The Practice Cut

The practice cut is the most necessary part of continued sword training; equal to sparring for its reflective benefits. Through cutting with the sword, one can become acquainted with the tactile sensation of forcing the blade of the weapon through a target and thereby determine the strength and angle necessary to properly execute cuts that would be fatal to an enemy in battle.
However, this kind of exercise is not for blades which were not originally designed for heavy cutting. Stainless steel swords and weapons designed for ornamental purposes are far from capable of holding up to the demands of the repeated practice cut, also known as Tameshigiri.
In the past I have used katana, wakizashi, tanto, bowies, machetes, cleavers, and tomahawks for tameshigiri, using multiple target materials to make thousands of cuts over a period of time. These cuts are made as individual exercises for the sake of personal refinement and should be done with the utmost care and with focused intent. It has been my experience that shorter, more balanced blades should be handled most carefully if the cut is to be successful, since the shorter blade will be unable to take advantage of the momentum available to longer weapons – angle of attack and proper movement is essential.
In general, the angle plays a key role in the stability of the target during the performance of the movements of tameshigiri. Though the act requires some movement, it is not an act of brute force. The blade must be drawn through the target and prepared for the next cut in a single movement, so excessive force should be avoided, as it reduces overall control at the end of the blade. A 45 degree angle is best for straw mats and generally works well for vertical targets of various kinds. This angle can be consistently applied against various axes depending upon the orientation of the target, be it upright, horizontal, swinging from a rope, or pivoting on an animated target stand.
To attain a higher level of awareness one should cut frequently using several targets and refine ones feeling for the edge. Sparring alone cannot provide this, as the training equipment is void of the edge – sparring only increases one’s feel for movement.
To have a complete awareness of one’s ability to perform cuts properly, the necessity of tameshigiri as part of one’s regular training regimen can never be overstated.
(Note to the Reader: The swordsman in the photo is not me. ^^)

The Calmness

Having focused a great deal of meditation upon the concept of the void and its implementation in combat (and daily life), I have come to understand the Void mind as having no parts, but a few phases which might be described not as levels of intensity but levels of completion. Since the void is emptiness, it can not be intensified; however, it can be incompletely empty at times. I have come to call one of these more easily achieved incomplete states ‘the calmness’.
This void form is one that can be easily sustained with regular practice and is essentially the antithesis to panic. Panic is the state just before total shock, just as the calmness is the state preceding ascension to the void. This is not to be confused with the void of Buddhism, which is believed to be a state of inner peace. This is a state of total intent, so much so that one is no longer thinking about the purpose, the purpose becomes his state of being – the pursuit of the end goal is what the person then embodies.
Perhaps to the casual reader, this whole matter seems a bit extreme; however, most people in this modern age can testify to a past experience wherein they were forced to focus their mind in order to make their body perform. Cross-country runners are very familiar with this concept.
I have found that the calmness is a part of the look and the posture of the swordsman. It is a focused readiness that is a lesser version of the focus in the heat of a conflict. The calmness allows one to maintain their martial discipline constantly, without merely depending upon their trained reactions. As one becomes more powerful, one must pull away from a dependency upon reactions, as it will become increasingly more dangerous to the rest of the world.
The calmness offsets this. It allows the swordsman to see the world objectively and to watch a situation unfold as if in slow motion. Since it is not so intense as the void, it is more easily maintained and allows the practitioner the glide through his daily life as if he were watching it in a movie. It removes things like stress and boredom from the mind and allows for successive completion of one’s mundane daily tasks.
I have noticed, however, that this state is difficult to maintain in unbroken continuity all day long. It is easy to be distracted or irritated by certain stimuli, but this is resolved through practice.
As I continue to study the void mind, I will continue to take notes. This seems like a key to the resolution of apprehension and that which causes a would-be hero to hesitate. It is also the way to stay one’s hand against harmless adversaries, and stifle things like rage and fear, which can corrupt the mind during combat.

