Rico Tann and The Hakoshin Tournament

Part One- The Return

The cart rattled and bumped down the mountain forest trail.  Greedy eyes spied it from the brush.  The mid-morning sun sparingly broke through the canopy, and a gentle breeze blew. The horse neighed.  The traveler sniffed the air.  He wore a burlap cloak that concealed his body, and wrapped around his head, covering his eyes, was a blood red cloth.  Next to him in the cart leaned a long wooden staff.  There was a twang and an arrow shot out of the forest!  The driver hand dropped the reins and blocked the arrow with a swing. 

He stopped the horse.

Three men crashed onto the path.  One spoke.

“Hey, Rook, how’d he do that?”

“I dunno, Spider.  I thought he was blind!” 

“He is, Rook!” the third quivered.  “Look at him!”

The driver stared straight ahead, looking towards the bandits, but not at them.  “Are you gentleman such cowards that you would attack a blind man?” He had a low, raspy voice.

“No way, you ain’t blind!”  Rook said.  The blind man smiled. 

“But I am.”  He stood and dropped his cloak. He had on a green gi and matching pants.  Beneath this was a blue shirt.  The sash around his waist was also blue, with extra cloth hanging down his thigh.  He leaped forward over his horse, bringing his fist back.  He smashed Rook, the one in the middle, his punch synchronized with his landing.  Rook flew back, slamming into the ground with a choke.  The traveler turned to his left; Spider threw a haymaker.  The green clad fighter grabbed Spider by the wrist and reversed his elbow.  Spider screamed.  Palming the back of Spider’s head, the blind man slammed the bandit’s face into a hefty beech.  Spider fell to the ground, unmoving.   

The mysterious fighter turned to his last assailant; the quivering one. 

“How can you do that? Y-you’re blind, right?”

“I am, but I can feel the vibrations in the air as you move.” The green fighter approached the bandit, who backed away.  He tripped, and began frantically crawling. 

“W-who are you?  Please don’t hurt me!”

“But you tried to kill me.”  Another step.

“They wanted to kill you, not me, they made me!”

“Do you always betray your friends this quickly?”  Another step.

The bandit merely whimpered now.

The fighter threw a punch.  It stopped a hair from the bandit’s nose.

“Rico Tann.”  The fighter said. 

“Wh-what?”

“My name is Rico Tann.”

Rico stood and clapped twice.  The horse started forward.  Patting the horse as it approached, Rico hopped onto the seat, threw his cloak over his shoulders, and started off down the trail, running over Rook as he went. 

* * *



Rico Tann continued down the trail, massaging his shaved scalp as mid-day settled in.  Bandits on our mountain he thought.  This should make coming home more fun.  I might look forward to it now. 

The trail plateaued, and Rico again wondered if he wanted to go through with it.  Could he?  Several minutes of brooding brought Rico to a clearing in the wood. Set in the northern end was a low, square house with a pitched roof.  Slowing the cart, Rico hopped down and removed the reigns from his horse, who trotted over to a lean-to attached to the dwelling.  Rico headed for the door, but turned when he heard another horse approaching from another path. 

“Hail cousin! It is good to see you!”

“Tecram!”  Rico waved at his cousin’s voice.  “You have excellent timing.”

“Thank you, cousin.  I always have.” 

Tecram dismounted, and his horse also went over to the lean-to.  The cousins shook hands.  Tecram led the way to the house.  The common room was spartan in decor, furnished by only a table, three chairs, a counter and cupboard, all built out of the same wood.    A fair layer of dust covered everything. A chimney opened at the apex of the roof, but hanging on four supports below this was an iron plate. Windows looked out to the forest, where twenty yards into the woods another clearing could be seen, where a barn stood: the training grounds.

“Let me check the stores.”  Tecram opened a hatch in the floor and climbed down into the root cellar. Rico, finding his way to the table, began wiping the dust off, forcing a cough or two.  Tecram returned from the cellar. 

“Well,” he walked over to the counter and opened a cupboard, which exploded with dust. He pulled out a cutting board.  “We have enough food to last us several days.  That’s fine.  I don’t intend to stay more than three or four.”

“Yes, I am leaving tomorrow.”  Rico coughed on some dust. “I wish to fight in the Hakoshin Tournament.”

Every year, on the eve of the Hakoshin Festival, there was a tournament in which the greatest fighters in the realm competed for the amusement of the daimyo. 

“Oh really? That’s great, Rico!”

“Um, yeah.”  Rico’s normal calm confidence failed.  “Tecram, I’m really glad you stopped by…um…I don’t have enough money to cover the entry fee…and was wondering if you could…loan me the money.”  The last part was hastened and quite; maybe Tecram wouldn’t hear. 

Tecram stopped cutting.  “How much money do you need?”

“Ten… octares.”  Rico painfully forced the words out. 

“That’s a lot of money, Rico.”  Tecram said quietly. 

“I-I know, cousin, and I’m sorry.  I am so ashamed.”

“They do not allow weapons in the Hakoshin Tournament, correct?”

“No…”

“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble winning and paying me back with the prize money!” Tecram laughed.

Rico smiled.  “Thank you cousin, I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“Of course you won’t, kid.”  Tecram walked over and patted Rico on the shoulder.  Rico grabbed Tecram’s arm.  “Now how about some lunch?”

