They reached the sand slope thick with their own dead and wounded and paused a little because they could see no man, since the black bodies of the Ethiopians were hid behind the black stones and the black bows did not catch the light.
Then from a gorgeous group that I guessed hid the person of the Great King surrounded by his regiment of guards, ten thousand of them who were called Immortals, messengers sprang forth screaming the order to charge.
The host began to climb the slippery sand slope but still I held my hand till their endless lines were within fifty paces of us and their arrows rattled harmlessly against our stones.

Then I caused the banner of the Grasshopper that had been lowered, to be lifted thrice, and at the third lifting once more thirty thousand arrows rushed forth to kill.
They went down, they went down in lines and heaps, riddled through and through.

But still others came on for they fought under the eye of the Great King, and to fly meant death with shame and torture.

We could not kill them all, they were too many.

We could not kill the half of them.
Now their foremost were within ten paces of us and since we must stand up to shoot, our men began to fall, also pierced with arrows.