Ever since the middle night the great assault had gone on。 The drums rolled。 To the north and to
the south pany upon pany of the enemy pressed to the walls。 There came great beasts； like
moving houses in the red and fitful light； the _m？makil_ of the Harad dragging through the lanes
amid the fires huge towers and engines。 Yet their Captain cared not greatly what they did or how
many might be slain： their purpose was only to test the strength of the defence and to keep the men
of Gondor busy in many places。 It was against the Gate that he would throw his heaviest weight。
Very strong it might be； wrought of steel and iron； and guarded with towers and bastions of
indomitable stone； yet it was the key； the weakest point in all that high and impenetrable wall。
The drums rolled louder。 Fires leaped up。 Great engines crawled across the field； and in the
midst was a huge ram； great as a forest…tree a hundred feet in length； swinging on mighty chains。
Long had it been forging in the dark smithies of Mordor； and its hideous head； founded of black
steel； was shaped in the likeness of a ravening wolf； on it spells of ruin lay。 Grond they named it； in
memory of the Hammer of the Underworld of old。 Great beasts drew it； Orcs surrounded it； and
behind walked mountain…trolls to wield it。
But about the Gate resistance still was stout； and there the knights of Dol Amroth and the
hardiest of the garrison stood at bay。 Shot and dart fell thick； siege…towers crashed or blazed
suddenly like torches。 All before the walls on either side of the Gate the ground was choked with
wreck and with bodies of the slain； yet still driven as by a madness more and more came up。
Grond crawled on。 Upon its housing no fire would catch； and though now and again some great
beast that hauled it would go mad and spread stamping ruin among the orcs innumerable that
guarded it； their bodies were cast aside from its path and others took their place。
Grond crawled on。 The drums rolled wildly。 Over the hills of slain a hideous shape appeared： a
horseman； tall； hooded； cloaked in black。 Slowly； trampling the fallen； he rode forth； heeding no
longer any dart。 He halted and held up a long pale sword。 And as he did so a great fear fell on all；
defender and foe alike； and the hands of men drooped to their sides； and no bow sang。 For a
moment all was still。
The drums rolled and rattled。 With a vast rush Grond was hurled forward by huge hands。 It
reached the Gate。 It swung。 A deep boom rumbled through the City like thunder running in the
clouds。 But the doors of iron and posts of steel withstood the stroke。
Then the Black Captain rose in his stirrups and cried aloud in a dreadful voice； speaking in some
forgotten tongue words of power and terror to rend both heart and stone。
Thrice he cried。 Thrice the great ram boomed。 And suddenly upon the last stroke the Gate of
Gondor broke。 As if stricken by some blasting spell it burst asunder： there was a flash of searing
lightning； and the doors tumbled in riven fragments to the ground。
In rode the Lord of the Nazg？l。 A great black shape against the fires beyond he loomed up；
grown to a vast menace of despair。 In rode the Lord of the Nazg？l； under the archway that no
enemy ever yet had passed； and all fled before his face。
All save one。 There waiting； silent and still in the space before the Gate； sat Gandalf upon
Shadowfax： Shadowfax who alone among the free horses of the earth endured the terror； unmoving；
steadfast as a graven image in Rath Dínen。
'You cannot enter here；' said Gandalf； and the huge shadow halted。 'Go back to the abyss
prepared for you！ Go back！ Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master。 Go！'
The Black Rider flung back his hood； and behold！ he had a kingly crown； and yet upon no head
visible was it set。 The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark。 From a
mouth unseen there came a deadly laughter。
'Old fool！' he said。 'Old fool！ This is my hour。 Do you not know Death when you see it？ Die now
and curse in vain！' And with that he lifted high his sword and flames ran down the blade。
Gandalf did not move。 And in that very moment； away behind in some courtyard of the City； a
cock crowed。 Shrill and clear he crowed； recking nothing of wizardry or war； weling only the
morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was ing with the dawn。
And as if in answer there came from far away another note。 Horns； horns； horns。 In dark
Mindolluin's sides they dimly echoed。 Great horns of the North wildly blowing。 Rohan had e at
last。
_Chapter 5_
The Ride of the Rohirrim
It was dark and Merry could see nothing as he lay on the ground rolled in a blanket； yet though
the night was airless and windless； all about him hidden trees were sighing softly。 He lifted his head。
Then he heard it again： a sound like faint drums in the wooded hills and mountain…steps。 The throb
would cease suddenly and then be taken up again at some other point； now nearer； now further off。
