo and play Sir Galahad against my black knight."
"Actually I had Errol Flynn against Basil Rathbone more in mind."
Kamatori closed his eyes and in an unexpected movement sank to his knees and went into a meditating trance. He became immersed in the art of kiai, an inner force or power attributed with accomplishing miracles, especially among the samurai class. Mentally, long practice in uniting the soul and conscious mind and bringing them into a kind of divine realm supposedly raises the practitioner to a subconscious level that aids him in performing superhuman feats in the martial arts. Physically, it involved the art of deep and prolonged breathing, the reasoning being the man who has a full load of air in the lungs has it all over the opponent who has exhaled.
Pitt sensed a quick attack and flexed his legs and body in the on-guard position.
Nearly two full minutes passed, and then suddenly, with lightninglike speed, Kamatori leaped to his feet and pulled his katana from its scabbard with both hands in a long sweeping motion. But instead of losing a microsecond by lifting the blade over his head for a downward stroke, he continued the motion in an upward diagonal cut in an attempt to slash Pitt open from the hip to the shoulder.
Pitt anticipated the move and narrowly parried the wicked slice, then made a quick thrust, penetrating Kamatori's thigh before jumping backward to avoid his opponent's next savage attack.
The tactics of kenjutsu and Olympic saber were wildly different. It was as if a basketball player was pitted against a football halfback. Traditional fencing had linear movements with thrusting strokes, while kenjutsu had no limitations, the katana wielder wading in to cut down his opponent in a slashing assault.
But they both relied on technique, speed, and the element of surprise.
Kamatori moved with catlike agility, knowing that one good cut against Pitt's flesh would quickly end the contest. He moved rapidly from side to side, uttering guttural shouts to throw Pitt off balance. He rushed fiercely, his two-handed strokes beating aside Pitt's thrusts with relative ease. The wound in his thigh went seemingly unnoticed and caused no obstacle to his nimble reactions.
Kamatori's two-handed katana strokes cut the air slightly faster and carried more power than the saber in Pitt's single hand. But in the hands of a skilled
fencer, the old dueling blade could reverse angle a fraction more quickly. It was also nearly thirty centimeters longer, a benefit Pitt used to keep Kamatori's slashing attack out of range of a mortal injury. The saber combined the point with the stroke, while the katana was all slash and cut.
Kamatori also had the advantage of experience and constant practice with his blade. Pitt was rusty, but he was ten years younger than the kenjutsu expert and, except for the loss of blood, was in top physical condition.
Stacy and the others were spellbound by the spectacular display of leaping, thrusting, and running attacks as the blades glinted like strobe lights and clattered as their edges struck. Occasionally Kamatori broke off the attack and retreated, altering his position to stay between Stacy, Mancuso, and Weatherhill to prevent her from freeing them, and to satisfy himself that she wasn't attempting to attack him from the rear or flank. Then he shouted a guttural curse and resumed the slashing onslaught against the hated American.
Pitt was holding his own, lunging when an opening presented itself, parrying the explosive power of Kamatori's strokes, and evading the incredible ferocity of the attacks. He tried to work Stacy clear, but his opponent was too shrewd and shut down every opportunity. Though Stacy was an expert at judo, Kamatori would have cut her down before she came within two meters of him.
Pitt fought hard and silently, while Kamatori came on savagely, yelling with every stroke, slowly forcing Pitt to retreat across the room. The Japanese smiled faintly as a fierce swipe grazed Pitt's extended sword arm and drew a thin line of blood.
The sheer force of Kamatori's assault kept Pitt on the defensive warding off the chopping blows.
Kamatori swept from side to side, attempting to fight in a circle.
Pitt easily saw through the ploy and steadily fell back a step at a time, then suddenly lunged, relying on his dexterous use of the point and controlled fencing style to keep alive and frustrate Kamatori's timing.
One thrust caught Kamatori in the forearm but didn't slow down the kenjutsu master for an instant.
Lost in the kiai, striking when he thought Pitt exhaled his breath, he felt no pain, nor seemingly noticed when Pitt's saber point pierced his flesh. He hurtled back and came inexorably after Pitt, swishing his kutana in a blur of whirling steel with short brutal back-and-forth strokes almost faster than the eye.
Pitt was tiring, his arm felt leaden, like a prizefighter's after the fourteenth round of a toe-to-toe slugging match. His breath was coming faster now, and he could feel the increased pounding of his heart.
