Swift came the foemen's galleys ere the night fell down upon the sea.
The enemy ships arrived quickly before darkness descended on the ocean.
They danced upon the waves and boded ill if supple, smiting hand of that invading army held to grim and wanton slaughter. Wolves, in truth, were they!
They danced on the waves, a bad omen if the skilled, striking hands of that invading army were bent on cruel and senseless killing. They were truly wolves!
"They pray to gods with black, black hair and eyes!" sang Olaf merrily.
"They worship gods with jet-black hair and eyes!" Olaf sang cheerfully.
"To gods who so forget that sleep falls heavily upon the galley's lord who bides on shore while galleys swing to anchor.
"To gods who forget so much that sleep falls heavily on the galley's lord, who stays on shore while the galleys swing at anchor.
"Sleep falls upon the watchmen at their gates, on youth trained well for battle.
Sleep overcomes the guards at their posts, even the young soldiers well-prepared for combat.
"Age, too, sleeps, for so my gods do whisper in mine ear.
"The old men, too, are asleep, for so my gods whisper in my ear.
"My men, row gleefully, for night doth fall all soon and we must reach that border faint—outlined—the outline of an isle so ladened with its riches wonder we that it sinks not.
"Men, row with joy! Night will be upon us soon, and we must reach that faintly visible border—the outline of an island so rich with treasure that it's a wonder it doesn't sink beneath the waves."
"O beauteous isle of sea and sun, I come with arms outstretched to seek a welcome!"
"O beautiful island of sea and sun, I arrive with open arms, seeking a warm welcome!"
Loud he laughed and long, and others took the laughter from his mood, and voices mingling echoed on the waves.
He let out a long, boisterous laugh, which spread to the others. Soon, their combined laughter echoed across the water.
Behind the wooded cape the stern Atlantians sat in galleys stilled but for the rippling sea. Each thought of home, of loved, of altars where the ashes of their dead were blessed and urned for centuries.
Beyond the forested headland, the resolute Atlantians waited in motionless ships, surrounded only by the gentle lapping of waves. Their minds drifted to thoughts of home, family, and the sacred altars where their ancestors' ashes had rested in urns for hundreds of years.
The leaders, every man a king in mien and thought, for unto him looked every soul for succor on his isle. He failed them not.
The leaders carried themselves like kings, proud and confident. Everyone on the island looked to them for help and guidance. They did not disappoint.
"The tide doth higher rise and closer we to shore must creep, nor show one spear to foeman yet." This was the order silently obeyed.
"The tide is rising higher, so we need to move closer to shore. But don't let the enemy see a single weapon yet." This order was followed quietly.
"Tonight our feet shall tread the flowery isle," sang Olaf's men, as near and nearer drew the galleys to the shore.
"We'll set foot on the flowery isle tonight," sang Olaf's men as their ships approached the shore.
A league beyond the border!
A league past the border!
Sunk the sun and bright as burnished silver swung the Tropic Moon, her million lamps all lighted. Day indeed it seemed again had dawned.
The sun set, and the Tropic Moon rose, shining like polished silver, its countless stars illuminating the sky. It was so bright that it almost seemed like day had broken again.
The wily men of Asia spake at length: “Ye men of Northland love the cold, white moon, but we who dwell where reach its smiting beams know well its virulence, its baleful power.
The clever Asian leaders spoke at length: "You Northerners admire the cold, white moon, but we who live under its harsh rays know well its destructive and harmful power."
“The forest aisles are lit as well for beasts that prowl as man, and if, perchance, Atlantis’ king and guards sleep not, what better target for their spears than we who land with moonlight showing well each helm?
The forest paths are just as visible to prowling beasts as they are to humans. If by chance the king of Atlantis and his guards are awake, we'd make perfect targets for their spears as we land, with the moonlight clearly illuminating each of our helmets.
“Seek we not at night our booty. By the light of day let warriors wander through those aisles of green where serpents lurk and beasts, for ivory slain, go crashing.
