"Steve Perry - Matador 02 - Matadora" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

Matadora


Steve Perry


CHAPTER ONE


DEATH CAME FOR her from behind a child's game.
There was only a single man this time, but Dirisha saw he was trained by
the way he moved, solidly within his own Center. She didn't know him, but
she knew what he was: a ronin, like herself. He was a player and it was the
Musashi Flex which drove him. He might have seen her work, or maybe
heard from somebody who had. So now, he had to test her. It was always the
way of it, that testing.
Damn.
Somebody might die, she knew, and death only had two contestants from
which to choose. It was no field of honor on which Dirisha Zuri stood,
watching her would-be assassin, only a dimly-lit arcade, bounded by banks
of holo-proj games and sturz-booths. The place was deserted, save for
Dirisha and her stalkerтАФshe had chosen it for that reason. He moved well,
this big man with tea-colored skin and blond hair, but he was all too visible a
tail to somebody with Dirisha's own training.
She nodded at him, resigned. "Armed?"
He shook his head. "Let's do it bare."
"All right." If he were any good, he'd be carrying half a dozen weapons. He
could have a buzzer, buckle blade, slap-caps, maybe even a projectile pen;
Dirisha had those. His hands were open and empty now, but that didn't
mean anything. If it went against him, he might go for a helper; certainly she
would. Honor was in surviving, not fair play. But first, you had to know...
 Tea-skin slid his left foot forward a few centimeters and turned his body
slightly. He brought his hands up, left high, right low, and stiffened his
fingers, curling his thumbs down. He was four meters away.
Dirisha stood relaxed in a neutral stance and watched Tea-skin calmly as
she tried to figure out his style. One of the striking systems, obviously, and
likely he was a mono-stylist, too. He could be very good at it, but he gave
away more than he should by his stance; a really experienced ronin would
hide as much as possible until the last moment.
Tea-skin scooted forward half a meter, using the economical push-slide of
a martial boxer. Karate or kung fu, Dirisha figured, or one of the myriad
variants. He would be a power-fighter, judging from the swellings of his
muscles. He would likely hit hard and depend upon his strength to carry the
fight. All right. She knew she shouldn't expect anything, that she should
simply trance-react to whatever came, but her experiences wouldn't go away.
If she was right, she might be able to handle him easier, maybe get away
without killing or maiming him.
He moved half a meter closer, sliding across the grimy tile floor. A blue
light from some holoproj game program strobed across his face and he
blinked against it. The same blue light glinted from her own black skin.