The Maharajah's General by Paul Fraser Collard Page A

man held back, reluctant to enter the darkened room, using his companion’s body as a shield.
    Jack launched himself from the darkness, screaming like a banshee as he lashed out at the leading bandit. He smashed his fist into the centre of the man’s face before driving his left hand into the side of his head, cracking his fist against the hard skull.
    His victim crumpled, bludgeoned by the unexpected assault, his sword clattering to the ground as it fell from his nerveless grip. Jack bent and snatched up the fallen weapon, whipping the blade through the air, turning to face the second man.
    Isabel screamed at the sudden, shocking violence. Jack ignored her terror and slashed his stolen sword forward, forcing the second would-be killer to parry. He struck again, punching an opening in his opponent’s defence, a visceral shout of anger escaping his lips. As he prepared to thrust his blade home, Youngsummers rushed past, bellowing in fear and knocking against Jack’s arm, spoiling the killing stroke. The clumsy clergyman stumbled away, heedless of his actions, thinking of nothing more than reaching the darkest corner of the room.
    The bandit seized on the sudden reprieve and counterattacked, coming at Jack with a quick series of blows that drove him backwards. In the darkness it was hard to see the fast-moving blade, and Jack was reduced to a desperate defence as he tried to keep the enemy’s sword at bay.
    ‘Lord, save me!’ Youngsummers shrieked as the pair came close to his sanctuary. In his terror he lashed out with his feet, catching the bandit on the calf. The blow was no more powerful than a child’s but it made the would-be killer stumble. Jack saw the talwar drop and launched himself forward. His sword took the bandit in the throat. The blade drove deep, tearing away the man’s life in a rush of blood, killing him in a heartbeat.
    ‘Danbury, look out!’ Isabel screamed the warning as the first attacker stumbled to his feet, snatching a thin dagger from within the folds of his black robes.
    Jack threw himself around to face the new threat, ripping his sword free so that blood and scraps of flesh were torn from the wound and flung far into the room.
    The surviving bandit was slow. Jack’s ferocious assault had left him dazed and hurting. Yet he saw the attack coming and lurched backwards so that Jack’s blade whirled past, the tip of the sword whispering no more than a hair’s breadth from his bloodied face. With an incoherent shriek he bounded forward, his wrist locked so that he could drive his dagger deep into his enemy.
    Jack saw the razor-sharp blade reaching for him. In desperation he flung his left hand forward, locking it tight on to the other man’s wrist. He could feel the muscles pulsing under his grasping fingers, the sinews in the flesh twisting as his opponent tried to free himself.
    The bandit slammed his free hand forward, smacking Jack hard on the side of the head, trying to knock him backwards. Jack’s head rang from the blow but somehow he held on, his fingers digging into the other man’s wrist. His sword arm was trapped between their two bodies, so he let his blade go and pulled his right hand free, bracing himself to strike back.
    He saw the man’s lip curl in a snarl of animal anger, his teeth stained red with his own blood. The bandit spat at Jack and used both hands to try to wrestle the dagger away from the man he had been sent to kill, cursing the firangi officer who refused to die.
    Jack felt the strength in the man’s arms as they fought for control of the blade. He knew he had only moments before he lost his hold on the dagger. But his right hand was now free and he thrust it forward and grabbed his attacker by the balls. The man screamed in agony as Jack took hold, twisting his hand, his fingers digging in like claws, the flesh tearing under his grip. The bandit let out an inhuman shriek and let go of the dagger, both his hands scrabbling to free himself from the