"Let's not search for treasure at night. Instead, brave fighters should explore the lush forests by daylight, where snakes hide and elephants fall, their ivory the prize."
“Seek the isle at morn and set us men as vanguards, to the rear—keen-eyed, alert, who know the island's speech and they are faithful to their leaders.”
"At dawn, scout the island and position our best men as guards, both in front and behind. Choose those with sharp eyes and quick wits, who understand the local language and are loyal to their commanders."
Bold Olaf pondered and at last he spake: "Let bide the galleys near the shore; when day shall dawn we wander through those aisles of green indeed! for night shall see us reeking, heavy—piled with spoil."
After careful thought, brave Olaf finally spoke: "Keep the ships close to the shore. At daybreak, we'll venture into those green woods. By nightfall, we'll return, reeking and laden with plunder."
Impatient bode they on the drifting barques throughout the night, and when the morning broke again the isle which seemed as shadow rose full clear.
They waited anxiously on the drifting boats all night. When dawn came, the island that had appeared as a mere silhouette now stood out clearly before them.
"Oh, beauteous isle we come!" sang Olaf loud, and flax-haired warriors joined again in song despite protesting of the Mongol hordes who took their joy in silence. No halting of the men whose homes were menaced, then, but from the sheltering curve, past wooded point, which well had hid their fleet, the galleys shot with speed.
"Oh, beautiful isle, we come!" Olaf sang loudly, and the flax-haired warriors joined in song again, despite the protests of the Mongol hordes, who took their joy in silence. But the men whose homes were threatened did not hold back then. From the sheltering curve, past the wooded point that had hidden their fleet so well, their galleys shot out at speed.
By tens and tens they hurled them to the wondering eyes until the sea seemed filled with flying boats that caught the sun on spear-point, helm; and prow gave back the color of the rising sun. A glorious sight that in the heart must live long after all had passed, and Time grown old to tale, and men had died and others born again who sailed the selfsame waters.
In waves, they launched their boats into the sea, dazzling onlookers. The water soon teemed with vessels, their spears, helmets, and prows gleaming in the sunrise. It was a breathtaking scene, one that would linger in memory long after the event had passed, outliving those who witnessed it and inspiring future generations who would sail the same waters.
The Northmen gazed and lips fell parting. "Whence comes the fleet?" they asked in awe-struck tones, and every face showed wonder—wonder turned to hate.
The Northerners stared, jaws dropping. "Where did these ships come from?" they asked in hushed, fearful voices. Every face showed amazement that quickly turned to hatred.
"Betrayed! Betrayed! what galley left our fleet? What traitor babbled to approaching hordes? Cut out his tongue when these Atlantian dogs, first beaten back to land, shall so divulge his name we know the traitor; Asiaite is he! Forth to battle, Men!"
"Betrayed! Betrayed! What galley left our fleet? What traitor babbled to the approaching hordes? Cut out his tongue when these Atlantian dogs, once beaten back to land, reveal his name, so that we know the traitor. He is an Asiaite! Forth to battle, men!"
Thus Olaf; and each Northman at the sound leaped to his spear, or axe or yet a stave that smote and cleft.
At Olaf's command, every Viking grabbed their weapon - be it spear, axe, or club - ready to strike and kill.
"To battle," was the cry.
"Let's fight!" was the rallying call.
"The snow land wolves are false!" the Asiaites softly spake. "We know their value! Know their blackened hearts, and after death is dealt to them of that proud, flying fleet we tear the wolves in twain, and hearts that beat in breasts of traitors now, shall quiver on our lances! Aye, they all shall perish! lying dogs of snow!"
"The snow-land wolves are false!" the Asiaites said softly. "We know their worth! We know their blackened hearts. After death is dealt to the men of that proud, flying fleet, we will tear the wolves in two. The hearts that now beat in the breasts of traitors shall quiver on our lances! Yes, they shall all perish, these lying dogs of snow!"