The Thrust

Although somewhat less physically profound than the cut, the thrust is considered by most practitioners of edged arts as being more unconditionally lethal than the cut. An interesting thought.
As one both willing to learn and unwilling to immediately believe ambiguous statements, I have taken time out of my regular training regimen to research this idea thoroughly.
Now, I imagine the cut as being utterly devastating when performed to its highest potential, but there is something to be said for the resistance certain materials offer to the dynamics of the cutting act. We can look at historical and modern principles that lead to the development of armor and of techniques that defeat the cut all but completely in combat. An opponent apt at parrying or blocking, could be a most infuriating adversary to one whose weapon cannot make an effective thrust. Also, weapons such as arrows and bullets capitalize on the thrusting principle to a very extreme degree. A projectile is merely the tip of the sword, puncturing at high velocity any material that might yield to its passage. In this way, the arrowhead or the bullet is essentially the same as the sharpened point of a well-placed thrust. This is significant, because it is the lethality of the thrust that brought about the creation of such weapons as those we know today.
A careful study of the body reveals two essential systems that are at work in combat; essential systems that are targets within an adversary. As I may have mentioned in the past, each system offers its support to your body in a different way, and adversely affecting either system has its own negative results.
These are the mechanical system and the hydraulic system. Most simply, the cuts can cause damage to the mechanical system more easily because they can produce massive damage across a wide, but shallower area; while the thrust can often bypass the mechanical (muscular) levels of the anatomy to puncture or upset the hydraulics. In either case, damage is done, but it is the immediate result of the damage that is important in combat.
Were I to cut through a biceps, the arm could no longer bend at the elbow under its own power – but the rest of the body is essentially able to live indefinitely, despite this loss of mobility. This is a disabling maneuver and is the definition of a cutting attack.
However, were I to puncture the heart or liver, the opponent would surely die, and probably quite rapidly. This guarantees victory, whereas the disabling tactic might only buy a moment during the heat of battle.
To correlate, I could make a cut across the torso in an attempt to cause damage to the heart or liver, but the amount of force necessary to reach such organs by cutting through flesh and bone (in a single, calculated blow) would probably exceed my capacity. It is rare that a warrior has ever been documented to kill an opponent by literally cutting him in half – conversely, history is full of lethal stabs; so much so that an entire breed of swords was created that were only used for thrusting. These were quite dangerous, even though they had little or no edge at all.
To elaborate any further on this profound concept one could imagine the opponent as one of those long-armed digging machines so common in the industrialized world. To defeat it, one must stop the arm. The arm is steel and hydraulics run by a pump that is supported by the engine, which in turn is supported by fuel. Let us consider our weapon to be capable of penetrating these materials as a sword would counter flesh. One with great strength might be able to cut off the arm, or sever essential hydraulic lines by cutting. The thrust would have lesser effect on the arm, and greater accuracy would be required to puncture a line. But with the thrust, one might easily puncture the pump or compromise the engine – or one might puncture the fuel or hydraulic fluid reservoirs. Although cutting might be similarly effective at damaging the internal components, it is unlikely that one might do this with the same ease with which one might ‘stab’ through them.
This brings us to the prevalence of the thrust in Western culture. During the period following ‘medieval’ times, people of substance found themselves walking violent streets while still seeing the need to dress and act respectably. One could not expect a nobleman to stroll his domain in a full suit of armor bearing a ‘broadsword’ as he would at war. So, techniques from arming swords and other penetrating battlefield weapons were refined to accommodate a very light, elegant weapon that could be carried at the side of a man not wishing to appear to the world as an ‘armed’ brigand.
Many of these techniques originally included shallow cuts, parrying slashes, and nips at the head and neck – but many were phased from popularity as the swords were increasingly tailored to suit the less-exercised ‘gentleman’ of the time. These thrusting swords eventually evolved into the small-swords and foils with which we are most familiar today – weapons with no edge at all, but a devilishly effective point and a blade geometry tailor made for accurate penetration.
It is important to understand the role of the thrust in order to gain an adequate grasp of tactical swordsmanship, because it is a necessary part of any training one might hope to pursue. Though the thrust requires strength, its driving principle is accuracy. While the cut, though requiring accuracy, is an exercise of strength.
One must consider this thoroughly.

