Sensei of Shambala. Book III. Anastasia Novykh

that the elder guys somewhat hesitated about going in, Ariman said: “I promise you only clean fighting and using only the styles known to you. No restricted blows will be on my behalf. Let’s do classics! You on the other hand may attack me at will, as you desire.”

      “There’s something I don’t like about it,” Victor uttered cautiously to Volodya. “Looks like there’s some sort of trick.”

      “We’ll check it out,” Volodya said quietly in a bass voice. “In any case, we could do with some extra experience.”

      The elder guys gathered, conversed about something in whispers and got into the ring. Notably, Victor and Stas, who had just been participating in the fight, came out too.

      “It’s not prohibited to act against you as a group, is it?” Volodya inquired.

      “And in any composition and any combination at that,” Ariman emphasized with contented look.

      Eugene glanced at the snow-white yacht, spat out heartily on the sand and pronounced warningly: “That’s it, Ariman! From here you’ll return home by foot.”

      “With pleasure,” replied he with a smile.

      The elder guys became alerted at such an Olympic composure of their opponent. The younger guys, on the other hand, became relaxed, probably assuming that while Ariman is distracted by attacks of professionals, they will surely be able to strike that cherished blow in the value of a Rolex. Nine of our guys came out into the ring, so Tatyana and I, Sensei, Nicolai Andreevich, and Veliar stayed behind as spectators.

      The guys surrounded Ariman in a circle. Stas and Victor placed themselves in the front, Volodya and Eugene at sides. Eugene even stood a little behind so as not to get in the view of his opponent. And the rest: Ruslan, Andrew, Kostya, Slavik, and Yura situated themselves behind Ariman, probably, considering it to be the most advantageous position for achieving their goals. After the ritual bows were made, the fight began on Sensei’s clap. Virtually simultaneously, Volodya, Stas, and Victor began to near Ariman in light imperceptible steps, making feints at their opponent. But Ariman stood calmly, looking somewhere through them, as if gazing nowhere. As I understood, by those abrupt feints the guys tried to detract the opponent’s attention on themselves, irritating his peripheral vision. Seizing an opportunity, they advanced into a real attack. Stas aimed his Maetobi-geri at head, Volodya and Victor attempted strikes at Ariman’s torso. At the same time, Eugene, who had remained motionless till then, rushed under Ariman’s feet from behind. Theoretically, they employed infallible tactics, as under such pressure Ariman would definitely step back while defending and, naturally, would stumble over Eugene, who rushed under his feet; and the yacht would be guaranteed for the guys. However, contrary to all expectations, Ariman made an effortless backflip. Landing behind Eugene, immediately, right when his feet touched the sand, Ariman made a swift step back and right, giving way for a throng of boys, who darted into battle along with the elder guys. As a result of such a swift and sudden movement of Ariman the elder guys, stumbling over the massive Eugene’s body, piled upon him, and on top of them fell those, who attempted to strike Ariman from behind and continued attacking inertially. Thus, there came about a whole pile of stirring bodies. Everything happened virtually in a second. Slavik lagged behind the attackers and was left practically alone against Ariman’s back. However, he kept his head and made an attempt to strike him from behind. But Ariman slightly turned around, caught the guy’s hand and turned him round in such a way that he touched down on all fours. And giving him no chances to recollect himself, Ariman picked him up by a collar of his T-shirt and a belt of his shorts and threw him into the common pile. Observing such ridiculous inadvertence of the guys, Sensei and Nicolai Andreevich, simply burst out into loud laugher, infecting us with their laugh too. Even Veliar afforded a generous smile, watching the occasion with pride.

      The guys began scrambling out of this shameful heap. The last, spitting the sand, battered all over, there raised Eugene. If you could have seen his face in that moment. It bore a lot of resemblance with a sand mask of some aborigine, with two chinks instead of eyes. After standing up the guy did not shake it off for some reason, but started seeking out the one who ironed him to the sand like that. But apparently having realized that there was no way to find the one guilty, as the whole warring party took part in being the press, Eugene attempted to freshen up himself in a jiffy. He shook the sand off his face, trying to relieve his head and hair of that little squeaky soil, which made his hairstyle look like Mohawk. And turning his militant look at Ariman, who was barely stifling his laughter, he thundered like an Army trumpet, putting all his offence into words.

      “Now, that’s it! The yacht will be ours for sure!” And the guy dashed into battle. The others followed in disorder. But Ariman, like a toreador, gracefully dodged the attackers, while demonstrating the classics of martial arts. He acted very quickly, virtually imperceptibly, without striking blows, using only graceful aikido style throws. That gave an impression that the guys simply flipped softly on their own, when getting close to him. Ariman performed all this in such an easy, unconstrained, and elegant way that it indeed produced a fascinating rapture.

      As soon as it became clear to our fighters that a spontaneous assault is useless, they reorganized again under guidance of the elder guys and endeavored an attack already in an organized way. The guys surrounded Ariman in three semi-circles in staggered order. They stood in such a way that there were strong fighters in every row. The first four included Volodya and Victor at the sides, the second row consisted of three, Eugene taking the middle, and in the last pair there was Stas. In this formation they started approaching Ariman, pushing him to the sea. When the strip of dry sand ended, Ariman stopped. And the show began! Andrew and Ruslan, being in the first row, were the first to attempt an attack. As soon as Ariman busied himself with them, Eugene gathered speed and with a battle cry “Hi-yah!” he leaped in a kick Yoko-tobi-geri. He flew beautifully indeed, just like in a movie. However, Ariman casting away another opponent, had time not only to avoid Eugene’s kick easily, but he also gave Eugene a slap at the guy’s fanny with the back of his right hand, exactly with the finger-ring. It caused Eugene to alter his “Hi-yah!” into a shrill “Hi-eina!” and overshooting Ariman, he crashed into the water. He got up wet through, frowning and puzzled, intensively rubbing his seat of honor that had suffered in the bright cause. Eugene began to walk out of water slowly, getting round the zone of action, where the guys flipped over and over again around Ariman. The guy was lame in the right leg. When he limped up to us, continuing rubbing his hurt back, one could see tears welled up in his eyes. Obviously, he was hurt badly. He held his own, however, keeping his feelings within.

      When the guy came by, Nicolai Andreevich asked jokingly: “Why, Eugene, have you given up?”

      “Me?! Never in all my born days! I’ve just thought... Why should I need this yacht, anyway, all the more in the city?”

      We laughed to such a decision of the guy, who, after Ariman’s slap, changed his mind so hurriedly. Following Eugene, after having a nice bit of rolling around and sand-eating, the guys began to break off the fight one after another. Their bygone enthusiasm dried up quickly, the more especially as Ariman, who had been dispatching the guys without effort, looked quite fresh and full of pep, as if he had just come out into the ring. Meanwhile, it was too much for our drop-out failed fighters even to rise from the sand after those aerials. As is known by common rule, don't kick a man when he's down. That’s why nobody aspired to stand up. Silently, they only sympathized with their comrades, who persistently kept attacking Ariman. The fewer the fighters were, the more demonstrative and beautiful were Ariman’s pitches to wear them out. His movements, speed, and technique matched those of Sensei. At long last, only Volodya kept on.

      Walking around his opponent, Ariman cheerfully chaffed him: “Do you really want to win that watch or yacht that much?”

      “What good will they do to me? I just feel bad for my state.”

      Ariman grinned.

      “So, that means you don’t give up?”

      “Russians never give up,” Volodya said in bass.

      Ariman sighed and uttered with a smile: “Oh, those Russians to me! Alright then…”

      Volodya attempted a fierce attack. It seemed he threw his only remaining energy into it.