Ah, bright the sun bore on the armored hordes!
Oh, how brightly the sun shone upon the armored armies!
A trumpet from Atlantis’ fleet called low. Called louder, and fierce thousands caught the note and swelled the sound in volume floating o’er the sea. Low calls, low answers. Louder yet the strain had swelled again. The answer seemed a challenge to the foe. It rose triumphant; every listening heart was thrilled with that wild prelude to the fight.
A horn from Atlantis' fleet sounded softly at first. Then it grew louder, and thousands of warriors took up the call, amplifying it across the sea. Quiet calls met with quiet replies. The sound swelled again, even louder than before. The response seemed to dare the enemy to fight. It rose triumphantly; every heart that heard it stirred with excitement at this fierce prelude to battle.
It brought to eye the vision of the strife. There clung the clutching warriors, heard the calls of captains calm, the hurry of the conflict when the foe fell thickest; then there came the tranquil strain that marked the end when victory was won.
The music brought a vision of the strife before the eye. In it the warriors clung and clutched, the calls of calm captains were heard, and the hurry of the conflict when the foe fell thickest. Then came the tranquil strain that marked the end, when victory was won.
The foemen heard and wondered at the cloud of sound. The troubled, shivering waves seemed waters dark indeed.
The enemies listened in awe to the thunderous noise. The churning, rippling water appeared truly ominous.
The trumpet's call a voice from Hecla's base: "Come hither! Hither! Hither!" floating died, in moans.
The trumpet's call was like a voice from the base of Hecla: "Come here! Here! Here!" It floated, then died away in moans.
The brow of Olaf dampened, turned to ice. His heart sunk, laughed he loud withal: "What play of children! Warriors! look to swords. We still yon harper's notes! death-gurgle sounds shall be all sweet beside that strangling wail of trumpet in barbarian's sinewy, grimy hand."
Olaf's brow grew cold with sweat. His heart sank, yet he laughed loudly: "What childish games! Warriors, ready your swords. We'll silence that harper's music! Even death rattles will sound sweet compared to the grating wail of a trumpet in the rough, dirty hands of barbarians."
His locks were yellow as the light on corn, his form as pine the straightest, his mien a king's indeed, but—Olaf—!
His hair was as golden as sunlit wheat, his posture as straight as a pine tree. He had the bearing of a true king, but—Olaf—!
Asia in her borrowed boats felt thrill; a sound, in mind, familiar spake to them of lands where once their blood had run in veins now ashes—dust; perchance the things that grew upon the plains afar where now their homes awaited after—victory? each asked the question doubting in his heart.
Asia's borrowed ships stirred with excitement. A familiar sound echoed in their minds, speaking of distant lands where their ancestors once lived—now nothing but dust. Perhaps it reminded them of the fields back home, waiting for their return after victory? Each soldier silently questioned this, doubt creeping into their hearts.
"We fight with gods," they muttered, man to man. "What hope have we with such, who hold in sway the voice of birds, of nightingales, the moan of ravens, reed-gull calling to her young?"
"We're fighting against gods," they whispered to each other. "How can we stand a chance against those who control the songs of birds, from nightingales' melodies to ravens' cries, and even the calls of reed-gulls to their chicks?"
Their leaders felt the mood and swiftly spake: "To war! To spoil! To black-eyed maids whose lips shall speak of love as slow the summer days wear on!
Their leaders sensed the atmosphere and quickly declared: "To battle! To plunder! To dark-eyed beauties whose words of love will linger as the long summer days pass!"
"To spoil! To sands where grains of gold doth lie! Great garlands of bright gems! Where piles of silk hold scent that makes the rose seem rank as any weed! To spoil!"
"To plunder! To sands where grains of gold lie! Great garlands of bright gems! Where piles of silk hold a scent that makes the rose smell as foul as any weed! To plunder!"
The sullen men of Zambesi but fixed their eyes on the well favored men who from Atlantis oft had sailed unto their shores in boats unlike their own yet equal in their worth, and strength and swiftness.
