Trejasmens – The Traditional Latvian Weapon

This type and form of close-combat sword with three blades has long been associated with the Latgalians, as evidenced by archaeological material from the Middle (8th century) and Late Iron Age (13th century) in the historical Latvian region. Interestingly, a significantly smaller version of the trejasmens, resembling a peculiar dagger, was found in the medieval archaeological layer (dated approx. 14th century) in Sārumkalns, Priekuļi.

Mentions of the ancient Latvian weapon trejamens can also be found in Latvian folk songs:

“No lord has
a warrior like that –
a golden belt all around
a sword with three blades.”

Determining the approximate age of this folk song could provide the key to identifying the final phase in which this weapon saw widespread use. In Livonia, Latvian militiamen stored armor and pikes in Order castles. It is reasonable to assume that the Livonian War (1565–1583) was the last major event where this weapon—the trejasmens—may have still played a role in forest warfare.

The distinctive form of this weapon is specifically attributed to the Latgalians. At the same time, a similar weapon known as the scramasax was also common in the territories of Estonia and Finland. An example of this can be seen in the image below, which records archaeological evidence from the Kivtu burial site in the Ludza region. The weapon is placed along the side of a man buried in the cemetery, visible on the right side of the image.

Special attention should be given to several key features in the image:

• The trejasmens is laid across the hips—or more precisely, positioned in line with traditional carrying customs (left side of the image).

• The blade’s length matches the wearer’s hip width or, alternatively, the length of the forearm.

• In all known cases, the bearer of the weapon belonged to a nearly professional warrior brotherhood, as suggested by the presence of brooches, additional weapons, and consistent wrist cuffs on the left arm.

As for the specific placement—trejasmens burials are often accompanied by bronze rings, serving as connectors and separators beneath the waistbelt.

Latvian folk song:

“…The  Moon gave me
A sword beneath my belt.”

This method of securing the weapon—laying it across the hip line and adjusting its size to suit the wearer’s anatomy—ensures ease of movement in forested terrain rich with underbrush. At the same time, bronze rings may have been replaced by leather or woven straps, which were surely used; however, the bronze ring between the belt and the scabbard facilitated smoother weapon draw. As seen in the image, the blade faces upward, and this intermediate fastening allows the wielder to grasp the handle from below, twist slightly, and draw the weapon instantly into a combat stance—without losing a moment in battle.

The shape of the blade itself can be described as medically anatomical, crafted with a deep understanding of blade movement and its ability to cause profound cuts to flesh and bone alike.

The sword’s length deserves particular focus—the trejasmens is a highly personalized weapon. To maximize its effectiveness in battle, the blade must match the length of the wielder’s forearm, effectively becoming an extension of the arm. Thus, the trejasmens we describe is anatomically refined in both form and function.

The Livonian-Baltic German ethnographer Levis of Menar once noted that Germans did not collect local weapons as trophies because, in his words, “the locals attacked with long knives.” This statement has caused a sense of humiliation among many Latvians and reinforced a desire to view the archetypal Latvian warrior wielding a beautiful double-edged sword, such as those seen in historian-typologist V. Kazakevics’ book Baltic Swords. In archaeology, a few double-edged sword finds in burial grounds once helped define new social status criteria—automatically downplaying the value of the trejasmens.

The author of this article holds the opposite view—this claim affirms the existence of a traditional martial culture among the Latgalians. The double-edged sword is not only a costly weapon but also represents a different combat style. When thoughtfully considered, it is actually less practical in the dense, forested environments typical of Latvia—especially if your opponent does not wear iron armor.

Double-edged swords, often ornate and luxurious, clearly indicate wealth. But in the Latvian context—under military democracy—they are not necessarily symbols of high social status.

Fighting with a trejasmens is an art. A martial art rooted in prolonged observation of nature, a deep understanding of natural laws, and precise movement and feel. An art passed down through generations. And when we read in history books that lords forbade non-Germans from carrying knives in the 17th century, we are reading about the end of the TREJASMENS era.

From the perspective of a trejasmens sword-fighting instructor—this is not only a traditional weapon but also an immensely impressive one. It is especially suited to local conditions: a weapon, and when needed—a tool.

The trejasmens meets all criteria of a traditional weapon: it has a time-tested and functionally sound method of fastening, a specifically crafted blade, and is glorified in folklore.

Today, traditional martial arts still survive in the Caucasus, Nepal, and Yemen. In all these lands, young men learn the art through dance. Dance, as a principle of combat training and agility, points to ancient, well-established traditions. In Latvia, we take pride in our dancers—and claim that everyone dances. Good. Here is one more step toward self-confidence. A patriotic calling for our exceptional choreographers. The very best.

A traditional weapon is also defined by its connection to its environment and historical context—just like the curved daggers of the Georgians and Caucasians, designed for use with chainmail in mountainous terrain; the Yemeni jambiya, a double-edged blade optimized for use in dense, urban spaces; or Nepal’s kukri, a localized form of the Macedonian army’s weapon left behind in 300 BCE—its off-center strike zone closely resembling that of the trejasmens.

And if eliminating the consequences of occupation is truly important—then, Latvian people, let us lift this up to the light and revive the skill: may the TREJASMENS, our national weapon, become a symbol of physical readiness and confidence! Whoever can defend themselves with a trejasmens, can defend themselves just as well with a stick of the same length—just like Sprīdītis in Anna Brigadere’s deep story—and vice versa!

Andris Geidāns, son of Aivars