Revised Second Part 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.
Redd rolled away, and silently cursed the fact that he had not brought at least a rapier with him. In an alleyway, or close quarters, A sword was much more of a hindrance than a help. But up here, with open room...he might have to rethink his opinion, if he got off here alive.
Only quick reflexes kept the sword out of Redd, He had to get that sword out of the Ortan's hand. Summoning the years of training Cenn had beat into him, he diverted the blade high with his sword breaker, feigning him into a low attack. Come on, you bastard. Redd thought. It worked. The Ortan slashed down low, expecting to cut Redd off at the knees. Redd jumped over the blade, then came down hard on it. He had expected the blade to break; it didn't, but the force so shocked the man that he dropped the blade. In an instant Redd had the knife to the man's throat. The man smiled, and it didn't occur to Redd until much later to wonder why.
"I don't know why you took my target, but...," Whatever Redd was going to do was cut off by a loud bang. Redd grunted; he felt like he had been stabbed in the side. But no one was around, except the Ortan and himself, and he had seen the man's hands. He looked down at his right side, blood flowed down it. He looked up; another Ortan, similarly garbed but with shortly cropped black hair, was kneeling with a stick in his hands pointed at Redd. The end of the stick was smoking.
"You may die now," the first Ortan said, pushing Redd down. He slid more than fell down the pointed roof. He was going to break his neck. All these years, and he had been cut down by...what? The last thought he had was that he wouldn't be able to tell Cenn about...