The gloomy Zambesi people stared at the handsome Atlanteans who frequently sailed to their shores in unfamiliar vessels, which were nonetheless comparable in value, power, and speed.
Sullen spake these men: "We war not on Atlantis."
The men spoke glumly: "We don't fight against Atlantis."
"To the gyves! To chains, they go!" called he, the leader, head of that bold band of Mongols.
"To the shackles! They're being chained up!" shouted the leader of the fierce Mongol group.
But one captain eager spake, who peril saw—one captain of Zambesi:
One brave captain from the Zambesi spoke up urgently, sensing danger.
"Men, we may not fight this day within the narrow confines of our galleys, on our brothers warring—brothers in our need. They gave us freedom, chance for equal spoil. Atlantis is our foe, since we are part of this great army which hath set to war."
"Men, we must not fight this day within the narrow confines of our galleys, warring on our brothers, our brothers in our need. They gave us freedom and the chance of an equal share of plunder. Atlantis is our foe, since we are part of this great army that has set out to war."
Thus in the galleys of the plunderers peace prevailed.
Peace reigned in the ships of the raiders.
Swift rowed the invaders; Olaf of the north at head of fleet to right; to left, the yellow men, and black and strong as tiger old and hardened in his fights rode men of Zambesi beside.
The invaders rowed swiftly; Olaf from the north led the fleet on the right, while on the left, the Asian warriors and battle-hardened Zambezi fighters, as fierce as veteran tigers, rode alongside.
Atlantis with her eagles, yellow bloom of lilies at her prow, came swiftly; heeded not the stroke of missiles at her left and right.
Atlantis, its bow adorned with golden lilies and eagles, sped forward, unfazed by the barrage of weapons on either side.
Ten slaves to the front of bold Ulsantis stood with shields of metal rare that blunted spear and warded stroke from that proud head whose brain directed all.
Ten slaves stood in front of bold Ulsantis with shields of rare metal. The shields blunted spears and warded off blows from that proud head, whose brain directed all.
"Ho, men of snow," they shouted, "come ye nigh! We feed the fish upon thy northern bulk today, a dainty rare for sharks.
"Hey, you snow-covered sailors," they yelled, "come closer! We're feeding the fish with your northern bodies today, a rare treat for sharks."
"Ho, robbers! Wanderers! Ye of Asia! Plotting in your line for centuries, keep thy lances for thy victims less, alas, than we!"
"Ho, robbers! Wanderers! You of Asia! You have been plotting in your line for centuries. Keep your lances for victims who are lesser than we are, alas!"
Then from the throats of all there burst the long, sad wail presaging war or death. A wail that shook the fleet with trembling mood. A wail that o’er the desert have I heard when mighty men were met in savage war. A cry, which, handed down the line gave foe in Egypt, centuries after, fear.
A chilling cry erupted from everyone's throats, signaling impending war or death. This wail shook the fleet, filling it with dread. It was a sound I'd heard echoing across the desert when fierce warriors clashed in brutal combat. This haunting cry, passed down through generations, would later strike fear into the hearts of enemies in Egypt, even centuries after.
It was the cry of Ram and Phenox, Ses and other gods "who victory gave."
It was the cry of Ram and Phenox, Ses, and other gods "who gave victory."
The Northmen's cry rang out, at first but trembling; for the foemen's cry spake tombs and places where the souls of Northmen trend, not to their minds.
The Northmen's shout began hesitantly, as their enemies' battle cry reminded them of graveyards and haunted places where their compatriots' spirits wandered—thoughts that unsettled them.
Low fell the cry of Asia. Plains and sands, to them familiar, seemed afar, and thoughts turned from the water to the waste and made the voice to falter, yet the blood of stern resolve took fire at last and ran in fire and made the hand to spring to weapon, fierce the cry rose then.
