By the third day, Mynor's rebel and nomad army had filed through the pass and was forming itself into battle array. Rank upon rank upon rank. The Tulan infantry had taken less than half a day to enter. They had camped and rested during the interval, the only action being on the part of the rival cavalry forces. Now the thirty thousand Tulans went into their phalanx and began their march across the valley. Joe Chessman, Hawkins, Roberts, Stevens and Khan Reif and several of his men again occupied the knoll which commanded a full view of the terrain. With binoculars and wrist radios from the _Pedagogue_ they kept in contact with the battle. Below, Barry Watson walked behind the advancing infantry. There were six divisions of five thousand men each, twenty-four foot _sarissas_ stretched before their sixteen man deep line. Only the first few lines were able to extend their weapons; the rest gave weight and supplied replacements for the advanced lines' casualties. Behind them all the Tulan drums beat out the slow, inexorable march. Cogswell, beside Watson with the wrist radio, said excitedly, "Here comes a cavalry charge, Barry. Reif says right behind it the nomad infantry is coming in." Cogswell cleared his throat. "All of them." Watson held up a hand in signal to his officers. The phalanx ground to a halt, received the charge on the hedge of _sarissas_. The enemy cavalry wheeled and attempted to retreat to the flanks but were caught in a bloody confusion by the pressure of their own advancing infantry. Cogswell, his ear to the radio, said, "Their main body of horse is hitting our right flank." He wet his lips. "We're outnumbered there something like ten to one. At least ten to one." "They've got to hold," Watson said. "Tell Reif and Chessman that flank has to hold." The enemy infantrymen in their hundreds of thousands hit the Tulan line in a clash of deafening military thunder. Barry Watson resumed his pacing. He signaled to the drummers who beat out another march. The phalanx moved forward slowly, and slowly went into an echelon formation, each division slightly ahead of the one following. Of necessity, the straight lines of the nomad and rebel front had to break. The drums went _boom_, ah, _boom_, ah, _boom_, ah, _boom_. The Tulan phalanx moved slowly, obliquely across the valley. The hedge of spears ruthlessly pressed the mass of enemy infantry before them. The sergeants paced behind, shouting over the din. "Dress it up. You there, you've been hit, fall out to the rear." "I'm all right," the wounded spearman snarled, battle lust in his voice. "Fall out, I said," the sergeant roared. "You there, take his place." The Tulan phalanx ground ahead. One of the sergeants grinned wanly at Barry Watson as his men moved forward with the preciseness of the famed Rockettes of another era. "It's working," he said proudly.