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 street. But soon a barricade barred the way, and while they waited for the guns to come up and clear the road, missiles were showered from the roofs on either side, and the Aztecs falling on the rear did deadly work among the Tlascalans. The way was cleared, but at every bridge the struggle was renewed, and the Spaniards, though victorious at all points, suffered severely. At last Cortés sounded a retreat, darkness was falling, and his men were weary with the fight. Several hundred of the citadel houses had been burnt down, but the way back seemed even more difficult than the advance. "The Mexicans fought with such ferocity," says Bernal Diaz, "that if we had had the assistance that day of ten thousand Hectors, we could not have beaten them off! Some of our soldiers who had been in Italy swore that neither among Christians nor Turks, nor the artillery of the king of France, had they ever seen such desperation as was shown by these Indians." Cortés himself fought like a hero, rescuing single-handed one of his cavaliers who had been unhorsed and almost overwhelmed by the foe. Not until the gates of the Old Palace clanged behind them did they feel themselves in safety. All night long the Aztecs encamped around the Spanish quarters, and though they did not continue the fight their warlike yells showed they were far from subdued in spirit. "The gods have delivered you at last into our hands!" they cried, "Huitzilopotchli has long wanted his victims. The stone of sacrifice is ready! The knives are sharpened! The wild beasts in the palace are roaring for their offal, 180