Brion was winning—if no one broke the impasse. His greater weight and strength counted now. The Disan would have to drop the knife before his arm was dislocated at the shoulder. He didn't do it. With sudden horror Brion realized that he wasn't going to drop it—no matter what happened.
A dull, hideous snap jerked through the Disan's body and the arm hung limp and dead. No expression crossed the other man's face. The knife was still locked in the fingers of the paralyzed hand. With his other hand Lig-magte reached across and started to pry the blade loose, ready to continue the battle one-handed. Brion raised his foot and kicked the knife free, sending it spinning across the room.
Lig-magte made a fist of his good hand and crashed it into Brion's body. He was still fighting, as if nothing
