In battle Bhishma burned the kshatriyas like a fire whose chariots were the hearth, whose bow was the flame, whose swords, spears, and maces were the fuel, and whose masses of arrows were the great blaze. As a huge fire, driven by the wind, races through dry grass, so Bhishma blazed, releasing divine astras. The greatly renowned Bhishma, with gold-feathered, sharp, curved arrows, made every quarter and intermediate direction resound. Felling charioteers and elephants together with their riders, O king, he turned whole columns of chariots into forests of lopped palm trees. Then Bhishma, best of all who bear weapons, emptied of men the chariots, elephants, and horses on the battlefield. Hearing from every side the roar of his bowstring against his palm, like the crash of thunder, the warriors trembled, O king. The arrows of your ancestor flew unerring, O lord of men; once loosed from Bhishma's bow, they did not lodge in bodies. We saw riderless chariots, well yoked with swift horses, swept away like the wind, O lord of the people. Fourteen thousand warriors of Chedi, Kashi, and Karusha, reckoned as maharathas, noble sons ready to give up their bodies, heroes who never turned back, bearing golden standards, together with their horses, chariots, and elephants, having met Bhishma in battle, departed for the next world as if into the gaping mouth of Antaka. There was no maharatha among the Somakas who, on meeting Bhishma in battle, thought of staying alive. Seeing Bhishma's valor, people already reckoned all these warriors as led away to the city of the king of the dead. No great chariot-warrior came forth to face him in battle, except the valiant son of Pandu with his white horses and Krishna as charioteer, and the Panchala prince Shikhandin of boundless might.