The Cut

The cut is a very profound act. It is essentially a rending of a material using a wedge of another material and is quite interestingly an act ingrained in our very existence. We cut things practically everyday: paper, snack bags, fruit, vegetables, meats, wood, metal – the list goes on into infinitude. Every time we take a bite of food, the process is at work via our incisors. But how many of us (martial practitioners included) truly meditate upon the dynamics of the cut?

This occurred to me quite abruptly one morning when I was instructing a young boy in the proper way to exfoliate a fallen tree that it might be taken in as firewood. I explained the importance of angle and of control – and emphasized that these were to take precedence over force. Though some force is required, the proper cut needs only the minimum necessary to drive through the target material, no more and certainly no less. Often it is our underestimation of the cutting capacity of a given instrument that causes us to exert undue effort at the sacrifice of control.

Imagine a carrot, if you will. It is quite hard and proportionately brittle. A chop can easily sever it, but what about a slice? A slice will barely pass half way through a fresh carrot before the root literally begins to split apart at the site of the division on its own. A skillful chef anticipates this and therefore applies only the pressure needed to cut the carrot to that splitting point, allowing the carrot to merely snap apart of it own accord. This allows the chef to quickly cut many carrots many times without getting tired or slipping. Let us think about this. Why is a saw good for cutting wood, but not fabric? Why is an axe used to split firewood, but a machete used to cut away underbrush? How is a grosse messer able to rend flesh and bone, but not a wooden targe? These are all questions of cutting dynamics.

During my youth, it was a chore of mine on occasion to slaughter an animal for meat. This also meant that it was necessary for me to skin and quarter the animal for butchering. A heavy knife was used for flesh and bone and a lighter, more nimble blade was used for removing the skin and entrails. Both were extremely sharp and not too different in size, but in shape they varied greatly. One was a long, curved fillet knife and the other was a cleaver. Their shape determined their use as well as the techniques used in their employment. Size would add another factor to this difference in technique and would work to change the cut dynamics of each differing blade yet further.

The sword is the same in that it comes in various shapes and sizes and (excluding the edgeless thrusting weapons) are all used to cut via techniques adapted to their respective shapes. The techniques of swordplay have always been molded to suit the requirements of the given sword, not the other way around – this means that, though there may be a unifying theory linking all schools of the sword, there is no universal set of techniques that will suit any and every sword. The cutting dynamics determine the efficacy of the techniques, and the blade geometry determines the cutting dynamics. Now, since many sword types exist – one can use one’s needs to determine the weapon that should be chosen, and adopt a school of technique to suit that weapon. This is the way of sword tactics. This must be understood thoroughly before progress can be made in any school of combat arts.

For the purposes of my own pursuit of the most effective tactical use of the sword I have chosen, I would focus upon cuts that I will call the draw, the whip, and the chop. Note here the exclusion of the slash as an effective combat technique. The slash is essentially a swing of excessive force used to drive an enemy back and is equally effective with or without an edge. Any excessively forceful blow with an edged weapon could be considered a slash, and slashes have very little use from a tactical/strategic standpoint.

As I noted once in the past, the ideal weapon would be both capable of thrusts and cuts, would be relatively light in relation to its length. A grip that could accommodate one or two hands with equal ease and dexterity would be ideal as well, along with a guard that offers ample protection to the hand as well as a shape that lends itself to both eastern and western techniques. As I noted, only a few historical weapons meet this criteria – certain Katana, sabers, and obscure medieval weapons could be used as examples. This duly noted, one might ask why this hybrid weapon never saw regular use on the battlefield. The answer is actually quite simple and is written above. The defenses of the enemy determine the most effective offense. Slices defeat unarmored foes and beasts, thrusts and chops defeat light plate and mail, and blunt impact defeats heavy plate.

