“I do have lovely hands,” Shanka said. She struck.
Rastaban stepped back, fists up to guard, but she was fast. Too fast. Inhumanly fast. She closed the distance between them in the moment between two breaths, and then she planted a fist in his gut.
Rastaban staggered back, winded and struck with the sudden urge to retch. Shanka caught him by the shoulders, and then she swept his leg out from under him. Rastaban’s world went head over heels and he was on his knees on the ground, Shanka’s arm locked across his throat and a blade tickling his pulse.
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