IMO, Moroch wasn't trying to be a sacrifice, he was actually surprised by Rhulad.
Anyways, here it is straight from the book. (I think this supports the argument that Rhulad was a formidable opponent at that time.)
By: Steven Erikson
Quote
Moroch Nevath smiled. Rhulad Sengar, who had died, only to return. If the rumours were true, he had died again in Trate. But this time, I will make him stay dead. I will cut him to pieces. He waited, watching the emperor's approach.
Favouring the right side, the right foot edging ahead of the other, a detail telling Moroch that Rhulad had been trained to use a single-handed sword, rather than this two-handed monstrosity now wavering about before him like an oversized club.
The sudden charge was not unexpected, only the speed of that weapon as the blade whirled towards Moroch's head. He barely managed to avoid getting his skull sliced in half, ducking and pitching to his right. A deafening clang, the shock ripping through him as the sword bit into his helmet, caught, then tore it from his head.
Moroch sprang back, staying as low as possible, then straightened once more. The top third of his own sword was slick with blood. He had met the charge with a stop-hit.
Opposite him, Rhulad staggered back, blood pulsing from his right thigh.
The lead leg was always vulnerable.
Let's see you dance now, Emperor.
Moroch shook off the numbing effects of the blow to his head. Muscles and tendons in his neck and back were screaming silent pain, and he knew that he had taken damage. For the moment, however, neither arm had seized in answer to the trauma.
A shriek, as Rhulad attacked once more.
Two-handed thrust, broken timing – a moment's hesitation, sufficient to avoid Moroch's all-too-quick parry – then finishing in a full lunge.
The Finadd twisted his body in an effort to avoid the sword-point. Searing fire above his right hip as the mottled blade's edge sawed deep. A wet, red rush, spraying out to the side. Now inside the weapon's reach, Moroch drove his own sword in from a sharp angle, stabbing the tip into the emperor's left armpit. The bite of gold coin, the grating resistance of ribs, then inward, gouging along the inside of Rhulad's shoulder blade, striving for the spine.
The mottled sword seemed to leap with a will of its own, reversing grip, hands lifting high, point down. A diagonal thrust, entering above Moroch's right hip bone, down through his groin.
Rhulad pushed down from the grip end, the point chewing through the Finadd's lower intestines, until the pommel clunked on the paving stones beneath them, then the emperor straightened, pushing the weapon back up, through Moroch's torso, alongside his heart, through his left lung, the point bursting free just behind his clavicle on that side.
Dying, Moroch threw the last of his strength against his own weapon, seeing Rhulad bow around its embedded point. Then a snap, as the emperor's spine broke.
Crimson smile broadening, Moroch Nevath sagged to the slick stones, even as Rhulad pitched down.
Another figure loomed over him, then. One of Rhulad's brothers.
Who spoke as if from a long distance away. 'Tell me your name, Finadd.'
Moroch sought to answer, but he was drowning in blood. I am Moroch Nevath. And I have killed your damned emperor.
'Are you the King's Champion in truth? Your soldiers on the bridge seem to be yelling that – King's Champion… is that who you are, Finadd?'
No.
You bastards have not met him yet.
With that pleasing thought, Moroch Nevath died.
This post has been edited by Slaythe: 08 April 2012 - 02:52 PM
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