“That would be great.  I would like to get in a few rounds of practice later.”

“Sure thing.  I am curious though.  How would you have paid the difference if I had not arrived?”

“I intended to sell some of my weapons, or indenture myself if need be.”

Tecram snorted, carrying over two plates.  “Bland, but it will keep up our strength.  I learned it up north.” 

The cousins enjoyed a bland, if nutritious, meal.  It was made all the better with the warriors trading stories of their latest adventures.  Tecram, as he had said, had gone further north into the mountains where he’d battled yeti.  Rico had been travelling through the plains of Donago to combat the tyrant and his army who ruled the large feudal holding.

As the cousins headed to their training grounds Tecram asked:

“Do you want me to take you to Hytontu City, or do you know the way?”

“Head down the mountain trail.  After the river crossing, take the left fork.  Upon reaching the village of Tanak, take a right around the lake.  Take the next left, into the city.”  Rico recited.  “I can find directions to the stadium when I am there.” 

“Good.”  Tecram got into his fighting stance.  “I wish you luck.”

Rico followed.  The two fighters circled each other.  Tecram launched a kick for Rico’s knee.  Blocking it with his shin, Rico fired a punch for Tecram’s gut.  Blocked.  The combatants pushed apart.  They circled each other again.  Tecram tried a sweep kick, but Rico jumped and sent three flurry punches for Tecram’s chest.  The first two were blocked, but the third hit.  Catching himself with his left hand, Tecram gave Rico another sweep kick.  Rico hopped, then kicked Tecram in the chin.  The black and silver clad warrior flew back and landed with an “oof!”

After a few seconds, Tecram picked himself up, chuckling and rubbing his jaw.  “You’ll do fine, cousin.”

Rico launched a punch, and the fighting continued, long into the twilight.  Both were bruised and sore when they finally returned to the house for a good night’s sleep.



Part 2-The Journey

         

Rico left the house at dawn, setting out on his cart down the mountain.  Wary of more bandits, Rico kept his working senses tuned: listening to the voices of the forest, sniffing for the rank of highwaymen, and straining his ears for snaps of boots on twigs. 

The journey met with no trouble until he reached the river when a voice called out:

“Stop friend!  To cross this bridge, ye must pay the toll!”

“Toll?  Since when has there been a toll on this road?”

“Since last evening, dear friend.”

“Kind of an outdated idea, isn’t it?”  Rico knew many a brute to do such a thing, and by the sounds of it, this was very large man. 

“Listen!  Ye pay me 1 octare, or I break ye in two, ye slimy mud bucket!”

“I suppose I will have to defeat you, as I would die before I give that much money to a highwayman.”  Rico hopped down and threw off his cloak and staff.

“Ye?  A blind man?  Don’t fool yerself.”

Rico smiled, took a deep breath, and got into stance.  The toll collector did likewise.  He had a square stance.

         Rico advanced slowly, sliding his bare feet over the dirt.  The derelict laughed, letting his guard down.

         Leaping forward, Rico kicked for the man’s chest; it hit!  The man stumbled back, grunting in pain.  Rico followed with a hard punch to the face.  The highwaymen’s bearded jaw cracked beneath the furious blow.  Falling to the bridge, the highwayman moaned through his broken jaw.  Without a word, Rico grabbed the man by the shoulders and heaved him over the railing and into the rushing water. 

         Climbing back into his cart and replacing his burlap cloak, Rico took the left fork.  By the time he reached Tanak, a heavy rain had moved in. After rounding the lake, the heavy rain had become a fine gale.  The wind rushed unhindered over the low steppes, sometimes causing the cart to be pushed off the road.  Luckily the horse was smart enough to keep them straight.  However, a short time later, Rico was forced to pull over into the Boduki Inn.  When the storm finally passed over sometime during mid-afternoon, Rico again took to the road.  The road became more and more clogged the close he got to the city.  People were coming from all over for the Hakoshin Festival and Tournament. Troubadours, musicians, bards and many others joined the throng.  Arriving at the capitol as the sun set, Rico stabled his horse in the public stables set up for the visitors. 

         Rico knew he was in a public market, so he found a man buying cabbage.  “Excuse me sir,” He asked.  “Can direct me to the Hyontu Stadium?” 

         “Aye, I can.  For two quatrares.” 

         “So expensive?”

         “Well,aye, time are tough, an’ I gotta feed my children.  So what’ll it be, stranger?”

         “No, thank you.”  Rico walked forward into the city, knowing at least, in some small way, he was heading in the right direction.

         “Hey Mister!  Mister!”  A small boy called. 

         Rico stopped and turned to the voice. 

         “Why you lookin’ for the stade?  You fightin’ in the tourney?”

         Rico knelt. “Yes I am.  Could you show me the way?  I have no money to give.”

         “Hey, that’s fine.  C’mon it this way, it’s this way!”  The child grabbed Rico’s arm and began dragging him through the busy streets.  After bumping someone, he would turn to apologize, to feel them slide by and be gone.  The ways of city folk where strange to the man from the mountains.  After several swings through the streets, the little boy finally stopped. 

         “Here ya go!  Now you’re in line to sign up! Looks like there’s a lot of ‘em.”

         “Thank you, small one.  I wish to meet you again after the tournament.”

