The Quillian Sector

Menser yelled, one hand lifting to his ruined eye, the hand falling as he dodged Dumarest's second kick. Hurt, he was even more dangerous than before, pain fueling the hate now powering his muscles, obliterating everything but the desire to rend and kill the man standing before him. Like an oiled machine, he swung into action, hands extended, feet moving in little, dancing steps, body poised to turn in any direction.

A wrestler and a dangerous one. A man with a very high pain threshold, as his apparent ignoring of his ruined eye testified. One who had to be treated with respect and caution.

One Dumarest had to kill before being killed.

He moved back, aware of the circle of watchers, the eyes avid with anticipation, the faces gloating at the free and unexpected spectacle. Faces rendered more beastlike by the blurring vapor, eyes more feral because of the steam.

"You bastard!" Menser inched forward. "I was just going to hurt you a little, break a few bones, maybe, or give you some bruises. Now I'm going to make you pay for what you did. Your eyes first, maybe. Or maybe I'll smash both legs and, as you crawl, tear out your arms. Then I'll take care of your eyes, a thumb in each socket, pressing slowly, so slowly, until they pop out like stones from a fruit And then-"

His voice whispered on but Dumarest ignored it. A trick to command a part of his attention and to ruin a little of his concentration. To weaken him by fear and to soften him by imagined terrors. Blatant tactics he had long since learned to disregard.

"Earl! Get him, Earl! Get the bastard!"

Carl Devoy offering what help he could and at the same time revealing both his courage and stupidity. If Menser should win he would be marked and taken care of-a high price to pay for the encouragement Dumarest didn't need.

He dropped as the giant came in, turning, his hand rising to chop with stiffened palm at the man's left knee. He felt the jar and spun to one side as the right foot lashed at his face, kicking back in turn, his heel impacting the knee he had struck. Then he was up and on his feet, circling to keep on the blind side of his opponent, making use of the advantage he had won.

A fist darted toward him, to scrape against the side of his head as he weaved, the forearm like an iron bar as he gripped it, throwing back his weight, trying to throw the giant off balance. Menser yielded, snarled as his other hand grabbed, laughed as the fingers sank into Dumarest's shoulder.

"Now," he gloated. "Now!"

His knee jerked upwards, Dumarest turning to avoid the crippling impact, striking back in turn, his foot aimed at the same left knee. A weak blow, but one which added to the previously caused damage, and he followed it with a thrust of his head which hit the nose and sent more blood to join that streaming from the ruined eye.

Then Menser struck in turn.

His fist rose, darted forward, making a meaty impact as it slammed against Dumarest's torso. A blow aimed for the face, which had missed as Dumarest reared upwards, fighting the steel like fingers holding him fast. One followed by another, which brought stars flashing and the taste of blood. A third, which created a web of darkness which edged close as, all around, men yelled in anticipation of the kill.

Dumarest twisted, using his weight to tear free of the gripping fingers, sweat oiling his skin as he blocked another blow and sent his own hand to stab fingers in the ruined eye. Menser screamed, jumping back, hands lifted to protect his face as again Dumarest kicked at the knee. This time, he felt bone yield, the kneecap splintering, maiming the giant and robbing him of quick mobility. But even though he had to fight to maintain his balance, he still had his hands and the strength they possessed.

"Coward!" Menser snarled his hate as he stood balanced on one foot. "Come and fight like a man!"

An invitation only a fool would accept. Dumarest feinted, drew back and then, with a blur of movement, had run forward, his hands busy, stiffened palms like blunt axes as they drove at the throat, the windpipe and larynx, crushing both before he withdrew from the closing arms.

Again.

A third time, this one resulting in a long gash over his shoulder as Menser clawed at his elusive opponent.

And then again, to leave the giant sprawled like a fallen tree, blood puddling the floor around his mouth, one leg bent at an impossible angle, the great machine of his body broken and stilled.

The woman said quietly, "Hold on now, this is going to hurt."

Dumarest heard the rustling behind him as he lay prone on the couch, a shifting of clothing, a metallic rattle and then something like liquid fire traced a path over his shoulder.

As he grunted, the woman said, "You should have gone to the hospital."

"Aren't you a nurse?"