One of the men made it to the top.

Ogedai tried to block him with his sabre,

but just as the man in black raised his arm, Guo Jing struck out at his wrist. He
stumbled back three steps and looked up at the young, sturdy man shielding
Ogedai.
“Who are you?” he said in Chinese, unable to conceal his surprise at finding
such an excellent swordsman among Temujin’s men. “Tell me your name.”
“My name is Guo Jing!”
“I’ve never heard of you. Surrender!”
Guo Jing glanced around him and saw the other three men in black had also
reached the top and were engaged in hand­to­hand combat with Tchila’un,
Bogurchi and the others. Again, he thrust his sword at the first man, who
blocked and returned with all his weight.
Just as Senggum’s soldiers were preparing to follow behind up the hill,
Muqali placed the point of his blade on the back of Tusakha’s neck. “Come any
closer and I’ll kill him!”
“Your Highness,” Senggum said, turning towards Wanyan Honglie, “instruct
your men to retreat. We will find another way. My son must not be hurt.”
“Don’t worry, he will be fine,” Wanyan Honglie said with a smile. In fact, he
was hoping Temujin would kill the young man and thereby cement a lasting
hatred between the tribes, thus preventing them from ever uniting.
Senggum’s soldiers froze but the Prince’s men in black kept fighting.
Guo Jing made use of the techniques of the Yue Maiden Sword Jade Han had
taught him. His opponent possessed considerable internal strength, but Guo
Jing’s sword was swift and it swooped and flicked around the man’s body. He
was visibly flustered.
Having seen off several of Temujin’s men, the man in black’s three
companions ran over. One rushed forward with a spear. “Elder Brother, let me
help!”
“Stay where you are and admire your brother’s technique instead!” the first
man countered.
Guo Jing dropped his knee and raised his elbow in a Soaring Phoenix Rising
Dragon, flicking his blade upwards as he did so. The man lurched back but the
blade tore through his sleeve.
“Who is your Master?” the man shouted, breaking away from immediate
danger. “What brings you here, to the northern steppe?”
Guo Jing maintained a defensive stance and answered in the dialect of the
rivers and lakes as his Masters had taught him. “I am a disciple of the Seven
Heroes of the South. And may I ask it is with whom I am conversing?” he
managed to stutter. He had been practising such polite phrases for some time
now, but this was his first chance to make use of them and his nerves had