“Gotta keep clear of him.”
The youth had grinned, red eyes flashing with excitement. “Sure, sure. No worry, Ryan. Looking forward.”
“If it looks like he might be trying to crush you or do serious injury, then I’ll”
Jak had held up a hand. “No. No need. Just watch and enjoy, Ryan.”
Now the proceedings were ready.
The priest had pattered out the ritual, and both men had scattered salt to the corners of the basho area.
Ryan weighed up the protagonists, trying to figure whether he’d made a serious mistake in pitching Jak in against the vast bulk of Konishiki.
The sumo giant wasn’t just fat. There was layer upon layer of hard muscle, and he had already shown evidence of his speed and agility in the earlier fights. Jak was as lean as whipcord, his body deathly white, hair knotted back with a length of red ribbon that had come from little Issie.
The geisha was sitting in the third row, a handkerchief crumpled in her hand, held against her painted rosebud mouth, her whole body tense with worry for Jak.
Now Konishiki dropped into his three-point kneeling position, matched by Jak, whose eyes never left his gigantic opponent.
Three times they did this, and twice the sumo wrestler broke and stood, slapping at himself, his fringed belt swinging as he walked around. The third time, not to be outfaced, Jak rose and copied him, getting a muffled giggle of laughter from some of the audience.
The fourth time was for real.
Konishiki was faster than any person that size had the right to be. He moved up and across the basho , which seemed to have shrunk to the size of a tablecloth, grabbing at Jak to smother and destroy him. The big man was already grinning with anticipation of his easy victory.
Only Jak wasn’t there to be smothered and destroyed.
He’d dived onto the floor, rolling to the side of the advancing Konishiki, coming up into a crouch as the wrestler started to turn to face him. He hurled himself at the back of the man’s huge legs, catching him off-balance, making him stagger to one side, his bulk and momentum carrying him toward the raised rope that marked the edge of the arena.
Yashimoto was on his feet, fingers digging into his own cheeks, as he saw the colossus stumble.
Jak was up again, as nimble as a monkey, vaulting onto Konishiki’s back, his hands covering the startled man’s eyes, blinding the giant.
The sumo star reached up to pluck him off and dash him to the floor, breaking every bone in the lad’s body, but once again Jak wasn’t there.
He had hopped off behind Konishiki, pushing him with his shoulder in the small of his back, hastening his rumbling charge toward the edge of the basho . Finally he stooped to catch at Konishiki’s left foot, heaving it off the ground for a vital couple of seconds.
Like a maddened bull, the monstrous figure roared out in blind rage, swinging a clubbing forearm to try to strike Jak to the sand. But he was too slow, too off-balance. Pivoting on one leg, he reached the rope and caught his right foot on it.
Jak let go of his other foot at the crucial moment, letting gravity do the rest.
Hopelessly out of control, Konishiki gave a last despairing cry before tumbling facedown, over the rope and out of the arena, nearly crushing Yashimoto as he fell.
There was the unmistakable snap of bone as he dropped, his leg crooked under him, the knee joint popping open.
The sumo giant gave a thin scream and fainted.
J.B. stood and grinned. “And that, friends, concludes the entertainment for the day.”
Chapter Thirty-One
They had watched the disconsolate troupe leaving the main gates of the ville, one of the wags carrying the crippled figure of Konishiki, sumo star of the morning.
Mashashige had been forced to make a huge payment to the woman manager for the damage done to her prime attraction.
The defeat by the skinny little gaijin had cast a pall of depression over the whole fortress, and the outlanders were left to their own devices.