[i]The wild Zande was not one to be tested. He did not mess around. As Tanya burst into view, his left hand darted over his shoulder and seized upon the handle of the monstrous axe known as Hot Steppa, nearly seven pounds of razor-ridged metal. It slipped free of its sheath as if it were greased, whizzing forth in a ghoulish arch set to cleave through the woman's right arm and into her breast, just beside the shoulder. He threw his entire momentum into the blow, leaning his weight upon the attack and chambering his right fist by his side. He cared little for what she did with her bo staff. He was still able to reposition since he had at least one foot on the ground. He would choose to lean or sway at the last moment and let her strike him across the right shoulder, possibly breaking the clavicle or dislocating the arm if she remained dedicated to her attack. No, Zande cared only that his opponent was in the air, unable to move out of the space she was occupying and in the midst of an attack that left her vulnerable. If Hot Steppa struck home, her life would surely be forfeit as her body was slung unceremoniously to the floor in a bouncing, blood soaked heap, subclavian and brachial arteries torn apart and the left lung ruptured. At the point of no return whereupon both blows might land, the headhunter would unleash a lunatic, stentorian scream.[/i]