Tension crackled across Daoud's stomach like a lash. Three swords, and a dog that looked capable of killing a man. None of the weapons he had hidden on him would do for this. He slung his pack toward the wall behind him, leaving both hands free.
He half turned, to keep Lorenzo in sight while watching the advancing men. The Sicilian had a long dagger in a scabbard hung by his right side, but he did not draw it.
Facing the three swords, Daoud had not yet raised his hands. But his legs tensed. He bent at the knees, shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.
He whirled and sprang at Lorenzo. The Sicilian jumped backward, and Daoud could hear behind him the pounding of booted feet on the wooden floor. The dog barked furiously.
Daoud grappled with Lorenzo. The Sicilian grabbed his forearms, trying to hold him at a distance, and his strength was almost a match for Daoud's. But Daoud twisted his arms free, drove in, and caught Celino's neck in the bend of his left arm. He swung him around so that the Sicilian's body was between himself and the three attacking soldiers. While Lorenzo stumbled, Daoud plucked the man's dagger out of its scabbard. It had two sharp edges and came to a diamond-bright point.
Scipio leapt at him, but Daoud shifted Lorenzo between himself and the hound, and Scipio fell back. His enraged barking was deafening, like the roar of a lion. His fangs were a row of bone spear-points. He danced right and left, seeking a way to get past Lorenzo to Daoud.
The joy of battle, the weapon in his hand, made Daoud feel the power coursing through his arms. But that damned dog had to be stopped. His teeth were as dangerous to Daoud as the curving blades of the three Muslim soldiers. Those fangs could rip through his boots, tear the muscles of his legs, and cripple him. He would prefer death.
Releasing Lorenzo's neck, Daoud gripped Lorenzo's wrist and twisted, hard and fast. Biting his lip, Lorenzo resisted, but he had to turn and bend, or the pressure on his arm would break it. Daoud laid the edge of Lorenzo's dagger against his throat.
"Call off your dog or I cut your throat." Daoud glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was behind him.
"By all means cut my throat," Lorenzo flung back at him. "And Scipio will tear your throat out."