'This is my favorite, right here,' he said. He opened the glass case,
which was not locked. The British were a lot more trusting about such
things, Toni had noticed. In some of the Royal museums, you could
literally touch priceless works of art with your nose, if you were that
stupid. They just hung unprotected on the walls.
Carl took the kris and its sheath out. He gave it a quick nod, a kind
of military bow, then held it up so she could see the designs in the
steel.
'This is a five-wave dwi wama--a two-colored, or douh-pam or--blade.
By the guard, it's beras wutah, rice grains. From here to the point,
it's bunt el may it--the twisted pattern called death shroud. A very
powerful pam or this latter, particularly suitable for a warrior.
'It's a Balinese blade, they are generally longer and heavier than the
Javanese make, though it has been stained and dressed in the Javanese
style. Solo seven-plane ukiran handle, of kemuning wood. Look how
intricate the carved cecekan is on the inside, here and here.'
He pointed at the tiny stylized faces, said to represent kala, or
protective spirits.
'According to the history, this probably belonged to a mercenary who
moved to the area of Solo, Java, from Bali, sometime in the mid-1800s.
As a mercenary, he would likely have been employed by the local
ruler.'
He handed her the blade, and she took it and touched it to her
forehead, a gesture of respect her guru had taught her. She noticed
him nod in approval at her gesture.
The sheath was an informal one, the corners rounded, the wood a light
color with a couple of darker splotches, and the shaft was covered with
a plain tube of reddish copper.
'This is your favorite? Out of all these? Why?'
He nodded, as if expecting the question.
'Because it's a working weapon. It was never worn in the sash of a
maharaja, but belonged to a professional warrior. It probably saw duty
on the field of battle, and as such, it is full of fighting spirit.
Might just be my imagination, but I can feel its power every time I
touch it.'
'Too bad it's in the museum's collection,' she said.
He glanced away from her.
'Actually, it's on loan to them.' He grinned.
She shook her head and returned his smile. Of course.
It did have the feel of a fighting instrument in her hand.
Krises were stabbing weapons, with a pistol-shaped grip, this one
angled slightly inward, pointed where a thrust, if it hit a torso,
would drive it into the body's center, where it would likely find a
major organ. The waves would gouge a wider cut as it went in, and
allow more blood to flow when it came back out. They were ceremonial
weapons and cultural artifacts these days, but you could skewer an
enemy just as well with one now as you could two hundred years ago,
human anatomy not having changed much in the past couple million
years.
Her own weapon had been used at least once that way that she knew
