Shale, rusted bronze, and dried lizard bodies fell from the niches above the gate. Then two heavy shapes hit the floor like falling boulders.
Dust and soot rose in a wall. The blast knocked several rogues onto their backs. Pei Jing lowered his weight and stayed on his feet.
Two clay puppets stood up through the dust. They were eight feet tall, with bronze ribs under their kiln-fired bodies. Their arms were as thick as pines. Iron shoes covered the joints, and dry metal screamed as the puppets straightened. Each had a blank mask with amber light behind two thick lenses.
“Guardian puppets!” Yan shouted from twenty paces back. His hand went to his wind sword. “Their core stones are old. First and second squads, pin their joints before they smash the stakes.”
The Cloud Mist disciples stayed behind the captives. One drove the butt of his spear into a man’s ribs.
“Forward. Get the bars in their knees!”
Six rogues rushed the left puppet. They wedged four-foot iron bars into its bronze knees. The puppet turned as steadily as a mill wheel. A massive clay arm swept across the hall. The iron bars bent into hooks.
The first two men took the blow across the chest. It flung them fifteen paces into the granite wall. They slid down and lay still. The other four dropped their tools and ran.
