JapanFile has been updated! If you are not automatically redirected, click here to visit the new site.

The art of sword drawing remains one of the less popular martial arts but its philosophy lies at the heart of the samurai ethic.

Two samurai face each other, inches apart. Their eyes study each other. Tense, yet oddly calm. Time passes. Then, in a second, the flash of silver blades, and a gush of scarlet. One collapses, dead.

Kurosawa, in the final scene of Sanjuro, shows the samurai world for its true brutality, and lack of glamour. As Mifune Toshiro concludes, the best sword remains in its sheath. Iaido is the art of drawing that sword.

Many of Japan’s martial arts are practised around the world. Within Japan, judo and kendo are standard school activities. Aikido is ever more popular both at home and abroad. Ninja are icons throughout the world. Yet only a handful of enthusiasts still practise iaido.

Iaido lies at the heart of the samurai ethic. It is the way of the sword: a practice designed hundreds of years ago for warriors to perfect their fighting techniques. It has been passed down as a living art from master to pupil over the generations, and its practitioners use real katana, long and razor-sharp. Practitioners aim to reduce sword movements to their most pure and effective forms, which to a samurai meant the technique that killed his opponent quickest. Fortunately, in modern practice there is no opponent, and to demonstrate their highly honed skills, they slash through rolled tatami, representing the enemy of days gone by.

Samurai fights were not glamorous affairs. These were not swashbuckling Errol Flynn swordfights, blades clashing and glinting in the sun. Swords were so sharp and techniques so highly developed that a single strike would kill: It was over in seconds. Often the two men would simply face each other, swipe their blades as fast as they could, and the fastest man won. The slower man was dead. Such is the duel that ends Sanjuro: Mifune and Nakadai Tatsuya just stand there, face to face, before one stroke ends it all.

Iaido grew from the need to defend against a surprise attack. Slow reactions meant death, so the samurai needed to master the art of sensing an attack, drawing his sword and striking his opponent, all in one fluid motion. Sometimes it is called the art of drawing the sword, because all the techniques begin and end with the sword sheathed. Simply learning to unsheathe the sword correctly takes months: I tried, and almost severed my thumb in the process. Given this, it is perhaps unsurprising that iaido is not widely practiced - only 3,000 or so people across the nation.

Okuda Katsuyasu, a practitioner of ten years from Nara, suggests that most Japanese people are afraid of swords, and certainly they do have grisly historical associations, ranging from samurai battles to the ritual suicide known as seppuku. Often linked to grisly underworld deaths, the swords have now been specifically banned from the streets and cars of Osaka. Yet the swords remain revered for their fine workmanship, and are treasured heirlooms. Swords may be scary, but there are more practical reasons for iaido’s small following.

The fact that there is no opponent does not help. To the average teenage boy, whacking your classmates with a bamboo kendo sword or throwing them across the judo mats can be a fairly satisfying release of energy. Iaido uses real swords, but the novice levels are hardly action-packed: this is not kung-fu fighting. Like golf, the early stages can be solitary, and require an abundance of patience and self-discipline. Having a real samurai sword strapped to you might sound pretty cool, but practice drawing it a hundred times or so, and it won’t seem all that different from practising your swing.

Such contradictions are at the heart of iaido. It is an art designed to kill - in a particularly gruesome manner - and yet it focuses on calm, on adjusting oneself to suit others. The swords are vicious weapons, and yet renowned works of art, treasured throughout the world for their workmanship and beauty. The movements are swift and lethal, and yet the practitioners I have met exude calm and understanding, and seem intensely non-violent.

The key to understanding iaido’s contradictions lies in its history. In Japanese martial arts, a broad line can be drawn between jutsu on the one hand, and do on the other. Jutsu are fighting arts designed by warriors on a practical military basis. The do focus on spiritual discipline and self-perfection, and often concentrate less on the practical techniques than the principles behind them. Until the Meiji Period, iaido was termed iai-jutsu. Iai-jutsu was practical, and vicious. In Edo times, a samurai would practice thousands of sword strokes a day, often engaging in a bloody practice known as tameshigiri: the testing of techniques on the corpses of executed criminals. It was only in the Meiji Period, under the influence of Buddhism, Confucianism and Shinto, and a period of lasting peace, that iai-jutsu gained a more spiritual side, and developed into iai-do. Quieting the mind, often through breathing, became important, and the rigorous practice of former times eased. Nowadays, though, there are still a few iai-jutsu practitioners, who regard iai-do as an old man’s version, and adhere to the pure original - though thankfully without tameshigiri.

In older generations, there is a deep-rooted respect for the swords themselves, for their history and sheer artistic beauty. Many salarymen profess that one of their dreams is to buy a real samurai sword for the family. A standard brochure has blades ranging from cheapies at a million yen, up to ¥4 million. On top of that comes the handle and hand-guard, which will set you back ¥40,000 at least, and far more for a good, classic Meiji design. So it is hardly surprising that many, having bought a sword, simply hang it on the wall. Okuda Katsuyasu practices with a cheaper replica; the real sword is brought out for ceremonial displays at Shinto shrines.

What with the hours of practice, costly swords and focus on self-disciplined samurai ethics, it is perhaps not surprising that iaido remains a minority sport. To many though, it represents something of the heart of Japan, and is a tradition that must and will continue. As for me, I always wanted to be in a Kurosawa movie. Iaido is the closest I’ll ever come to being one of The Seven Samurai.