Without stopping to cogitate upon it long, Burunda ordered the soldiers to gather the stones and pile them up in separate heaps, each group one for itself. This order which threatened them with no danger pleased the Mongols and their expectations of something dry to stand on instead of wading up to their knees in the cold water warmed their courage. With joyous whoops they set themselves to the task, wading around in the valley, collecting the stones and heaping them up.
The Tukholians stood atop the banks encompassing the lake, watching the work and taunting them.
“Come nearer! Here!” they called to the Mongols. “We have plenty of stones and will distribute them generously among you!”
But whenever any Mongols came close enough to their positions immediately the engines creaked and the stones swept down like an avalanche upon the unfortunate who, wading around in the deepening swell of the waters, tried to hide themselves and tired themselves but could not escape. Whether they wanted to or not, the Mongols were forced to stay in the center of the valley out of reach of the Tukholian trebuchets. Burunda almost went mad in his helplessness, listening to the derisive laughter of the Tukholians.
“We can’t fail like this!” he cried. “Come here to me, my faithful Turkomen!”
The most daring contingent of the Mongolian force gathered around him, men sturdy as oaks and ferocious as steppe tigers, whose skins they wore fastened about them. He led them towards one of the Tukholian positions which was placed well forward, by itself, on the top of a sharp, overhanging cliff. A small group of Tukholians stood beside the new machine.
“Aim a volley of your poisoned arrows at them!” cried Burunda. They buzzed through the air like a swarm of
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