Meanwhile Titus, with nothing less than Fate preserving him for its own work, dodged javelins and, enraging the white stallion that he rode, kept out of reach of hand-to-hand encounter with his assailants.

Back and forward he rode, his horse carrying him at times out of range of missiles; again, all but surrounded by the unorganized enemy.

About his head whizzed axes and spears, wild, and frequently slaying their own.

Far up the slope of Gareb the six hundred gathered itself and swept in mass down upon the conflict.
Between them and Titus lay two furlongs.

To join his column with all honor to himself, he had to work back over the wadies he had crossed and circle the gardens that stood in his way.