Part two of Redd and the Golden Assasin

The night air cooled Redd's blood, if only a little. He quickly spotted the Ortan running towards the north and made after him. The Ortan jumped one alley after another, forcing Redd to keep up. Redd nearly missed one particular jump, and had to grab the edge of the rooftop with his fingers to keep from being squashed on the street below. "Gods, I hate the rooftops," he muttered.
The man was wearing that loose-fitting, dust brown robe characteristic of his people, but there was something wrong. Redd flicked his wrist towards the assassin; a knife flew from his sleeve to the silhouette ahead of him. The Ortan dodged the knife at the last possible second, splitting his legs and dropping on one arm. The knife whistled harmlessly above his bald head. He looked back.
Before Redd could get out one of his hand knives out, the Ortan sped off, leaving Redd cursing. Redd ran off after him. "Come back, you son of a diseased whore!" he said. The Ortan kept running, veering off towards a spiral tower of a High Lord. Redd was gaining on him. And suddenly Redd realized that if the man had been able to sprint off like he had, he should have easily lost Redd by now. Unless, he didn't want to lose him.
The man threw his hand towards the spire as he leapt off the last roof. He jumped past the spire, falling to a certain death...and then jerked around the spire at amazing speed. A thin line connected him to the spire. Redd watched, dumbfounded, as the man wheeled around and kicked him flush in the chest. Redd slammed back, and only a chimney saved him from going over the edge.
Redd looked up, and a silver crescent fell towards his head. He slammed up a notched sword-breaker at the last second, and struggled against the man's strength. The Ortan was smaller than Redd by a good hand, but he was deceptively strong. He didn't even show any signs of tension on his face.