Read Online The Two Towers by J. R. R. Tolkien - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. R. R. Tolkien
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right: more than you can stomach.’
The orc-band began to descend a narrow ravine leading down into the misty plain below. Merry and Pippin, separated by a dozen
Orcs or more, climbed down with them. At the bottom they stepped on to grass, and the hearts of the hobbits rose.
‘Now straight on!’ shouted Uglúk. ‘West and a little north. Follow Lugdush.’
‘But what are we going to do at sunrise?’ said some of the Northerners.
‘Go on running,’ said Uglúk. ‘What do you think? Sit on the grass and wait for the Whiteskins to join the picnic?’
‘But we can’t run in the sunlight.’
‘You’ll run with me behind you,’ said Uglúk. ‘Run! Or you’ll never see your beloved holes again. By the White Hand! What’s
the use of sending out mountain-maggots on a trip, only half trained. Run, curse you! Run while night lasts!’
Then the whole company began to run with the long loping strides of Orcs. They kept no order, thrusting, jostling, and cursing;
yet their speed was very great. Each hobbit had a guard of three. Pippin was far back in the line. He wondered how long he
would be able to go on at this pace: he had had no food since the morning. One of his guards had a whip. But at present the
orc-liquor was still hot in him. His wits, too, were wide-awake.
Every now and again there came into his mind unbidden a vision of the keen face of Strider bending over a dark trail, and
running, running behind. But what could even a Ranger see except a confused trail of orc-feet? His own little prints and Merry’s
were overwhelmed by the trampling of the iron-shod shoes before them and behind them and about them.
They had gone only a mile or so from the cliff when the land sloped down into a wide shallow depression, where the ground
was soft and wet. Mist lay there, pale-glimmering in the last rays of the sickle moon. The dark shapes of the Orcs in front
grew dim, and then were swallowed up.
‘Ai! Steady now!’ shouted Uglúk from the rear.
A sudden thought leaped into Pippin’s mind, and he acted on it at once. He swerved aside to the right, and dived out of the
reach of his clutching guard, headfirst into the mist; he landed sprawling on the grass.
‘Halt!’ yelled Uglúk.
There was for a moment turmoil and confusion. Pippin sprang up and ran. But the Orcs were after him. Some suddenly loomed
up right in front of him.
‘No hope of escape!’ thought Pippin. ‘But there is a hope that I have left some of my own marks unspoilt on the wet ground.’
He groped with his two tied hands at his throat, and unclasped the brooch of his cloak. Just as long arms and hard claws seized
him, he let it fall. ‘There I suppose it will lie until the end of time,’ he thought. ‘I don’t know why I did it. If the others
have escaped, they’ve probably all gone with Frodo.’
A whip-thong curled round his legs, and he stifled a cry. ‘Enough!’ shouted Uglúk running up. ‘He’s still got to run a long
way yet. Make ’em both run! Just use the whip as a reminder.’
‘But that’s not all,’ he snarled, turning to Pippin. ‘I shan’t forget. Payment is only put off. Leg it!’
Neither Pippin nor Merry remembered much of the later part of the journey. Evil dreams and evil waking were blended into a
long tunnel of misery, with hope growing ever fainter behind. They ran, and they ran, striving to keep up the pace set by
the Orcs, licked every now and again with a cruel thong cunningly handled. If they halted or stumbled, they were seized and
dragged for some distance.
The warmth of the orc-draught had gone. Pippin felt cold and sick again. Suddenly he fell face downward on the turf. Hard
hands with rending nails gripped and lifted him. He was carried like a sack once more, and darkness grew about him: whether
the darkness of another night, or a blindness of his eyes, he could not tell.
Dimly he became aware of voices clamouring: it seemed that many of the Orcs
The orc-band began to descend a narrow ravine leading down into the misty plain below. Merry and Pippin, separated by a dozen
Orcs or more, climbed down with them. At the bottom they stepped on to grass, and the hearts of the hobbits rose.
‘Now straight on!’ shouted Uglúk. ‘West and a little north. Follow Lugdush.’
‘But what are we going to do at sunrise?’ said some of the Northerners.
‘Go on running,’ said Uglúk. ‘What do you think? Sit on the grass and wait for the Whiteskins to join the picnic?’
‘But we can’t run in the sunlight.’
‘You’ll run with me behind you,’ said Uglúk. ‘Run! Or you’ll never see your beloved holes again. By the White Hand! What’s
the use of sending out mountain-maggots on a trip, only half trained. Run, curse you! Run while night lasts!’
Then the whole company began to run with the long loping strides of Orcs. They kept no order, thrusting, jostling, and cursing;
yet their speed was very great. Each hobbit had a guard of three. Pippin was far back in the line. He wondered how long he
would be able to go on at this pace: he had had no food since the morning. One of his guards had a whip. But at present the
orc-liquor was still hot in him. His wits, too, were wide-awake.
Every now and again there came into his mind unbidden a vision of the keen face of Strider bending over a dark trail, and
running, running behind. But what could even a Ranger see except a confused trail of orc-feet? His own little prints and Merry’s
were overwhelmed by the trampling of the iron-shod shoes before them and behind them and about them.
They had gone only a mile or so from the cliff when the land sloped down into a wide shallow depression, where the ground
was soft and wet. Mist lay there, pale-glimmering in the last rays of the sickle moon. The dark shapes of the Orcs in front
grew dim, and then were swallowed up.
‘Ai! Steady now!’ shouted Uglúk from the rear.
A sudden thought leaped into Pippin’s mind, and he acted on it at once. He swerved aside to the right, and dived out of the
reach of his clutching guard, headfirst into the mist; he landed sprawling on the grass.
‘Halt!’ yelled Uglúk.
There was for a moment turmoil and confusion. Pippin sprang up and ran. But the Orcs were after him. Some suddenly loomed
up right in front of him.
‘No hope of escape!’ thought Pippin. ‘But there is a hope that I have left some of my own marks unspoilt on the wet ground.’
He groped with his two tied hands at his throat, and unclasped the brooch of his cloak. Just as long arms and hard claws seized
him, he let it fall. ‘There I suppose it will lie until the end of time,’ he thought. ‘I don’t know why I did it. If the others
have escaped, they’ve probably all gone with Frodo.’
A whip-thong curled round his legs, and he stifled a cry. ‘Enough!’ shouted Uglúk running up. ‘He’s still got to run a long
way yet. Make ’em both run! Just use the whip as a reminder.’
‘But that’s not all,’ he snarled, turning to Pippin. ‘I shan’t forget. Payment is only put off. Leg it!’
Neither Pippin nor Merry remembered much of the later part of the journey. Evil dreams and evil waking were blended into a
long tunnel of misery, with hope growing ever fainter behind. They ran, and they ran, striving to keep up the pace set by
the Orcs, licked every now and again with a cruel thong cunningly handled. If they halted or stumbled, they were seized and
dragged for some distance.
The warmth of the orc-draught had gone. Pippin felt cold and sick again. Suddenly he fell face downward on the turf. Hard
hands with rending nails gripped and lifted him. He was carried like a sack once more, and darkness grew about him: whether
the darkness of another night, or a blindness of his eyes, he could not tell.
Dimly he became aware of voices clamouring: it seemed that many of the Orcs
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