The cry from Asia fell softly. Familiar plains and deserts seemed distant now, and thoughts shifted from the sea to the barren land. This made voices waver, but soon the blood of determination ignited. It surged like fire, causing hands to reach for weapons. Then, a fierce shout arose.
Thus galley met with galley. Spears which gleamed drank of a redder fluid than the light that showered over, heeding not the fray that reddened sea, made waves to dance as body leaped on body, thrown to sea by mad encounter that would rock the land and cause the sea to bubble, foam and roar, and waves dashed high as sped the galleys on.
Warships clashed violently. Gleaming spears soon dripped with blood, heedless of the battle that stained the sea red. Bodies crashed against each other, thrown overboard in the frenzied combat. The struggle was so fierce it seemed to shake the earth, making the sea churn and roar as waves rose high around the speeding ships.
Fierce cries marked battle of the common horde, but silent on his swivel bench the slave, bold eyed with lips a-twitch with wrath, had held his oar till at some well aimed stroke he fell all palsied and his duty done.
The common soldiers fought with fierce battle cries, but the slave remained silent on his rowing bench. His eyes were defiant and his lips twitched with anger as he gripped his oar. He continued his task until a well-aimed blow struck him down, leaving him paralyzed. His duty was finally over.
Atlantis, silent from the first long cry, dealt blow on blow. The master mind, that drank from him who lay in pain upon his couch, directing all with even words and calm, through instrument which made his voice to sound familiar in the ear of every man who fought in galley of his land.
Atlantis, silent since the first long cry, dealt blow after blow. The master mind drew its direction from the man who lay in pain on his couch. It directed all with calm, even words, through an instrument that made his voice sound familiar in the ear of every man who fought in a galley of his land.
Ten galleys did engage ten of the foes. Reserves flew swift to aid when one succumbed to stroke, and thus a wall of warriors met each charging boat. Condensed the numbers, so that none might say: "The gap is made! The break we pass with speed!"
Ten ships clashed with ten enemy vessels. Reinforcements rushed in swiftly when one fell to attack, creating a solid barrier of fighters against each advancing boat. The ranks tightened, preventing anyone from claiming, "A breach is formed! We can quickly break through!"
The empty galleys swiftly bore to rear. The wounded followed in the cushioned barques, and fierce as tiger dam twelve long-speared warriors guarded well each boat, so that no foeman dared to brand the dead, or captive make of wounded.
The empty ships quickly retreated. The injured were carried in comfortable boats, each fiercely guarded by twelve spear-wielding warriors as fierce as tigresses protecting their cubs. This ensured that no enemy could desecrate the dead or capture the wounded.
Thus taught the men of Mars, and thus Atlantian sages learned. The galleys of the Northmen sought to lock with the Atlantian, but their three-edged spears beat hard on wood and clave it, broke to left and right, the Atlantians, nor halted.
The Martians taught this way, and the wise people of Atlantis learned from them. The Viking ships tried to engage the Atlantean vessels, but the Atlanteans' three-pronged spears smashed through the wooden hulls. They broke through on both sides, and the Atlanteans pressed on without stopping.
"Fare away!" cried they.
"Go away!" they shouted.
The galley slaves who rowed with wondrous skill, made boats as rams that fight and drave the foemen far, some overturned, some cleft by axe so sharp that steel itself was bitten; rent in twain the stoutest timbers by the Atlantian's spik’ed sides and valves of fire at prow, that men ne’er dreamed were heated by a force drawn from the air, but showed not fire, was keen surprise indeed which boded death to every man who made a point of entry where the balls hung low from iron caskets, but ornament in truth they seemed.
The skilled oarsmen maneuvered their boats like battering rams, driving back the enemy. Some vessels were overturned, others split by axes so sharp they could bite through steel. The strongest timbers were torn apart by the Atlantian ship's spiked sides and fire-powered valves at the bow. Men never imagined these were heated by a force drawn from the air, as they showed no flames. It was a deadly surprise for anyone who attempted to board where iron caskets hung low, appearing to be mere decorations but concealing lethal weaponry.