With cutting dynamics in mind, ancient tacticians equipped their troops with specialized weapons that would defeat the defenses of their enemies. The samurai were not big on full suits of armor, (though interestingly, they seemed to be coveted by certain of the royal class prior to the Meiji Period) so weapons that could swipe off an arm, leg, or head with little cutting resistance were favored for close combat, leaving thrusting to the yari (infantry spear).
They would have a hard time facing off against fully armored opponents with such light, curved blades, even though they be shaving sharp and differentially tempered from habaki to kissaki. The yari, on the other hand, could make quick work of plate armor once it found its way to a joint or gap. So the Europeans created very long spear-like swords that could cut when necessary, but were geometrically focused upon gouging through a heavily armored opponent. To take it even further, the Landzneckts of Germany, through many years of competition with the Swiss mercenaries, adopted weapons like the flamberge; an enormous sword used to compete with pikemen on the battlefield.
Later, as armor gave way completely to firearms, the fierce penetrating swords of that bygone ear were cast off in favor of weapons more like the katana – cavalry sabers – that could sever limbs or eviscerate unarmored foes when the gun had been discharged. As the swords changed, so did the tactics; and techniques were adapted and refined to meet the new needs of an ever-changing battlefield. Universal swords were rarely developed because the principle of “right tool for the right job” was in effect. Imagine it this way: a Swiss army knife is excellent if you need a compact tool that will help in a pinch. However, if you need to drive a lot of screws, get a screwdriver; if you need to saw a plank, get a saw. This must also be understood before one could truly hope to understand the capacity (and limitation) of the universal sword. So we reduce our terminology to the draw, whip, and the chop (with the thrust being excluded since it is not a ‘cut’).

The draw is a good cutting maneuver at close and intermediate range, and is favored by a curved edge. In the draw, one makes quick contact with the target and draws the blade across, creating a very long and potentially very deep cut. Though this cut has tremendous slicing ability, it is no good for hard materials like bones and is therefore best for close-quarters attacks to the lower torso or across the throat. The drawing cut is very effective at close range, because it uses lateral motion to effect the cut rather than impact force. In fact, the best drawing cuts generally do not require one to ‘swing’ the blade at all. The drawing cut is almost always used with the intent to kill.

The whip is the practical opposite of the draw in terms of dynamics and favors a light, straight blade. In the whip, one swipes the blade at the target, meeting it to make a light cut, then immediately returns to a defensive position. This usually creates very shallow but painful cuts and is primarily effective as a warning or a feint. Unless one happens to knick a vital artery, one should not expect to defeat an opponent with a whipping cut. It is primarily used to unsettle an opponent’s rhythm or to cause distracting injuries to more accessible portions of an opponent’s anatomy (fingers, the forehead, knees, shoulders, etc.) The whipping cut is almost never lethal, but has its use in practical application.

The chop is perhaps the most common and widely varied cut in terms of its uses and effects. It can sever limbs or shear through an opponent’s midsection; slice through an opponent from collar to groin, or cleave through a cranium. The chop has no favorite blade geometry, but his most common with straight (and often front-heavy) blades. Imagine the handling and damage-dealing capacity of a common axe: Axes can only chop – to draw or whip with an axe is practically impossible. When one uses the sword with the spirit of handling an axe, one is most assuredly chopping. The sword, however, is able to make plays upon the finish of its chops and is therefore more resolute in its chopping ability. For example, the chop can be a complete maneuver in itself, or it can be finished in a drawing cut. They can be performed to the side or even upward from below, but the most common and most powerful chops make use of gravity; this means they strike at angles which proceed toward the ground. Historical martial arts the world over have shown us that the principal technique of the long sword is the chop that flows downward. It is designed to split or to sever and is most commonly geared toward the sturdier targets – like the shoulder or the skull – which might offer considerable resistance to any cutting attempt. This as opposed to the drawing cut, which could be expected to stop at the bone in most cases.

In all of these cuts, one must also remember the tactical usage of the cut in single combat. The cut is designed to upset the mechanical systems of the opponent: to damage muscles, sever limbs, or to defeat the body’s general integrity through the letting of blood or the loosing of the contents of body cavities. This manner of sword work can be expected to severely damage or disable an opponent, but despite its grievous affects on the anatomy of the opponent, should not be depended upon for the instant kill. This is primarily because the cut in itself is easily defeated and the geometry of its performance is somewhat predictable. For the sword to be truly effective, one must also be versed in the art of the thrust. The aspiring swordsman should think carefully about this fact and the many ways in which it applies.