         “Sure thing, Mister!  Hey, what’s your name so I can root for you?”

         “Rico Tann.”

         “Go Rico Tann!  Go Rico Tann!”  The boy’s cries melded into the crowd.  Rico turned back to the line, and judging by the movement in the air, there were thirty fighters ahead of him.  Now nightfall had triumphed over day, and by the time Rico reached the check in table, torches were lit along the streets.

         “Name?”  The clerk sounded tired and bored, almost asleep.

         “Rico Tann.”

         “Fighting Style?”

         “Toy Tzu.”

         “Your entry fee?” 

         Rico handed him the money bag from a pocket in his cloak.  The clerk counted it.

         “This is only twenty-five octares.  The entry fee is twenty seven.”

         Rico stood there at the table, inches away from his dreams.

         “But I thought it was twenty-five?  It always has been twenty-five.”

         “Flooding in the North Moriki plains has damaged the crops.  More money is needed.  10 octares to enter.  10 for food, and seven to house you.  Next?”

         “I-I could sleep outside, here!”

         “No.  Once the combatants enter, they are not permitted to leave the stadium.  Next!”

         “Pardon me.”  ‘Next’ said as he walked up.  “I would like to cover this gentleman’s difference.  He threw two octares onto the table. 

         “No, Sir-“Rico refused.

         “Nonsense.”  ‘Next’ looked over to the clerk.  “You know me?”

         The clerk heaved out a yes that sounded like bagpipes being forcibly squeezed empty.  Rico’s new friend took him by the shoulder and led him into the stadium, passing under the wooden grandstands. 

         “I’m Jordano, Rico Tann, and there’s no need to thank me.  I’m wealthy, so don’t worry ‘bout the money.”

         “Mr Jordano-“

         “Please, just Jordano.  Yeah, I’ve been fightin’ in this tourney now for four years.  This’ll be my fifth.  Let me show ya ‘round,” Jordano said as they passed into a large training room.  “This here is the main training room.  You gots some punchin’ mannequins on the side, mats an’ weights over to yer right, and the door on the right lead ya to the mess hall, while on the left you’ll find the dormitories.”

         “You really don’t need to do this, Jordano, I can find my way well enough on my own.”

         “Hey, I’m an accomplished fighter; I can tell you don’t need those eyes to see.  C’mon, it’s hard to find friendly fellas, keep the ones ya got, right?”          

         Rico consented, and the two went into the mess hall.  Jordano didn’t stop talking until they sat down.  He coughed, then continued. 

         “Yeah, I’ve always made it to the quarter finals before bein’ knocked out.  Thrice by a man they call Snitch.  He’s won the tourney twice in my four tries.”

         “Why do they call him Snitch?”  Rico asked, eating boiled mongoose. 

         “They call him Snitch ‘cause he’d snitch on his mother if he could get an untare for it.”  He looked around.  “I don’t see him here now.  Maybe he already ate fer the night.”

         “At least he could do it for a bitare.”  Rico said with a devilish grin.

         Jordano laughed a full hearty laugh and slammed his fist on the table, sending plates and glasses and silverware bouncing.  “I like you Rico Tann.  Yeah, it should be a good tourney again.  Tomorrow’ll be the prelims.  Everyone’ll be divided into a group, and the winner of that bracket will go into the tourney.  Usually there are 36 allowed in, ‘bout six per group so what…um…”

         “Two hundred and sixteen.” Rico said helpfully.

         “Yeah.  Two hundred and sixteen.  That many fighters.  Though I think the max they let enter is three hundred.” 

         A man wearing an official uniform approached them. 

         “Do you sirs have numbers yet?”  The two fighters shook their heads and drew from the man’s basket.  Rico held his up to Jordano could read it. 

         “One-fifteen, V.  I got forty-seven, H.  Good.  We’ll be in different groups and won’t fight until the tournament.”

         “So the preliminaries are tomorrow?”

         “Yap.  Then the bulk o’ the tourey will take place on Hakoshin eve, and the semi and final round’ll be on Hakoshin Day itself.”

         “Well, I thank you Jordano.  I will look forward to seeing you in the tournament.”

         “An’ you too, Rico Tann.  Perhaps we’ll have the honor o’ crossin’ fists.” 

         Rico nodded and walked through the dining room to the training area.  He had almost the dormitory doors when a shout went out.

         “Hey blind man, where do think you’re going?”

         Rico stopped short.  “To the dormitories.  I wish to rest before tomorrow.” 

         “You, fight ha!” 

         “What is your number, sir?”

         “Huh?”

         “Your number?”

         “One-sixteen, V”

         “Oh, excellent.  We will be in the same group tomorrow.”  Rico said in a pleasant voice.  “I look forward to destroying you.”  And with that he walked off.  He found and empty room on the third floor.  It had a bed and some shelves.  Rico lay down, and as the long day had taken its toll (unlike the man at the river), and he fell into a peaceful slumber. 

         

Part 3-The Preliminaries



Rico awoke early, before dawn, to meditate.  He concentrated on perfecting his strategies; baiting his opponents into dropping their defenses, maintaining perfect defense himself, and keeping his opponents off balance. 

