And landed hard on her back. Sven’s hand slashed her throat.
She widened her eyes. “Hey! No fair!”
”There’s no such thing as fair, girl.” He let her up. “Get back into your stance. Remember, a man armed with a knife can cover twenty feet faster than you can draw a gun. Keep your distance from potential threats and stay alert.”
Quite suddenly, the game wasn’t so funny.
Margo reassumed her stance. “What else?”
”Forget everything you’ve ever seen in movies. I’m talking martial arts, knives, fistfights, or guns. Movies are crap. They’ll get you killed. A knife fight is likelier to leave you dead than a gunfight-dead or crippled if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. Know how to use your weapon. Ann will teach you projectile weapons: firearms, archery, even blowguns. I’ll teach you the rest. Getting tired? Good. Next, you fall.”
And she did, too. Repeatedly Sven taught her a better way to fall than her karate instructors had ever shown her. By the time Sven was satisfied that Margo had at least learned how to fall down, she was shaking with exhaustion and covered with sweat.
”Okay,” Sven finally told her, “shower and change into fresh clothes. Ann’s waiting for you on the range.”
Margo held back a groan and scraped herself off the mat. Malcolm Moore abandoned a kata of his own and intercepted her halfway across the gym.
”Please,” Margo said, holding out both hands to ward him off, “don’t rub it in.”
”No hard feelings.” He smiled, surprising her with the friendliness in eyes, and held out one hand. She shook it warily. “Really, Margo,” he said with a self-conscious laugh, “you pointed out how badly I need to practice. I’ve been lax lately. Thanks for reminding me to get back in shape.”