Point of Contact

Amador stepped forward again, raising his right arm high again, and slow-motioned his strike down. Jack repeated his block. But when their arms connected, Amador twisted his wrist and turned his elbow in. The dull practice karambit blade turned sharply into Jack’s arm. Faster than an eye blink, the dull blade bit deeper as Amador turned farther and pulled his arm down. The pressure was intense and the leverage against Jack’s arm nearly threw him over. Amador disengaged before Jack lost his balance.

“Of course, with a properly sharpened blade, your arm would be sliced to the bone. You wouldn’t think about the counterpunch. Your brain would be screaming—‘My arm is cut off!’” Amador laughed again.

Jack was impressed. He rubbed his forearm where the blade had touched him. Dom and Martinez nodded appreciatively.

“You’re not injured, are you?” Amador asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, not at all. Just… surprised.”

Amador grinned. “Good. Let’s try one more. Same move by me. But a question first. What is the first thing you’re usually taught when you have no weapon but are being attacked by a man with a knife?”

“Attack the knife. Disarm him,” Jack said.

“Correct. So this time, I will make my clumsy attack and I want you to seize my wrist with one hand and then rip the knife out with the other, just the way you’ve been taught.”

Amador threw another slow-motion overhead strike, driving the blade down toward Jack’s head. Jack countered by seizing Amador’s small wrist in his left hand, then reached for Amador’s gripping hand with his right in an attempt to seize the knife.

“Stop,” Amador said.

Jack froze in place. Amador turned his head to the others seated on the mat.

“You see Jack’s firm grip on my wrist? Very strong! It’s a good move, isn’t it? But watch.” Amador simply twisted his trapped wrist and hand, and the curved blade came into contact with Jack’s wrist. “A real blade instantly cuts through the muscle and tendons of his left hand before his right hand can grab my knife. The pain in his left hand will also cause it to pull away if it can, and his right hand will involuntarily reach for the wounded one. That allows me to continue my attack.”

“Ouch,” Jack said. He could imagine the blood spurting out of the resulting wound that would have disabled his hand and maybe even severed it from the wrist.

“Let’s do some more work,” Amador said. The Kali master coiled, then sped like a skater toward his larger opponent, his shoeless brown feet barely touching the mat, the calluses scraping like a file on sandpaper. Then the slow-motion death dance began again.

They spent the next twenty minutes demonstrating the power of Kali knife-fighting techniques and the vicious striking power of a karambit blade against a trained fighter like Jack. All of Jack’s blocks were easily countered with the flick of the blade. Kicks were stopped, too, and countered with slashes across feet, ankles, and thighs. Amador used his free hand and feet for strikes as well. Jack and Amador stopped in the middle of each strike-counterstrike sequence and demonstrated the subtle but powerful techniques Amador deployed.

“Now let’s switch up. Jack, you attack me, and I’ll defend,” Amador said.

“Do I get the knife?” Jack asked, hopefully.

“You don’t need a knife. You’re much larger and more powerful than me. I’m just a little old man!” Amador laughed. “Begin!”

Now Jack moved in, throwing slow-motion punches and jabs at Amador, easily six inches shorter than him. As in other martial-arts demos Jack had witnessed, Amador used a variety of techniques to dodge or deflect the heavy blows with his free hand but instantly counterstruck with the wicked claw-shaped blade, inflicting slicing wounds across the back of Jack’s hands, around his wrists, down the biceps, across the forearms. They no longer stopped to demonstrate at each point of contact but flowed continuously with the fluid motion of their attacks and defenses.

Jack picked up the pace of his attacks, adding straight and rounded leg kicks. Amador matched him step for step, blow for blow, dancing inside and out of Jack’s larger frame and delivering crippling knife strikes at the groin, inner thighs, stomach, and face. Other blows were struck with the far end of the knife, the steel retention ring acting like a brass knuckle. It delivered crushing blows to soft tissues, cartilage, and bone in the nose, larynx, and eyes.

“It’s like I’m boxing with a velociraptor!” Jack said, admiring the fluidity of Amador’s movements matched to the vicious talon in the man’s skilled hand.

After the last lethal blow was struck — the curved blade’s inner edge striking Jack below the left ear, then dragging the pointed tip across the carotid artery — the shadow fighting stopped. Jack acknowledged his defeat with a gracious smile and a bow.

“Questions?” Amador asked.

“I noticed that a lot of your knife skills were connected to your openhanded martial-arts technique,” Dom said. “It was kind of hard to separate the two.”