by Sam Barone
“Keep steady! Not yet.” Eskkar kept his eyes on Klexor and Muta, at the far end of the line, still pacing their horses steadily to the east. Eskkar had ordered his commanders not to turn their heads around, but to keep their eyes and those of their men straight ahead until they heard Eskkar’s signal.
He gritted his teeth and let the horse take another dozen steps before he allowed himself to turn his head toward the Sumerians. The small gap shifted and opened a bit more as the horses kicked some dust into the air. He glimpsed men milling around in the rear of the infantry, behind Shulgi’s command post. A force of horsemen remained in the rear, no doubt a reserve. Suddenly, he saw a cluster of men that must be Shulgi’s guard, surrounding a trio of tall red banners. That would be where he would find Shulgi. If Eskkar could see Shulgi, that meant the moment had come. He took a deep breath.
“Fashod! Now! Akkadians, attack!”
The bellowed order carried down the line, and even as he uttered it, Eskkar wheeled his horse around and kicked it into a gallop. Fashod barked his own command in the harsh gutturals of the Ur Nammu, and Eskkar heard it repeated up the warriors, though by now it didn’t matter. The pounding of the horses’ hooves relayed the moment of attack as well as any words. As soon as he had the horse moving at a dead run, he brought up the two javelins that he’d carried in his right hand, held along the side of the horse. Eskkar might not be able to shoot a bow from horseback like his kinsmen or some of his own cavalry, but his powerful arm could still hurl the javelin as hard and as accurately as any of his followers.
Like the tip of a spear, he headed straight for the small break in the Sumerian lines that had opened between the Sumerian foot soldiers and their cavalry. Behind Eskkar, his gleaming helmet and breastplate catching the sun, charged the Ur Nammu warriors, already fitting shafts to their bows. Their war cries burst across the gap and managed to rise above the din of the Akkadian archers, the frightening sounds of the steppe barbarians riding to war. In a few dozen strides – and determined to lead the charge – they drew abreast of Eskkar’s stallion and he had to urge his horse again just to keep up with them.
As soon as Eskkar began the charge, Hathor and Klexor also tugged their horses around and followed, the entire Akkadian cavalry aimed directly – like the shaft of a spear – at Shulgi’s command post, driving at a full gallop, every rider shouting his war cry, as they cut diagonally across the open space.
Months and years of training to teach horse and rider to respond to every command, no matter how odd, now proved its worth. The Akkadian charge, led by Eskkar and Fashod, was only thirty horses wide, but the entire mass of Hathor’s cavalry followed in their steps. They rode as wildly as any barbarian horde, with the fastest moving to the front and the slower following behind, all intent on closing with the enemy as fast as possible.
Arrows flew toward Eskkar and those leading the charge, a few striking the horsemen, but the Sumerian archers were far to the left of the line, many having been shifted to the river to deal with the Akkadian boats, and not all that remained had a clear shot. And at a full gallop, the moments Eskkar and his men were under fire from the enemy archers would be brief indeed.
Eskkar shifted one lance to his left hand and raised the other in his right hand. The horses thundered across the shaking ground, and already he could see his foes shouting at each other in confusion. No one had expected the Akkadians to attack the Sumerian infantry at their flank, especially not with so many of Razrek’s horsemen ready to oppose such an attempt. Eskkar saw one or two already taking a few steps backward, unsure of what to do.
At about one hundred and fifty paces from the enemy, Eskkar heard Fashod signal the Ur Nammu warriors to loose their arrows. Some had already launched their shafts, counting on the speed of their horses to propel the arrow the extra distance. All the missiles flew straight at the Sumerians directly in their path, those still trying to fill the gap. That first flight didn’t have much effect, but in moments, every one of Eskkar’s mounted bowmen were loosing shafts as fast as they could, guiding their horses with their knees and still managing to give their war cries. With so many men before them, they had no need to aim, just launch as quickly as possible.