The T-Rex Scenario

In the course of my own general study of martial science and the systems thereof, I have determined that certain common ideas among organized martial practitioners are actually false. However, I must restate that assertion to clarify that the ideas to which I am referring may actually be technically or theoretically valid, but practically untrue in a ‘real-life’ situation. For example: a very small, light-weight person, may actually be able to fell a giant man via martial prowess alone, provided that he is able to reach the giant’s vulnerable areas, hit them hard enough to do damage, and remain undamaged in the process. Though this can be easily imagined, a real situation of similar proportions would require that the smaller man be possessed of super-human strength and agility, while the giant would have to be slower and somewhat under-powered. This is necessary because, were the two men of different stature of the same proportion at their respective sizes, the outcome of the battle would be instantly decided by the larger of the two.

Modern martial arts seem to consistently preach the confidence-building adage “Your size doesn’t matter,” but this is inconsistent with many of the ancient precepts of strategy and tactics in general – its original meaning has been misinterpreted by the ‘professionals’ of martial arts to encourage those practitioners who have a bit more money than potential.

The saying is actually designed to direct the focus of each individual to practice their art in a way that takes the greatest advantage of their natural ability, while adding techniques to offset certain natural weaknesses. In this respect, size truly does not matter, because you opponent in this sense is you weaker self – an opponent that can be easily defeated through dedication and hard work. This adage, however, would seem to fall apart once one begins to consider the ‘classless’ duel.

In true ‘combat’ sports, (boxing, sumo, wrestling, etc.) the competitors are divided by their own weight classes – meaning that there are rules to separate the bigger fighters from the smaller. Why is this? Because in hand-to-hand combat between similarly-skilled individuals, big physically larger fighter has certain advantages; and, if the size difference is great enough, the larger fighter might have little trouble dispatching an opponent possessing a skill greater than his own.

Skill and ability go hand-in-hand with strength and speed, with intellect acting as the glue that binds them. Emphasizing one without the others tends to have little effect on over-all performance, but certain aspects of the more physical factors can be multiplied via size, vantage, and reach. For example – an ant can easily lift 50 times its body weight, making it incredibly strong, but how easily it is crushed by even the frailest of mankind. Taken further, the strongest members of our species might lift 3 times his body weight, literally hundreds of kilograms, only to be utterly annihilated by an elephant, which can only lift one fourth of its own girth. Size does matter. I call this principle the T-rex principle – since it is a constant factor in any conceivable scenario. We do not even have to calculate the odds of the ‘Man vs. T-rex’ scenario – hand-to-hand, the man has no chance; though the T-rex be a dumb brute and void of combat acumen or technique, the human fighter has no chance at all.

The fact that the human has no chance is of no concern to the reasoning of the martial scholar, the important issue is why. What gives the T-rex superiority? Mere size? Of course not, a banana tree is quite a bit larger than a man, but toppled with ease by hand alone – it is a matter of all of the factors mentioned above working together to the advantage of the T-rex. First, his size gives him greater reach and vantage; the ability to attack with impunity. Also, his size and weight make him more durable and less accessible for attack. Finally, his tremendous strength will lend itself to unstoppable attacks – and all of this leaves out the giant claws and teeth.

In the extreme T-rex scenario, no amount of skill or training can help the human win in an unarmed fight. He is vastly outclassed and that is that – Bruce Lee, Mas Oyama, Jackie Chan, Jet Li, John Wayne, that guy from Thailand, and Jean Claude Van Damme combined would still do little more to a T-rex than fill its stomach; its damage-dealing and receiving capacities are just too high. This is the perfect example of the classless duel, and it is this type of reasoning that brought about the creation of weaponry. Think about this for a minute.

This element of strategy in martial arts is very important in a real-life situation, because it governs our natural ability to ‘size-up’ a possible threat and choose whether to execute a ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ response. If this is a lesson we miss, then we might feel more than up to the task of backing-up that smart remark made toward that 7-foot tall linebacker sitting at the bar – go a head, you have a black belt in whatever, make that T-rex work for his next snack. Or just avoid an unnecessary conflict…

Now, all that said, what if the T-rex is attacking and there is no way to flee or avoid the fight? How can a man hope to defeat an opponent that drastically outclasses him? This is just as much a question of tactics as of strategy. One must work along with various constants such as environment, rather than pitting advantages against weaknesses like some arcane card game. From my own experience, I have found it useful to force the larger opponent to move or to expose some kind of disadvantage, to cause him to fight gravity or to move unnecessarily. It is important to use subversive tactics and indirect attack strategies against higher-class foes; but even then, this is no guarantee. All too frequently, one might expect to encounter and enemy that he is incapable of defeating on a level field, regardless of strategy and tactics – which brings us back to the T-rex scenario; the Rubic’s cube of unarmed combat.

