Chapter 616: Borrowing Your Head for a Moment

Yelu Wuzhi of course also heard the earth-shaking shouts of battle and wailing. As the finest commander among the Khitan at this time, Yelu Wuzhi was even calmer than Xiao Han, and naturally considered things more comprehensively.

He likewise realized that the enemy force attacking was not large, but Yelu Wuzhi did not think of immediately charging out. Instead, he thought first of how to stabilize the situation.

Because even if the enemy was not numerous, with his own side already infinitely close to total collapse, killing a few attacking groups would be far from enough to steady the situation.

The best method was to summon soldiers who had not yet fallen into panic and form them into ranks, then use indiscriminate fire to shoot down anyone who dared rush toward their own formation, ensuring that he kept at least one unit whose morale had not shattered.

Humans are an extremely social animal, quite dependent on the strength of the group.

Never mind that the Khitan were now running in all directions, already on the verge of collapse. If one unit in bright, distinct armor could hold firm and not flee, then those running wild would be drawn toward it, constantly gathering around. With three to five thousand men, the situation could basically be stabilized.

This is also why, in wars through the ages, when the victorious side pursues and pursues, if they encounter a heaven-sent fierce man on the opposing side, they are very easily counter-killed. This is also the greatest role of a commander: to turn back the tide when all seems lost.

Yelu Wuzhi now prepared to be such a man. He loudly summoned his subordinates, as well as the remnants of the Tige, Tiefeng, and other palace-encampment troops who had retreated from Yanshi City.

These men counted as elite among the current Khitan army, and very quickly seven or eight hundred were gathered.

Yelu Wuzhi looked toward the "landlord's compound" where Yelu Ruan was, and suddenly waved his hand.

"Warriors, form ranks before the traveling palace! Raise my great banner and the yamen gate banner! Shout: those who charge the formation die, those who return to the ranks live! Let everyone know that I, Yelu Wuzhi, am still here."

The Great Xiangwen of the Yelu quickly made arrangements. Of course, at this point, one more condition was needed: someone had to go now to cut off the scattered soldiers or the enemy, buying time for the rest to form ranks.

At a glance he picked out Zhang Xibao, Yelu Sizhong, and the others, who had long since fully armed themselves. These men were so elite, but a pity — they belonged to Yelu Yaliguo's private encampment troops. Then let them be sacrificed.

"Xiao Saluo, lead your men forward to block the enemy and buy the army a quarter hour."

"Xiao Saluo obeys! But Great Xiangwen, my force is small. I must borrow one thing from the Great Xiangwen to bolster our prestige!"

Yelu Sizhong and Zhang Xibao exchanged a glance, trading looks.

They had originally wanted to seize Yelu Ruan, but now that Yelu Wuzhi actually intended to use them as cannon fodder, there was no choice left. They could not end up with nothing at all.

So Yelu Sizhong, while acknowledging the order, spurred his horse toward Yelu Wuzhi.

Yelu Wuzhi assumed Yelu Sizhong wanted to borrow a yamen gate banner or some other token of authority, and not the slightest alarm rose in him. The guards around him even parted to make way for Yelu Sizhong.

A faint trace of guilt rose in Yelu Wuzhi's heart. He put on a kindly, pleasant expression and, watching Yelu Sizhong ride slowly toward him, called out: "What do you wish to borrow? As long as it can hold back the enemy, anything is permissible!"

"Very well!" Yelu Sizhong roared, clamped his legs against the horse's belly, and the warhorse suddenly accelerated.

"Captain of the Left Dragon-Soaring Guard of the Great Zhou, Yelu Sizhong, here to borrow the Great Xiangwen's head!"

Even as he spoke, the warhorse had already surged before Yelu Wuzhi. Yelu Sizhong leaned left, and with the momentum of the galloping horse, his pecking hammer struck Yelu Wuzhi square on the forehead.

The bird-beak end of the pecking hammer pierced straight through Yelu Wuzhi's iron helmet. The tremendous impact even snapped Yelu Wuzhi's neck violently, nearly twisting his cervical spine apart.

