They hadn't expected that, three against one. I shouted, and hurled myself at the soldier on the left. He made to dodge, and the officer opposed his own saber; but I spun away from it and before the other soldier knew my mind I was upon him. I could not use the ray in my blade, but it drove past his hastily lifted gun-barrel and struck his mailed shoulder so heavily that he dropped his weapon. Stepping in close, I uppercut him with the curved hilt as with a mailed fist.
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!"