At dawn a gong rang to wake the fighters.  Rico left his room and made his way to the main training room.  There, all 202 fighters, as it turned out, were gathering.  Rico tried to search out Jordano, but there were too many participants to have success.  A portly man in an official’s uniform arrived to announce the rules.  He had a frumpy, self important voice.

“Excuse me, yes, yes excuse-me!  The preliminary rounds will commence promptly.  The matches will take place in smaller arenas beneath the stadium.  The rules for the tournament are as follows: Fights will be timed, and will go no longer than ten minutes.”

“Wow.  That’s not very long.”  Rico said to the man next to him.  “But I suppose thay have to keep things moving.”

“Yek, many fights.”  The man was from the Noliki province, by his accent. 

The official continued.  “You lose the fight if you are knocked unconscious, or give up, or if the time limit expires, by judicial decision.  Good luck to all of you.  Please follow me to the arenas.”  The fighters slowly shuffled through the doors. 

“Hey, this is a great way to get loose before a fight, huh?”  Someone joked.

They entered a massive room that must have taken up several city blocks.  There were three rows of rings, each divided by a row of columns. 

“Please gather around the ring underneath your letter.  An official there will organize your group.”  Several officials began directing fighters.  Rico was led by the arm over to the V ring.  An official there organized the five men into a bracket.  As luck would have it, Rico was slated to fight the loudmouth from the previous night. 

“I can’t believe this.”  The man, named Carlton, kicked the ring before hopping up.  “I gotta fight a blind man.  They should just let me in the tournament.”

Rico hopped up without a word, and got into his stance. 

“How can you even fight?  You can’t even see me!”  Carlton stood up, shaking his head.  Rico seized the chance and launched and furious kick to the man’s chest.  It hit, and Carlton was sent flying.  He landed ten feet off the ring, out cold.

Rico’s other fight went fairly easily, and he passed through the preliminaries, barely taking a hit.  The only trouble he had was with his third and final fight…

Rico cross-blocked the hearty punch from a fat, squat man with a long, braided top-knot.  Returning with a roundhouse kick that was blocked, Rico was knocked over by a double-palmed punch.  The fluffy man aimed to end the fight by jumping on Rico with his massive girth, but Rico rolled away, countering with an elbow to the man’s ear.  As Rico stood, his opponent tried a sweep kick to trip him up, but Rico jumped clear, landing with force, crushing his foe’s right ankle. 

          “Are you done?”  Rico asked as his opponent rolled around sobbing.  The big man nodded, and grasped his leg.  Rico hopped down and walked over to the official.  “I will fight in the tournament tomorrow?”

         “Yes.  The fighting begins at First Watch.  Meet in the training room with the other 35 entrants.”

         Rico bowed and left the stifling catacombs, filled with the stench and stink of 200 sweaty fighters.  Unable to leave the stadium, Rico stopped in to get lunch before heading to his room.  As he passed through the training room, he met Jordano inspecting a tournament bracket. 

         “Well, well, well.”  Jordano clapped his hand on Rico’s back.  “You made it, kid.  Unfortunately so did Snitch.”  He studied the bracket intently.  “And it looks like the only way you and I are to fight is in the finals.  Ha ha!”

         “I will see you in the finals, then.”  Rico smiled, starting toward his room.  A hunched-over little man with oily black hair and a weasel like face blocked his way, looking over the bracket.  His arms, which were scrunched up beneath his chin much like a squirrel’s, wiggled. 

         “So.  You are to make the finals, Jordano?” 

         “Yes, Snitch.  I will beat you this year.”

         “You will make the semis anyway.  I guess I will have to beat you there instead of the quarters.  Enjoy the extra victory.”  Snitch sniffed, and shuffled away.

         “That’s Snitch?” Rico couldn’t believe it.  “That hunched over, rheumatic little man?  That is your nemesis?” 

         “Yes, he be the Snitch, or Snot, I want to call him.”  The big man shook his head. 

         “He um…looks…friendly.”  Rico didn’t quite know what phrase to use. 

         “Friendly huh?  He’s ‘bout as friendly as an angry cobra.  C’mon,” Jordano started to the mess hall. “Take me to dinner, darlin’.” 

         “Sorry, I just ate.  I must go to my room and meditate.”

         “Fine, have it yer way.  Good luck to ya, Rico.  I’ll see ya tomorrow.” 

         Jordano turned away to the mess hall, and Rico returned to his room to meditate.  However, he found it hard to concentrate with the hustle and bustle of the city.  Carts and people and horses clattering down the road, troubadours playing loudly in the streets, the screaming of hundreds of people in preparation for the celebration of life; it was too much noise for the man from the peace and quiet of the mountains.  He stormed out of his room.  Growling, he began searching for a courtyard or park within the stadium grounds.  He passed through catacombs and vaults of stone, but nary a garden or flower to be found.  Everywhere he went, pitter patter, bang clash, gibber gagger on and on and on and on!  He eventually gave up, and instead went to the mess hall.  Finding his way to Jordano, he sat down grumpily.

         “What’s eating you?”  The big man asked, biting into a chicken leg.

         “The city-is-so-LOUD!”  Rico pounded his staff on the table.  He then grabbed one of Jordano’s drumsticks.  Taking a huge bite, he said “I can’t concentrate at all.  How can you prepare for a fight with all the NOISE!”

