the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

facing multiple opponents.
Altaïr very deliberately fixed his gaze on a guard directly in front of
him …
Don’t ignore the others but home in on one. Make him your target. Let him
know he’s your target.
He smiled. The guard whimpered.
Then finish him.
Like a snake, Altaïr struck, coming at the guard, who was too slow to
react – who stared down at Altaïr’s blade as it thrust into his chest, then
groaned as he sank to his knees. With a tearing of meat, Altaïr withdrew
his sword, then turned his attention to the next man.
Choose one of your opponents…
The guard looked terrified, not like a killer now, as his sword began
trembling. He shouted something in a dialect Altaïr didn’t understand,
then came forward messily, hoping to bring the battle to Altaïr, who
sidestepped, slashing at the man’s stomach, gratified to see glistening
insides spill from the wound. From above Talal’s voice cajoled his men
to attack even as another fell and the two remaining attacked at once.
They didn’t look so intimidating now, masks or not. They looked like
what they were: frightened men about to die.
Altaïr took another down, blood fountaining from a slashed neck. The
last turned and ran, hoping to find shelter in the gallery. But Altaïr
sheathed his sword, palmed a pair of throwing knives, which spun,
glittering – one, two – into the escaping man’s back so that he fell from
the ladder. Escaping no more.
Altaïr heard running footsteps from above. Talal making his escape.
Bending to retrieve his knives, he took the ladder himself, reaching the