The Maharajah's General by Paul Fraser Collard Page B

yards disappearing in a sudden rush as he flung himself at the huge man, releasing his tension into a blow aimed at the back of the bandit’s neck. It was a vicious attack, driven by all of Jack’s anger at the futility of the desperate fight. His sword vibrated in his hand as it sliced through the air, the aching muscles in his forearm already bracing for the moment of impact, for the shock of the blade ripping into the enemy leader’s flesh.
    The talwar came out of nowhere. The black-robed figure spun round, his richly decorated blade whispering upwards with the speed of a striking cobra, the huge two-handed sword blocking the blow that had been a heartbeat away from ending his life.
    The counterattack smashed Jack’s sword to one side, violently deflecting his blade away. Jack was immediately thrown completely off balance and he tumbled to the floor, hitting the stony ground with a bone-jarring thump. As he fell, the talwar flickered through the air, missing his head by a fraction of an inch.
    Jack threw himself to one side as soon as he hit the ground, using the momentum of his fall to roll away from his enemy, ignoring the stabs of agony as his body scraped across the rocky soil. Once, twice the talwar stabbed downwards, missing him by no more than a hair’s breadth, the attacks coming at him so fast that he could do nothing but throw himself down the slope and hope that he could avoid the deadly blade.
    His wild tumble gained momentum, the incline of the slope adding speed to his movement. He sensed another attack, the flash of the talwar slicing through the air inches from his nose. The blade went wide; it gave Jack the slightest of openings and he pushed with his legs, scrabbling for purchase. He scrambled to his feet with as much speed as he could muster, and with a dull clang his notched and pitted sword met the dreadful talwar. His desperate parry battered the blade to one side, saving him moments before his enemy’s sword would have been thrust into his guts.
    The fierce surge of elation at once again being able to fight was short-lived. The black-robed figure stepped forward, unleashing a flurry of attacks that had Jack sliding backwards as he struggled to counter the pace of his enemy’s movements. The talwar sliced through the air, each slash followed within a heartbeat by another, a relentless salvo that drove him back down the slope, his sword arm ringing as he blocked each blow as best he could.
    ‘For pity’s sake, shoot him,’ he screamed at Isabel.
    She gave no sign of having heard him. The small silver revolver was still clutched in her left hand, but it hung uselessly by her side, the terrified girl giving no thought to the weapon that she had brandished with such defiance only a short time before.
    Jack twisted to one side, his attempt to get Isabel’s attention momentarily distracting him and nearly letting the black-robed swordsman’s blade slip past his faltering defence. Again and again he parried the fast-moving talwar. He was forced to forget Isabel as he fought for his life, every ounce of his strength needed to counter the terrifying rain of blows that came at him one after another, each driven by a strength he could barely match.
    The black-robed figure started to chant as he fought. Underscored by the metallic clash of swords, the deep voice rumbled in a hypnotic rhythm. Jack did his best to pay no heed to the words, but they unsettled him nonetheless, the menace in the foreign phrases clear.
    With a loud cry the chant stopped. The black-robed figure paused for no more than a single heartbeat before his sword whirled through the air, slashing towards Jack in a blow of immense power.
    Jack thrust his battered sabre forward. His speed saved him, the two blades coming together a fraction of a second before the talwar would have crashed into his unprotected head. Yet the noise of the impact was wrong. With a dull thud, Jack’s sabre shattered, the cheap steel cleaved in half by the