"Jennifer Fallon - Second Sons 02 - Eye of the Labyrinth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fallon Jennifer)

“That wasn’t fair. I wasn’t ready.”

The master-at-arms was standing with his arms crossed, grinning broadly. “It’s fair you want, is it? Is
that how they fight in Senet?” Dargin moved again, faster than Kirsh would have believed possible for
such a big man, although this time Kirsh was ready for him. He blocked the blow with his right arm and
struck back with his left, scoring a hit in the older man’s gut, hard enough to make him grunt. That small
sound was enough to satisfy Kirsh. Dargin could be hurt. It was just going to take an awful lot to do it.
“So, the cub has teeth,” Dargin laughed, dodging away from Kirsh’s next blow. Kirsh did not rise to the
bait. He was not that easily provoked. Anger led to foolish mistakes, and one mistake with Dargin could
prove fatal. He stood his ground, consciously controlling his breathing, balanced on the balls of his feet,
waiting for Dargin to move again.

The master-at-arms came at him, this time a little more cautiously. The one hit that Kirsh had managed to
land was apparently enough to convince Dargin that he would be in trouble if he let his guard down. But
with that cautious respect came the knowledge that if he really meant to prove his point, he had to win,
and that the young man he faced was unused to defeat. Not because he was arrogant or cocky, but
because Antonov had made damn sure his son was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Dargin feinted to the left and caught Kirsh with a glancing blow to the side of his head, which he dodged
at the last moment. Kirsh struck back, landing a solid punch under Dargin’s jaw, then, with his right leg,
he swept the bigger man’s feet out from under him. Dargin landed heavily on his back, but rolled clear
before Kirsh could press home his advantage. He gained his feet quickly, slamming his fist into Kirsh’s
chest so hard Kirsh could hear his ribs breaking. He staggered backward, but Dargin gave him no
respite. He hammered the younger man mercilessly. Kirsh managed to land a few more blows, some of
them even making an impression, but every time he breathed in a sharp pain stabbed at his left side.
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Relentlessly, Dargin pushed him back until he struck Kirsh’s broken ribs again. With a cry of sudden
pain, Kirsh dropped to his knees. Dargin immediately stepped back, panting heavily. “You’re hurt.”
Kirsh bit back the sarcastic urge to say: “No? Really?” He looked up at the master-at-arms through
pain-filled eyes, breathing as shallowly as possible. “I can keep fighting,” he gasped.

Dargin smiled. Kirsh was rather pleased to notice blood dripping from a cut over his eye and a large
bruise beginning to manifest itself on his jaw. At least he’d given a good account of himself.

“It’s not my intention to kill you, boy.”

“You could have fooled me,” Kirsh muttered, grimacing as he took a breath that sent a sharp spear of
pain through his side.

“You’re too used to fighting men who pull their punches. That’ll not happen here.” Dargin turned to one
of the men who had been watching the fight. The spectators’ reaction disturbed Kirsh almost as much as
Dargin’s obvious desire to beat him to a pulp. They had not cheered and chanted the way men did,
watching a fracas. They had stayed silent and observed the entire exchange with the detached interest of
men watching some sort of scientific experiment. “Alexin, get him to the physician. He’ll need to bind up
those ribs of his if he’s to be of any use to anyone.”