The loss of his confederates was noted by whatever computers were slaved to Grievous's organic brain, but the loss neither distracted nor slowed him. The speed of the train saw to the rest, ultimately whisking the droids into the canyon like insects blown from the windscreen of a speeder bike. In moves a Twi'lek dancer might envy, he spun around the guards, claiming a limb from both with each rotation: left legs, right arms, right legs. Resistant to the energy outpourings of a lightsaber, the phrik alloy staffs were potent weapons, but like any weapon they needed to find their target, and Kit simply wasn't allowing that. To the rear of the car, where Grievous's pair of MagnaGuards had made the mistake of pitting themselves against Kit Fisto, the Nautolan's blade was a cyclone of blazing blue light.
But he didn't know Vaapad - the technique of dark flirtation in which Mace excelled. His strikes were as forceful as any Mace had ever had to counter, and his speed was astonishing. He could recognize the hand of Dooku in the general's training and technique. Again and again the three blades joined, in snarling attacks and parries.Īs Mace already knew from Ki-Adi-Mundi and Shaak Ti, Grievous was well trained in the Jedi arts. Just as the Force was keeping Mace from being blown from the mag-lev's roof, magnetism of some sort was keeping the general fastened in place.įor the cyborg, though, the coherence hindered as much as it helped, whereas Mace never remained in one place for very long. In a corner of Mace's mind he wondered to which Jedi Grievous's blades had belonged. The lightsabers thrummed and hissed, meeting one another in bursts of dazzling light. By the time they were ignited, Mace was already on and all over the cyborg, batting away at the two blades, swinging low at Grievous's artificial legs, thrusting at his skeletal face. Without pausing, Grievous drew two lightsabers from inside his billowing cloak.
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