Raising the sword again, Nasta sprang forward to make an end
of him, but little he knew his foe. With a shake and a yell
of fury, the Zulu gathered himself together and sprang straight
at Nasta's throat, as I have sometimes seen a wounded lion spring.
He struck him full as his foot was on the topmost stair, and
his long arms closing round him like iron bands, down they rolled
together struggling furiously. Nasta was a strong man and a
desperate, but he could not match the strongest man in Zululand,
sore wounded though he was, whose strength was as the strength
of a bull. In a minute the end came. I saw old Umslopogaas
stagger to his feet -- ay, and saw him by a single gigantic effort
swing up the struggling Nasta and with a shout of triumph hurl
him straight over the parapet of the bridge, to be crushed to
powder on the rocks two hundred feet below.
The succour which had been summoned by the girl who had passed
down the stair before the assassins passed up was at hand, and
the loud shouts which reached us from the outer gates told us
that the town was also aroused, and the men awakened by the women
were calling to be admitted. Some of Nyleptha's brave ladies,
who in their night-shifts and with their long hair streaming
down their backs, just as they had been aroused from rest, went
off to admit them at the side entrance, whilst others, assisted
by the rescuing party outside, pushed and pulled down the marble
blocks they had placed there with so much labour.
Pages:
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405