The foremost native shouted something, and the knife swept across in a glittering arc. The Cascellan gurgled something else, staggered and fell. Bright blood oozed from his throat.
“I told you not to use the needler yet!” Fannia said.
“I didn’t,” Donnaught protested. Glancing back, Fannia saw that Donnaught’s needler was till holstered.
“Then I don’t get it,” said Fannia bewilderedly.
Three more natives bounded forward, their knives held high. They tumbled to the ground also. Fannia stopped and watched as a platoon of natives advanced on them.
Once they were within stabbing range of the Earthmen, the natives were slitting their own throats!
Fannia was frozen for a moment, unable to believe his eyes. Donnaught halted behind him.
Natives were rushing forward by the hundreds now, their knives poised, screaming at the Earthmen. As they came within range, each native stabbed himself, tumbling on a quickly growing pile of bodies. In minutes the Earthmen were surrounded by a heap of bleeding Cascellan flesh, which was steadily growing higher.
“All right!” Fannia shouted. “Stop it.” He yanked Donnaught back with him, to profane ground. “Truce!” he yelled in Cascellan.
The crowd parted and the chief was carried through. With two knives clenched in his fists, he was panting from excitement.