The door to Napier's room flew open, splinters of blond naked wood hissing 
across the floor. Nell watched, as though watching an old movie, as Colonel 
Napier drew a ridiculously shiny cavalry saber from its scabbard and ran it 
through the chest of the attacking Fist. This one fell back into another, 
creating momentary confusion; Napier took advantage of it, methodically 
planting his feet in a rather prissy-looking stance, squaring his shoulders, 
calmly reaching out, as if he were using the saber to poke around in a dark 
closet, and twitching the point beneath the second Fist's chin, incidentally 
cutting his throat in the process. A third Fist had gotten into the room by 
this point, this one bearing a long pole with a knife lashed to the end of it 
with the gray polymer ribbon peasants used for rope. But as he tried to wheel 
the weapon around, its butt end got tangled up in the rack to which Napier had 
lately been tied. Napier stepped forward cautiously, checking his footing as he 
went, as if he
did not want to get any blood on his boots, parried a belated attack, and 
stabbed the Fist in the thorax three times in quick succession.