The Sabre

The Sabre

By Leo Kee Chye 

Imitating 古龙’s story telling style….


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The place wasn’t a liquor store, but there was plenty of wine. 

The place wasn’t a casino, but there was plenty of gambling. 

The inn had no name, but it was the most popular place in the vicinity of several hundred miles. In the main hall there were ten tables laid out. You could sit at any one of those tables and enjoy the many dishes they had to offer. 

In the middle of the main hall, there was also a very lofty flight of stairs. 

But nobody knew what was upstairs, nobody had ever been up there. 

Because there was no need for you to go up there. 

Everything you could ever want was right here, ground floor. 

At the foot of the stairs was a smaller table. And at that table sat a lavishly (extravagant) but neatly dressed middle-aged man. He appeared to be sitting all alone at that table entertaining himself with the counting of taels of silver coins. 

Rarely did anyone ever see him do anything else. And rarely did anyone ever see him stand up. Yet, it turned out that he was really the proprietor of this place. 

Business was average tonight, with only three of the tables filled. But the food and wine on these three tables were enough to serve an army. Tthe men at the tables couldn’t quite care because they won’t be paying a single tael. They could get away with it and everything else because they were bandits. No ordinary bandits they were but highly skilled martial arts exponents who possessed a great streak of ruthlessness. Their name alone struck fear into hearts of mortals. 

The clanging of wine bowls, the slurping of food, the brawling (noisy sound) of these unruly men were the only noise audible tonight. And the loudest came from the two burliest (robust and strong) and the most uncouth (ill-mannered) looking men, Long Meng and Tian Lai. They were their leaders, both wearing menacing double-handle swords whose blades had previously spilled much blood and silenced many cries. 

In the midst of their revelry, a young man unexpectedly emerged out of the darkness of the night into the inn. He walked slowly. His left leg took a single step forward, and then his right leg dragged along from behind. 

He wore a pale and emaciated (extremely thin) face as if he had not eaten for months. With the exception of pale-white complexion, everything else on him was black, his dark rode and especially his peculiar looking sabre: its scabbard was black and its hilt was black. 

The sabre was in his hand, a pale white hand, an ebony black sabre! His left hand seemed to glue to his sabre. 

Suddenly, the inn became so quiet that people can even hear the young man’s dragging of his feet. The bandits’ eyes were fixated on him. 

“Waiter, a bowl of noodles please,” he asked politely with a weak voice as he took a seat at one of the empty tables, oblivious to the surrounding interest in him. 

When his meal arrived. The young man began to eat but very slowly, a mouthful of noodles and then a mouthful of soup, because he only had one hand to spare. The other was still glued to his sabre. No matter what he did, that hand never left its hilt. 

“I’d never known that a cripple can wield a sabre!” Long Meng yelled gleefully, holding to his bowl of wine as he sprung onto his feet and walked towards the young man. “You must be well-versed in art of the sabre, then why don’t you come out and show us what you know?” 

“Sabres aren’t meant for show,” the young man replied. 

“If it’s not meant for show, don’t tell me that it can kill? A cripple like you can really kill?” Long Meng shouted, pouring his half-finished bowl of wine into the young man’s noodles. 
He suddenly burst out in laughter and said, “If you have the balls, then come over and kill me! Let’s see what you’re made of!” 

The bandits all erupted in laughter. 

“But if you’re too scared, you can just crawl underneath my legs and I’ll spare your miserable life,” Long Meng said as he lifted up his left leg and landed it hard onto the table. Dirt and mud from his boot splattered into the noodles and onto the young man’s face. 

The young man’s head lowered, his eyes still staring at his noodles. After a long while, he really bent down and started to crawl through the legs. 

The bandits started laughing wildly. 

But the young man didn’t seem to hear their laughter at all. There was no emotion on his face as he slowly slid his body underneath the legs. 

Long Meng was actually quite disappointed. He thought that the young man would resist and he could have some more fun with him. Now his game of fun had to end early. But before that, he turned his head to the bowl of noodles and spat into it. 

“Finished the noodles, cripple,” Long Meng said gleefully. “That’s your rewards from me.” He then returned to his fellow-bandits and continued their drinking revelry. 

Amazingly, the young man also returned to his table and continued his meal as if nothing had happened. 

“This cripple has no grit at all,” one of the bandits yelled, shaking his head. “I’d rather died than to be humiliated that way.” The other bandits gestured in unison, pouring and drinking more wine. 

All revelries have to come to an end. This one was no exception. The only exception was that they not only refused to pay but also took the whatever money that was in the inn. 

“No! Please! I beg you!” the proprietor pleaded, crawling on the floor, holding onto Long Meng’s robes. “Don’t take our money away…that is what little for our survival.” 

“Get off me you filthy old man!” Long Meng roared. He drew out his gleaming blade and raised it up. “Or I shall show you death.” 

Just as the word ‘death’ came out of his mouth, a silver arc hissed through the air with binding speed. No one quite saw where did it come from. But they knew it could not have been Long Meng’s blade for it was there in his hand. 

Without warning, Long Meng’s burly body collapsed. His head immediately rolled off his shoulders. Spurting fountains of blood quickly ensued from the decapitated body. It was a grisly sight. The proprietor had already fainted. 

Every one of the bandits unsheathed their blades, their heads turned to every direction in the inn. Long Meng’s was killed right in front of their eyes yet they knew not who did it and how. 

The inn suddenly became silent again and only the slurping noise of the young man at his noodles could be heard. Then, everyone’s attention was focused on dark sabre of the young man. The sabre was in the scabbard and the young man’s hand was still glued to it. 

Tian Lai raised his sword gingerly, yet dare not to strike. Sweat dropped from his head continuously. His hands were trembling. “Was it you?” 

“It wasn’t me,” the young man replied slowly as he gave a loud burp after draining the last drop of the soup into his stomach. ” But I think it was my sabre.” 

Tian Lai’s face fell into disbelief. No one inside the inn dared to laugh, laughter just wouldn’t come out. In fact, everyone even held their breaths. 

“My sabre isn’t meant for show,” the young man continued slowly with his ever weak voice. “It only meant to kill.”