In an instant, this man — the Khitan's finest commander of the age, their most worthy minister, the great meritorious official who in history had reconciled the strife between Yelu Ruan and Shulu Ping, suppressed the Huoshen Dian rebellion, and enthroned two emperors, Liao Muzong Yelu Jing and Jingzong Yelu Xian —

this meritorious scion of the Liao imperial clan, who had served through the five reigns of Liao Taizu, Taizong, Shizong, Muzong, and Jingzong, and had rendered supreme service in swallowing the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan-Yun for the Liao state — was struck so that his brains burst open, and he died on the spot!

"Strike!" Zhang Xibao roared at Aluozhe and the others. Two hundred men suddenly attacked at once, spears stabbing and hammers smashing, slaughtering the utterly unprepared Khitan with heavy casualties.

Zhang Xibao spurred his horse in rapid circles around the Khitan, shooting left and right. In just a dozen or so breaths, he had shot at least ten riders from their horses.

The rest were likewise extraordinarily fierce. To disguise themselves as Khitan, they had not worn the cloth-faced iron armor unique to Hexi, nor even lamellar armor, because that would not have been realistic. They wore only thin leather armor, so they had to crush the Khitan before them as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, the Khitan had long since been frightened out of their wits. Once Yelu Sizhong and Aluozhe together finished off Yelu Wuzhi's six personal guards, the Khitan resistance immediately collapsed.

The terrified Khitan cavalry scrambled over one another to strip off the armor they had just put on, and fled north on light horses.

Yelu Sizhong, covered in blood, jumped down from his horse and cut off the head of Yelu Wuzhi, whose brains had spilled across the ground. The others, laughing and joking, scrambled over any small object of symbolic significance on Yelu Wuzhi's headless body.

These were all proof of merit, mementos to boast about decades later.

Yelu Sizhong wrapped Yelu Wuzhi's head in his outer robe and hung it at the horse's side, then sighed softly. "Great Xiangwen, you wanted to be a Khitan, but I no longer do."

Zhang Xibao raised his head and cast an extremely greedy glance at the earthen fort on the hilltop, where the Liao emperor's canopy was planted, then shook his head with great resolve.

"The Liao emperor's palace-encampment troops are beginning to gather, and the force in this raid seems small. We'll head north, to harass and delay that cur Gao Song's six thousand men."

With Yelu Wuzhi finished, the only remaining fighting strength in the Liao army was the two or three thousand elite of Emperor Yelu Ruan's Yelu Han'erdu, and Gao Song's several thousand men who had not suffered the disaster at Yanshi City.

Zhang Xibao made the correct decision, not greedily pursuing the great merit of killing an emperor of a state.

His two hundred soldiers were not entirely willing, but none disobeyed military orders. Everyone put on Khitan clothing and armor, tied red cords around their arms, and ran toward the northern camp where Gao Song's force was stationed.

This proved that they were a disciplined force — one could even say a force of iron discipline.

Just as Yelu Sizhong hammered Yelu Wuzhi to death, the second wave sent by Zhang Zhao — the key assault groups of Murong Yanzhao, Zhao Yanjin, and others — also arrived.

Unlike Li Cunhui's force, which was setting fires and killing everywhere to cause mass panic, they were specifically threading through the chaos, hunting for any Khitan soldiers or officers who dared to regroup.

The moment they saw anyone assembling, they would charge in and break up the formation, dissolving any possible Khitan resistance.

Amid blood and fire, weeping and shouting, Zhang Zhao coldly watched from the earthen fort as Yelu Ruan frantically ordered the imperial canopy lowered, and countless people ran in and out, apparently preparing to break out.

This earthen fort was built on high ground, which indeed made it convenient to observe below, but looking up from below was likewise unobstructed.

At last, when the gates of the earthen fort opened, the moment had come.

If that brat Yelu Ruan had ordered his two or three thousand men to form ranks and hold to the death, Zhang Zhao's five hundred could not have charged through. But since he chose to flee, it would be much easier.

Woooooo!

The long ox horn sounded. Zhang Zhao mounted Zidian, wearing ochre-yellow padded armor, surrounded by his most elite five hundred Guiyi Lang of the Hanshan Capital.

And in Zhang Zhou's forces, those who had earned the title Guiyi Lang were, without exception, the elite of the elite.

Of the five hundred, more than three hundred had been brought back by Zhang Zhao from Anxi, and twenty-five of them were his original trusted confidants.

The rest were also men Zhang Zhao had taken in as Great Khan: private tribal Basmyl people, and Nestorian knights from Suyab.

