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Chief of Staff Eljay applied to the ordeal, it was still bread and circuses
for the masses. He knew that in the wild old preunification days, a number of
self-styled barons set up gladiatorial games, most of them using murky old
traditions about the survival of the fittest for justification. Despite all
their other flaws
and they were almost countless the oligarchy of the nine barons had put a
stop to that kind of organized barbarism.
In a low, grim voice, Grant intoned, "Hogan, as a general rule I win games
like this. And as a general rule, the losers always die. You really don't want
me to prove that to you."
Hogan uttered a barking laugh of contempt. He si-dled forward, feinting with
the spear point toward
Grant's face in short little jabs. As he recoiled, the man spun the rod and
hooked Grant's ankle. He jerked, and, arms windmilling, Grant slammed heavily
onto his back. Only the loose sand kept the wind from being knocked out of
him.
He rolled frantically to the right as Hogan stabbed down. The point bit deeply
into the ground, the sharp-
ened tip scraping along the side of Grant's face, nick-ing his earlobe. He
kept rolling, but Hogan didn't pursue him.
Dizzy, spitting out grit, Grant got to his hands and knees. He saw Hogan
strutting in a lordly fashion a few feet away. He whirled his bar over his
head as he played the crowd, face split in a silent laugh.
Grant mopped blood from the side of his neck and felt just a little sick. The
man was toying with him, intending to humiliate him before killing him. The
anger that had been growing within Grant suddenly burst in a wild flame of
rage.
Muscles coiling, he sprang to his feet and bounded toward his adversary, his
iron bar held before him like a sword. Hogan pivoted to meet him, and the two
lengths of thick metal collided with an unmusical clang.
Hogan took the offensive again, crowding Grant with a flurry of thrusts,
strokes and feints. He was tireless. On he came, on and on, forcing Grant away
from the wall and into the center of the arena. Grant kept retreating. It was
all he could do, all he could manage, the only way to stay alive. He began to
feel a tinge of fear replacing the fury.
file:///J|/sci-fi/Nieuwe%20map/James%20Axler%20-%2...20Moon%20-%20The%20Dragon
%20Kings,%20Book%201.html (36 of 174)17-2-2006 3:18:22
James Axler - Outlanders - Devil in the Moon
Reversing his bar, Grant lunged forward in a bull-like rush, trying to impale
his opponent. It was his personal philosophy strike fast, strike once, then
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
get the hell clear. Hogan sidestepped swiftly and tried to trip him with the
hook as he rushed past. Grant man-aged to leap over it, but the toe of his
boot caught in the curve of metal and he staggered, off balance for a moment.
He heeled around, blocking a blow from Hogan that would have split open his
skull. His adversary seemed to know that his body was protected, so he
concentrated his attack on his head.
Grant moved carefully backward, seeking to get his back to the wall again, but
before he could get in position, Hogan bounded forward, hammering away with
his iron bar in a never-ending flurry of deadly strokes.
Grant parried and blocked with his rod, not having the chance to strike a blow
himself. His lungs felt like balloons filled with dry ice, and his muscles
quivered and spasmed. It occurred to him that the man was not human, that he
was made of the same stuff as his weapon iron.
Grant had fought hand to hand in a lot of places. He'd learned from Mag
trainers, Pit carjackers and even a few cornered outlanders. Always he had
come out the victor in one-on-one combat. Now he won-dered if had met his
match at last.
Putting his back to the wall, Grant did the only thing that occurred to him.
Using the wall as a spring-
board, he tucked his head against his chest, dropped his bar and dived
forward. He heard a lethal blow whisper over his head, brushing the back of
his skull, then he cannonballed his entire weight into
Hogan's midsection.
The man staggered, but he didn't fall even as Grant sought to drag him down.
His knee came up hard against Grant's forehead and, at the same time, the
point of the rod in his right hand stabbed down at his upper back.
Grant gritted his teeth, feeling the sharp point slam between his shoulder
blades. Only the tough fabric prevented it from impaling him. Getting his legs
un-der him, he secured a grip on Hogan's thighs and wrenched upward, lifting
him completely off his feet, then dumping him onto his back. Air left his
lungs in an agonized grunt.
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