         “You stop noticin’ it.  C’mon.  A guy with your abilities should be able to slow down and focus.  Just block it out.  Meditate.”

         Rico nodded.  He breathed deep.  The noise fought back, but with another deep intake, he pushed it back.  It started to fade away, and finally, finally, it was gone.  Quiet, all around.  Focusing on the fights tomorrow, Rico began to mentally prepare. 

         Jordano smiled and continued eating. 

         Rico came out of his trance hours later.  The mess was dark and empty.  Smiling, Rico stood, stretched, and went into the training room.  There, in the silence of the night, he trained his body.  Ounches, jumps, kicks, blocks, fast, slow, he did it all.  For three hours, alone, and in the peace and the quiet he trained. 

         He threw one last punch and stood, a look of determination and confidence on his face.

         He was ready.

         The Hakoshin Tournament was about to begin.

         

         Part 4-The Tournament



First watch was about three hours after dawn, and the city turned out in droves and throngs to see the greatest fighters in the realm.  The thirty-two fighters stood around the ring as the crowd cheered.  Entering into a raised platform was the daimyo, and all stood to welcome him to the stadium.  He stood long moments, eyeing his subjects. 

“Begin!”  He shouted, to which the crowd’s cheering erupted.  While the rest of the fighters returned to a small training room off the side of the ring, the two who would be fighting first, Jordano being one of them, approached center-ring.  The Ring was 100 square feet.  The edges of the ring were walls that rose 5 ft to the stands. A herald of the daimyo acted as referee. 

“Ladies, gentleman, children, servants, and anyone else, welcome to the fifty-eighth holding of the Hakoshin Festival Martial Arts Tournament!  The rules are simple:  You lose if you are knocked unconscious, give up, are pinned for ten seconds, or are killed.  Now, let us commence!  Fighting in the first match are Jordano, the blonde muscle bound man from the Provent-dae estate!  He fights in a mixing of Jujitsu and Hapkido.  He has made three previous tournament appearances.  His opponent is Aki, an accomplished fighter who uses the kung fu method.  Gentleman, fight!”

The stands erupted to new heights as the fighters circled each other.  Aki attacked, but was thrown down by Jordano.  Again, again and again, Aki fired punches, only to be thrown down by Jordano, who followed each takedown with a strike to the chest.  As this went on and on, the spectators grew restless, booing and jeering Aki.  Seeing this, Jordano, on the next offensive by Aki, put his opponent in a viscous lock.  A countdown commenced, and Jordano was proclaimed the winner.

The bouts preceding Rico’s were an excellent opportunity to scout fighting styles and weaknesses.  Snitch didn’t appear to have one.  Despite being physically small and disfigured, his strikes where lightning quick and deadly accurate.  He easily dispatched his foe.

After twelve bouts, it was finally Rico’s turn.

“Here we have Rico Tann, using the Toy Tzu style, and Bernard, using kickboxing.  Gentleman, fight!”

Bernard, a wiry, dark skinned little screwball, started with a roundhouse kick.  Rico dodged easily, and returned the favour with a hook kick, hitting Bernard in the sternum and flinging him to the ground.  Rico then threw a palmed punch to the man’s jaw.  Bernard then tried to trip Rico up with a sweep kick, but the blind man back-flipped to avoid it.  Now standing, Bernard rushed Rico and did a jumping roundhouse kick.  Rico easily avoided the blow, driving his elbow deep into his opponent’s ribs. 

Bernard lay doubled over.  Rico put his fist on the back of Bernard’s neck. 

“No,” he said, coughing up blood and waving his hand.  “I’m done.”  Rico helped him stand.  The mob cheered.  The herald announced the victor as the two fighters walked to the training room. 

         “When you have mastered the art of defense, come back and we will have a rematch.”  Rico set the broken man down on a bench as medicos came to look at him.  He nodded with a smile. 

         “Well done, Rico.”  Jordano slapped the blind warrior on the back.  “But he was pathetic.  Now the real fights begin.”

         “He wasn’t pathetic.  His defense was, but he has potential.”

         Jordano chuckled.

         The round of 32 was soon finished, and the sixteen remaining fighters looked their opponents over eagerly as high noon approached. 

         The competition was clearly better in this round, as several fights took fifteen minutes or more.  Jordano, though he struggled offensively, was clearly the better fighter in his match.  Snitch again dispatched his opponent with ease.  Rico was to fight a woman named Jinzel, a ninjutsu expert. 

         Jinzel started the attacking with light chops, designed to distract and lull the opponent into a false sense of victory.  Rico had seen this before and was smart enough to not to fall for such petty tricks. 

         Rico blocked and riposted with a chop to the neck.  “Stop wasting my time and fight.” 

         “Fine.  But be careful what you wished for.”  She renewed her attacks with an aggression that had yet to be seen.  Rico, though impressed, blocked the strikes, fitting in punches when he could.  Both fighters proved too efficient at defending kicks to make that offensive much use.  Back and forth across the arena they went, defense being the only victor as the afternoon sun set in the west.  The multitudes gathered loved it, cheering for their champions and jeering for their villains. 

         The fighters broke off one another to take a breath. 

         “You are more than meets the eye, Rico Tann.”  Jinzel panted.  “You can see quite well for a blind man.” 

