Byrne cast a horrified glance at the figure fighting by his
side.
"Fer de love o' Mike! Beat it!" he cried. "Duck! Git out o'
here!"
But the girl only smiled up bravely into his face and
kept her place beside him. The mucker tried to push her
behind him with one hand while he fought with the other, but
she drew away from him to come up again a little farther
from him.
The samurai were pushing them closely now. Three men at
a time were reaching for the mucker with their long swords.
He was bleeding from numerous wounds, but at his feet lay
two dead warriors, while a third crawled away with a mortal
wound in his abdomen.
Barbara Harding devoted her energies to thrusting and
cutting at those who tried to press past the mucker, that they
might take him from behind. The battle could not last long, so
unequal were the odds. She saw the room beyond filled with
surging warriors all trying to force their way within reach of
the great white man who battled like some demigod of old in
the close, dark, evil warren of the daimio.
She shot a side glance at the man. He was wonderful! The
fire of battle had transformed him. No longer was he the
sullen, sulky, hulking brute she had first known upon the
Halfmoon.
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