Altaïr did not settle for the rules the Gamemakers handed him. He would find another way to survive without having to kill people he didn't need to. That was what he was trained to do, not to bow to the illusions of the world, but to transcend them. When Altaïr had a target with proven crimes, it was easy for his heart to frost over and to pick up his blade. Not so with everyone else. Even as his targets lay dying, he still granted them the courtesy of hearing their last words.

The chance to get away kept slipping in and out of the realm of possibility, but once he spotted it, he took a sharp turn. Bushes were not as familiar a hiding spot as a cart of loose hay or a curtained rooftop garden, but they would have to do.

If his pursuer got close enough to the bushes, maybe he could surprise him, knock him out, and steal his things. That knife looked handy. Perhaps he should even steal the gun and throw it down an inaccessible shaft. A blade or a bow required intent and skill to eliminate someone in one blow, but a hand-held metal thing that could be accidentally fired and instantly kill someone was not a variable he felt like dealing with today, fascinating though it was.