"Demon Silver Hands."
These three words issued slowly from Doctor Mo's mouth. The low, deep sound of them seemed to come drifting from beyond the heavens, fraught with a power of wonder past all reckoning, so that even Han Li could not but give a start, and stayed the step that was carrying him forward.
Scarce had the words died than there erupted from Doctor Mo's body a killing aura that shot up into the heavens. It swelled and swelled like a raging storm, the wind and rain of it ever mounting, and spread outward on every side until it filled the little chamber to flooding.
Han Li, who had been advancing, was met full in the face by this bursting fierce aura, and was driven back several paces against his will before he could steady himself and stand firm.
His countenance changed mightily, and a dread struck into his heart; he knew that the man had likely brought out his very ace to deal with him. Plainly that sword-stroke of a moment ago had stung him deep.
"Hehe, boy! That you should live to see my famous art the Demon Silver Hands, may be counted to you for three lives' fortune."
Doctor Mo's deafening, arrogant words droned and rang about Han Li's ears. Yet, thank goodness, they carried no inner force within them, so that their weight was not so great; it seemed the man disdained to use against him the craft that had once failed, and this set Han Li's heart a good deal more at ease.
Still, he had now twice heard the name the Demon Silver Hands flaunted so proudly from Doctor Mo's mouth, and it drew his eyes, against his will, toward the other's hands.
And at that sight, astonishment and dread filled his gaze, and his lips, which had been tight-pressed, parted a little of their own accord.
For there were Doctor Mo's two hands; and from above the elbow, his arms, which had been withered and shriveled, of a sudden, as though filled with air, swelled up and broadened till they were a full span larger about than they had been before. What was more astounding still, the dry, sallow skin of them had turned silver-white, and in the bright sunlight cast back a cold gleam of metal, seeming hard as iron to shatter, as though they had been forged of very silver.
"Is this, then, the true measure of Doctor Mo's power?"
At the sight of it, Han Li's heart sank within him, and the single hand that gripped the sword-hilt dripped, in spite of himself, a good many fine cold sweat-drops, so that his palm grew wet and clammy. After all, he had but too little experience of plying sword against man; and alone the great change in the other's bearing and the evil strangeness of those two hands were enough to make even his breathing seem to him heavy and labored.
Still, on the surface Han Li had recovered his air of easy unconcern. His calm face betrayed not the least inner weakness, and he looked upon Doctor Mo's proud demeanor as though it were nothing at all before his eyes.
Doctor Mo was not best pleased at this. Say what he would, he had begun to look on Han Li with different eyes since that stroke just now; yet still he felt that to draw out his most guarded arts against a lad of some fifteen years or so was a vast waste of a great talent, like slaughtering a chicken with a butcher's cleaver for an ox. Wherefore he would far rather have seen Han Li scared out of his wits, at a loss and tripping over his own hands and feet; that alone would have paid for his display of prowess.
"Do you know, that look of yours vexes me to the heart. A snot-nosed brat who has yet to dry behind the ears must needs go about all day playing the fellow whose plans are all made and everything within his grasp." Doctor Mo's words were cold and cutting, and he did not conceal in the least the loathing he felt for Han Li.
"Oh? Is that so?" said Han Li, who would keep silence no longer. "That I should earn the loathing of our Elder Mo—that is an honor to me, and I reckon that in days to come I shall be sure to carry this fine merit of mine to even greater heights." So he struck back with goading words, hoping thereby to draw some flaw or gap in the other's speech.
But plain it was that this design of Han Li's came to naught. Doctor Mo spoke no further word, but of a sudden his two hands came together with a loud clap!—giving out a grating noise, like metal rubbed hard on metal, that harried a man's heart and would not let it rest.
Then his body gave a blur, and he was already aloft in mid-air, swinging those huge silver palms, his whole person turned to a raging wind, bearing down upon Han Li with the weight of Mount Tai.
Plainly he meant to dally no longer, but to trust to his divine art and carry Han Li off in a single swoop.
Han Li's countenance likewise turned grave. Full-girded, he fixed his gaze upon the other's onslaught, and only when the man had leapt above his very head did he raise his short sword and thrust it straight at the one spot the other must needs defend—his throat.
Doctor Mo, seeing Han Li thus presumptuous, refusing to give ground before his fierce attack, rejoiced secretly in his heart, and grinning savagely, cried: "Die, then!" And he put forth one of his silver hands, stark and bare, to seize Han Li's sword, while the other he aimed at the shoulder, and struck down savagely.
This palm-stroke aimed at Han Li's shoulder, for all its blustering rage, had in truth but half a tenth of the man's power behind it, and matched not at all with the fierce words pouring from his mouth; rather it spoke of a fear of wounding Han Li overmuch—and what mystery underlay this, none could say.
Han Li, of course, knew not of the true hollowness of the feint; but had he known the whole truth of it, he would still not have offered his mortal flesh to test the hardness of those palms. He gave his sword-wielding wrist the lightest flick, and the short sword of a sudden swung crosswise in his hand, and was whirled into a great disc of silver light the size of a cartwheel, guarding his upper body.
Doctor Mo curled his lip in a sneer, but the course of his two palms never wavered; with force and main he thrust them, one then the other, straight into that sword-light, having no thought whatsoever of turning aside.
Clang! came a sharp, brittle ring as Han Li's short sword smote the great silver palm. A few sparks showered up; but not the least harm did it do to the man's hide, and the blade—so far from digging in—rebounded high in the air.
Seizing his opportunity, Doctor Mo turned his palm, thrust out a single finger, and gave a light flick to the blade, which had not yet had time to draw back in. Han Li felt his tiger-mouth tingle hot, and the thing he held went whistling off obliquely, with not a moment's lingering, and was driven deep into the wall.
Hard upon it came the other silver hand, which of a sudden changed from palm to claw, and reached for Han Li's collarbone, to seal his power to move and take him alive.
The tide of battle had turned sharp against him, and he was deep in peril; yet no confusion showed on Han Li's face. He gave his shoulder the slightest shake, and his whole form of a sudden grew blurred, and before Doctor Mo's very eyes he dissolved into a wisp of thin smoke, darting straight ahead with all his might.
Doctor Mo, too, was not a little startled to see so ghostly a gait. But he took advantage of his own falling force to bring both hands into a thick silver curtain, gathering all that smoke beneath it, with not the least thought of letting Han Li go.
Yet this smoke was too uncanny by far. Of a sudden it swooped and folded about beneath, and by a strange, unthinkable, oblique angle, made its way clean out from under the silver curtain, and then, wheeling sharp about, sped to the left corner of the room before it came to a stop; and there it gradually grew clear again, and took back its true form, which was none other than Han Li himself.