Along this line of logic, I have returned to the central point of my goal to harness the full tactical capacity of the sword in the classical sense of its ability to equalize the T-rex effect to an appreciable extent without nullifying the manifestation of one’s own martial ability. Though it might be argued that marksmanship is its own martial art (an assertion with which I fully agree) it greatly reduces the physical responsibilities of the artist, aiming more toward the perfection of the more subtle movements of aim and of calmness.
The sword captures the nuance of aim while still holding tightly the principle of form and force. Thus it is the tactical sword technique which encompasses the entirety of those conceivable classless dueling scenarios, acting as the key to the other half of martial arts; the half that focuses on the augmentation of man’s ability to fight and to destroy enemies in battle.

This must be studied deeply before an adequate understanding of tactical swordplay and unarmed combat can be achieved in proper perspective.

The Tactical Sword

Of all of the sword techniques I have studied and practiced to date, I have come to the conclusion that fencing as it applies to the death of the opponent can be divided into two main disciplines: The western school of the jab and the eastern school of the slash.

The Jab school seems to be historically most interested in achieving the most effective geometry for impaling an opponent or chopping him down. Few of the techniques for the most prevalent dueling weapons of this school seem to indicate interest in slicing through the flesh of an opponent. This is likely due to the refinement of the armor of the region and the gentlemanly air that prevented the gentry from brandishing heavy war swords in unarmored duels. In all cases, the requirement for the weapon was a quick kill – regardless of the enemy’s defense.

The Slash school of the east seems most dominated by the need to rend flesh and bone with economy of movement and minimal effort. Weapons of this school seem most aimed at maintaining a keen edge rather than a sturdy geometry, calling for a greater focus on metallurgy and polish. These weapons, though not as universally hardy as the weapons of the Jab school, are generally far sharper and tend to cut soft targets with ease.
The Slash school seems to shy away from stabbing, and most of its weapons are curved to accommodate the arc of a slicing swing.

The arts of each school are tailored to their weapons, making their differences irreconcilable in practice. However, I have found that some motions work well in both cases; I have come to consider these as ‘universal’ techniques. An example of this would be the stab at the throat of face. Almost every sword discipline has a similar technique, which is used to distract or disable a less-experienced opponent. Both western and eastern fencing disciplines have a stab to the collar as well – a very effective and fast technique for dispatching a foe from a variety of starting positions.

Since most of the more prominent techniques of the given schools are specific to the intended weapons of each particular ‘way’ of fighting, one must practice with many weapons before one can hope understand enough universal technique to begin hybridizing disciplines. It was not until after much study and having endured many matches both won and lost with various weapons and instructors that I began to search for the sword that would accommodate the bulk of the most effective techniques of each school. It was in this search that I realized several things must be in place before the weapon can be chosen: one must be strong enough to effectively perform the most powerful techniques of the biggest swords and agile enough to effectively perform the fastest of the techniques designed for the lightest sword. A lot of this requires training on the part of the practitioner. Footwork changes with certain weapons, as does range, as does recovery time between techniques. More focus should be applied to the improvement of the body and self awareness than to the ‘pros and cons’ of a given instrument. The “paper-rock-scissors” approach of “This sword beats that sword” can never be universally applied, though it might be universally true to say “This person is a better swordsman than that person,” A sword big enough to kill a horse and rider at once might have a tremendous amount of cutting power, but one wielding it might easily suffer defeat at the tip of a foil with no cutting edge at all. It is a matter of the swordsman and his ability to adapt to the weapons he and his opponent have at the time. One must think about this carefully during training and maintain balance at all times.