         “Thank you.  This has been an excellent fight, and I hoped not to reveal these moves this early in the tournament, but I have to end this now.  The others will have to thank you for forcing my hand.”

         “You’re bluffing.”  She scoffed. 

Rico just smiled.  He took a last deep breath.  “MINO KALLAY!”  He shouted and jumped forward.  A green aura appeared around Rico, and a moment later exploded.  Propelled by this new energy, his knee attack crushed Jinzel’s block.  His opponent was flung back, her wrists broken.

The crowd now sat silent, stunned.  What had they just seen?

  Despite these handicaps, Jinzel fought on with kicks.  But as already stated, kicks were all but useless.  Rico now had a much greater advantage, and overwhelmed the woman.  Jinzel lay on the ground, bleeding and broken, linking together scathing breaths. 

         “Do you give up?”  The herald asked. 

         Jinzel nodded.  Rico approached to help her off the ring, but she refused his aid.  As the two walked off, the spectators still sat in stunned silence. 

         “With the round of sixteen over, the quarter finals are about to begin!”  Several moments of silence followed before the crowd remembered itself.  Then raucous cheers and hurrahs sortied down from the stands.

         “Those were some nice moves, Rico.”  Jordano congratulated his friend.  “Those aren’t all the tricks you have up yer sleeve, do ya?”

         Rico shook his head, and sat down.  That last fight had taken a lot out of him.  His muscles quivered, and his breath was ragged.  His eyes burned and ears rang.  Despite these incapacities, Rico returned to normal within a few moments. 

         “Takes a lot out of you, does it?”  Snitch came up sneering, returned to his crippled appearance.  “That Mino Kallay?”

         “Not bad.”  Rico said coldly. 

         “Well Jordano?  How does it feel, making it to the semi-finals?”

         “Haven’t made it there yet, ya creep.”  Jordano said. “We’re only at the quarterfinals.”

         Snitch just laughed.  “Don’t be a sap.  The three of us will destroy these pitiful losers.  We will each win our next match.  And, you, Rico Tann, will be fighting…”  He eyed the pair that would not be fighting one of the three.  “The one in red, the little guy.” 

         “You can tell that?”  Jordano laughed.

         Snitch nodded, a proud smile on his face. 

         “Why don’t we make a wager on that?” 

         “Fine.  If you win, I let you leave the ring alive after we fight.”

         “You cocky little-“Jordano started to charge his rival, but was stopped by Rico.

         Snitch just walked off laughing. 

         Snitch and Jordano, predictably, defeated their opponents with ease.  Rico was fighting next.  His opponent was a huge, hulking, beastly man, seemingly made of muscle.  But he was very slow, and Rico used his speed to defeat him.  Now for the last fight of the quarter finals.  The three semi-finalists watched with marked interest. 

         The two squared off.  Snitch’s favorite in a red jumpsuit, his opponent in green pants.  Red opened with a furious set of punches and kicks which green, for the most part, defended admirably.  However, as the two went back and forth, it became increasingly clear that Red would defeat Green.  Jordano himself turned green, but it wasn’t for envy of Red’s abilities.  He glanced over at Snitch, who just smiled maliciously.  Red ended the fight with a brutal kick that slammed Green into the wall, knocking him out cold.  Red was proclaimed the winner. 

         With the day’s fighting over, the four semi-finalists returned to the mess hall for some long overdue food, while the herald worked the crowd. 

         “He’ll keep his word, Rico.”  Jordano poked at his food.  “He may be a creep, but when it come to killin’, he’s as true to his word as a paladin.”

         “Calm down.  You need to concentrate.  This is just scare tactics.  Don’t listen to them.”  Rico tried to calm his friend down.  “You will never beat him all tensed up.  Remember what you told me: take a deep breath, relax.”

         “Right.  You’re right Rico.”  He followed his friend’s instructions and took a bite from his Sheppard’s pie. 

         “Good.  I’m going to meditate.  I suggest you do the same.”

         Jordano let out a healthy laugh.  “What you call meditatin’, I call eatin’.  You need me, I’ll be here.”  The two bid good night, and set about preparing for the finals.



Part 5-The Finals



         The Hakoshin Festival had begun; the highlight of the festival, the tournament.  Rain trickled down from the overcast heavens.  The four remaining fighters gathered in the small antechamber attached to the ring.  Snitch stared at Jordano, bloodlust radiating from his eyes.  Rico could not quite tell, but he thought Snitch might have licked his chops several times. 

         The herald entered the chamber just as fist watch bells rang throughout the city.  Outside of the stadium could be heard the merriment of the populace, and inside the stadium the spectators were growing restless. 

         “Alright, gents, you know the drill.  Snitch, Jordano, you’re up first follow me out.  Let’s get this over with.  There are women to be had, fellas.”

         Snitch and Jordano followed the herald out.  “Ready to die, Jordano?”

         “Your hubris will be your undoing, Snitch.  Scare tactics will not work on me.” 

         Snitch just chuckled.