Eskkar glimpsed horsemen urging their horses forward to fill in the gap, but now arrows were striking at them. Horses were hit, disrupting the movement. Wounded animals tried to flee, frightened at the mass of horses approaching them. Others reared up in simple fright. Eskkar took all this in as he galloped. From behind, more arrows from his own riders flew just over his head, striking at the Sumerian horsemen moving to fill the gap. Caught in the battle rage, Eskkar gave voice to the battle cry of his fathers, as he hurled himself toward Shulgi’s forces.
Nevertheless, the enemy horsemen kept moving forward from the rear, and the empty gap began to disappear. However, the number of defenders moving into position remained small for the moment, and by now nothing could stop the Akkadians hurtling down on them.
The distance between the forces vanished. Eskkar saw a Sumerian horse fighter, struggling to control his horse, and aiming an arrow at him. Eskkar flung the lance with all his strength, arching it up slightly, its flight intensified by the speed of his horse. The shaft struck the man in the chest, the force of the blow knocking him backward off the horse.
Eskkar had just enough time to snatch the second lance from his left hand, and hurl it toward the mass of riders moving toward him. Then he jerked the sword from his scabbard as his horse burst in the midst of the Tanukh riders, the Ur Nammu warriors screaming like demons beside and behind him.
A touch of the halter guided the stallion between two Sumerians. One man went down from Eskkar’s sword, swinging down with all his strength, while the second was knocked from his horse by the stallion’s shoulder. More arrows, fired at a dead run by both the Ur Nammu and the Akkadians still charging behind their leaders, hissed through the air, striking down men and horses alike, everything in their path. Javelins, too, flung by most of the cavalry, struck with devastating effect. Behind Eskkar, Hathor and his men were screaming their war cries, the sound drowning out any Sumerian battle cries.
Eskkar and Grond, at the head of the Ur Nammu, broke through the thin first rank and smashed their way deep into the Tanukhs moving to fill the gap. The desert horsemen, still shifting into position, recognized the barbarian war cries, though they had no idea of how few such men Eskkar had with him. A handful took one look at Eskkar’s forces and decided they wanted no part in fighting steppe warriors. They turned their horses away, unwilling to face their hereditary foes.
Nevertheless, the sheer mass of Tanukhs slowed Eskkar’s charge, and soon his stallion labored to push its way forward, urged on by the pressure of Eskkar’s knees. The great sword rose and fell, striking at anything that came within reach, man or beast.
Just as the charge’s momentum seemed about to stall, Ur Nammu shafts, fired with rapidity, cleared the path ahead. With one last blow of his sword, Eskkar burst through the last of the Tanukhs, Grond at his side. A savage kick to his horse’s ribs drove the animal forward.
A hundred paces away Shulgi’s guard had formed up around their leader. Some had bows and they launched arrows at the charging Akkadians toward Shulgi’s guard. A shaft rattled against Eskkar’s bronze breastplate before glancing off, and he felt the force of the blow. Another shaft hissed by his face, and he felt something else glance against the bronze helmet.
Then arrows didn’t matter, as the two forces collided. Eskkar’s sword came down with all his strength, knocking aside an enemy blade raised in defense. With Grond and the Ur Nammu and two hundred other horse fighters, Eskkar had thrust himself deep into the rear ranks of the Sumerians.
Shulgi’s fighters, driven back at first, finally managed to slow the attack by sheer numbers. Now swords rose and fell, as Eskkar kept pushing his horse forward, determined to close with Shulgi. The Sumerian king’s men – no less determined – tried to halt the deadly advance toward their leader. The jam of h
orseflesh and men blocked the way, and Eskkar found himself fifty paces from Shulgi’s red standards, still waving gaily in the gentle breeze.
Surrounded on all sides by desperate men fighting to the death, all Eskkar could do was strike as hard and fast as he could. He struck a horse in the forehead, and it reared up, screaming in pain. A following thrust caught its rider in the belly. Another rider pushed forward to take his place, and Eskkar’s stallion butted shoulders with the new attacker.
On all sides, horses neighed and screamed, either from fright or wounds, as they pushed against each other at the brutal urging of their riders. Men, too, screamed in pain or in rage, as swords – swung with all the force each man could muster – clashed against the bronze blades raised against them. Grond’s horse went down, it’s legs in a tangle, and Eskkar saw his bodyguard crash to the ground.
