The Hobbit

resistance, and many there fell before the rest drew back and fled to either side. As Gandalf had hoped, the goblin army
     had gathered behind the resisted vanguard, and poured now in rage into the valley, driving wildly up between the arms of the
     Mountain, seeking for the foe. Their banners were countless, black and red, and they came on like a tide in fury and disorder.
    It was a terrible battle. The most dreadful of all Bilbo’s experiences, and the one which at the time he hated most—which
     is to say it was the one he was most proud of, and most fond of recalling long afterwards, although he was quite unimportant
     in it. Actually I may say he put on his ring early in the business, and vanished from sight, if not from all danger. A magic
     ring of that sort is not a complete protection in a goblin charge, nor does it stop flying arrows and wild spears; but it
     does help in getting out of the way, and it prevents your head from being specially chosen for a sweeping stroke by a goblin
     swordsman.
    The elves were the first to charge. Their hatred for the goblins is cold and bitter. Their spears and swords shone in the
     gloom with a gleam of chill flame, so deadly was the wrath of the hands that held them. As soon as the host of their enemies
     was dense in the valley, they sent against it a shower of arrows, and each flickered as it fled as if with stinging fire. Behind the
     arrows a thousand of their spearmen leapt down and charged. The yells were deafening. The rocks were stained black with goblin
     blood.
    Just as the goblins were recovering from the onslaught and the elf-charge was halted, there rose from across the valley a
     deep-throated roar. With cries of “Moria!” and “Dain, Dain!” the dwarves of the Iron Hills plunged in, wielding their mattocks,
     upon the other side; and beside them came the men of the Lake with long swords.
    Panic came upon the Goblins; and even as they turned to meet this new attack, the elves charged again with renewed numbers.
     Already many of the goblins were flying back down the river to escape from the trap; and many of their own wolves were turning
     upon them and rending the dead and the wounded. Victory seemed at hand, when a cry rang out on the heights above.
    Goblins had scaled the Mountain from the other side and already many were on the slopes above the Gate, and others were streaming
     down recklessly, heedless of those that fell screaming from cliff and precipice, to attack the spurs from above. Each of these
     could be reached by paths that ran down from the main mass of the Mountain in the centre; and the defenders had too few to
     bar the way for long. Victory now vanished from hope. They had only stemmed the first onslaught of the black tide.
    Day drew on. The goblins gathered again in the valley. There a host of Wargs came ravening and with them came the bodyguard
     of Bolg, goblins of huge size with scimitars of steel. Soon actual darkness was coming into a stormy sky; while still the great bats swirled about
     the heads and ears of elves and men, or fastened vampire-like on the stricken. Now Bard was fighting to defend the Eastern
     spur, and yet giving slowly back; and the elf-lords were at bay about their king upon the southern arm, near to the watch-post
     on Ravenhill.
    Suddenly there was a great shout, and from the Gate came a trumpet call. They had forgotten Thorin! Part of the wall, moved
     by levers, fell outward with a crash into the pool. Out leapt the King under the Mountain, and his companions followed him.
     Hood and cloak were gone; they were in shining armour, and red light leapt from their eyes. In the gloom the great dwarf gleamed
     like gold in a dying fire.
    Rocks were hurled down from on high by the goblins above; but they held on, leapt down to the falls’ foot, and rushed forward
     to battle. Wolf and rider fell or fled before them. Thorin wielded his axe with mighty strokes, and nothing seemed to harm
     him.
    “To me! To me! Elves and Men! To me! O my kinsfolk!” he cried, and his voice shook like a horn in the valley.
    Down, heedless of order, rushed all the dwarves of Dain to his help. Down too came many of the Lake-men, for Bard could not
     restrain them; and out upon the other side came many of the spearmen of the elves. Once again the goblins were stricken in
     the valley; and they were piled in heaps till Dale was dark and hideous with their corpses. The Wargs were scattered and Thorin drove right against the