Blade knew that his only chance now was to get to close quarters before the spearmen could turn him into a porcupine, then rely on his superior strength and skill. He sprang to his feet and charged straight at the leader, whirling his mace around his head so that it was a gilded blur in the torchlight, screaming at the top of his lungs. The leader took one tremendous leap backward, putting himself beyond the range of Blade's savage swing. One of the other men standing over the woman wasn't so lucky. Blade's mace smashed into his temple, and he flew through the air and landed six feet from where he took off. His companion swung his sword up in a flashing arc, but Blade knocked it out of his hand with one swing of the mace and smashed in his forehead on the return swing.

For a moment the other swordsmen backed off from Blade, and the spearmen had a clear shot at him. But the spearmen were unnerved by his size and ferocity and the speed with which he had killed two of the swordsmen. And his leaping, whirling figure made a poor target in the flickering torchlight. He felt spears dart past his body and legs and heard them bang metallically on the road. Then he bellowed, «Run, you fool!» to the nude woman on the ground. Without waiting to see whether she obeyed or even heard him, he charged the spearmen, mace still whirling in one hand, a sword snatched up from one of his victims now flashing in the other.

The first swordsman came at him, sword held low for a thrust. Blade smashed down the man's feeble guard with the mace, then sliced the man's numbed hand from its arm with the sword. A spearman followed, holding his spear sideways, like a quarterstaff, ready to block or strike. But he was not fast enough to deal with Blade, who thrust with his sword to bring the spear down, then struck overhand with the mace to shatter the man's collarbone.