He wondered if the watchmen had heard it。
He could not see them； but he knew that all round him were the panies of the Rohirrim。 He
could smell the horses in the dark； and could hear their shiftings and their soft stamping on the
needle…covered ground。 The host was bivouacked in the pine…woods that clustered about Eilenach
Beacon； a tall hill standing up from the long ridges of the Drúadan Forest that lay beside the great
road in East Anórien。
Tired as he was Merry could not sleep。 He had ridden now for four days on end； and the ever…
deepening gloom had slowly weighed down his heart。 He began to wonder why he had been so
eager to e； when he had been given every excuse； even his lord's mand； to stay behind。 He
wondered； too； if the old King knew that he had been disobeyed and was angry。 Perhaps not。 There
seemed to be some understanding between Dernhelm and Elfhelm； the Marshal who manded
the _éored_ in which they were riding。 He and all his men ignored Merry and pretended not to hear
if he spoke。 He might have been just another bag that Dernhelm was carrying。 Dernhelm was no
fort： he never spoke to anyone。 Merry felt small； unwanted； and lonely。 Now the time was
anxious； and the host was in peril。 They were less than a day's ride from the out…walls of Minas
Tirith that encircled the townlands。 Scouts had been sent ahead。 Some had not returned。 Others
hastening back had reported that the road was held in force against them。 A host of the enemy was
encamped upon it； three miles west of Amon D？n； and some strength of men was already thrusting
along the road and was no more than three leagues away。 Orcs were roving in the hills and woods
along the roadside。 The king and éomer held council in the watches of the night。
Merry wanted somebody to talk to； and he thought of Pippin。 But that only increased his
restlessness。 Poor Pippin； shut up in the great city of stone； lonely and afraid。 Merry wished he was
a tall Rider like éomer and could blow a horn or something and go galloping to his rescue。 He sat
up； listening to the drums that were beating again； now nearer at hand。 Presently he heard voices
speaking low； and he saw dim half…shrouded lanterns passing through the trees。 Men nearby began
to move uncertainly in the dark。
A tall figure loomed up and stumbled over him； cursing the tree…roots。 He recognized the voice
of the Marshal； Elfhelm。
'I am not a tree…root； Sir；' he said； 'nor a bag； but a bruised hobbit。 The least you can do in
amends is to tell me what is afoot。'
'Anything that can keep so in this devil's mirk；' answered Elfhelm。 'But my lord sends word that
we must set ourselves in readiness： orders may e for a sudden move。'
'Is the enemy ing then？' asked Merry anxiously。 'Are those their drums？ I began to think I
was imagining them； as no one else seemed to take any notice of them。'
'Nay； nay；' said Elfhelm； 'the enemy is on the road not in the hills。 You hear the Woses； the Wild
Men of the Woods： thus they talk together from afar。 They still haunt Drúadan Forest； it is said。
Remnants of an older time they be； living few and secretly； wild and wary as the beasts。 They go
not to war with Gondor or the Mark； but now they are troubled by the darkness and the ing of
the orcs： they fear lest the Dark Years be returning； as seems likely enough。 Let us be thankful that
they are not hunting us： for they use poisoned arrows； it is said； and they are woodcrafty beyond
pare。 But they have offered their services to Théoden。 Even now one of their headmen is being
taken to the king。 Yonder go the lights。 So much I have heard but no more。 And now I must busy
myself with my lord's mands。 Pack yourself up； Master Bag！' He vanished into the shadows。
Merry did not like this talk of wild men and poisoned darts； but quite apart from that a great
weight of dread was on him。 Waiting was unbearable。 He longed to know what was going to
happen。 He got up and soon was walking warily in pursuit of the last lantern before it disappeared
among the trees。
Presently he came to an open space where a small tent had been set up for the king under a great
tree。 A large lantern； covered above； was hanging from a bough and cast a pale circle of light below。
There sat Théoden and éomer； and before them on the ground sat a strange squat shape of a man；
gnarled as an old stone； and the hairs of his scanty beard straggled on his lumpy chin like dry moss。
He was short…legged and fat…armed； thick and stumpy； and clad only with grass about his waist。
Merry felt that he had seen him before somewhere； and suddenly he remembered the Púkel…men of
Dunharrow。 Here was one of those old images brought to life； or maybe a creature descended in
true line through endless years from the models used by the forgotten craftsmen long ago。
There was a silence as Merry crept nearer； and then the Wild Man began to speak； in answer to
some question； it seemed。 His voice was deep and guttural； yet to Merry's surprise he spoke t