Also, he had his hands up in a strega-fighter's stance.
That made him a Security agent.
I dived at him—a literal dive: head down, arms wide, feet and body completely clear of the floor.
The man spun sidewise, fast, with all of a trained strega-fighter's skill.
But my left arm scooped him in, and my weight and impact bore him down. I drove up the heel of my right hand, hard under his chin. His head snapped back.
Spasmodically, he shoved at me with hands and feet alike—trying to break clear, striving to regain the inter-body space that gives a strega-man his advantage.
For an instant I held him tight, then abruptly and without warning matched his efforts to thrust clear with similar of my own. As if spring-propelled, we bounced to opposite sides of the hall.
Strega tactics said it was a time for maneuvering, regrouping, consolidation.
Instead, scrambling on all fours, I rocketed down the corridor and away as fast as I could go.
There were ramps, after that ... doors and archways ... more corridors.