Hal pleaded.
“No, we can’t. Now take a swing.”
“You’re not going to be happy until I do, are you?” Hal said and Thorn nodded, saying nothing. “All right then …”
Hal took a halfhearted swing at the shabby figure before him. Surprisingly, his fist whistled through empty air. He hadn’t really seen Thorn move. Perhaps he had swayed slightly to one side, but Hal couldn’t be sure.
“Gorlog’s nostrils!” Thorn said, his voice full of scorn. “If that’s the best you can do it’s as well I stopped Tursgud killing you yesterday.”
Hal felt the blood rising to his face. He didn’t want to hit the disabled old man. But the taunt about Tursgud aroused his anger.
“Would you feel more at home if you tried to slap me?” Thorn sneered, and Hal’s anger burst free, like water cascading through a breach in a dam. He took a wild roundhouse swing at Thorn.
And missed. Again, Thorn’s jaw simply didn’t seem to be in the same space as Hal’s fist. Yet again, he’d seen no violent movement. Maybe Thorn had leaned back slightly. Just inches, no more.
He frowned and stared at his opponent.
Thorn sneered at him. “You just don’t get any better, do you?”
Hal’s last vestige of self-control snapped and he leapt at him, swinging with his left hand this time. That should catch him by surprise, he thought.
His fist hit a brick wall, stopping dead in the air. He had a moment to realize that Thorn had caught it in his own left hand. In the same moment, there was a blur of movement in front of his face and he found himself looking at the scarred stump of Thorn’s right arm. It had seemed to come out of nowhere and stopped a few millimeters short of his face.
Thorn released his hand and stepped back. The anger and sarcasm seemed to have gone now.
“All right, let’s talk about this for a few minutes,” he said.
Hal shook his head, mystified. This wasn’t the Thorn he had come to know. This Thorn was confident and capable, not the shabby odd-job man Hal was accustomed to.
“The majority of people, when they want to hit you, will do as you just did: swing a big roundhouse punch,” Thorn said. “Punches like that have a lot of power behind them. But the problem is, they’re easy to see coming. So they’re easy to block and dodge. Even you could probably do it.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” Hal said.
Thorn raised his eyebrows. “No need to get snippy, boy. Not after the display you just put on. The point I’m trying to make is that a straight punch, like the one I just threw at you”—he indicated his right arm—“is a lot harder to dodge. It’s harder to see it coming and it gets to the target faster because it travels a shorter distance.”
Hal frowned thoughtfully. Thorn was explaining this in a way he understood—appealing to his analytical nature.
“I see,” he said slowly.
Thorn glanced keenly at him and gave a satisfied nod.
“On top of that, a straight punch can carry a lot of force behind it, as long as you put your shoulder and weight into it. Step into it as you punch. Try it. Hit my hand.”
He held up his left hand, palm out, to Hal. The boy drew back his right fist and Thorn stopped him.
“Use your left,” he said.
Hal looked at him, puzzled. “But I’m right-handed,” he explained.
“Most people are. So Tursgud will expect you to favor your right. Use your left and you’ll catch him by surprise—the way you just tried to do with me. Your instincts were good, but the execution was pretty dreadful. Don’t take a big swing, just jab him first with your left—a straight punch. Then use a hooking right hand. Now try it.”
Hal threw a tentative straight jab at Thorn’s big, calloused palm.
“Get your weight behind it!” Thorn barked. “Use your shoulder!”
Hal tried again and felt a far more satisfying smack of contact as he hit Thorn’s hand.
“Now step in!”
This time he felt there was even more force behind the punch.
“Again!”
He
“No, we can’t. Now take a swing.”
“You’re not going to be happy until I do, are you?” Hal said and Thorn nodded, saying nothing. “All right then …”
Hal took a halfhearted swing at the shabby figure before him. Surprisingly, his fist whistled through empty air. He hadn’t really seen Thorn move. Perhaps he had swayed slightly to one side, but Hal couldn’t be sure.
“Gorlog’s nostrils!” Thorn said, his voice full of scorn. “If that’s the best you can do it’s as well I stopped Tursgud killing you yesterday.”
Hal felt the blood rising to his face. He didn’t want to hit the disabled old man. But the taunt about Tursgud aroused his anger.
“Would you feel more at home if you tried to slap me?” Thorn sneered, and Hal’s anger burst free, like water cascading through a breach in a dam. He took a wild roundhouse swing at Thorn.
And missed. Again, Thorn’s jaw simply didn’t seem to be in the same space as Hal’s fist. Yet again, he’d seen no violent movement. Maybe Thorn had leaned back slightly. Just inches, no more.
He frowned and stared at his opponent.
Thorn sneered at him. “You just don’t get any better, do you?”
Hal’s last vestige of self-control snapped and he leapt at him, swinging with his left hand this time. That should catch him by surprise, he thought.
His fist hit a brick wall, stopping dead in the air. He had a moment to realize that Thorn had caught it in his own left hand. In the same moment, there was a blur of movement in front of his face and he found himself looking at the scarred stump of Thorn’s right arm. It had seemed to come out of nowhere and stopped a few millimeters short of his face.
Thorn released his hand and stepped back. The anger and sarcasm seemed to have gone now.
“All right, let’s talk about this for a few minutes,” he said.
Hal shook his head, mystified. This wasn’t the Thorn he had come to know. This Thorn was confident and capable, not the shabby odd-job man Hal was accustomed to.
“The majority of people, when they want to hit you, will do as you just did: swing a big roundhouse punch,” Thorn said. “Punches like that have a lot of power behind them. But the problem is, they’re easy to see coming. So they’re easy to block and dodge. Even you could probably do it.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” Hal said.
Thorn raised his eyebrows. “No need to get snippy, boy. Not after the display you just put on. The point I’m trying to make is that a straight punch, like the one I just threw at you”—he indicated his right arm—“is a lot harder to dodge. It’s harder to see it coming and it gets to the target faster because it travels a shorter distance.”
Hal frowned thoughtfully. Thorn was explaining this in a way he understood—appealing to his analytical nature.
“I see,” he said slowly.
Thorn glanced keenly at him and gave a satisfied nod.
“On top of that, a straight punch can carry a lot of force behind it, as long as you put your shoulder and weight into it. Step into it as you punch. Try it. Hit my hand.”
He held up his left hand, palm out, to Hal. The boy drew back his right fist and Thorn stopped him.
“Use your left,” he said.
Hal looked at him, puzzled. “But I’m right-handed,” he explained.
“Most people are. So Tursgud will expect you to favor your right. Use your left and you’ll catch him by surprise—the way you just tried to do with me. Your instincts were good, but the execution was pretty dreadful. Don’t take a big swing, just jab him first with your left—a straight punch. Then use a hooking right hand. Now try it.”
Hal threw a tentative straight jab at Thorn’s big, calloused palm.
“Get your weight behind it!” Thorn barked. “Use your shoulder!”
Hal tried again and felt a far more satisfying smack of contact as he hit Thorn’s hand.
“Now step in!”
This time he felt there was even more force behind the punch.
“Again!”
He
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