His lions sprang forward, and carried confusion into the hosts that were
crowding down upon him, for many of their horses became unmanageable at
the roar of the furious brutes, overthrew the chariots, and so hemmed the
advance of the troops in the rear. Rameses sent arrow after arrow, while
Mena covered him with the shield from the shots of the enemy. His horses
meanwhile had carried him forward, and he could fell the foremost of the
Asiatics with his battle-axe; close by his side fought Rameri and three
other princes; in front of him were the lions.

The press was fearful, and the raging of the battle wild and deafening,
like the roar of the surging ocean when it is hurled by a hurricane
against a rocky coast.

Mena seemed to be in two places at once, for, while he guided the horses
forwards, backwards, or to either hand, as the exigences of the position
demanded, not one of the arrows shot at the king touched him. His eye
was everywhere, the shield always ready, and not an eyelash of the young
hero trembled, while Rameses, each moment more infuriated, incited his
lions with wild war-cries, and with flashing eyes advanced farther and
farther into the enemy's ranks.

Three arrows aimed, not at the king but at Mena himself, were sticking in
the charioteer's shield, and by chance he saw written on the shaft of one
of them the words "Death to Mena."

A fourth arrow whizzed past him. His eye followed its flight, and as he
marked the spot whence it had come, a fifth wounded his shoulder, and he
cried out to the king:

"We are betrayed! Look over there! Paaker is fighting with the Cheta."