"NO RETREAT! NO SURRENDER! THIS IS SPARTA LAW! And by Spartan law, we will stand and fight... and die."
"O-kay. We see where you're going with this. But hear us out. What if, like, instead of fighting to win, you like, lose some battles, so you're more effective later?"
"WHO ARE YOU?!? Who are these Cretins? Why aren't you dressed in battle armor?"
"Oh, we don't actually fight with you. We more like cheer from the sidelines. See those logs all tied up and webbed together beside the battlefield? We sit there and sort of tell you what you should do."
"THE PERSIANS ARE ALREADY HERE! We've made a giant wall out of boulders and their bodies! Why do you want us to not fight our hardest?"
"You see, there's some fine up and coming young fighters, and if you lose a lot, you would get first pick! So by strategically having some of your best warriors hide in that water tank over there part of the time, you could throw a few battles, BUT next year pick up some young stud who has a 7' wingspan!"
"CAPTAIN! GET OVER HERE! These young gentle men wants us to throw some battles. What say you?"
Captain gNash shakes the hair out of his eyes as he splits yet another giant warrior with his sword. He high 5's several comrades as he rushes to King Alvgentridas' side. "I say we fight on!" he cries as yet another foe's head is sent spinning free from its body.
"LIEUTENANT! How say you?"
Lieutenant Goretat raises his mighty hammer and shatters the shield of the enemy before him, He brings down his terrible beak upon the helm of his foeman, cracking the iron and sending shards into his brain. Spitting a piece of blood vessel from his mouth, Goretat exclaims, "We battle to the death!"
"No, you don't get it. We really like our idea. If you just don't try so hard, you might get some real sharpshooter in the offseason."
"HAVE YOU NO FIRE IN YOUR BELLY? What young fighter would wish to join our band if we were of the ilk who lay down their arms?"
"Changeling was doing so well, missing shot after shot, his longbow always off target. And Chilldrax was way off with that wacky swing of his. But now he's slashing, and slicing and dicing! You'll do no better than middle of the road! That's just madness!"
"MADNESS? THIS. IS. PHOENICIA!!! This is where we hold them! This is where we fight! This is where they die!"
With a mighty crash of swords upon shields, the orange-clad knights followed their battle-hardened captain into the fray once again, to do or die trying, leaving a pile of young bucks, hawk feathers, cat skins, and bear limbs in the wake of their slaughter.
The webbedloggers caught one look of the grim faces on the Sun-emblazoned fighters and skeedaddled over the hillside-- unless they, too, were ready to join the battle!