Flinx Transcendent_ A Pip & Flinx Adventure - Alan Dean Foster [118]
Flinx steeled himself. He was quick, long of limb, and in good condition. If he could get in underneath the killer's first shot, he could strike upward to deflect the arm holding the pistol. There was a distinctive thranx fighting move Truzenzuzex had taught him long ago that just might catch a human assassin, even a professional, off guard. But before Flinx could launch himself forward, the Qwarm did something entirely unexpected.
Moving slowly and deliberately, the assassin put his weapon aside, setting it down on a nearby padded bench. Then he straightened and eyed his target. And waited expectantly.
In one respect Flinx was fortunate. Any other opponent, any ordinary aggressor, would simply have tried to shoot him down where he stood. A professional, however, functioned according to a different code. The most professional of all their kind, the Qwarm followed strict rules of combat. If Flinx had been armed he would likely already have been shot. In contrast, by standing defenseless before a highly trained senior Guild member he acquired a certain degree of innocence. That would not grant him mercy, but according to the rules of the Guild it would allow for opportunity, slim as that might be. He was still going to die. The only difference was that it would be by the Qwarm's actual instead of metaphorical hands.
As he had throughout his life, he would take whatever chance was offered. He had received instruction in hand-to-hand combat from Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex. If he could not overwhelm his overmuscled executioner, maybe he could surprise him.
If you are out-sized, you counter with speed, he had been taught. Without waiting for a formal invitation, he threw himself at his assailant. Arms extended in front of him, the waiting Qwarm dropped into a fighting crouch. Beneath the gleaming black and crimson skullcap there was no eagerness in his countenance, no disdainful grin on his face. He was just doing a job. Guild convention required that it be consummated in a way that would take slightly more time than originally anticipated. No matter. The end would be the same.
At the last instant Flinx spun in midair parallel to the floor and kicked out, first with his right leg, aiming for the assassin's groin, second with his left, in an attempt to make contact with the blunt bridge of the man's nose. Neither strike was compassionate. Both were intended to disable or kill. In a fight for his life and Clarity's there were no rules. One could not lose gracefully. You won, by any means possible. Or you died.
Demonstrating extraordinary agility for one so massive, the Qwarm dropped onto his back. One scything hand blocked Flinx's first strike. The second kick passed over its intended nasal target as the assassin thrust sharply upward with both feet to strike the younger man solidly in his solar plexus.
As the air whooshed out of him Flinx found himself flying through the air. He landed hard on his back, fighting for breath. He would roll fast, kip to his feet, and attack again before the Qwarm could regain his …
Hands in striking position, the assassin was already standing over him.
How had he recovered so quickly? Flinx had barely hit the floor before the killer was looming over him. He readied himself as best he could to block the expected leg thrust or punch. Lying prone, he was vulnerable to all that and more.
Empathetic projecting had failed. Hand-to-hand combat had failed. What other weapons did he have available to him? He unleashed a stream of words. Already aware that emotion would have no effect on his designated assassin, he kept his voice steady and rational. Pleading, crying, begging, would weigh no heavier on the Qwarm in verbal form than they had emotionally.
“If you kill me,” Flinx