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 “No!” cried Burunda, giving the boyar an arrogant glare. “The warriors of the great Jinghis Khan, do not put off until tomorrow what needs to be done today.”

“But what can we do here today?” asked Tuhar Wolf, looking with a shudder towards the darkly yawning corridor from which there still escaped the horrible groans of mortally wounded Mongols.

“We must drive those dogs from their ambush!” shouted Burunda wrathfully, pointing to the ridge of the rocky bank. “Fetch some ladders here, men! The front line climb up the ladders and those in back hold the Tukholians at bay with shots! We’ll see who defeats whom!”

Ladders were brought from nearby houses and on Tuhar Wolf’s advice, nailed together with strips of wood laid horizontally across them to form a wide wall of ladders. The Tukholians looked down upon their work tranquilly. The Mongols raised their built-up ladder and leaned it against the wall of rock. The Tukholians greeted them with stones, arrows and javelins, but this did not discourage the Mongols, for as soon as one group fell wounded, others lugged the huge ladder further and the places of the wounded were quickly taken by fresh recruits. At the same time the rear lines of Mongols shot a steady stream of arrows, forcing the Tukholians backward. Fear began to grip the Tukholians.

Not far from the scene of battle, shielded from the arrow flights by an immense boulder, sat Zakhar Berkut on a pile of straw occupied with the wounded. He removed the arrows, cleansed the wounds with Peace-Renown’s assistance and was busying himself bandaging them, having first smeared the wounds with some carefully compounded salve, prepared beforehand from the sap of the balsam fir, when some panicked warriors ran over to him to inform him of their dilemma.

“How, my children, can I aid you?” replied the old man,