There were Han folk of the Six Valleys led by Cui Huxin, and the sons of the four great clans of Dunhuang — the Zhang, Cao, Yin, and Luo.

As well as warriors of various tribes who had come down from the Qingtang Plateau and regarded Zhang Zhao as a god or Buddha.

"The northern caitiffs have run rampant, plaguing the realm for decades. Today they shall be destroyed at our hands! Follow me, all of you, and take the caitiff lord alive!"

Zhang Zhao shouted, and the five hundred Guiyi Lang mounted almost as one, forming an olive-shaped formation, pointed at both ends and full in the middle.

"Sage, I request to be the vanguard, to shatter the caitiff cavalry's great formation!"

Zhang Zhaojie (Qiong Reduojin) rode to the very front of the formation, while the surrounding riders crowded Zhang Zhao into the very center of the force, not letting him charge at the front.

"Good! Duojin may be the vanguard."

Zhang Zhao knew that these five hundred Guiyi Lang would certainly not let him charge at the very front. If he insisted on doing so, it might even disrupt their fighting. So Zhang Zhao did not insist on leading the charge himself.

"Where is my son Jiye?" But if that was the case, he would need to arrange the right people for it. Zhang Zhao loudly summoned Yang Jiye.

"Your son is here!" Yang Jiye hurriedly spurred his horse forward.

The fifteen-year-old Elder Lord Yang had in fact already followed along in seven or eight battles, large and small, but always on the fringes, just along for the ride. He had never experienced anything like today—going out as the main force, and on top of that, the scene of capturing a great nation's sovereign alive—so he was extremely excited.

"Do you dare serve as the army's left wing?"

This left wing did not mean being positioned on the left side, but rather serving as the commander of the squad of elite archers on the army's left.

Its purpose was that when the main army charged fiercely, they would spread out on the left and shoot down the enemy's key officers and brave warriors. Only men of superb horsemanship, outstanding archery, and extremely steely nerves could do it.

Yang Jiye had not expected his foster father to entrust him with such an important duty. He trembled all over with excitement, rose upright in the saddle, cupped his hands, and shouted, "Your son dares! I am willing to capture the enemy lord alive for you, Father!"

"Zhang Cheng, the right wing is yours!"

Zhang Zhao summoned another fierce general. Zhang Cheng and Zhang Xibao, these two men surnamed Zhang, could be said to be the bravest warriors Zhang Zhao had gathered after taking control of Liangzhou.

Zhang Cheng in particular was calm and steady. In the old days during the siege of Xiazhou, over the course of four months, he had shot and killed one hundred and forty Tangut men of the Dingnan Army from atop a Lu Gong siege tower alone. You could not do that without real skill.

"I respectfully obey Your Majesty's command!" Zhang Cheng was never a man of many words. Upon hearing the order, he took a few trusted followers and went off to the right wing.

Hoofbeats thundered in waves, swift as rolling thunder descending from the ninth heaven. Zhang Zhao ordered the great silver-white banner with hanging gold tassels—the symbol of the commander-in-chief—raised. Five hundred riders pressed tightly together and charged toward the two thousand five hundred Yelu Ordu riders under Yelu Ruan, who had just come out of the earthen fort and were heading north.

This was far too conspicuous. Even on a chaotic battlefield, it was enough to draw many people's eyes, and Yelu Ruan, who was sneaking off in flight, and his Yelu Ordu certainly saw it too.

Yelu Ruan wanted to flee, so of course he would not entangle himself with Zhang Zhao's side, and of course he had not figured out the strength of these five hundred men.

So the Yelu Xiangwen in charge of command beside Yelu Ruan waved his banner, and a force of five or six hundred palace-tent cavalry galloped over, intending to intercept them.

Zhang Zhao gave a cold laugh and had the banner soldiers behind him beat the specially made golden war drum. Upon receiving the order, Yang Jiye and Zhang Cheng each took fifteen men and spread out.

These thirty-two riders carried strong bows, and the moment they left the main formation they advanced and dispersed to the two wings.

Immediately after, a precise rain of arrows struck. The five hundred riders who had come out from the Yelu Ordu at once began tumbling to the ground one after another.

Moreover, most of those shot down were the officers charging at the very front, or holding the line at the two ends.

