With the dull echo of his men behind him, Jinan marched toward the fortress. The foolish Gondorians would put up a useless, bloody fight that would end up killing more of their own men than the Haradrim, the fortress would fall, and then the slaughtering would begin. Jinan's face stretched into a toothless smile.
He hoped that the remaining Gondorians would put up a good fight at the end, just so that he would not feel as if he was merely killing an annoying insect. That's what men became when they did not fight at the end. A withering, shuddering insect that fouled the ground. He would much rather kill a brave man.
Why did they not just flee? Was their pride worth their blood? Would Jinan if he was in their place? He smiled. He would not be in their place -- that was impossible -- but if he was, would he run, turn tail and flee so that he could fight another day only to die another day? Yes, he would. The later one died, the more one could accomplish. The Gondorians were throwing their lives away.
The arrows fell upon them, and he raised his shield. The fight, the blood bath, had begun.
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