The second wave of Sauron soldiers howled as they surged toward the earthen slope soaked through with blood and flesh, scrambling up it madly and leaping onto the walls.
Tar Fort's low walls instantly became a vortex that devoured lives. Blades flashed, swords clashed, and screams shook the heavens.
Unexpectedly, the defenders' cries of "Kill the enemy!"—mixed with fear, despair, and madness—not only were not suppressed, but rose wave after wave amid the brutal slaughter. They actually seemed to grow fiercer the longer they fought.
The battle had reached a white-hot pitch, and the stench of blood was so thick it could not be dispersed.
Whether they were the Sauron soldiers attacking the city or the other troops watching from the rear, none had expected this seemingly motley garrison, led by that madman Heberson, to possess such soaring morale and put up such stubborn resistance.
Nearly every Sauron nearby, whether veteran soldiers or newly attached retainers, had their full attention drawn to this savage, deadlocked siege. They watched without blinking—some excited, some tense, some calculating what benefits they could reap once the city fell.
Thomas, however, did not have all his thoughts on the walls.
His eyes darted around with a rat's alertness, and he quickly fixed on a target: not far away stood a donkey cart piled high with looted chests, cages, and miscellaneous goods. Its owner was craning his neck to watch the siege, his back turned toward the cart.
Thomas's heart began pounding faster against his will. He took a deep breath and, while no one was watching, swiftly and silently moved closer. Using his body to block any possible line of sight, he reached out and pulled a heavy-looking coarse burlap bundle from the edge of the cart bed.
After doing all this, Thomas felt that