Summary

báró Miklós Jósika 'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or…

Presently the mob outside received with howls of joy the heads of Kuthen and his family, flung to them from the windows, and at once hoisted them on pikes in token of victory. If the head of Akos was among them no one noticed it, for he had stained his face.
Maddened by their success, the rabble now made with one consent for "King Béla's palace," foremost and most active among them being the Austrian Duke's men-at-arms.
They poured into it like a deluge, and the air was filled with shouts of "Eljen a király! Long live the King! The traitors are dead!"
Source: Gutenberg

báró Miklós Jósika 'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or…

The next instant a cloud of arrows poured into the balcony, but already Talabor was down in the court and rushing to the walls, whence Master Peter's famous dog-keeper and some of the garrison had already discharged their arrows with deadly effect.
Dora had quite recovered herself.
As for Libor, he had vanished as completely as if he had never been there.
"If I could only clap eyes on that scoundrel!" cried Talabor furiously. "Ah! there! that's he! with his head buried in a cowl! cowardly dog!"
Source: Gutenberg

báró Miklós Jósika 'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or…

Just now, however, he was carrying out Dora's orders, as he sat on a projection of the wall with his feet dangling down into the court. He would have had his pipe in his mouth, not a doubt of it, if tobacco had been known in those days.
While the gate-keeper was gone the three horsemen arrived.
"Hi! porter!" cried the foremost, whose figure, though not his features, was plainly discernible. He was mounted on a dark, undersized horse, and was enveloped in a sort of cloak of primitive shape, much like the coarse garment worn by swine-herds.
Source: Gutenberg

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