In an extremely short span of time, Yang Jiye and Zhang Cheng had each loosed at least six arrows in succession, and virtually none of them missed.

The brave warriors behind them were much the same. Over two hundred arrows killed seventy or eighty men in the space of only seven or eight breaths.

Such a killing effect was utterly terrifying. The five or six hundred Yelu Ordu knights who had charged out immediately fell into panic.

Those in front who had learned how deadly it was frantically wheeled their horses and fled to either side, while those who did not know what was happening kept charging forward.

Yang Jiye gave a shout, immediately set down the hard bow in his hand, and took out a horse bow of lesser draw weight. The horse bow had less power, but a much faster rate of fire.

On a battlefield, the cavalry who can charge at the very front are always the bravest, with the best warhorses, and even the best armor.

So to shoot them, one must use a strong bow, making every arrow fatal, using extreme lethality to strike fear into these experienced warriors.

And when the enemy cavalry behind and in the middle charge up, they are certain to be somewhat inferior in skill, courage, and equipment in ordinary times.

At this point one should use the horse bow. Although the horse bow's killing power is less, it is fast, and can create the illusion of a sky-filling rain of arrows. This is also the reason elite knights are required to be able to shoot from both the left and right sides.

Archery is like football—there is also the concept of a weaker foot. A person shooting left-handed versus right-handed will certainly differ in accuracy and power.

Men like Cao Mengde's son, the yellow-bearded Cao Zhang, who could shoot from either side and make enemies fall at the twang of the string, are certainly not the majority.

So generally speaking, an archery expert will use the more comfortable main hand to shoot the strong bow. Yang Jiye had just drawn the one-dan-two strong bow six times in succession, and he had used his main hand.

Now that his main hand felt sore, he used his off hand to draw the softer bow on the other side, and could still achieve quite good results.

Sure enough, the knights charging in the middle and rear ranks saw only an empty space before them. The fierce comrades they ordinarily regarded as their backbone had vanished, and instinctively they assumed those comrades had already been struck down.

Then they were met with a sky-filling volley of arrows. Struck all over, pain surging from every direction, who still had the mind to look at whether the enemy was many or few, or to tell whether their own wounds were serious or light?

Don't joke around—the big shots have all been killed, let's get out of here!

And so the middle and rear cavalry, who looked numerous, after suffering one wave of ferocious attack, scattered to both sides just like their comrades in the front ranks.

The more conscientious ones would circle back to the main formation. The less conscientious ones figured that having braved the arrow rain and ridden fifty paces toward the enemy was already doing right by the Emperor—time to flee for their lives!

Yelu Ruan's mouth fell open in terror. What the hell! Where are my cavalry?

That huge mass of cavalry just now—gone in an instant?

Then he saw a familiar figure. Zhang Zhaojie's heavenly steed soared upward as he rode, clad in heavy armor, wearing a green robe embroidered with a reddish-yellow flying tiger, the gold-and-purple lacquered strong bow in his hand reflecting the light of the setting sun.

His hand loosed, and an arrow shot through like a meteor. With a bang, it knocked a cavalryman twenty or thirty paces in front of Yelu Ruan off his horse.

"You rebel scum! Do you still remember me?" Zhang Zhaojie bellowed, his voice shaking the entire army.

That build, that figure, that overbearing and ferocious bearing—a bolt of lightning split through Yelu Ruan's mind, and he recognized who this man was.

It was by the Yang Canal north of Luoyang. He had not yet been Khitan Emperor then, but a cautious and timid nephew, leading a thousand Iron Sparrowhawk cavalry to attack the Son of Heaven of Zhou.

And then there was no "then." He had encountered the Son of Heaven of Zhou's Hanshan Guard, who first used infantry to shake his cavalry, then struck from both flanks with swift riders. With fewer than five hundred men, they had routed his fifteen hundred cavalry utterly.

Yelu Ruan did not even know how he had lost; his own men had simply died all around him. The one who had chased him relentlessly, forcing him to flee up Mount Beimang in nothing but his underclothes, seemed to be that very same burly man across from him now.

Run! Run fast! In that instant, the nightmare of the past crashed into his mind. Yelu Ruan's head went blank, and he felt a bursting pain from head to toe.

By the time he came back to his senses, Yelu Ruan found that he had already wheeled his warhorse around and was on the road back to the earthen fort.

