Those risks would not be small. Blade had only his knife, and the swords his opponents held were a foot and a half longer, curved like scimitars, and clearly heavy enough to chop a man in half. A gilded band ran along the back of each sword, so at least they weren't doubled-edged.

Blade stepped forward to force the two men to deliver their attack while they were still on the bridge. That way they would have to come straight at him, and they would have only the light planks rather than the solid ground under their feet.

The two swordsmen stayed level with each other, their steps were measured and precise, and the gleaming swords they held in front of them never wavered. As the men closed, Blade saw that each man carried a knife like his in a heavily patterned leather sheath hanging from a sash at the waist. Otherwise they were dressed identically-soft boots, baggy trousers with a faint sheen to them, soft leather vests that left their arms and necks bare. They wore no armor that Blade could see, and every bit of hair except their eyebrows had been shaved off. Their heads were wrapped tightly in bands of leather, like an Indian's turban but much more tightly fitting.

Their clothing might be almost comic, but the steel they carried and the way they moved were not. They were clearly trained fighting men, sure and quick in their movements. Blade knew he could not safely take any chances against them-at least not until he had a sword to match theirs.

The two swords rose higher still, ready to slash down at Blade's head. He balanced himself on the balls of his feet, both hands out of sight behind his back. Then the swords came down, the one on Blade's left a second ahead of the other. The steel muscles in Blade's legs uncoiled, hurling him high and to one side. As he leaped, he shifted his knife from his right hand to his left.