fight. He slew many of them and the rest fled. But they
had not gone far on the way back when they were attacked again, by a hundred Orcs at least, some of them very large, and they shot a rain of arrows: always at Boromir. Boromir
had blown his great horn till the woods rang, and at first the Orcs had been dismayed and had drawn back; but when no answer
but the echoes came, they had attacked more fiercely than ever. Pippin did not remember much more. His last memory was of
Boromir leaning against a tree, plucking out an arrow; then darkness fell suddenly.
‘I suppose I was knocked on the head,’ he said to himself. ‘I wonder if poor Merry is much hurt. What has happened to Boromir?
Why didn’t the Orcs kill us? Where are we, and where are we going?’
He could not answer the questions. He felt cold and sick. ‘I wish Gandalf had never persuaded Elrond to let us come,’ he thought.
‘What good have I been? Just a nuisance: a passenger, a piece of luggage. And now I have been stolen and I am just a piece
of luggage for the Orcs. I hope Strider or someone will come and claim us! But ought I to hope for it? Won’t that throw out
all the plans? I wish I could get free!’
He struggled a little, quite uselessly. One of the Orcs sitting near laughed and said something to a companion in their abominable
tongue. ‘Rest while you can, little fool!’ he said then to Pippin, in the Common Speech, which he made almost as hideous as
his own language. ‘Rest while you can! We’ll find a use for your legs before long. You’ll wish you had got none before we
get home.’
‘If I had my way, you’d wish you were dead now,’ said the other. ‘I’d make you squeak, you miserable rat.’ He stooped over
Pippin, bringing his yellow fangs close to his face. He had a black knife with a long jagged blade in his hand. ‘Lie quiet,
or I’ll tickle you with this,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t draw attention to yourself, or I may forget my orders. Curse the Isengarders!
Uglúk u bagronk sha pushdug Saruman-glob búbhosh skai
’: he passed into a long angry speech in his own tongue that slowly died away into muttering and snarling.
Terrified Pippin lay still, though the pain at his wrists and ankles was growing, and the stones beneath him were boring into
his back. To take his mind off himself he listened intently to all that he could hear. There were many voices round about,
and though orc-speech sounded at all times full of hate and anger, it seemed plain that something like a quarrel had begun,
and was getting hotter.
To Pippin’s surprise he found that much of the talk was intelligible; many of the Orcs were using ordinary language. Apparently
the members of two or three quite different tribes were present, and they could not understand one another’s orc-speech. There
was an angry debate concerning what they were to do now: which way they were to take and what should be done with the prisoners.
‘There’s no time to kill them properly,’ said one. ‘No time for play on this trip.’
‘That can’t be helped,’ said another. ‘But why not kill them quick, kill them now? They’re a cursed nuisance, and we’re in
a hurry. Evening’s coming on, and we ought to get a move on.’
‘Orders,’ said a third voice in a deep growl. ‘
Kill all but
NOT
the Halflings; they are to be brought back
ALIVE
as quickly as possible.
That’s my orders.’
‘What are they wanted for?’ asked several voices. ‘Why alive? Do they give good sport?’
‘No! I heard that one of them has got something, something that’s wanted for the War, some Elvish plot or other. Anyway they’ll
both be questioned.’
‘Is that all you know? Why don’t we search them and find out? We might find something that we could use ourselves.’
‘That is a very interesting remark,’ sneered a voice, softer than the others but more evil. ‘I may have to report that. The
prisoners are not to be searched
had not gone far on the way back when they were attacked again, by a hundred Orcs at least, some of them very large, and they shot a rain of arrows: always at Boromir. Boromir
had blown his great horn till the woods rang, and at first the Orcs had been dismayed and had drawn back; but when no answer
but the echoes came, they had attacked more fiercely than ever. Pippin did not remember much more. His last memory was of
Boromir leaning against a tree, plucking out an arrow; then darkness fell suddenly.
‘I suppose I was knocked on the head,’ he said to himself. ‘I wonder if poor Merry is much hurt. What has happened to Boromir?
Why didn’t the Orcs kill us? Where are we, and where are we going?’
He could not answer the questions. He felt cold and sick. ‘I wish Gandalf had never persuaded Elrond to let us come,’ he thought.
‘What good have I been? Just a nuisance: a passenger, a piece of luggage. And now I have been stolen and I am just a piece
of luggage for the Orcs. I hope Strider or someone will come and claim us! But ought I to hope for it? Won’t that throw out
all the plans? I wish I could get free!’
He struggled a little, quite uselessly. One of the Orcs sitting near laughed and said something to a companion in their abominable
tongue. ‘Rest while you can, little fool!’ he said then to Pippin, in the Common Speech, which he made almost as hideous as
his own language. ‘Rest while you can! We’ll find a use for your legs before long. You’ll wish you had got none before we
get home.’
‘If I had my way, you’d wish you were dead now,’ said the other. ‘I’d make you squeak, you miserable rat.’ He stooped over
Pippin, bringing his yellow fangs close to his face. He had a black knife with a long jagged blade in his hand. ‘Lie quiet,
or I’ll tickle you with this,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t draw attention to yourself, or I may forget my orders. Curse the Isengarders!
Uglúk u bagronk sha pushdug Saruman-glob búbhosh skai
’: he passed into a long angry speech in his own tongue that slowly died away into muttering and snarling.
Terrified Pippin lay still, though the pain at his wrists and ankles was growing, and the stones beneath him were boring into
his back. To take his mind off himself he listened intently to all that he could hear. There were many voices round about,
and though orc-speech sounded at all times full of hate and anger, it seemed plain that something like a quarrel had begun,
and was getting hotter.
To Pippin’s surprise he found that much of the talk was intelligible; many of the Orcs were using ordinary language. Apparently
the members of two or three quite different tribes were present, and they could not understand one another’s orc-speech. There
was an angry debate concerning what they were to do now: which way they were to take and what should be done with the prisoners.
‘There’s no time to kill them properly,’ said one. ‘No time for play on this trip.’
‘That can’t be helped,’ said another. ‘But why not kill them quick, kill them now? They’re a cursed nuisance, and we’re in
a hurry. Evening’s coming on, and we ought to get a move on.’
‘Orders,’ said a third voice in a deep growl. ‘
Kill all but
NOT
the Halflings; they are to be brought back
ALIVE
as quickly as possible.
That’s my orders.’
‘What are they wanted for?’ asked several voices. ‘Why alive? Do they give good sport?’
‘No! I heard that one of them has got something, something that’s wanted for the War, some Elvish plot or other. Anyway they’ll
both be questioned.’
‘Is that all you know? Why don’t we search them and find out? We might find something that we could use ourselves.’
‘That is a very interesting remark,’ sneered a voice, softer than the others but more evil. ‘I may have to report that. The
prisoners are not to be searched
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