Round Table martial arts

A second strike hit the first man’s solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs — but not killing him. As he collapsed to his knees, I was already moving onto the second man right next to him, effortlessly pushing away the barrel of the gun that was swinging in my direction, and I grabbed his other arm by the wrist and executed a perfect hip throw. Twist — crack — scream, and his shoulder was dislocated.

The thing about the hand to hand martial arts employed by the Knights of the Round Table — and probably knights of the era of plate armor in general, now that I thought of it — was that it focused way more on disabling strikes than on lethal ones. And that made sense, because cutting or punching through reinforced metal plates was really hard to do. Instead, the goal became striking at vulnerable points, at forcing your enemy into a disadvantageous position where you had easy access to stab into the gaps between plates with your sword.

This was almost pitifully easy, I thought as I spun around and stopped a spray of bullets from another merc by pressing my palm against the muzzle of his gun. I took hold of the barrel, then used my speed, strength, and leverage to twist the shoulder strap and pull his arm tight against his back. A quick blow to the back of one knee weakened his stance, and I threw him into the first man, who was still wheezing as he emptied his stomach onto the walkway.

A fourth swung his rifle around to shoot me, but I stepped forward and pushed the barrel upwards, sending his shots into the concrete ceiling. A yank pulled him off balance and tore the gun from his hands, and I slid smoothly behind him, looping the strap around one arm, and then grabbing the other and trapping it, too. In seconds, I had him trussed up with the strap of his own weapon.

Number five, in contrast, came at me with a big, wicked-looking combat knife — and I trapped the blade between my thumb and fingers, then snapped it off at the hilt like it was nothing more than a twig. Before he even had time to be surprised, I dropped the blade, grabbed his wrist, and did another hip throw, planting him face first into the walkway. While he was stunned, I took the wrist still in my hand, pulled his arm behind his back until it hurt, then tied the strap of his gun around it, such that if he tried to pull his arm free, he’d choke himself.

The last guy got a shot off before I could turn to him, but the laser glanced off like everything else had, ineffective. A quick, light jab to his throat brought him down, gagging, and while he clutched at what would wind up being a very painful bruise, I took his gun away and snapped it in half over my knee.