Either luck or foresight had made the last man snatch up a short sword with a curved single-edged blade, rather like a machete but with a heavily weighted pommel. The sailor held his sword low and to one side, and waved a length of red cloth in the other hand.

Does he think I'm a bull? thought Blade. Then the man was coming in, much too fast to be a joking matter. Blade dodged, and saw that one end of the red cloth was wound around the man's wrist. As he closed again, Blade snatched up the club dropped by the first man, and with his other hand grabbed the end of the red cloth. A tremendous jerk with all Blade's weight and strength behind it yanked the sailor off-balance. Then Blade brought the club down across the sword arm. He heard bone crack and the sailor scream, knew he'd struck harder than he intended, and snatched the sword from the sailor's limp fingers.

As Blade raised both the sword and the club, the disarmed sailor decided he was too much to tackle now, and went back down the ladder as fast as he could. Blade let him go. He'd driven off the first attack without killing or apparently even seriously hurting any of his four opponents. Now perhaps the ship's crew would realize they couldn't easily stamp him into the deck. Then they might be willing to talk peace.

Blade saw that the ladder up to the foc'sle was only tied in place. Two quick slashes cut the ropes, and a push sent it clattering down onto the main deck. Now it would be even harder for the crew to get to close quarters over Blade's objections. Then he laid down the sword, slowly and carefully so that everyone on deck could see him do it, and raised his right hand in a gesture of peace.