Lin Page 33 The warrior halts. He sees the spears, hears them as they jingle like bells. Master Lau's robes split. No sign of blood anywhere, only a deflation, as if the old man had nothing but air inside. A furrowing of his brow as he faced the young man, no words exchanged, just his mouth forming the word Go. And then the swords were out and hacking at the old man's limbs, and even then there was no blood, he could have been a scarecrow jangling and falling to the ground, and then a smell of rotten eggs came at the warrior from behind, it was one of the guards coming to strike him down, such a cowardly maneuver, but he wasn't thinking of cowardice or honor or justice or revenge, he was focused on survival, and he spun and slashed with his sword, missed completely, but his hand made contact with his attacker's jaw, stunned him, enough time for another stroke and this one made its home in the man's chest. And then two or three more spears were upon him, he could see the arms that held the spears as the sleeves fell away from them, they were homely arms, mottled with the bruises of training, and they reminded him of the other children he battled when he was young, kicking and biting and screaming, scars like tiny necklaces, and he lashed out at all of them, the tips of the spears splintered and crushed by his force, his blade slamming further, flesh like silk, then the hard clang of bone, like butcher's meat, and he was moving, legs moving, seeking open ground, and through the faces and cries he could see the magistrate's wide-brimmed hat in the carriage window, untouchable, sending all these men to their deaths.