The blood was scattered like rain upon the foliage, and red masses writhed with howls at the foot of the trees.
Those who were under the iron tore their faces with their nails.
The wooden screws could be heard creaking; dull knockings resounded; sometimes a sharp cry would suddenly pierce the air.

In the direction of the kitchens, men were brisking up burning coals with fans amid tattered garments and scattered hair, and a smell of burning flesh was perceptible.

Those who were under the scourge, swooning, but kept in their positions by the bonds on their arms, rolled their heads upon their shoulders and closed their eyes.

The others who were watching them began to shriek with terror, and the lions, remembering the feast perhaps, stretched themselves out yawning against the edge of the dens.
Then Salammbo was seen on the platform of her terrace.

She ran wildly about it from left to right.