Master Of The Hashomi

It seemed that for every man who fell two more took his place. Blade gave up the hallway a foot at a time, backing slowly toward the stairs. He would have to hold the stairway until the end, otherwise these people would have an easy route up to the women's rooms.

Blade swore. It was ludicrous, to realize that he was quite possibly going to die here in the bloody, body-strewn hallway, defending a whorehouse from enemies in masks. He didn't know who they were or why they were attacking. He didn't even have time to make a good guess!

Anger at this ridiculous fate flowed through Blade, twisting his face into a mask so terrible that several of his opponents drew back. It filled him with a terrible speed and strength, so that he went over to the offensive and killed three men with four sword strokes. Then the hallway was clear around him, and he was facing a bandy-legged man with a long knife in each hand.

The man came at Blade with a rush, his movements sure and fluid. Blade had plenty of room to swing his sword, and aimed a cut at the man's head. The man brought up one knife fast enough to deflect the sword to one side, thrusting with the other knife at Blade's groin. Blade twisted to one side and slashed down again. His sword bit into the man's right shoulder. The man blinked, but didn't make a sound. Blade knew he was facing one of the Hashomi.

The Hashom took a step backward. Then he raised his right arm, which should have been impossible. With more strength than Blade could believe, he hurled the knife from his right hand at Blade. Blade had to leap aside to avoid taking the knife in his chest. The Hashom charged, whipping his other knife around in a wide arc and stabbing upward. Blade's sword came down, but he'd misjudged the Hashom's speed. Instead of splitting the man's skull, Blade only mangled his right shoulder again. This left the Hashom on his feet, charging past Blade toward the foot of the stairs.

Blade had to move quickly, to catch the Hashom without turning his back on the other men. As his sword came up for the killing blow, a chair came flying down the stairs from above. It caught the Hashom squarely in the chest, hurling him across the hallway. He held onto his knife, but couldn't do anything with it before Blade's sword came down. This time the stroke split the Hashom's head neatly in two. Before the body struck the floor Blade was turning back to face his other opponents.

He did so just in time. Seeing Blade distracted by the Hashom, the other attackers had regained their courage. Eight of them were in the hallway now, moving forward one step at a time, stepping over the bodies, leaving the bloody footprints, but coming on as steadily as a glacier and in overwhelming strength. Blade picked up the chair and set it. in front of him to block part of the hallway, without taking his eyes off the men coming at him.

Then bare feet thudded on the stairs. Esseta and two other women were standing beside Blade, as suddenly as if they'd sprouted from the floor. Esseta held a dagger, the second woman held a kitchen cleaver, and the third held the broken-off leg of a chair. Esseta raised her dagger in a mocking salute to the attackers.

«Hail, doomed fools! Consider the price Kubin Ben Sarif will ask for this night's work, before you come on! You will pay that price, whatever happens to us. There is nothing you can do for yourselves by doing anything to us.» There was a hissing note in Esseta's voice, exactly like a snake's angry warning.

The eight men stopped as if an invisible rope had been stretched across the hallway in front of them. Some kept their eyes on Blade, but others looked furtively toward the now-distant doorway. From upstairs came the sound of furniture being pushed around. Blade hoped the women and servants were building some sort of barricade across the head of the stairs.

Then the door flew open, and three more men sprang into the hallway. One carried a long shepherd's staff with a knife tied to the end of it, making a crude but wicked-looking spear. The other two carried crossbows. The spearman gave a wordless cry and slammed the butt of his weapon on the floor. A quiver ran through the men facing Blade, and they began to draw to either side.

In another second the archers would have a clear field of fire. With the flat of his sword Blade slapped Esseta across the back. «Get down!» he shouted, pointing to the chair. It was poor cover for her and the other women, but better than nothing. He himself dropped into a crouch, ready to spring forward, seeking cover among his enemies. If he could get into the middle of them, and even better, if he could knock down the lamp that was the only light in the hallway. Not much chance of that, though, and no chance of his surviving it. The women might be able to make their retreat, though, and-

A sudden explosion of sound from outside made the spearman and the archers stiffen. Hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the street, men shouted, horses neighed. Then crossbows began to go off, and men began to scream.

The spearman whirled around and thrust his head out the door. A second later he reeled back into the hallway, a spear rammed through him from chest to back. He threw up his hands and fell. As he did, he crashed against one of the archers and the man's crossbow fired. The bolt went into the back of one of the eight men facing Blade, flinging him so violently forward that he knocked down several of his comrades.

Whatever the cause, the enemy was falling into confusion. Blade snatched up the chair with his free hand, hurled it into the middle of the enemy, then followed up with his sword.

The confusion among the attackers promptly became total. Some tried to run forward to meet Blade others tried to retreat toward the door. Some just stood where they were, unable or unwilling to do anything. Blade's sword flashed and hissed in a deadly arc, and two men reeled toward the wall, trying to stop the blood from gaping wounds. He heard a gurgling cry, and saw Esseta cutting the throat of one of the men who'd been knocked down. The remaining archer fired, and the bolt thunked harmlessly into the wall.

Now the men in the hallway might have broken and run, but Blade and the women were pressing them too closely. They didn't have time to even turn around, let alone run. A man on the floor kicked out wildly, and Esseta tripped over him and went down. Another man tried to stamp on her, but as his foot came down so did Blade's sword. The man's leg came off just below the knee, and Esseta gasped and spluttered, drenched in a torrent of blood spraying from the stump. The man screamed and fell almost on top of her.

Then a sword was slicing the air toward Blade's head. He whirled to avoid it and his foot slipped on the blood now inches deep on the floor. He threw out his other leg for balance, and got it tangled up in the chair. He threw out both hands in a last desperate effort to keep himself upright. His free hand slammed into the wall, and then his head slammed into the heavy iron bracket holding the lamp. A roaring explosion of pain and fire threw him down into blackness.

Blade's last thought was that it was a bloody stupid way to die, tripping over a chair just when help had arrived.