Tirian knew he could do nothing for the others now； they were all doomed together. He vaguely saw the Boar go down on one side of him， and Jewel fighting furiously on the other. Out of the corner of one eye he saw， but only just saw， a big Calormene pulling Jill away somewhere by her hair. But he hardly thought about any of these things. His only thought now was to sell his life as dearly as he could. The worst of it was that he couldn’t keep to the position in which he had started， under the white rock. A man who is fighting a dozen enemies at once must take his chances wherever he can； must dart in wherever he sees an enemy‘s breast or neck unguarded. In a very few strokes this may get you quite a distance from the spot where you began. Tirian soon found that he was getting further and further to the right， nearer to the stable. He had a vague idea in his mind that there was some good reason for keeping away from it. But he couldn’t now remember what the reason was. And anyway， he couldn‘t help it.
All at once everything came quite clear. He found he was fighting the Tarkaan himself. The bonfire （what was left of it） was straight in front. He was in fact fighting in the very doorway of the stable， for had been opened and two Calormenes were holding the door， ready to slam it shut the moment he was inside. He remembered everything now， and he realized that the enemy had been edging him to the Stable on purpose ever since the fight began. And while he was thinking this he was still fighting the Tarkaan as hard as he could.
A new idea came into Tirian’s head. He dropped his sword， darted forward， in under the sweep of the Tarkaan‘s scimitar， seized his enemy by the belt with both hands， and jumped back into the Stable， shouting：
“Come in and meet Tash yourself！”
There was a deafening noise. As when the Ape had been flung in， the earth shook and there was a blinding light.
The Calormene soldiers outside screamed. “Tash， Tash！” and banged the door. If Tash wanted their own Captain， Tash must have him. They， at any rate， did not want to meet Tash.
For a moment or two Tirian did not know where he was or even who he was. Then he steadied himself， blinked， and looked around. It was not dark inside the Stable， as he had expected. He was in strong light： that was why he was blinking.
He turned to look at Rishda Tarkaan， but Rishda was not looking at him. Rishda gave a great wail and pointed； then he put his hands before his face and fell flat， face downwards， on the ground. Tirian looked in the direction where the Tarkaan had pointed. And then he understood.
A terrible figure was coming towards them. It was far smaller than the shape they had seen from the Tower， though still much bigger than a man， and it was the same. It had a vulture’s head and four arms. Its beak was open and its eyes blazed. A croaking voice came from its beak.
“Thou hast called me into Narnia， Rishda Tarkaan. Here I am. What hast thou to say？”
But the Tarkaan neither lifted his face from the ground nor said a word. He was shaking like a man with a bad hiccup. He was brave enough in battle： but half his courage had left him earlier that night when he first began to suspect that there might be a real Tash. The rest of it had left him now.
With a sudden jerk-like a hen stooping to pick up a worm-Tash pounced on the miserable Rishda and tucked him under the upper of his two right arms. Then Tash turned his head sidewise to fix Tirian with one of his terrible eyes： for of course， having a bird‘s head， he couldn’t look at you straight.
But immediately， from behind Tash， strong and calm as the summer sea， a voice said：
“Begone， Monster， and take your lawful prey to your own place： in the name of Aslan and Aslan‘s great Father the Emperor-over-Sea.”
The hideous creature vanished， with the Tarkaan still under its arm.
And Tirian turned to see who had spoken. And what he saw then set his heart beating as it had never beaten in any fight.
Seven Kings and Queens stood before him， all with crowns on their heads and all in glittering clothes， but the Kings wore fine mail as well and had their swords drawn in their hands.
Tirian bowed courteously and was about to speak when the youngest of the Queens laughed. He stared hard at her face， and then gasped with amazement， for he knew her. It was Jill： but not Jill as he had last seen her， with her face all dirt and tears and an old drill dress half slipping off one shoulder. Now she looked cool and fresh， as fresh as if she had just come from bathing. And at first he thought she looked older， but then didn’t， and he could never make up his mind on that point. And then he saw that the youngest of the Kings was Eustace： but he also was changed as Jill was changed.
Tirian suddenly felt awkward about coming among these people with the blood and dust and sweat of a battle still on him. Next moment he realized that he was not in that state at all. He was fresh and cool and clean， and dressed in such clothes as he would have worn for a great feast at Cair Paravel. （But in Narnia your good clothes were never your uncomfortable ones. They knew how to make things that felt beautiful as well as looking beautiful in Narnia： and there was no such thing as starch or flannel or elastic to be found from one end of the country to the other.）
“Sire，” said Jill coming forward and making a beautiful curtsey， “let me make you known to Peter the High King over all Kings in Narnia.”
Tirian had no need to ask which was the High King， for he remembered his face （though here it was far nobler） from his dream. He stepped forward， sank on one knee and kissed Peter‘s hand.
“High King，” he said. “You are welcome to me.”
And the High King raised him and kissed him on both cheeks as a High King should. Then he led him to the eldest of the Queens-but even she was not old， and there were no grey hairs on her head and no wrinkles on her cheek-and said， “Sir， this is that Lady Polly who came into Narnia on the First Day， when Aslan made the trees grow and the Beasts talk.”