The Xiangwen of the Yelu Ordu beside Yelu Ruan was stunned. He had merely looked away for a moment, and the Emperor had already spurred his horse and fled?

How could they fight now? The battle had not even begun, and the Emperor was gone. He hurriedly sent men after the Emperor, but the very act of giving that order let everyone nearby see that the Emperor had fled, and the formation at once began to waver.

A once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity!

Zhang Zhao immediately commanded, "All troops, one volley from the horn crossbows—ram into them, go straight in!"

Under Zhang Zhao's command, the five hundred Guiyi riders suddenly accelerated and spread out at one hundred and twenty paces. After charging to eighty paces, they fired their horn crossbows almost simultaneously.

The short crossbow bolts, like soul-reaping envoys from hell, at once cut down a great swath of the Khitan cavalry opposite.

Then, under the direction of banners and drums, they quickly converged again at around sixty paces, reformed into an arrowhead formation, raised their speed to the maximum, and slammed violently into the midst of the Khitan cavalry.

As Zhang Zhao and his men charged through, the Yelu Xiangwen also ordered his men to organize harassing volleys of arrows.

Not everyone had seen Yelu Ruan flee. Yelu Ruan had bled heavily to build the Yelu Ordu and spent countless effort on it, so he was not entirely without loyal followers.

Many Yelu Ordu cavalry, without waiting for orders, scattered in all directions and came on with bows or close-quarters fighting from every side, intent on breaking up the charge of the Zhou army's Guiyi riders.

But none of this could shake the earth-shattering strike of the Guiyi riders in the slightest, because they were charging together with their own Emperor, to capture the Emperor of an enemy nation alive.

Nothing could be more glorious than this moment. Death in battle? What did that count for!

At that moment, neither the arrows flying toward them nor the Khitan cavalry pretending to charge could shake their resolve to strike the main force of Yelu Han's ordu.

Thirty paces!

Twenty paces!

With a roar, the main formation of Yelu Han's ordu, numbering in the thousands, lost its nerve just as the five hundred Guiyi lads were about to crash into them!

At the very moment when they were on the verge of holding firm, their mental defenses collapsed, and men scattered in every direction.

"Scatter!" Zhang Zhao bellowed, his voice piercing through all the din. In an instant the five hundred Guiyi lads split apart, each swinging cavalry lance or pick-hammer as they fanned out in all directions, sending Yelu Han's cavalry screaming and fleeing even farther.

"Regroup!" Thirty riders had guarded Zhang Zhao the whole time. After cutting a bloody swath through the enemy formation, they broke through and immediately halted. Two signalmen raised Zhang Zhao's great silver banner with its golden tassels.

In barely a dozen breaths, the five hundred Guiyi lads came galloping in from every direction and reassembled.

"Charge!" Five hundred voices roared as one. Forming an arrowhead wedge, they once more drove toward the densest concentration of the enemy.

And their target — the Yelu Han ordu riders who had just managed to regroup — were already utterly broken in spirit. At thirty or forty paces they fell into chaos, and then the five hundred Guiyi lads dispersed again and began the slaughter.

This is what they call: gathered, a single blaze; scattered, a sky full of stars!

Wang Tongxin grinned savagely. He had spotted the xiangwen of Yelu Han's ordu.

This utterly ruthless man spurred his horse alone and charged straight at several dozen enemy riders.

The xiangwen's guards saw Wang Tongxin too. Dozens of bows loosed in rapid succession. Arrows studded Wang Tongxin's chest, his helmet, and his warhorse's body until he bristled like a hedgehog.

A few arrows even slipped through the gaps in his leg armor, and blood streamed unceasingly from his thigh.

But Wang Tongxin cared nothing for that. All he cared about was whether he could run the opposing xiangwen through with a single thrust of his lance.

The xiangwen of Yelu Han's ordu saw Wang Tongxin charging at him like a madman. Forced to raise his long spear, he let out a howl and chose to meet the charge head-on — and he brought more than ten riders with him.

"Fool! You've fallen for it!"

Wang Tongxin roared in triumph. Suddenly the Ferghana horse beneath him surged forward, bolting at least a dozen paces in one burst, and in the blink of an eye he was before the Yelu xiangwen.

