Jinan leaped over the shattered walls of the town and was at once confronted by the soldiers of Gondor. To think that that pitiful lot could stand against the Haradrim! Insane foolishness -- that was what it was.
The blades clashed, blood spattered upon the streets. Men, both of Harad and Gondor, fell together and lay prone in death. But Jinan battled on, confident that death could not touch him. He was one of Harad's best, more than a match for these rats of Gondor.
Later, he ceased his fighting and glanced about him. He wiped the sweat that streamed from his brow, and looked for the enemy. They must have fled further into the settlement to escape the Haradrim's killing blades. With an animal roar, Jinan sped down the city, and found himself plunging into a marching Gondorian cohort. Why were they not dead yet? With a cry, he raised his sword, driving it into any body that was in reach. The men circled about him, and he could feel the cold hand of death upon him.
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