Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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"Now," she continued, "if you looked as if you were sleeping, how likely would someone be to disturb
you?"
"Not for a few hours, probably," the man said.
Shkai'ra took a small elongated leather sack out of the back pocket of the trousers liberated from a
deadsolas , and weighed it in her hand.On the one hand, Megan's pretty squeamish about bystanders
, she thought. It was a little odd, if endearing and sweet—you did what you had to to get the job done,
and anyway, who cared about strangers?Zoweitzum, most of the people I've known had personalities
that'd be improved by death . But you had to be careful with Megan; just because you loved someone
didn't make the differences of race and custom any less, and Shkai'ra had to live in her world.On the
other hand, he knows far too much, including where I have to be to follow the next lead to
Lixand. Bad luck, clerk .
She positioned the sap over her shoulder and struck with a whipping flex to the temple. The man's body
jerked and slumped. This was one of the few ways of killing quickly that did not make the sphincters
relax; nobody with a nose would missthat , even here one floor under the pigeon shit. Then she arranged
his arms on the desk and laid his head down in the position she had seen other clerks in, arranging his
shoulder-lengthfessas hair over the soft wet spot.
The next clerk gabbled in Arkan. Shkai'ra lolled and gargled and tapped her ear, but he was looking
extremely suspicious, thrusting the sheaf of forms at her and offering a pen. She flicked her eyes right and
left; a few of the others waiting in the outer room were glancing her way.Shitshitshit, is that the word
for orderor is he saying I order you…that's inferior-to-superior inflection, Zaik be with me now .
Of course he might not be; the Kommanz god of war—chief god of war, all their deities were involved in
it—was notoriously fickle.Glitch, godlet of fuckups, two more sheep . She took the pen and scrawled
her Arkan cover name on a convenient blank space near the bottom.
The clerk looked down, blinking in bewilderment, then his eyes narrowed.When in doubt, act
decisively , she thought, and elbowed him aside with a grunted, slurred Arkan curse.
Fucked up again, you stupid mare, she thought; the clerk shouted to the porter, who grabbed her
around the chest from behind. He was clumsy but had strength that would have done credit to a bear, as
well as outweighing her by half again; and even anokas slughead knew what tits were when he had his
hands on them. The mealy body-odor of someone who lived on cornbread and onions enveloped her.
Reaction was automatic. Bend the knees, hunch the shoulders to slip out of the clumsy hug, stamp one
foot down on his instep and sway the hips aside as she snapped a fist backward into his groin. Use the
momentum of that to spin, facing him. He was left in a half-crouch, hands halfway between the memory
of his grip and the pain in his crotch that was bulging his eyes.
Kick, Straight up, to the chin. The heel of her boot punched into the man's jaw like a fist on the
uppercut. There was a crackling sound; the bone shattered, and his head snapped back between his
shoulders with convincing finality as he took a pace backward and fell. A mixture of shrieks came from
the crowd waiting for service; they surged back from around her. Shkai'ra helped them along, drawing
the long Imperial sword and whirling it in a series of smooth figure-eight cuts, trotting for the exit.
Asolas shouted something;foreigner , she thought. Orspy ? She cursed to herself, remembering; the
Arkan unarmed-combat mode used kicks below the waist only, and handblows above;you can tell it