         “Here we are, ladies and gentleman!  The day of the Hakoshin has arrived!”  He impatiently waited for the crowd to die down.  “We have four remaining challengers, all eagerly battling for the title of Champion and the one hundred octares!  So, without wasting any more time, here is the terrifyingly efficient Snitch (Boos from the crowd) and his arch-nemesis, the defensive Jordano. (Loud cheers from the crowd)

         The two squared off, and the semis had finally gotten underway.  Snitch started with some lightning strikes aimed for the big man’s throat.  Jordano blocked these, attempting to flip Snitch, but to no avail.  Snitch was smart, staying out of Jordano’s reach.  He circled the big warrior, checking here and there.  Jordano kept face to face with his adversary, looking for the opportunity to put Snitch in a pin.  The weasel kicked low.  Jordano grabbed the leg, started the pin, but Snitch managed to worm his way out! 

         “You’re pretty slippery, maggot.”  Rico heard Jordano curse.  Snitch just kept up his circling.  Almost getting caught several times, the quick and slimy Snitch showed no sign of changing up his strategy.  Jordano on the other hand, was becoming increasingly agitated, and sloppy.  All form lost, Jordano bull-rushed his opponent. 

         “No, Jordano!”  Rico tried to stop his friend, but it was too late!  Snitch landed several of his lightning strikes to Jordano’s face and neck.  Off balance, Jordano fell back.  Snitch finished the attack with a ferocious round house kick.  Slamming into the wall of the ring, Jordano let out a load groan. 

         “I told you,” Snitch approached.  “I would kill you.”  With that, Snitch walked over to the downed fighter and snapped his neck. 

         Rage filled screams cascaded down from the stands.  Rico just stared.  Two medicos hustled by him carrying a stretcher.  Snitch spat on the fallen hero, then walked away.  Rico and Snitch stared each other down.  They kept staring at each other as Snitch walked by, not speaking a word but saying volumes.  The medicos placed Jordano’s corpse on the stretcher, and as they carried him off the ring, the heavens opened.

         The gods wept for their hero.

         The herald stepped into the center of the ring.  “With…the fall of Jordano…all that remains before the championship round is for Rico Tann and Zoregno to battle it out!”

         The crowd did nothing.

         As Rico and Zoregno made their way to the center of the ring, Zoregno said to Rico:

         “I’m sorry.  I know Jordano was your friend, and I promise you, if I am victorious in our bout, I will avenge him.”

         “Thank you,” Rico said as they reached the center of the ring.  Rico bowed.  “But I must do this on my own.”  They got into stance.  Ignoring the rain, Rico started the fight with a punch to the face, but it was blocked.  Zoregno returned with several punches of his own as the two flew across the ring.  Back and forth they went, scarcely landing a hit.  The battle wore on, neither giving in. 

         As they fought, Rico noticed that his opponent left his guard down after his high kicks.  It was only there for an instant, but it was there.  They fought back and forth for several minutes, when Zoregno attacked with a high kick, Rico ducked and took the offensive. 

         “MINO KALLAY!”  Again the aura burst propelled him forward, his knee driving into Zoregno’s chin.  As his opponent flew through the air, Rico nailed him with a round house kick.  The attack sent Zoregno into the wall.  He lay there unconscious. 

         “The winner by knockout, Rico Tann.”  The herald announced.  There were a few scattered claps, and one high pitched voice. 

         “Go Rico Tann!  Go Rico Tann!”  A voice repeated it numerous times.  Rico recognized the voice as the little boy who helped him his first day in the city.  Rico waved to the boy before departing. 

         “Are you ready for the championship round?”  The herald asked of the tomb-like crowd.  No response.  “Who here wants to see Snitch get beaten!”  To this the crowd reacted with vehemence, rocking and jumping and waving their arms, screaming like bloodhounds out for a kill. 

         “Then after a very short intermission, we will have the final fight!” 

         Rico sat down on one of the benches, panting as the nausea and pain passed.  After the effect of his attack wore off, he breathed deeply, recalling the way Jordano had taught him to meditate into the noise of the city.  He fell into his trance, focusing all his will and body to perfecting his moves, his defense, his form. All would be necessary to defeat Snitch and avenge his friend. 

         “And now it’s time, would both fighters please make their way to the center ring!”  The herald asked. 

         Rico and Snitch exited the antechamber, walking abreast.

         “I’m going to do to you what I did to your friend, Rico Tann.”  Snitch whispered.  Rico didn’t hear him, still focusing his will.  They reached the center of the ring and faced the daimyo, who had remained silent since he opened the tournament. 

         “And now,” the herald shouted.  “For all to see!  The Hakoshin Tournament Trophy, filled with the prize money of one-hundred octares!”  The spectators clapped politely as the daimyo held aloft the trophy.  “Snitch, and Rico Tann, FIGHT!”

         It was clear who the crowd supported as the two enemies circled each other.  They wanted blood, screaming for it, demanding it; vengeance. 

         Rico gave a few test jabs, seeing firsthand the skills of Snitch.  Then Snitch was on the offensive, and his strikes were so quick Rico barely dodged them.  Off-balance, Rico back flipped clear of his enemy.  Rico then charged straight.  Leaping to the left at the last instant, he caught Snitch off guard and slammed his foot into the weasel’s ribs.  Rolling over the ring, Snitch held his ribs and grunted.  Catching himself, he stood. 

         It was the first serious hit he had taken all tournament; the crowd loved it. 

         “You’re pretty quick, Rico Tann, unlike that blundering friend of yours.”

         “You won’t make me sloppy, Snitch, so don’t try.  Let’s just fight.” Rico got back into stance. 

