The Witch-king’s assault on the Gate of Minas Tirith
It was against the Gate of the white city upon the field of the Pelennor, that the Lord of the Nazgûl would throw his heaviest weight!
From out of the smoke and ruin and the piled bodies of the slain Grond crawled forth.
Drums rolled like thunder. Fire leaped up into the air. Vast engines of war crawled across the Fields or the Pelennor and great beasts with fortresses upon their backs made for the great Gate of the City,
How could I possibly write words darker of more thrilling than Tolkien’s own account of the Battle of the Pelennor, so here is the attack on the Gate of Minas Tirith by the Lord of the Nazgûl from the professor himself… J.R.R. Tolkien!
In the midst there came a huge ram, great as a forest tree a hundred feet in length, swinging on mighty chains. Long had it been forging in the dark smithies of Mordor and it’s hideous head, founded of black steel, was shaped in the likeness of a ravening wolf; on it spells of ruin lay. Grond they named it, in memory of the Hammer of the Underworld of old. Great beasts drew it, orcs surrounded it, and behind walked mountain-trolls to wield it.
But about the Gate resistance still was stout, and there the knights of Dol Amroth and the heartiest of the garrison stood at bay. Shot and dart fell thick, sight-towers crashed or blazed suddenly like torches. All before the walls on either side of the Gate the ground was choked with wreck and with the bodies of the slain; yet still driven by a madness more and more came up.
Grond crawled on. Upon its housing no fire would catch; and though now and again some great beast that hauled it would go mad and spread stamping ruin among the orcs innumerable that guarded it, their bodies were cast aside from it’s path and others took their place.
Grond crawled on. The drums rolled wildly. Over the hills of the slain a hideous shape appeared: a horsman, tall, hooded, cloaked in black. Slowly trampling the fallen, he rode forth, heeding no longer any dart. He halted and held up a long pale sword, And as he did so a great fear fell on all, defender and foe alike; and the hands of men drooped to their sides, and no bow sang, For a moment all was still.
The drums rolled and rattled. With a vast rush Grond was hurled forward by huge hands. It reached the gate. It swung, A deep boom rumbled through the City like thunder running in the clouds. But the doors of iron and posts of steel withstood the stroke.
Then the Black Captain rose in his stirrups and cried aloud in a dreadful voice, speaking in some forgotten tongue words of power and terror to rend both heart and stone.
Thrice he cried. Thrice the great ram boomed. And suddenly upon the last stroke the gate of Gondor broke. As if stricken by some blasting spell it burst asunder: there was a flash of searing lightning, and the doors tumbled in riven fragments to the ground.
In rode the Lord of the Nazgûl. A great black shape against the fires beyond he loomed up, grown to a vast menace of despair.