Denver Run by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins [Robbins, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_postapocalyptic
ISBN: 9780843925487
Publisher: Leisure Books
Published: 1987-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Imperial Assassins?

The first figure in black crossed the living room in four strides, swinging his sword in a vicious arc, aiming at the giant Warrior’s neck.

Blade reacted instinctively, whipping his right Bowie from its sheath and parrying the sword. The two weapons produced a loud clanging sound as they collided.

The man in black was well trained. He turned the parry into another strike, bringing his sword down and around, going for the Warrior’s knees.

Blade lunged backward, narrowly evading the keen edge of his opponent’s sword. Before the figure could recover, Blade surged in and up with all of his prodigious strength.

The man in black grunted as the Bowie was imbedded in his chest. His head lolled back and a great gush of air escaped from his lips.

Blade wrenched his Bowie free and stood aside.

The man in black tumbled to the floor.

Blade twisted to confront the other two.

They were gone.

What the…?

Blade cautiously moved toward the archway separating the living room from the kitchen.

Where had they gone? Who were the Imperial Assassins? Why did they dress all in black and carry Oriental weaponry? A memory stirred in the recesses of Blade’s mind. He recalled one of the martial arts books in the Family library. What was the title of it? Masters of Death: The Ninja.

Come to think of it, there were a number of books dealing with the ninja.

These Imperial Assassins reminded him of the traditional descriptions of the ninja. Was it possible? Were these Imperial Assassins really ninja, or simply elite soldiers trained in the martial arts and dressed as ninja?

Blade’s untimely speculation nearly cost him his life.

He had reached the archway and paused, glancing to his right and scanning the kitchen.

The second Assassin came at him from the left, from the doorway near the refrigerator, his sword a blur.

Blade dodged to his right, unable to block the blow.

The sword tore into the Warrior’s left leg, tearing the fabric on his fatigue pants but missing his skin.

Blade kept going. He needed more room to maneuver if he hoped to pit his shorter Bowies against the Assassin’s swords. He lunged for the door.

The inner, wooden door was already open. He gripped the handle to the screen door, pressed and heaved. His momentum carried him through the doorway onto the porch beyond, even as another blow of the sword narrowly missed his back.

Get clear of the house! he told himself.

Blade reached the end of the porch and drew his other Bowie, about to whirl and confront his attacker.

The third Assassin unexpectedly popped into view at the corner of the house nearest the porch, his right leg extended and rigid, standing directly in front of the huge Warrior.

Blade felt a sharp pain in his ankles, and the next moment he was flying head over heels to the ground. He landed prone, the impact jarring his body.

The second Imperial Assassin emerged from the house and joined his companion. They proceeded to circle the Warrior, their swords held high.

Blade, perplexed, rolled to his feet. What

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