death on every hand. But Pharaoh stood, his face buried in his hands.

Now the slayers came on, shouting and clambering upon the daïs. Then
the Wanderer rushed on them with sword drawn, and shield on high, and so
swift he smote that men might not guard, for they saw, as it were, three
blades aloft at once, and the silver-hafted sword bit deep, the gift of
Phæacian Euryalus long ago. The Guards also smote and thrust; it was
for their lives they fought, and back rolled the tide of foes, leaving
a swathe of dead. So a second time they came on, and a second time were
rolled back.

Now of the defenders few were left unhurt, and their strength was
well-nigh spent. But the Wanderer cheered them with great words, though
his heart grew fearful for the end; and Meriamun the Queen also bade
them to be of good courage, and if need were, to die like men. Then once
again the wave of War rolled in upon them, and the strife grew fierce
and desperate. The iron hedge of spears was well-nigh broken, and now
the Wanderer, doing such deeds as had not been known in Khem, stood
alone between Meriamun the Queen and the swords that thirsted for her
life and the life of Pharaoh. Then of a sudden, from far down the great
hall of banquets, there came a loud cry that shrilled above the clash of
swords, the groans of men, and all the din of battle.

"_Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!_" rose a voice. "Now wilt thou let the
people go?"

Then he who smote stayed his hand and he who guarded dropped his shield.
The battle ceased and all turned to look. There at the end of the hall,
among the dead and dying, there stood the two ancient men of the Apura,
and in their hands were cedar rods.