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You flatten yourself against the floor and the net passes harmlessly over your head. Before the guard can react, you are back on your feet and running headlong down the stairs.
Three soldiers await you at the bottom of the staircase. They clutch wooden staves in their sweaty hands, ready to beat you senseless the moment you appear. ‘Get ’im!’ they shout, and run forward, clumsy and flat-footed compared with your cat-like strides. Before they can land a blow, you leap among them, striking left and right too quickly for their eyes to follow. They scream and clutch at their wounds as you make your getaway unharmed.
