The Mongolian army stood in military formation up to its ankles in water, worried and helpless. Though the water which covered the whole valley, smooth, clear, shiny as melted glass, was low, its force and the waterfall which like a lighted column hung above the watery plain, constantly adding to it, was what disheartened the Mongols.
But it did no good to stand there! Their very fear at sight of the threatening danger awakened them to the need of some kind of action even if it was useless action. It was therefore imperative for them to do something, to try their luck, for otherwise Burunda realized, all that mass of Mongols would disband, pursued by its fear. Burunda ordered the whole army to band itself and to stand in one group.
“What are you, men or cats, that you’re so scared of these few drops of water? Haven’t we crossed much greater rivers than this? What is this stream compared to the Ayka, Volga, Don and Dnieper? Have no fear, water up to our ankles can’t drown us. Forward to the corridor! We’ll attack all together in one mass. Let us advance at all hazards! We must defeat them!” Thus shouted Burunda and marched forward in the lead. The Mongolian army moved after him, wading in the water with noisy splashes which echoed to the hills and reverberated in the forests.
But a hundred paces from the corridor, they were met by a deadly storm of stones released from the trebuchets. Boulders, slabs of stone, sharp, pointed rocks washed down by the waterfall and gathered from the stream, rained down upon the massed army breaking bones and cracking open skulls. The waters beneath their feet were crimsoned with blood. Disregarding Burunda’s shouts, the group dispersed, the biggest portion of it backing away to where the stones could not reach it. Burunda himself together with his personal following of dauntless Turkomen had to retreat, for the hailstorm of stones
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