With numbers sought the Mongol to maintain his vantage.
The Mongol relied on superior numbers to keep his advantage.
Flesh is frail when formed in wall, and every fierce advance was checked by missile-throwers of Atlantis who fought, nor made attack, for thus Atlantians were forbade, but held protection of the life and home a duty all must learn.
Human defenses are weak, and every aggressive assault was halted by Atlantis's ranged weapons. The Atlantians fought defensively, not attacking, as they were forbidden to do so. Instead, they believed protecting life and home was a responsibility everyone must master.
As creature playing with the thing which lieth dead by one soft stroke, the island soldiers fought till came an hour when Law was all forgot and man leaped forth a demon of the sea.
Like a creature playing with something it has killed with one soft stroke, the island soldiers fought. Then came an hour when Law was wholly forgotten, and man leaped forth, a demon of the sea.
One boat held priests who prayed with men who died—young priests who side by side had strove with these, their brothers of the spear, when from an island of the southern sea came men for plunder.
One boat carried priests who prayed with the dying men—young clergy who had fought alongside these warriors when raiders from a southern island came to pillage their land.
The Northmen spake: "They shrive their dead!" they smiled. "What need have warriors for the parting boon when war absolves from sin they who have died? Sail out with me. The man who battles not in galley now must die! The fish of foul portent shall batten upon priestly fare today!" And so three galleys sailed to beat to nothingness the galley of the priests.
The Northmen grinned and said, "They're giving last rites to their dead! Why do warriors need final blessings when dying in battle washes away all sins? Join me at sea. Those who don't fight now are doomed! Today, the ominous fish will feast on holy men!" With that, three ships set sail to destroy the priests' vessel.
Swift sailed they and swift halted; their intent so sudden that the men of peace turned pale though fearing not for self but for the wounded men who called on gods with pain-drawn, quivering lips.
They sailed and stopped quickly, their sudden action causing the peaceful men to pale with worry. These men feared not for themselves, but for the injured who cried out to the gods with trembling lips, their voices strained by pain.
A crash! A crash! the ladened galley sank at blows of Northmen. Far to sea it lay.
A crash! A crash! The heavily loaded ship sank under the Northmen's attack. It now rests far out at sea.
Like lions roused to anger rose the men of that great island fleet. "Behold! the blood ye shed shall be as naught to that which we this day shall spill, to redden sea for league on league of Northmen's, Asia's blood! Look well!"
Enraged, the warriors of the mighty island navy rose up. "Listen! The blood you've spilled will pale in comparison to what we'll shed today. We'll turn the sea red for miles with the blood of Northmen and Asians! Watch and see!"
’Tis done! The serpent-shapen caskets took for aiming the clayed, death-dealing matter, great spears were set and staves made ready in the hands of slaves and silent-lipped as wings of Death fold down swept every galley—each for every foe.
It's finished! The snake-shaped containers were loaded with deadly clay projectiles. Large spears were positioned and staffs prepared in the hands of slaves. Silent as death itself, every ship swooped down—each one targeting an enemy vessel.
Fell slaughter reigned. The great and three-edged spears held by Atlantians fell as swift as shafts of lightning on the helm of steel or toughened fiber; deep on skull they drave. A pulpy mass it seemed beneath the metal made by science learned from nations far, and planet-men and they with brain so tuned to subtle notes of usage that it seemed as gods had talked to men with lips to ear.
Fierce slaughter reigned. The great three-edged spears held by the Atlantians fell as swift as lightning bolts on helmets of steel or toughened fiber. They drove deep into the skull, which seemed a pulpy mass beneath the metal. That metal was made by science learned from far nations, from planet-men, and from those whose brains were so tuned to subtle notes of usage that it seemed as if gods had talked to men, lips to ear.
Proud Olaf fell beneath a mass of dead, and sullen rowed his slaves far out to sea and followed many.
Olaf died proudly amid a pile of corpses. His defeated crew grimly rowed their ship far out to sea, with many others following behind.
