All this time Ruminavi had been striding up and down the roof of the citadel exhorting his warriors to stand fast and die as he had sworn to do, in battle rather than in that slavery to the Strangers which was now the only alternative. Though ever erect himself and passing by some miracle scathless through the storm of missiles, he had kept his men crouching behind the parapets so that as many of them as possible might remain for the last struggle, and this struggle when it came was a bitter one, for now the fight was hand to hand, weapon to weapon, and man to man. Again and again the ladders were planted and again and again they were hurled back to fall with their human load on the thronging assailants beneath, and a good half-score of Spaniards had fought their last fight by the time the last rampart was gained, and more than twice as many more had been disabled by wounds or broken limbs. But still, rung by rung, they went up the ladders and terrace by terrace the last stronghold of the Incas was stormed until at length one of the ladders was firmly hooked on the parapet of the roof itself. Juan Pizarro, pushing Cieza de Leon aside and swearing that a Pizarro should be first on the roof, sprang on to the ladder with his dagger between his teeth. As he did so Don Hernando fought his way, to the foot, shouting in a voice hoarse with anxiety and the passion of battle-- “Down, Juan, down! Come back! Come back! Come down, I pray thee--nay, I command thee, come down! Ah! Mother of God, there is that accursed heathen again!” And so saying he sprang up the ladder after Juan, who, unheeding his brother’s prayers and command, was already more than half-way to the parapet. After him went de Soto and then Carvahal. Juan reached the top first and as he put his hand on the parapet to clamber over, the gigantic form of Ruminavi towered high above it and the great mace went up. Instantly Juan’s buckler covered his head, and, lying flat on the ladder, he crawled up another step. He let go the parapet, snatched the dagger from his mouth and made a swift thrust at Ruminavi’s side. But in the uncertain light he missed the joint and the Spanish blade shivered to splinters on the Spanish mail. The next instant the mace came down, and with a dull, rending crash Juan’s buckler burst asunder under the irresistible shock of the blow. The bones of the arm that held it were crushed to pulp and Juan’s body, doubled up like a half-empty sack, pitched on to his brother’s shoulders and fell with a dead, heavy thud on the terrace below. “God curse thee, thou hast killed the gentlest knight in Christendom!” roared Don Hernando as he rushed up the ladder and sprang over the parapet at Ruminavi before he could bring his mace up again. “Take that to Hell with thee!” he shouted again as he swung his long blade round and dealt a sweeping sword-stroke at the old warrior.