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the land of shadow 1199
tumbled slopes and glens of the Morgai. With a desperate
spurt Frodo and Sam dashed along the bridge; but they had
hardly reached its further end when they heard the hue and
cry begin. Away behind them, now high above on the mountain-side,
loomed the Tower of Cirith Ungol, its stones glowing
dully. Suddenly its harsh bell clanged again, and then
broke into a shattering peal. Horns sounded. And now from
beyond the bridge-end came answering cries. Down in the
dark trough, cut off from the dying glare of Orodruin, Frodo
and Sam could not see ahead, but already they heard the
tramp of iron-shod feet, and upon the road there rang the
swift clatter of hoofs.
‘Quick, Sam! Over we go!’ cried Frodo. They scrambled
on to the low parapet of the bridge. Fortunately there was no
longer any dreadful drop into the gulf, for the slopes of the
Morgai had already risen almost to the level of the road; but
it was too dark for them to guess the depth of the fall.
‘Well, here goes, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘Good-bye!’
He let go. Frodo followed. And even as they fell they heard
the rush of horsemen sweeping over the bridge and the rattle
of orc-feet running up behind. But Sam would have laughed,
if he had dared. Half fearing a breaking plunge down on to
unseen rocks the hobbits landed, in a drop of no more than
a dozen feet, with a thud and a crunch into the last thing that
they had expected: a tangle of thorny bushes. There Sam lay
still, softly sucking a scratched hand.
When the sound of hoof and foot had passed he ventured
a whisper. ‘Bless me, Mr. Frodo, but I didn’t know as anything
grew in Mordor! But if I had a’known, this is just what
I’d have looked for. These thorns must be a foot long by the
feel of them; they’ve stuck through everything I’ve got on.
Wish I’d a’put that mailshirt on!’
‘Orc-mail doesn’t keep these thorns out,’ said Frodo. ‘Not
even a leather jerkin is any good.’
They had a struggle to get out of the thicket. The thorns
and briars were as tough as wire and as clinging as claws.