My research brought me to the determination that the essential design of a sword that could be used to perform the most ‘universal techniques’ would be the early American (made in Germany) cavalry saber or the shobu zukuri katana. The reason for my choosing these two weapons is their similar shape and the fact that they can be wielded properly in a variety of circumstances. Both are heavier and straighter than others of the same breed, but both maintain a stable cutting curvature and a sturdy grip. Both can be wielded one-handed by either the right or left hand, or with both hands (hand and a half on the saber). And both have a well-designed, penetrative tip. Both are designed to hold an edge of exceeding sharpness and are relatively easy to clean and maintain.
The differences would be that the katana could be used with greater slashing power because of its oversized grip, but it is more finicky with maintenance and needs regular polishing to avoid visible surface corrosion. Also, the katana can not perform a parrying return cut without first turning the wrist, which may be impossible in certain circumstances. The saber is known to have an edge that proceeds a few inches along the ridge (the back) of the blade from the tip, allowing for a very fast and disorienting (if not fatal) return stroke in the event of a missed primary stroke. However, the saber is traditionally a bit longer than a shobu zukuri blade, making rapid attacks and overall control more difficult. Both are designed with unarmored melee in mind and can be used on horseback or on foot. They can both jab quickly and slash most effectively. Both are heavy for their breed and can take considerable abuse from other weapons before loosing their effectiveness in battle. Also, either one can be used in tandem with a smaller weapon given enough training. In my opinion, Kensei Miyamoto Musashi might have been fascinated by the design of the cavalry saber, since he advocated a one-handed sword style in a time and place where most men trained to wield the long sword with both hands. The similarities and differences between the two should be given much thought, but it is their ability to adopt a great variety of universal and specialized techniques from both schools that causes them to stand out in the eyes of a tactician. Though it is important to train with all weapons in order to properly understand the arts of warfare, it seems that training with the ‘sword’ should be focused upon weapons that are most universally applicable in actual combat with other swordsmen.

The Void

It has become apparent to me over a considerable time spent in study and thought, that the most effective mindset for the strategist is that of the Void.
The principle that encompasses the void is the idea that the mind can be cleared at the point of optimal mental balance; neither concerned, nor careless – just blank.
In practice I have determined this mind to be that which one experiences between the time the mind decides to take action and the time the body complies. During this instant, the whole of one’s being is focused upon the act at hand.

To further illustrate, I would make an example of throwing a ball. Before the throw, an average person might think of all manner of things – the same goes for the time following the throw. However, during the moment of highest exertion, all that person does is throw the ball. There is no thought at all. At that moment the person is only throwing the ball; they are not thinking of their shopping list, or what they want to eat, or how cool their throw will look to anyone watching.
These kinds of thoughts surely pass through the mind before and after that fleeting instant, but for that infinitesimal period in time; the three elements of the human being are one.

Meditating on this concept during my times of reflection, I have come to accept this as a common (though often unperceived) experience, generally limited to those activities that require rapid exertion and a certain degree of focus. It seems that this is not so much because of the speed of the activity, but because of the duration. It is exceedingly difficult to maintain a mind completely absent of wandering thoughts for extended periods of time unless one has purposed to do so and has isolated the state mentally.

Highly regarded masters from several different nationalities and times in history have referred to this mindset as the highest state of focus; though a means by which I might cultivate it in my daily life still seems to elude me. I must study and practice this further.

In my travels I have seen and even had the misfortune of facing such pure-minded individuals. They face their immediate goals completely without distraction, but also with a sort of detached calmness. I believe it is through continuous practice and familiarity with technique that one can learn to extend the void mentality to last several seconds – even minutes; perhaps with great experience, one could even learn to maintain this state almost indefinitely.

From my studies and experience, I must conclude that this state of mind is the principle element that separates the martial artist from the ‘fighter’. It is my belief that the void is the key to ending battles before they begin as well as the threshold to the practical management of Chi and other semi-physical resources.
Given the nature of the concept in and of itself and the type of training necessary to bring it to tangibility, it is difficult to maintain an objective approach, but the principles of the void must be understood before one might hope to make progress in this realm of training. I must return to this subject again when I have had much more experience.