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 straight towards the dark entrance to the corridor. Here they were given a fine welcome. A hailstorm of stones rained down upon their heads and blood flowed over the eyes of not a few of Jinghis Khan’s soldiers, the brains from their shattered skulls spattering the rocky walls.

As if from hell, terrible wails arose from the dark corridor and above them all, louder than the rest, the voice of Burunda thundered, “Move along, rabbit-hearted! Come on with me!” And others, disregarding the renewed hailstorm of stones, pushed into the corridor.

“Go on, further, into the breach!” yelled Burunda, holding a shield over his head to protect himself from the falling stones.

In the meantime Tuhar Wolf, perceiving a group of youths on the top of the bank, ordered the Mongols who stood near the corridor, to fire a burst of arrows at them. Screams spread over the top of the bank and the Mongols loudly yowled their exultation. To avenge their wounded three the indignant Tukholian youths began to hurl down with increased violence immense slabs of rock on the invaders. All this would not have stopped the determined Burunda, if inside the corridor, where it curved outward, there had not appeared an unexpected hindrance; the passageway was obstructed to its very top by a mass of rocks. The Tukholians were assailing them with increased ferocity, the stones falling like hail, felling the Mongols one after the other so that Burunda finally realized his determination was useless, that they could not get through until they succeeded in driving the Tukholians off the top.

“Go back!” commanded Burunda and the few survivors of the vanguard, breathless, like pebbles hurled from a sling, flew out of the corridor.

“The corridor is blocked!” cried Burunda out of breath, to Tuhar Wolf, wiping the perspiration and blood off his face.

“Let’s leave them for now and let them rejoice!” advised Tuhar Wolf.