In spite of his fury, Eskkar’s advance slowed and stopped. He found himself beset on all sides with thrusting blades and spears. His horse reared up, screaming in pain and sending Eskkar sliding down the animal’s rump, unable to maintain his seat. He landed on a still-moving body, as the horse turned into a kicking and biting beast, striking at anyone within reach.
A twitching Tanukh body beneath him had taken a lance in the throat. Eskkar seized it with his left hand and jerked it free. He’d managed to hang onto his sword. The battle rage still swept over him. A war cry burst from his lungs, and he charged forward into the mass of men and horses before him.
Two strikes of the sword cleared his advance and he thrust the lance into a horse’s open mouth before the rider could get close enough to bring his blade to bear. Ducking under another wild swing, he extended his body and drove the point of the sword through a man’s stomach. Using lance and blade, he cut his way forward.
Ignoring Eskkar’s battle, Hathor and three hundred men closed the gap, shifted slightly to their left, and smashed into the flank of the Sumerian spearmen. Disrupting the enemy infantry remained his primary task. Arrows and javelins flew through the air, striking into the midst of the spearmen, still trying to advance against the Akkadians.
Sumerian commanders screamed orders, and tried to turn the line to face Hathor’s horsemen. A few managed to do so, and raised their shields and spears against this new foe. But the Sumerians had only a small number of men opposing Hathor’s three hundred, and he had the advantage of numbers at the point of contact.
Akkadian javelins hurtled through the air. At such close range, many found their target. Even those that missed striking flesh penetrated the Sumerian shields, entangled themselves, and hindered the spearmen’s efforts to form a line.
Hathor grunted in satisfaction at what he saw. Spearmen – to withstand infantry – need to be in a formed line and moving forward. Now horses and men clashed over the ragged remnants of the Sumerian left flank, stepping over the dead and dying. The enemy continued to try and shift their position to face this sudden threat, urged on by the desperate shouts of their commanders. Despite those efforts, the left flank of Sumer’s spearmen crumbled under Hathor’s ferocious onslaught, then started to collapse as the men were driven backward, pushing and shoving against others still in ranks, disrupting them further and preventing them from facing the Akkadians.
Nevertheless, the dense mass of infantry slowed Hathor’s advance. Horses went down, stabbed by enemy spears. Wounded animals, mad with pain, lashed out at friend and foe alike. Horsemen, flung to the ground, found themselves scrambling away from spears thrust at them. The Akkadians drew their swords and kept fighting. They had no other choice. The Sumerians had to be broken, or all was lost. Any retreat would give the Sumerians time to reform ranks, and drive the Akkadians before them. But Hathor’s men knew they only needed to roll up the end of the Sumerian flank. And help was on the way. He glimpsed Klexor leading a wild charge into the rear of the enemy.
Still at the tip of his men, Hathor screamed his war cry. The Sumerians had never managed to shift their line. By now the Akkadians had hurled all their lances. Swords rasped from scabbards as Hathor’s horse-fighters flung themselves into what remained of the left flank of the Sumerian spearmen. In his excitement, he fell back into his native language, but the harsh Egyptian challenge needed no translation.
Hathor’s horse ploughed deep into the confused mass of Sumerians, knocking one man backwards into the ranks. Hathor’s sword swung down, crunching loudly through another man’s shoulder. His horse lashed out with his hooves, knocking another spearman to the earth. Hathor urged the horse forward, leaning aside to let a thrust spear slip past, then striking hard the man’s arm. The shriek of pain added to the din of men shouting, horses neighing, and bronze blades clashing against shields and spears. By now the enemy left flank had crumbled into a disorderly mass of men struggling to get away from the Akkadian horsemen.
Nevertheless, some Sumerians fought bravely. With a scream of panic, Hathor’s horse stumbled and went down, a spear thrust between its forelegs. Hathor felt the first trembling through his legs, and leapt aside as his horse crashed into the earth, kicking and biting at anything that moved.