"We take no captives here! We ask no wolf to share our beauteous isle! The sea may swallow and the fish may eat!" was each Atlantian's thought.
"We take no prisoners here! We won't let any invader share our beautiful island! Let the sea swallow them and the fish eat them!" This was the mindset of every Atlantian.
The men of Asia fiercer battled yet Zambesi's warrior's silent fought with spear that drank not deep of the Atlantian blood.
The Asian soldiers fought more fiercely, while Zambezi's warriors silently battled with spears that barely pierced the Atlantean forces.
The shock on shock of galleys sent by oars that snapped not, neither failed in object sought, made noise as muttered thunder; the fiery missiles swiftly flung from hand so skilled that never man escaped; the shouting, shrieking of the rabble of Zambesi's horde, when closely pressed, fell like frail reeds before the silent thrust and deft—shot showers of fiery balls.
The relentless impact of oar-driven galleys, unyielding in their purpose, created a rumble like distant thunder. Skilled hands launched fiery projectiles with deadly accuracy, leaving no man untouched. When cornered, the screaming throngs of Zambesi's forces crumbled like fragile reeds before the silent, precise assault and the barrage of flaming missiles.
One galley sunk another followed close, sucked down, or shattered by the bolts of stone fierce-heated, which Atlantis’ steel-clad galleys bore.
One ship sank, and another quickly followed, pulled under or smashed by the red-hot stone projectiles launched from Atlantis' armored warships.
The Northmen's last fierce effort to surpass that silent army was a gallant thing to witness:
The Vikings' final bold charge against the unyielding force was a breathtaking sight to behold.
King Olaf's son, a youth of tender years, stood at the helm of galley turning from retreat; with armed hand and breast secured from spear by rows of steel-shod shields by mighty men upborn, and in his wake one hundred galleys bore with remnant of the Northmen, caught the Admiral's eye.
King Olaf's young son stood at the helm of a ship, steering away from retreat. Protected by a line of steel-plated shields held by strong warriors, he gripped his weapon. Behind him, a hundred ships carrying the remaining Norse forces caught the Admiral's attention.
Like thorn-set stems the Northmen's bristling spears protruded, ten on ten, and staves glanced high, and missile-throwers’ shot, from tridents.
Like thorn-set stems, the Northmen's bristling spears stuck out, ten upon ten. Staves flashed high, and the missile-throwers' shot flew from tridents.
"Lost the Atlantians now, nor dare their men throw missiles save in extremest moments," spake the youth, for thus was told the island's custom.
"The Atlantians are lost now, and their men dare not throw missiles except in the most extreme moments," said the youth, for so he had been told of the island's custom.
Those northern galleys flew across the waves and smote with prow such galley as the captains marked to smite, with force like that flung out by giant's hand.
The northern ships sped across the sea, ramming their chosen targets with the force of a giant's blow.
Men staggered, fell, nor fell in death, perchance, but rose sore bruised in body yet with soul so willed to battle that each hand clutched harder yet the spear.
People stumbled and fell, but not always to their deaths. Many rose again, their bodies battered but their spirits unbroken. With fierce determination, they gripped their spears even tighter, ready to continue the fight.
All loved the foeman youth for that brave front, and not one spear was pointed, stave was thrown at that proud flaxen head, whose locks strayed bright beneath the heavy casque.
Everyone admired the young enemy soldier for his brave demeanor. Not a single spear was aimed or staff thrown at his proud, blonde head, whose light hair peeked out from under his heavy helmet.
And stood he proudly still, young Olaf, when had fallen twelve hundred warriors; fell in sea or writhing sore in galleys, bearing dead and wounded, which was sunk by Atlantis’ spear-like spikes resembling those about a palace tower set.
Young Olaf stood proud and unflinching, even as twelve hundred warriors fell. Some perished at sea, while others writhed in agony aboard their ships, which were now filled with the dead and wounded. These vessels had been sunk by Atlantis' spear-like spikes, similar to those found around a palace tower.
