Disarm

As soon as he moved, Reb, who had stayed on the outside of the group, slipped off his beast and propelled himself with powerful strokes into the darkness outside the ring of light thrown by the remaining guard.

“You Atlantians stay right where you are, or I'll put a dart in you,” the waiting guard said. “Have you got her?” he called out.

But he said no more, for Reb came up behind him, reached out, and wrenched the spear gun from his hands. He reversed it instantly, touched the needle-sharp tip to the guard's breast, and put his hand on the trigger. “You just sit right there,” he muttered, “unless you want be speared like an Arkansas catfish.”