         Snitch gave his mocking chuckle, then started a new offensive.  Like a striking serpent were his attacks. For every one Rico manage to dodge, two would hit, driving Rico back.  Hit after hit Rico took, and with a vicious uppercut Snitch sent Rico flying.

         Rico landed hard on his back five feet away, groaning and twitching in pain, blood streaming down his face.  The lynch mob didn’t like it, booing angrily.  Snitch bowed mockingly.  Rico stood on uncertain legs.  He took a deep breath and refocused.  I can’t fight Snitch head to head; I have to catch him off guard, as I did earlier, Rico thought, massaging his shaved scalp.  He quickly hatched a plan.  He charged forward, juking from right to left as he advanced.  When he neared his adversary, he flipped over Snitch.  In perfect timing with his landing, Rico jabbed with his elbow, knocking Snitch to the ground with a blow to the base of the neck.  He lay on the ground screaming.

         The spectators loved it, leaping to their feet; they thought Rico had won.  Rico knew better.  Charging, Rico raised his leg, intending to jackknife it into Snitch’s back, but as the blow came down, the slimy weasel rolled away.  Rico’s blow landed on stone, shattering the surrounding area. 

         “Not bad, Rico Tann.”  Snitch said, in obvious pain.  He cracked his neck back into place, let out a breath, and renewed his attack.  Ready this time, Rico blocked the assault, reposting several punches of his own.  Rico noticed a pattern.  Left-high, right-high, left-high, right-low, left-low, right-low, repeat.  Rico blocked the right-low, and anticipating the left-high, he dodged punching the undefended fighter in the nose.  Rico followed with an elbow to the stomach, then a round house kick to the face.  But Snitch was able to control the flip and landed on both feet. 

         Snitch was now clearly agitated.  He growled out his breaths, fists clenching and unclenching rapidly. 

         “Now Rico Tann, you die!”  He screamed.  But he did nothing. 

         Rico caught his breath and centered his mind.  “MINO KALLAY!”  Propelled forward, Rico aimed his knee strike, but with rodent-like quickness Snitch dodged to the left; it was what Rico counted on.  Pivoting on his kicking foot, Rico dodged the counter attack, and then drove his elbow down, reversing Snitch’s right knee. 

         Snitch fell to the ground screaming.  He attempted to stand but could not.  Slipping on the wet stone, he cried in agony as his leg shot out from under him.  Rico walked behind his enemy, placing his hands on his chin and head.

         “No, no pleas-“ 

         Rico took his vengeance.  The crowd joyous shouts rose to the heavens, and the storm broke.  The sun fought through the clouds, bathing Rico Tann in a warm aura of light.  He was breathing heavily, as always after the Mino Kallay attack. 

         The daimyo stood, took the trophy filled with prize money, and leapt down from his balcony.  He landed with perfect grace, without spilling a single coin.  He walked over to Rico.

         “To Rico Tann, for an excellent show of skill and fighting prowess.”  He held out the trophy.

         “Thank you, Daimyo.”  Rico bowed, accepting the trophy.  “Forgive me, I must leave.”  He set off on a light jog, as not to spill any of the precious gold.  When in the antechamber, he grabbed a training bag, and poured the gold into it. He then picked up his staff.

         “Please, he said to one of the medicos as they brought Snitch’s body in. “Where is the body of Jordano?”

         “It is being returned to his estate.  If you run you might reach the procession before it leaves the city.”

         Rico thanked the man and ran through the catacombs into the main training room, and finally, finally, out of the stadium.

         “Excuse me, excuse me please!” Rico tried to get the attention of the festival goers, who starred in fear at this crazed blood covered warrior.  “Can you please tell me where the funeral procession for Jordano is?”

         “Rico Tann!  Rico Tann!”  It was the little boy.  “I can take you there, Rico Tann!” 

         “Thank you, boy.” The boy grabbed Rico’s arm and led him through the city at a frightening pace.  After several minutes, they rounded a corner, and Rico sensed the procession.  He could also sense the corpse on a mobile pyre carried by four servants. 

         Rico ran up to them.  “Excuse me.”  He said as he jumped up on to the pyre.  Stunned processioners stared at him.  There lay his friend.  Reaching into the bag, Rico pulled out two coins.  Placing them over the eyes of his friend he said:

         “My debt, Jordano, my friend.” 

         Dropping back down to the street and allowing the procession to continue, Rico found the small boy that had helped him so much.  Holding out the trophy Rico said “Take it, small one.”

         “But it’s yours, Rico Tann?  Don’t you need it?”

         “No, a true warrior does not need medals or trophies to show he is skilled, or good at what he does.  Take the trophy, and get what you can for it.”

         “Thank you Rico Tann!  You’re a true hero!  Sing songs about you they will!”  Rico smiled as the boy ran off.  Setting off into the encroaching night, Rico arrived home the next morning, just as Tecram was preparing to depart.  Rico paid off his debt to his cousin. 

         “So cousin,” Tecram asked as he mounted his horse.  “I thought you would be too big a celebrity to be seen with me.  What do you like about this place so much?”

         Rico listened.  He heard the birds singing softly, the wind blowing through the trees, and the brook running down the mountain.

“It’s quite.  Peaceful.”