Even the captives had their allotted station, and with the spoil were disposed in mathematical regularity, to be guarded by a chosen band of spears. These prisoners were of two kinds, separate and distinct in every detail of feature, form, and bearing. The darker portion, some of whom were so swarthy that their colour looked like bronze, scowled with peculiar hatred on their conquerors, and, as it seemed, with the more reason that several bore such wounds and injuries as showed they had fought hard before they were taken alive, while a whiter-skinned and better-favoured race, with flowing beards, high features, and stately bearing, who kept entirely apart and to themselves, seemed to accept the proceedings of their captors in the forbearance of conscious superiority, not without a certain sympathy, as of those who have interests and traditions in common with their masters.
The admiration of all, however, was compelled by the imposing appearance of those war-chariots and horsemen that formed the strength and pride of an Assyrian army.
As the old king, tottering somewhat under the weight of his harness, appeared at the door of his tent, the entire host was set in motion—bowmen and slingers in front, followed by a body of horsemen glittering in scarlet and gold, raising clouds of dust, while their trumpets sounded above the neigh and trample of those horses of the desert that knew neither fatigue nor fear; then, with stately even tread, marched a dark serried column of spears, bearded, curled, and stalwart warriors, every man with shield on arm, sword on thigh, and lance in hand; next, the war-chariots, thousands in number, with a roll like distant thunder, as they came on in a solid mass of moving iron, tipped with steel. After these a few priests of Baal, weary and dejected, walking with but little assumption of sacred dignity, bore the image of a bull and a few other idols small and portable, but formed of molten gold. These hurried on, as if they feared to be ridden down by the king's body-guard who succeeded them, picked champions, every one of whom must have slain an enemy outright with his own hand, mounted on white steeds, and glistening with shields and helmets of gold. In their rear rode Arbaces, the captain of the host, and immediately behind him came the chariot and led horse of the monarch himself.
As these reached the mound on which the royal tent was pitched, the whole force halted, and a shiver of steel ran like the ripple of a wave along their ranks, while every man brandished his weapon over his head, and shouted the name of the Great King.
Ninus stood unmoved, though for an instant the wrinkles seemed less furrowed on his brow. They gathered, however, deeper than ever, when his quick eye caught sight of Ninyas reclining in his chariot, with his favourite Sethos beside him, and a cup of wine half-emptied in his hand.
The king's own chariot was in waiting; but he caused it to pass on, and bade them bring his war-horse, a fiery animal, that came up curvetting and champing at its bit. Sargon, with the same scowl that had never left his face, went down on hands and knees for his lord to mount with greater advantage from off his back, and Ninus, settling himself in the saddle, while the war-horse plunged with a force that would have unseated many a younger rider, looked his son fixedly in the face, observing in a tone of marked reproach,
"Couches for women! chariots for eunuchs! May you never learn to your cost, boy, that his good horse is the only secure throne for an Assyrian king!"
Then he signed with his hand, and while trumpets rang out, and warriors recovered their weapons, a globe of crystal, emblematic of the sun, and suspended above the royal tent, was illumined by a priest with sacred fire. As it flashed and kindled, the whole army set itself in motion, and the King of Nations was once more on the march towards his last triumph, after his last campaign.