There clouds of fire. There silent, sullen, mien; there galleys smiting charges hold the foe at bay and show their hopeless mission and the day was done!
There, clouds of fire. There, silent and sullen looks. There, the galleys with their smiting charges hold the foe at bay and show it that its mission is hopeless, and the day was done!
There dead-filled galleys pile on earlier pile; the fish float heavy from their feed of dead, and to the northward hastening are seen such numbers as have chosen flight to glorious death.
There, galleys filled with dead pile up on earlier piles. The fish float heavy from feeding on the dead. And hastening to the northward are seen great numbers who have chosen flight over a glorious death.
"We homeward turn, O men, O gods of this great isle of sea!" so wailed the foe in song.
"We turn homeward, O men, O gods of this great isle of the sea!" So the foe wailed in song.
"The day is done! the chance for victory o’er! we to the desert go!" With glittering eyes the Mongol softly spake.
"It's over! We've lost our chance to win! Now we must retreat to the desert!" The Mongol whispered with gleaming eyes.
Zambesi's somber men spake scarce a word, but, hopeless, glared:
Zambesi's gloomy men barely spoke, staring hopelessly.
"A king of this Atlantis is our friend; behold! henceforth his subjects, we. What ho! We swear our fealty," loud the leaders spake.
"The king of Atlantis is now our ally. From this day forward, we are his subjects. Hear us! We pledge our loyalty," the leaders proclaimed loudly.
And galley met with galley, back to Atlantis bore the slaves of him, Zambesi's king, who later pardoned all, the fragment of a band. And over all, the shattered, saddened souls who bode in battered galley—bode in shell of body still, there fell a calm when voice of trumpet spake.
And galley met with galley. Back to Atlantis they bore the slaves of Zambesi's king, who later pardoned them all, that fragment of a band. And over all the shattered, saddened souls who stayed in the battered galleys, still dwelling in the shell of the body, a calm fell when the trumpet's voice spoke.
The night lust falling. Soft and low the call as mother's to her babe, then loud and clear, then angry murmur swelling, later fell in fierce glad cry of victory as sunk the sun to rest, the sun which vied in blood-red glow with foam upon the waves of stranger hue, all spotted with the life-blood from the veins of men so brave their names were spake with reverence by younger lips that followed o’er the sea.
Night was falling. The call began soft and low, like a mother's whisper to her child. It grew louder and clearer, then swelled into an angry murmur. Finally, it erupted into a fierce, joyous cry of victory as the sun sank to rest. The setting sun's blood-red glow rivaled the oddly-colored foam on the waves, stained with the lifeblood of brave men. Their names were spoken with reverence by the younger generations who followed them across the sea.
Atlantis laid her dead in funeral barge and slowly homeward set. The trumpets plaint the long night through foretold disaster to the waiting ones, and to their ears it numbered all their dead, but spake no fell defeat.
Atlantis sent its fallen soldiers home on funeral ships, sailing slowly back to their homeland. The mournful sound of trumpets echoed through the night, warning those who waited of the tragedy. To those listening, the trumpets seemed to count each lost life, yet they didn't speak of utter defeat.
"The dead are warriors, such their fate," they spake, but far beyond the shining Moon their souls are wending.
"The fallen are heroes, that's their destiny," they said, but their spirits journey far beyond the bright Moon.
"We mourn not for them; they are quaffing glory from the Fount.
We don't grieve for them; they're drinking in honor from the Source.
"Their life-pulse beateth on the ether planes.
Their essence resonates in ethereal realms.
"We still of earth may envy but not grieve, and yet our galleys number less by half than when we fared us forth.
We on Earth may still feel envy but not sorrow, even though our fleet has been reduced by half since we set out.
"But, joy! Our foe hath ridden out to sea in battered hulk—a remnant of that army mocking us this morn."
Great news! Our enemy has fled to sea in a damaged ship—all that remains of the force that taunted us earlier today.