Daugo remains motionless. Even his breathing abates. He should probably answer "no, I have not". The man seemed to be some self-righteous moral freak. Someone that wished to live would answer that way.
He was not entirely sure he wanted to live.
"Yes," he says at length. "Twice. The first time was an accident. I'd gotten home after a long day at work and..." he says in a bitter tone, "and I found my wife in bed with my coworker. Something came over me, and I attacked him. Bob. That was his name. I pushed him, intending to give him a beating, but the bastard... The bastard hit his h-head and cracked it o-open." He shudders, tears streaming freely down his anguished face. "I never wished to kill him."
He breaks down weeping for a few seconds, regaining his composure eventually. He gulps, and says, "the second time was not an accident. We were escaping the slaver ship, and I found myself in the captain's quarters, alone, with the man sleeping in his bed." His voice acquires a certain shrillness. "I slit his throat with a knife. It was my only choice. I was too weak to fight against him fairly, and the moment he woke up, he'd have had me flayed. So I killed him. And now you will kill me."