rs and fury. He saw the whole danger,
and drew up his powerful form as if to prove whether it were an equal
match for such a foe. Then, raising his voice to such a pitch, that it
sounded above the cries and groans of the fighting men, the words of
command, the neighing of the horses, the crash of overthrown chariots,
the dull whirr of lances and swords, their heavy blows on shields and
helmets, and the whole bewildering tumult of the battle--with a loud
shout he drew his bow, and his first arrow pierced a Cheta chief.

His lions sprang forward, and carried confusion into the hosts that were
crowding down upon him, for many of their horses became unmanageable at
the roar of the furious brutes, overthrew the chariots, and so hemmed
the advance of the troops in the rear. Rameses sent arrow after arrow,
while Mena covered him with the shield from the shots of the enemy. His
horses meanwhile had carried him forward, and he could fell the foremost
of the Asiatics with his battle-axe; close by his side fought Rameri and
three other princes; in front of him were the lions.

The press was fearful, and the raging of the battle wild and deafening,
like the roar of the surging ocean when it is hurled by a hurricane
against a rocky coast.

Mena seemed to be in two places at once, for, while he guided the horses
forwards, backwards, or to either hand, as the exigences of the position
demanded, not one of the arrows shot at the king touched him. His eye
was everywhere, the shield always ready, and not an eyelash of the young
hero trembled, while Rameses, each moment more infuriated, incited his
lions with wild war-cries, and with flashing eyes advanced farther and
farther into the enemy's ranks.

Three arrows aimed, not at the king but at Mena himself, were sticking
in the charioteer's shield, and by chance he saw written on the shaft of
one of them the words "Death to Mena."

A fourth arrow whizzed past him. His eye followed its flight, and as he
marked the spot whence it had come, a fifth wounded his shoulder, and he
cried out to the king:

"We are betrayed! Look over there! Paaker is fighting with the Cheta."

Once more the Mohar had bent his bow, and came so near to the king's
chariot that he could be heard exclaiming in a hoarse voice, as he let
the bowstring snap, "Now I will reckon with you--thief! robber! My bride
is your wife, but with this arrow I will win Mena's widow."

The arrow cut through the air, and fell with