Another horse brushed past him as he struggled to regain his footing, the snorting beast hurtling over Hathor’s downed mount. An enemy spearman lunged at Hathor, but he struck the spear aside, stepped inside the length of the weapon, and drove his sword into the face of the Sumerian. Blood spurted over the length of his arm, as the dying man shrieked in agony.
At close quarters and without the support of orderly ranks knitted together, the Sumerian spears turned into clumsy weapons. Hathor dodged and weaved his way between them, striking at everything – shield, spear or man – that he could reach.
Two Sumerians, shields locked, moved toward him. But before they could get close enough, an arrow split the skull of one of the men, transfixing its length just below his mouth. Hathor struck aside the other spear, and flung his weight against the man’s shield. The foe lacked Hathor’s size, and he stumbled back, exposing his right side.
Hathor swung his sword with both hands, the sharp blade cutting through the man’s upper arm, and eliciting a scream of agony. Hathor had no idea of how the battle was progressing. All he could do was try to stay alive, and strike at anyone within reach. All around him, men were fighting, struggling, some even without weapons in their hands.
Suddenly, a riderless horse reared up before him, kicking out with both its front hooves. Hathor ducked under an enemy sword and shoved the man to the earth. Two quick steps allowed him to catch the panicky animal’s halter, and he leapt up onto the beast’s back. The horse responded to the pressure of his knees. A quick glance showed the mass of Sumerian spearmen ahead, most trying to reform their lines to face the savage attack from the Akkadian cavalry.
At least from the back of the horse, Hathor could see the battle developing. Horses were still moving forward. He saw Klexor’s men join in the attack, shouting their war cries and hurling lances and arrows into the rear of the enemy infantry. The first two blows of the hammer had struck, and now parts of the Sumerian line began to collapse, faced with ferocious spearmen on one side, and frenzied horsemen at their flank and rear. Hathor could see nothing of Eskkar or his men, and could only hope his leader had survived the wild charge.
“Akkad! Akkad! Kill the Sumerians!” This time Hathor remembered to avoid Egyptian, as he pointed with his sword. His distinctive voice rallied his men, and a handful of horsemen, as well as an equal number on foot, rallied to his side, their war cries echoing his own. He swept back into the battle, waving his bloody sword high over his head.
“Kill! Kill the Sumerians!”
Kill them all, he thought, before they kill us.
59
The moment Eskkar turned to the attack, as the cavalry thundered by them, Shappa and his four hundred slingers were exposed. Scattered behind the galloping horsemen, the slingers carried only their knives, slings and as many missiles as they could fit into the two pouches attached to every man’s waist. In addition, they
all carried at least one extra bag of stones in their left hand, and some of the stronger men carried two. Shappa didn’t want to take any chance of running out of missiles or, even worse, having his men waste time trying to find something on the battlefield they could use.
“Good hunting, Nivar!” Shappa and his friend had grown closer during the last two years and now they were fighting side by side, attempting to do something few Akkadian soldiers believed possible – stop a massed charge of horsemen with nothing but slingshot. The small force of slingers had the most exposed and difficult task of all this day, to slow down the huge force of Sumerian cavalry and prevent them from falling on Eskkar’s rear.
As soon as Eskkar gave the order to charge, Shappa burst into a run, keeping a tight grip on his two bags of stones. He didn’t bother shouting any commands. His men knew what needed to be done. Running as fast as he could, he led them toward what had been the center of the open ground between the two forces. Unlike Eskkar’s diagonal charge, Shappa moved directly toward the enemy line.
He had time for one glance behind him, and saw the entire force of slingers following his steps. They didn’t look graceful or organized, each lumbering along and carrying the extra projectiles, but they were young and fleet of foot. For the short distance they had to travel to block the gap, they covered the ground almost as fast as a man on horseback.
They clutched their slings as they raced forward, and every man had their roundest and heaviest bronze ball already held fast within the leather. Breathing hard, Shappa reached the midpoint just as the Sumerian cavalry – caught off-guard by Eskkar’s unexpected attack – realized what had happened. Some turned their horses around, intending to pounce on Eskkar’s exposed rear.
Shappa dropped the extra bag of stones he carried, then scooped out three missiles with his left hand. His sling, carried in his right hand, already contained a stone.
