RainStorm

posture looser, again moving fluidly, light
    on his feet. Of course I had no intention of boxing with him or
    otherwise trying to engage him at a distance. That was his game,
    not mine. But if I offered him a familiar appearance, say, the appearance
    of the kind of opponent he was accustomed to facing in
    the gym and in the ring, his body might automatically respond to
    the recognizable stimuli, much as mine had done a moment earlier
    when I had landed with a judo ukemi. In which case he would begin
    to approach me as though I was another savateur, thereby, I
    hoped, creating an opportunity for me to close with him. He
    wouldn't be unacquainted with grappling--savateurs call their grappling
    style lutte, a derivative of Greco-Roman wrestling designed
    more to maim than to restrain--but I had little doubt that, if I
    could take him to the ground, the advantage would be mine.
    He chambered his right leg, feinted, then returned the foot to
    the ground. He repeated the maneuver. And again. The upraised
    leg started to return to the ground and I saw my opening. I shot
    forward. But the third time had been no feint, or in fact it had been
    the real feint, and the leg reversed course and whipped in from my
    left. I covered up with my left elbow and the toe of his shoe caught
    me between the biceps and triceps. It felt like I'd been hit with a
    hammer. He retracted the kick, then shot it in again, this time
    toward my forward knee. I lifted the leg just as his heel landed, and,
    although it hurt, the impact was dissipated enough to prevent
    meaningful damage.
    He replanted his right foot and I shot my own kick in, a basic
    front kick off the back leg aimed at his knee. He twisted clockwise
    off the line of attack and parried inward with his left hand. I
    reached out and managed to snag his left sleeve with my right
    hand. I rotated counterclockwise, dragging his sleeve down and
    around, ruining his balance and forcing his body to follow. As he
    spiraled in toward the ground, I changed direction and brought my
    left hand up under his hand. I swept my right leg around clockwise
    along the ground and levered his arm backward, trying to break it.
    Even with his balance destroyed, though, his reflexes were quick.
    Rather than resisting the wristlock, he launched his body into it,
    getting ahead of the lock's momentum and saving his arm.
    He landed on his back and I immediately dropped onto his solar
    plexus, my left knee leading the way. He grunted and I heard the
    wind being driven out of him. I kept his arm and dragged it upward,
    simultaneously sliding my left foot under his ribs, preparing
    to fall back in ajujigatame armlock and take out his elbow. But again
    he showed both quick reflexes and sound training: as I whipped my
    right leg across his face and dropped back into the lock, he spun his
    body in my direction and retracted his arm like a man trying to
    yank out of a straitjacket sleeve. His reaction cost me some of my
    leverage, but I still held enough arm to damage him. He reached
    around with his left hand and grabbed his right wrist to prevent me
    from straightening his arm. I brought my left leg up and hacked at
    his wrist with my heel. His grip broke. I popped backward and lev-
    BAR
    ered his arm against the natural movement of the elbow joint. I felt
    an instant of resistance from the surrounding ligaments, then felt
    the joint break with a resounding crack. He screamed and writhed
    under me.
    And in that instant I realized I had lost track of his other arm. It
    had disappeared from my view. My stomach lurched with the
    knowledge. Then, as that lurch rolled sickeningly through me, his
    right arm flashed into view, light glinting off the surgical steel he
    was holding in it. A second razor, deployed after the attacker had
    been lulled by disarming him of the first. Malice.
    I clamped his head tighter with my right leg and squeezed my
    knees together, increasing the pressure on his ruined elbow. He
    screamed again, but he was fighting for his life now and wasn't going
    to be stopped by pain alone. He slashed at my thigh with the
    razor. I tried to grab his wrist but missed, and the blade cut deep
    into my quadriceps. He pulled back, then immediately cut me
    again. There was no pain, really, adrenaline taking care of that for
    the moment, but a gout of blood spouted out of the wounds. He
    slashed again. Again I missed the grab, and this time he cut my
    wrist. The next time I caught him. Immediately I shifted my leg