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squeezing the man in a bear-like embrace.
I was not idle, of course, while this was happening. I charged
toward the action, barely pausing as I passed the thug with the
broken shoulder to crush the back of his knee with my heel as he
tried to get up. He was on his hands and knees, one leg extended
to the rear; it was that knee I struck. Only a second, and his knee
cartilage gave way, putting him out of action for good. That kind
of injury is extremely painful, and never heals completely.
Now I came to the one who had been hit in the stomach. He
was not in top form, as he was still gasping for breath; spittle flew
from the mouth-slit in his gaudy ski mask. But he tried to stop
me, grasping for my legs as he rose from the floor. With my fingers
tensed, I gave him a blow with the heel of my palm, a shotei to the
upraised chin and combined it with an o-soto-gari half-leg sweep
to his right leg. The combination snapped his neck and sent him
tumbling on his back to the floor.
37
Drummond and his bandit were still embraced, neither able
to obtain a clear-cut advantage. They had now rolled over before
the blazing fire, scattering the ornate fire tongs, ash-shovel and
black broom across the hearth.
Another killer leaned over the pair of them, trying to get the
schaining body of his companion out of the way so as to finish
Drummond with some clawing to the face. I leaped high in the air
while uttering a terrible battle cry-TAO!-and landed with both
feet solidly on the assassin's back, breaking his spine.
But the last man was already on me, the metal of his handclaw
raking the top and side of my head. The pain was terrible, and
blood streamed down and into my right eye. Half blinded, I threw
him off and staggered back.
My rear crashed into the mahogany table. The silver candelabra
toppled and started to fall. Automatically I caught it, afraid
the burning candles would set the house on fire.
The man who had raked my face regained his feet. Now he
hurdled the tangle on the floor and came at me. The blood was
running over my eye, filling the socket and making the tissues
burn and sting so awfully I could hardly see.
I threw the candelabra at his head. His ski mask caught fire.
The thing blazed up hideously, yet it was anchored at his neck so
that he could not take it off quickly. He screamed and clutched at
it-and in doing so tore his face with his tiger's claws so that the
bright red of his blood mixed with the decorative colors of the
mask. He had no further interest in combat.
I took advantage of the respite to grab the tablecloth and mop
my own face with it. The beautiful white cloth was ruined, of
course, but my sight was a matter of life and death at the moment.
Drummond was on his feet again, clutching a huge heavy chair.
He had a nasty rip on his scalp-these were endemic in this fight!-
right across the bald dome. Evidently that was the price he had
paid for wrenching himself from the assassin. Then he dropped
the chair on his assailant. That piece of furniture must have weighed
38
two hundred pounds, and the oaken edge of it landed across the
man's neck. He didn't even groan; he was out.
It seemed we had weathered the onslaught of the Hyena. Just
a bunch of cheap hoods after all. Seven bodies strewn about the
stained rug.
"That smell . . ." Drummond said, looking about. I sniffed.
He was right; there was a peculiar odor, some kind of animal scent,
cloying and nauseous. The carrion aroma of an ill-kept tiger cage,
perhaps. I hadn't noticed it before, because I had been rather busy,
but it had to be associated with these hyenas.
Then a shape appeared in the hall, and the odor intensified.
Dumbly I looked, allowing the blood to drip once more into my
face.
It was a man-form with a grotesquely powerful body: short
legs, small hips, but a torso rising into a barrel-like chest, a mighty
back, huge muscular shoulders and a thick neck. But the figure
was hunchbacked-and it had the head of some predatory animal.
Doglike, but not a dog or wolf.
This was the Hyena. The real one, not an underling.
He wore a rubber mask over his head, of course. The effect was
striking, but I was not superstitious. I had fought his minions;
now at last I had come to grips with the master.
I was barehanded, but so was he. I saw that he needed no
metal tiger's claws; his own nails were long and sharp. His feet
were bare, the toenails, like the fingernails, shaped into deadly
claws.
Quickly I removed my shoes and socks to stand barefooted.
"Can't you kick heavier with your shoes on?" Drummond asked.
He knew, as I did, that it was no sense of fairness or appearance
that prompted me. The real fight was just about to begin. What
had passed before had been no more than the preliminaries.
I laughed, but my eyes never left the Hyena, who stood immobile,
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