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shower of multi…coloured sparks。 Lying there； the room tilting like the deck of a channel ferry that had run into choppy waters； heaving one way then the other。 About to throw up at any second 。 。 。
Sabat had perfected two phases of unarmed bat taught by the SAS； the downward scissor kick； and the uppercut springboarded by flexed muscles on landing； a trick employed when it was necessary to attack an enemy from a higher level。 It was all over in a matter of three seconds； instant victory which would have satisfied most men； but not Sabat！
He stared down at the three fallen youths； saw everything in them which was despicable to a civilised society； the swastika emblems； steel capped boots； and the cruelty of those features which he had pulped to a bloody morass。 And he remembered what their kind had done to Ilona and a score of other girls； the atrocities which their rades might be mitting； even at this very moment。 The fury which had simmered inside him for the past few hours was ing to the boil again； that punchbag had been a trial run just to limber up； now he had live targets and oh God； how they were going to pay for what they had intended to do to him！
He moved across to the first two； snatched their 'guns' from their jackets； sent them skating after the first one。 The odds were three to one and he didn't give a damn for their chances。
'On your feet； you fucking scum！' The scar on Sabat's face was more vivid than ever。 'I'm giving you the chance to fight for your lives。'
Fear showed on their faces； not just fear of Sabat but sheer terror because they realised they had failed 。 。 。 and they knew the price of failure！ Possibly otherwise they would have cringed and pleaded； surrendered。 But they recalled Lilith and what she did to those who displeased her； and somehow it gave them the strength to e off their knees in a surging rush； a battered bloody threesome still bent on murder。
Sabat was taken momentarily by surprise； not anticipating a concerted retaliation by those whose wounds were terrible to behold。 Hands clawed for him； punched； steel capped boots driving viciously。 A blow caught him on the shoulder； sent him spinning。 He hit the vaulting horse； rolled on to one of the thick mats； and then they were on him； biting； punching； tearing； the blood from their wounds splattering on his face。
There were no rules； you fought any way you knew how and the loser's prize was death； physically torn apart； battered beyond recognition。 And amid the animal grunts and snarls of his attackers； Sabat heard Quentin laughing loud and clear； and that was the added impetus he needed to e out of this alive。
Sabat grasped a thigh； slid his Fingers up it； felt the warmth and softness of a crotch。 Then he squeezed； hard and long； hung on as the other jerked upright screaming。 Something squelched in Sabat's hand like the collapse of a rotten apple and he loosened his hold； knowing that the odds had been shortened to two to one。
The other two jumped him； one from behind； pinioning his arms； the second preparing to deliver a devastating kick to his groin。 Sabat tensed； felt the sheer unbelievable strength of the youth holding him； and there was only one way to break that steel grip 。。。 he drove backwards with his head； a short jab； bone against bone； the encircling arms slackened and Sabat was just in time to twist aside； taking that steel tipped boot on his thigh。 Painful but not serious； and he was still fighting。
A quick glance behind him。 He saw the bloody face； nose and mouth seeming to have been crushed into a crimson mulch。 The third attacker was still convulsing on the floor； hands pressed to his damaged testicles。
The one who had kicked him swayed； almost lost his balance； muttered something beneath his breath and dropped back a pace。 But he； was far from finished； a wounded enraged bull determined to fight on until the bitter end。 He saw the guns in the corner； began to back slowly towards them； Sabat following him step for step。
This time it was Sabat who made the first move； a rapid feint to the left which decoyed his opponent's guard； followed in almost the same movement by a right uppercut identical to the one which he had thrown a few seconds earlier and with even more devastating accuracy。
The other straightened up； it might have been an optical illusion but his feet seemed momentarily clear of the ground。 The point of the chin split like an over ripe tomato； skin parting； blood gushing out。 And then Sabat hit him again。 And again。 A rain of short blows； too quick for the eye to follow； powerful jabs。 The youth dropped to his knees； head slumping forward； but only for a second； a plimsolled foot took him in the throat； threw him almost on to his feet again。 Something cracked loudly； his eyes glazed over； and slowly he slid to the floor。
Sabat was already back with the other two； not giving them a moment's respite。 Once the enemy was down you kept him down。 He reached out； grabbed the shuddering doubled up figure with hands still embedded in its crotch； swung him up high above his head。 Too late the hands came away； tried to break the force of impact as the body hurtled at the wall。 A brittle snapping sound like treading on dead twigs； the beginnings of a scream that never made it。 He hit the floor； rolled over once and did not move again。
Two down； one to go； now the odds were in Sabat's favour。 The memory of Ilona's dead body came back to him as he closed in； saw her wounds again； the rivulets of encrusted blood； she had suffered； hadn't stood a chance； and that was how it was going to be with these three。
The third youth could not stand； his legs appeared to be lifeless things that splayed in all directions。 Sabat gripped him by the collar of his denim jacket； held him upright with one hand； the other bunching into a death…dealing ball of bone； a missile about to be launched。
For one second Sabat stared into that face； the features had been erased； the cruelty crushed like pulped cider apples。 The eyes were swelling； blackening； but Sabat saw and understood。 Drugs； certainly； but more than that； a fixed stare that said it all。 Hypnotism！
In the same way that a newspaper that has been read and its contents digested； is cast aside； so it was with the third disciple。 A battering ram caught the point of the jaw； Sabat releasing his hold at that instant； the body catapulting backwards； hit the wall and slid to the floor。 Not even an agonised groan escaped the split lips。
Sabat filled his lungs； regulated his breathing once again。 He looked around him； surveyed the battlefield。 The taller of the three； by the way his head lay at an unnatural angle； had a broken neck。 The second one undoubtedly had a cracked skull； the third in all probability only suffered from a fractured jaw and possibly a couple of cracked ribs。 It was difficult to tell without a thorough examination and Sabat had no intention of going to that trouble。 One was dead； another would undoubtedly die； and the most fortunate of the trio would recover in due course； di