The tattooed man didn't hesitate. The gleam in his eyes hardened, a pent-up fury that exploded like a snapping rope. With a sudden movement, as if tearing his own courage from his chest, he tried to free himself—or perhaps he intended to kill Strax before the dragon could complete his provocation.
Strax felt the warrior's hand, now headless beneath, grip his wrist. For an instant, it was merely the pressure of a human claw; for another, a test—a raw, clumsy, instinctive effort. The man pushed with his shoulders, the strength concentrated in his entire body, and in a savage impulse, he lifted Strax as if he were nothing more than a worthless burden.
The man's body exploded into motion: a powerful twist, his legs throwing the tiger's metallic mass, and a sudden stride threw Strax into the air. There was technique there, more than he had let on—this was not just a brute, he was a field soldier who knew how to harness mass and leverage.