The Yelu xiangwen was caught off guard. His long spear was still tucked in the thrusting position, and he had no time to change his stance — but Wang Tongxin was already upon him.

Roaring in triumph, Wang Tongxin swung his cavalry lance and delivered a thunderous blow squarely on the Yelu xiangwen's head, killing him on the spot!

Having made the kill, Wang Tongxin did not pursue the fleeing enemy. Instead he reined his horse up onto its hind legs and loosed a roar at the surrounding Khitan cavalry.

"What swine or cur still dares to come seeking death?"

At these words, not one of the Khitan cavalry dared step forward. They exchanged glances, then fled in panic.

Wang Tongxin calmly dismounted, hacked off the head with one axe stroke, tied the Yelu xiangwen's shaved-pate braids crosswise to his horse's side, and swaggered back to his own lines in triumph!

On Zhang Zhao's side, after two cycles of gathering and scattering, the twenty-five hundred riders of Yelu Han's ordu had completely broken. Leaving at least six or seven hundred corpses behind, they fled in every direction.

Zhang Zhao felt invigorated. Only now did he lead his men charging toward the earthen fort on the highest point of Lutai, where Yelu Ruan had taken refuge.

The moment Zhang Zhao arrived with the Guiyi lads, the Yelu Han ordu riders still guarding the gate scattered in an instant, leaving only forty or fifty elite guards in lamellar armor holding their ground.

Zhang Zhao did not hesitate. He immediately directed the Guiyi lads — some scaling the walls, some ramming the gate — and before long they had dealt with Yelu Ruan's most loyal attendants.

If the earthen walls of the outer courtyard could not hold, the inner courtyard naturally could hold even less. Zhang Zhao heard only the terrified weeping of countless serving women, and he knew Yelu Ruan no longer had any strength to resist.

"Wuyu! Come out! For Abuli's sake, I can at least grant you wealth and comfort." Zhang Zhao shouted Yelu Ruan's Khitan name.

Inside the room, Yelu Ruan gulped down a large horn of wine. He gazed mournfully at Lady Zhen and Empress Xiao Sagezhi.

"The southern barbarian means to kill me! These are but deceiving words."

Xiao Sagezhi's face streamed with tears. Trembling, she said, "Abuli is favored at the side of the Shaoming Son of Heaven. She can surely protect Your Majesty!"

"Hahaha!" Yelu Ruan laughed wildly. "I am the Emperor of the Great Liao, the Son of Heaven! How can I rely on a woman's pleading to cling to life?"

With that, the somewhat drunken Yelu Ruan muttered under his breath, "When I entered the Central Plains with the Datong Emperor, how many did we kill? How could the Han folk ever let me live?"

Having spoken, Yelu Ruan rose unsteadily and pressed a short knife into Yelu Anzhuan's hand. "Would you be my Huangfu Lin?"

Huangfu Lin had been the Chief Commander of the Crane-Controlling Guard under the Zhu Liang dynasty, and the trusted confidant of the last Liang emperor, Zhu Youzhen.

Before Li Cunxu entered the Eastern Capital, Zhu Youzhen, to avoid falling into Li Cunxu's hands, ordered Huangfu Lin to kill him. Huangfu Lin obeyed, slew Zhu Youzhen, and then took his own life.

Yelu Anzhuan was at this moment Yelu Ruan's absolute confidant, because Yelu Anzhuan's grandfather, Yelu Chubulu, had been put to death by the branding-iron torture for supporting Yelu Ruan's father, Yelu Bei.

After Yelu Ruan ascended the throne, he naturally took Yelu Anzhuan into his innermost circle.

Hearing this, Yelu Anzhuan threw himself to the ground and wept bitterly.

Yelu Ruan, however, was extremely impatient. He ignored the pleas of Lady Zhen and Xiao Sagezhi entirely and simply roared.

"Kill me quickly — the southern barbarian thieves are about to come in."

Yelu Anzhuan could only rise to his feet. After a brief hesitation, he drove the knife into Yelu Ruan's chest.

This Khitan emperor, who had reigned for two and a half years, was known in history for his paranoia and stubbornness. Yet dying here was at least far more honorable than being murdered at Huoshendian as he had been in history.

Watching the emperor groaning on the ground, Yelu Anzhuan let out an anguished howl, then took the dagger stained with Yelu Ruan's blood and plunged it violently into his own heart.

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