"How's the handle attached, or the grip, or whatever it's called?"
"That's the hilt, the tsuka. Held on with a little wooden peg stuck through a hole in the metal. Here, let me show you." I had a small brass punch on my key ring that was specially designed to push it out. "Under the grip there's a wrapping of silk braid, and then a layer of the belly skin of a stingray, to protect the steel. But you just remove this peg and the whole ensemble slides right off." I removed the handle and laid it on the sink. "Now you can see the untempered end of the sword, the tang or nakago as it's called." I passed the weapon to her, blunt end first. "That's where a swordsmith engraved his signature, his title, the place it was forged. So you always should check. On a really important piece, there may be cutting tests noted there. Like maybe they tried out the blade on a criminal or two just to see if it worked. Quality control."
"God." She shuddered. "Really?"
"Licensed testers did it and certified it in gold engraving on the nakago. Some of the ones upstairs have it. But this one's an ubu, virgin." I watched her turn it in the dim light. "Careful now. That edge is very sharp."
"How can you tell if it's really old?"
"Lots of ways. The grain, the signature, and then too a good one should have some rust there on the nakago, black not red."
She held it up a second and examined it.
"Virgin, huh? No signature?" She had a funny, almost embarrassed, expression on her face.
"Correct. But like I said, this one's not—"
"Then who was 'Nihon Steelworks: Nagoya'? Somebody you bought it from?"