He drew the strikers from his belt and urged Tug to one last burst of speed. The assassin, seeing him only forty metres away, drummed frantically with his heels in his horse’s ribs. The exhausted animal had slowed to a trot while his rider had been preoccupied and now he needed speed again. The horse responded as much as it could but Tug was eating up the distance between them now. Too late, the assassin began to reach for one of the many daggers he carried. But Will’s right arm went up and then came forward in a smooth, powerful throw.
The strikers glinted in the sunlight as they spun end over end. For a second, the assassin didn’t see them, didn’t register the danger. Then he saw the spinning metal and ducked low over his horse’s neck.
The man had reflexes like a cat, Will thought. The strikers spun harmlessly over his head and disappeared into the long grass. Will cursed. He’d never find them again.

Halt's Peril, Chapter 34