"Simon Hawke - Wizard 5 - The Samurai Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

The Samurai Wizard

PROLOGUE
The serpent took form to the music of the wind. The plaintive,
haunting sound of the shakuhachi filled Kanno with a deep sense of
calm and serenity as he sat cross-legged on the tatami mat, dressed
in nothing but a white fundoshi, the traditional Japanese loincloth.
As he sat, eyes closed, concentrating on the ethereal music of the
bamboo flute, he barely heard the tapping of the Irezumi masterтАЩs
tools and he experienced the pain without being overwhelmed by it.
He allowed the sensations to flow over and through him, as he did
the sonorous notes of the shakuhachi, and he held himself perfectly
still, controlling his feeling of eager anticipation. Today, after
nearly a year of visiting the master, the work would at last be
completed.
Irezumi was an exacting and demanding art, involving
consummate skill and patience. The traditional Japanese tattoos
were not executed with the electric needles that were used in the
West, but with the difficult, age-old awls and chisels. The sumi,
brilliantly colored inks made from pressed charcoal, were inserted
only after the design had first been drawn in outline, and unlike the
more limited, simpler western tattoos, the Irezumi designs were far
more intricate and complex, often covering the entire back and
buttocks, as well as the thighs, shoulders, upper arms, and
forearms. It was as much of an art form as was Ikebana, the
ancient Japanese art of flower arranging, and its mastery was as
demanding as that of the tea ceremony.
Takahashi Sakuro, who worked out of his tiny parlor in a small
back alley in Shinjuku, was the undisputed master of the form. The
design he was executing on KannoтАЩs back, shoulders, arms, and legs
was a masterpiece of fine line and shading, perfect down to the
finest detail. Over the months, as the wiry little old man had
worked diligently on his task while Kanno suffered patiently, the
design had slowly taken form in brightly colored ink, agony, and
drops of blood. Week by week, the dragon slowly took shape. Kanno
could almost feel its power coiling across his back.
He had worked the spell with great care, spending hours at home
in the elaborate thaumaturgic ritual after each visit to the master.
Soon he would know whether or not his efforts had all been in vain.
He dreaded the possibility of failure. It was unthinkable that he
should not succeed. In a sense, he had been preparing for this day
ever since his early childhood, when he had first embarked upon the
thaumaturgic path. The effort and expense his parents had gone to
in order to secure a place for him in the proper preschool, followed
by the stringent and unceasing competition of JapanтАЩs rigorous
school system, had only been the first steps taken on that path.
In order to gain admittance to Tokyo UniversityтАЩs School of
Thaumaturgy, it had been necessary to prepare almost from birth.
Admission to the university depended upon first being admitted to
the right high school and passing all the exams with only the