Far to the south I glimpsed a company of colossal shapes like mobile, castellated and pyramidal mounts.

They were circling, weaving about each other with incredible rapidity--like scores of great pyramids crowned with gigantic turrets and dancing.

From these turrets came vivid flashes, lightning bright--on their wake the rolling echoes of faraway thunder.
Out of the north sped a squadron of obelisks from whose tops flamed and flared the immense spinning wheels, appearing at this distance like fiery whirling disks.
Up from their setting the Metal People lifted themselves in a thousand incredible shapes, shapes squared and globed and spiked and shifting swiftly into other thousands as incredible.

I saw a mass of them draw themselves up into the likeness of a tent skyscraper high; hang so for an instant, then writhe into a monstrous chimera of a dozen towering legs that strode away like a gigantic headless and bodiless tarantula in steps two hundred feet long.

I watched mile-long lines of them shape and reshape into circles, into interlaced lozenges and pentagons--then lift in great columns and shoot through the air in unimaginable barrage.
Through all this incessant movement I sensed plainly purpose, knew that it was definite activity toward a definite end, caught the clear suggestion of drill, of maneuver.
And when the shiftings of the Metal Hordes permitted we saw that all the flat floor of the valley was stripped and checkered, stippled and tessellated with every color, patterned with enormous lozenges and squares, rhomboids and parallelograms, pentagons and hexagons and diamonds, lunettes, circles and spirals; harlequined yet harmonious; instinct with a grotesque suggestion of a super-Futurism.
But always this patterning was ordered, always COHERENT.