The tattooed killer continued his slow pace after leaving the stairs, moving languidly toward Nicoli as the man made his guess about who had hired his organization.  He once again barked a short laugh at the man's words.  "Of course I did.  There's only one person bold enough to actually move against me anymore, and I doubt he'd hire outside help."  Jahar shook his head with a smile.  "No, I just couldn't think of a better way to make one of you show yourselves.  I wonder...how deserved is the reputation of the Veiled Ones?"

The man came to a stop some twenty paces from where Nicoli stood, watching him draw his blade and make his proclamation, the veil of magical shadow slipping over the assassin's face.  Jahar reached back his right hand to grasp the hilt of his own sword, skillfully unlimbering the heavy, wickedly curved blade from its oddly shaped sheathe.  The moment his fingers touched the weapon, the smile upon the killer's face transformed, any hint of lightheartedness wiped away in an instant to be replaced by an almost predatory cast to his features.  His one remaining natural eye glimmered with anticipation while the other only reflected a hint of silver moonlight.

When he spoke again his voice had also taken an entirely different tone, mostly flat but tinged with an edge of...hunger.  "Swords it is then.  Do not disappoint me, assassin.  I've never taken well to disappointment."

Jahar took up the blade in a two handed grip before him and began to advance deliberately, the bronze colored khopesh glinting curiously as though reflecting nonexistent, intermittent sunlight.  His movements had a liquid fluidity to them, evocative of a hunting cat stalking its prey through the underbrush.  To one as skilled as Nicoli at reading stances, the complete lack of tension in Jahar's body would likely be evident.  

Despite the dire threat before him, this man was completely at ease.