One sleepy Sunday morning at Aiea's Blaisdell park, there's a birthday luau, church gatherings, even a dog show. Then, there are the dudes with swords. About twice a year, mock combat practitioners come together for the Warlord Tournament.
Sword fighting is safer, cheaper (maybe) and more social than some of the other crazy things I've done in pursuit of a magazine story. And more natural: Just about every little boy will pick up a stick and start dueling with playmates. These medieval and early modern reenactments are equal parts swordplay and scholarship: Many participants are historians or experts; some have translated and published medieval weaponry and training primers. Consider this an impractical application of knowledge.
The Warlord Tournament is one of about a dozen such gatherings in the strange and persnickety realm of mock combat on Oahu. The eighteen fighters of today's group hail from three distinct organizations. Members of Historical European Martial Arts wear modern armor and fight with polycarbonate or dull steel swords, daggers, spears and poleaxes. Schola St. George is a nonprofit that carries on the sword arts in Hawaii and globally, with a focus on the English tradition and reproductions of armor from the Thirty Years' War of the mid-seventeenth century. There's a subculture of craftsmen and enthusiasts who make and fight in authentic-looking replica armor. The Society for Creative Anachronism are the folks who usually stage your local Renaissance faire; they're more about living the chivalric ideal than actually fighting, but at the Warlord Tournament, one must deliver.
The object isn't so much to win as to be a worthy opponent. "I'm a bit more advanced," says tournament organizer and SSG member Josh Beck. "I have a bit more 'helmet time' than most people here, so I'll fight at or slightly above their level." Sir Richard of the North, a thirty-year SCA veteran, is just here for fun. New guy Nelson Schoening, fighting in borrowed armor, is looking to prove his "renown," or notoriety for fighting above his experience level.
The opening ceremony is a free-for-all battle royale officiated by Mike Bell, the previous Warlord Tournament champ. It's hard for the spectators on the sidelines to process the chaos of the melee. The last men standing get top seeding for the remaining matches as well as their choice of weapons.
The fights themselves have few official rules but a lot of guidelines. Stay in bounds so you don't put a spectator's eye out. Repeatedly punching a guy in the face mask or targeting the groin will get you excommunicated. As tournament master—emcee, referee and color commentator rolled into one—Mike sets the conditions for the match: "first to seven hits," "three on three" team fights or the dreaded duels "to my satisfaction." The weapons are based on ancient designs but made of high-impact plastic or rubber. Mike matches opponents and weapons to ensure a fair fight—or not. New guy Nelson is granted a dagger (plastic, with a rounded tip) and pitched against an experienced spearman. He ought to be a dead man clanking, but his teammates coach him to deflect the spear with the dagger, thwarting the spearman's attempts to land a hit with the tip—the only way to score a kill. Nelson wins by closing the distance and stabbing his opponent in the ribs.
What's it like to fight? First, strap a colander to your head. Then don your puffiest, tightest-fitting parka, your thickest gardening gloves and some hockey and rollerblading padding. When you square off with your opponent, salute and begin the fight, you feel like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man moving in slow motion. But don't get too comfortable: Just as in pro wrestling, the weapons might be fake but the pain is real, even through the armor. A hit stings your body as much as your pride—especially when your opponent brings a dagger to a spear fight.
Nelson goes on to best Alex McFarlin, an experienced practitioner of German sword styles, then Bryan Castle, who's dressed as a pirate and wields dual cutlasses. And who'd have imagined it? Nelson wins! "My daddy is like a superhero!" cries his three-year-old daughter, Jordyn. Nelson takes home the grand prize for his display of renown: a replica steel helmet from Elizabethan England. Pirate Bryan wins second prize despite never having dueled with a four-foot longsword, defeating Alex, who trains almost exclusively in German longsword.
Weird as they might look to the folks at the dog show and baby luau, these tournaments offer a bit of relief from modernity, harking to a simpler time when disagreements were settled swiftly and honorably—by impaling one another.
