Leaping over his falling form, I was upon the officer. A single twist, and I had his saber in my left hand. Two blows sent him staggering back. I parried a blow from the rifle-stock of the remaining soldier with my left-hand blade, while with my right I stabbed him in the side. He, too, retreated, clutching his wound. I waved my blood-streaming weapons. "Who next?" I called. Harvison made stout reply: "You're mad, Barak. I know I'm no match for you, nobody is--but here I come!" He came, and his fellows. They all tried to crowd at once into that narrow corridor, and hampered each other. I had a mighty sweep with both my swords, spanning twelve full feet with them--enough for my purpose. At my first parry I turned aside three points at once, disengaged, and got home on poor Harvison, through the shoulder. He sank to one knee, and further impeded his friends. I made a sweeping cut with both blades, and despite themselves they gave back. "This is monotonous," I taunted them. "Make it exciting." "Rush at his back," I heard Gederr yelling. "Careful!" Doriza warned me. And then another voice I knew, deep and stout: "I won't let them! Yandro, or Barak, or whoever you are--I'm with you!" "Klob!" I yelled joyously over my shoulder. "I should have known I could count on you!" He had rushed, facing about at my very shoulder-blades. I heard the snick of his blade against another weapon. Doriza again cried a warning, to Klob this time, and he scored on his adversary, for he snorted triumphantly. Then the Newcomers surged at me again. * * * * * I could not kill my own people. I strove to wound only. Three staggered back, out of the fight, but the others pressed me bravely. Both my swords must be everywhere at once. My breath began to come quickly, my mind floundered here and there for new stratagems. The saving answer came, not from my own brain, but from Klob. "You!" I heard him address a new adversary. "You want to kill me? Truly?" "Why--" panted the other. "Why, no--Klob--why kill--" "You were my friend!" Klob harangued him. "Turn here with me! A chance for an end of war! Will you--won't you? If not, defend yourself, and I could always fence better--" "I'm with you, Klob," the other agreed, rather sullenly. And then he stood by Klob. At that moment I beat the biggest of my own adversaries to his knees, and the others stood off. I stole a quick glance around. Klob had been joined by his late opponent, a short but well-knit warrior armed with both sword and rifle. It gave me hope and an inspiration. "Fools!" I said, pointing my swords. "You won't trust me, when I only want to help you, and these other fools who have been fighting you! You can't conquer me! So join me!" "Why?" That was Harvison, again on his feet, holding a bloody hand to his wound. The query was enough to slow up the others. They listened, and I had time and wit to reply.