In my opinion, Joe Abercrombie often writes superb fight scenes, particularly in his First Law fantasy trilogy, and I find myself re-reading passages just to savor that aspect. His fight scenes are often quite cinematic -- the sights, sounds and smells of it bloom as I read them -- but also full of a chaotic, gritty realism that I don't often read (or see in the cinema). People trip over rocks as they back away, fumble their weapons, nearly stab themselves (or crap themselves), freeze up in a sheer panic, bite their opponent in the face (because that's all they have the option of doing in the moment), and otherwise behave very unlike your typical heroic sword-slingers.
[QUOTE="Before They Are Hanged" by Joe Abercrombie]
Something flashed overhead and splashed into the water beside them. Dow gave him a parting shove then sprang away, charging up the bank with a roar. West struggled after him, clawing the heavy sword up out of the mud and lifting it high, the blood pulsing in his head, howling meaningless sounds at the top of his lungs.
The muddy ground sped by underneath him. He crashed through bushes and rotten wood into the open. He saw Dow hack a gawping Northman down with his axe. Dark blood leapt into the air, black spots against the tangle of branches and white sky. Trees and rocks and shaggy men jolted and wobbled, his own breath roaring in his ears like a storm. Someone loomed up and he swung the sword at them, felt it bite. Blood spattered into West's face and he reeled, and spat, and blinked, slid onto his side and scrambled up. His head was full of wailing and crying, clashing metal and cracking bone.
Chop. Hack. Snarl.
Someone staggered hear him, clutching at an arrow in his chest. West's sword split his skull open down to the mouth. The corpse jerked, twisting the blade from his hand, He stumbled in the dirt, half fell, lashed out at a passing body with his fist. Something crashed into him and flung him back against a tree, knocking the air from his lungs in a breathy wheeze. Someone had him fast around the chest, pinning his arms, trying to crush the life out of him.
West craned forward, and sank his teeth into the man's lip, felt them meet in the middle. He screamed and punched but West hardly felt the blows. He spat out the flap of flesh and butted him in the face. The man squirmed and yelped, blood leaking out of his torn mouth. West clamped his teeth round his nose, growling like a mad dog.
Bite. Bite. Bite.
His mouth filled with blood. He could hear screaming in his ears, but all that mattered was to squeeze his jaws together, tighter and tighter. He twisted his head away and the man reeled back, clutching at his face. An arrow came out of nowhere and thudded into his ribs, he fell to his knees. West dived on him, grabbed hold of his tangled hair with clutching hands and smashed his face into the ground, again and again.
"It's done."
West's hands jerked back, grasping claws full of blood and ripped-out hair. He struggled up, gasping, eyes bulging.
Everything was still. The world had stopped reeling. Spots of snow filtered gently down into the clearing, settling across the wet earth, the scattered gear, the stretched-out bodies, and the men still standing. Tul was not far away, staring at him. Threetrees was behind, sword in hand. Pike's pink slab of a face had something close to a wince on it, one bloody fist squeezed around his arm. They were all looking. All looking at him. Dow raised his hand, pointing at West. He tipped his head back and started to laugh. "You bit him? You bit his fucking nose off? I knew you were a mad bastard!"
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