Властелин колец: Две башни
Journey to the Cross-roads
StandingthereforamomentfilledwithdreadFrodobecameawarethatalightwasshining;hesawitglowingonSam’sfacebesidehim.Turningtowardsit,hesaw,beyondanarchofboughs,theroadtoOsgiliathrunningalmostasstraightasastretchedribbondown,down,intotheWest.There,faraway,beyondsadGondornowoverwhelmedinshade,theSunwassinking,findingatlastthehemofthegreatslow-rollingpallofcloud,andfallinginanominousfiretowardstheyetunsulliedSea.Thebriefglowfelluponahugesittingfigure,stillandsolemnasthegreatstonekingsofArgonath.Theyearshadgnawedit,andviolenthandshadmaimedit.Itsheadwasgone,andinitsplacewassetinmockeryaroundrough-hewnstone,rudelypaintedbysavagehandsinthelikenessofagrinningfacewithonelargeredeyeinthemidstofitsforehead.Uponitskneesandmightychair,andallaboutthepedestal,wereidlescrawlsmixedwiththefoulsymbolsthatthemaggot-folkofMordorused.
Suddenly,caughtbythelevelbeams,Frodosawtheoldking’shead:itwaslyingrolledawaybytheroadside.`Look,Sam!’hecried,startledintospeech.`Look!Thekinghasgotacrownagain!’
Theeyeswerehollowandthecarvenbeardwasbroken,butaboutthehighsternforeheadtherewasacoronalofsilverandgold.Atrailingplantwithflowerslikesmallwhitestarshadbounditselfacrossthebrowsasifinreverenceforthefallenking,andinthecrevicesofhisstonyhairyellowstonecropgleamed.
’Theycannotconquerforever!’saidFrodo
