by Sam Barone
“Akkad!” The shout burst from his men’s lungs, as they took a dozen steps forward. More arrows tore into the Sumerian center. More archers arrived, to add their shafts to the carnage.
It was more than the Sumerians could bear. Some took a step backward, others turned and tried to shove their way out of the line. They’d fought bravely enough, but there seemed to be no end to these blood-crazed Akkadians.
Even those men from Larsa, still driven by their thirst for revenge, began to fall back. Some turned to run. Arrows ripped through the mass of men. Without shields to protect their backs, every arrow brought a man down. The retreat turned into a rout. Then it became a slaughter as the Akkadian spearmen – freed from the pressure of the enemy – summoned up one last effort, regained their footing, and returned to the attack.
Mitrac expended his last shaft. Clutching his bow in his left hand, he drew his sword and charged. “Kill them all! Kill them all!”
Breathing hard, Eskkar ran after the Ur Nammu horsemen. The Tanukhs were falling back, despite the smaller number of Akkadians facing them. Blood covered the slippery ground, and bodies of the dead and wounded lay everywhere. One red standard still stood, and he raced toward it, still gripping the lance in his left hand.
The battle now raged at close quarters. Victory or defeat depended on dozens of individual combats raging all over the battleground. All Eskkar could do was try and kill as many of his enemies as possible.
“Akkad!” His powerful voice bellowed above the din of battle. “Follow me! Akkad!” No matter what happened, he swore to cut his way through and reach the Sumerian king.
Men fought all around him, but almost all were mounted. A Tanukh fought against one of the Ur Nammu warriors. Ducking between the two, Eskkar thrust up with the lance at the Tanukh, the bronze tip digging into the man’s left side. The wounded man broke away with a cry, wheeling his horse and bolting for the rear. Eskkar kept moving, ducking and shifting his way through the mass of milling men and animals. He burst past the last of the Tanukh line, astonished to see the entire force falling back, some already galloping off to the rear.
The lone red standard stood atop a slight rise in the ground, and he advanced toward it. Bodies lay all about, many with arrows protruding from them. A handful of Sumerians, most struggling to control their mounts, saw him coming. One man on foot wore a burnished breastplate, and held a sword upright in his hand. Shulgi.
Eskkar moved forward. “Akkad!” His cry pierced the clash of weapons and the shouts of men fighting. To the right of Shulgi’s standard, Eskkar saw the Sumerian infantry giving way. Their archers led the retreat, some tossing their weapons away to run all the faster. What remained of the Sumerian spearmen followed, some still trying to retain their ranks as they moved backwards. A few started to run, and once that started, Eskkar knew it wouldn’t stop. The Sumerians had broken, and not even a counterattack from Razrek’s cavalry could save them now.
Three of Shulgi’s guards kicked their horses forward. Eskkar never slowed. When only a few paces from the oncoming riders, he flung his arms up, lance and sword jutting toward the face of the center horse, trying to panic it. “Akkad!!”
Either Eskkar’s bellowing charge or the lance flashing before its face made the lead animal dig in its heels, its rear haunches sliding to the ground. Eskkar shifted to his left and drove the lance into the horse’s shoulder, while his sword, thrust forward with all his strength, slipped under the center horseman, still trying to regain control of his mount. Eskkar’s blade passed completely through the man’s stomach.
The remaining rider, after taking a wild cut at Eskkar’s head, pulled his mount around, his sword swinging down. Ripping lance and sword free, Eskkar flung himself to the ground, and the sword stroke passed a hand’s length over his head. Then he pushed himself to his feet. The lance bit again, this time into the horse’s hindquarters.
The horse reared, and Eskkar felt something strike his chest. He stumbled backwards, then tripped over a body. Another Sumerian fighter – this one on foot – appeared, his sword thrust down to pin Eskkar to the earth. Eskkar rolled toward him, flinging his body into the man’s legs.
A sword hissed through the air, as Chinua thundered by, his long sword taking the surprised man’s head from its shoulders and sending a spray of blood into the air. Shulgi thrust at Chinua as he galloped past, but missed the Ur Nammu warrior. Other Akkadian horsemen arrived, killing a few of the Sumerian king’s guards and driving off the rest. In a few moments they’d cut Shulgi off from the rest of his men. Soon a ring of Akkadian and Ur Nammu warriors surrounded the king of Sumer.
Eskkar used the haft of the lance to help himself to his feet, drinking air into his lungs. He realized the battle was over. Everywhere he looked men were fleeing the battlefield, avoiding the circle that held their king. Sumer’s army was finished. All Eskkar had to do was give the word, and his men would cut Shulgi down or take him prisoner. Eskkar saw Chinua ride back to the edge of the ring and halt. He knew what the Ur Nammu expected.
His army defeated, his guards driven off, Shulgi saw death circled all around him. But the Akkadians and their barbarian allies held back. They wanted to see the two leaders battle. Shulgi hefted his shield into position and waited.
Eskkar gulped more air into his chest. The fierce fighting had tired him, while Shulgi still possessed all his strength. But Eskkar’s honor demanded that he fight. His men had followed him into battle, and they had done what he asked of them. It had taken many of their lives to bring him to the heart of the enemy. Now it was up to Eskkar to finish the conflict.
Shulgi looked around him and understood. Unafraid, he moved forward, now only a dozen paces from Akkad’s king. “At least I’ll have the satisfaction of killing you before I die.”
Eskkar shifted the lance in his hand and tightened his grip. Days of practicing with the cavalry had taught him how to use the weapon that way. Shulgi either didn’t understand its use, or didn’t care. The Sumerian edged forward, making sure of his footing as he advanced.
“Throw down your sword, Shulgi. I’ll let you live. You can surrender your –”
“Better to die after I kill you, you filthy –!”
Eskkar knew better than to heed an enemy’s words. He struck first, jabbing the lance toward Shulgi’s face. The shield rose to deflect it, and Eskkar struck at Shulgi’s left leg with a vicious overhand stroke from his sword. But the Sumerian recovered and shifted away before the blow could strike, though the blade knocked a clod of dirt and sand from the earth.
Shulgi laughed and circled to his right. “You’re slow, old man, with your clumsy weapon. I’ve killed a dozen horse-fighters with their long swords.”
Behind Eskkar, the sounds of battle began to fade. More and more men joined the circle, to watch the two leaders fight. Even a few Sumerians, having thrown down their weapons in surrender, now stood on the ring that encircled the two fighters. Eskkar gritted his teeth. No matter what the cost, he could not allow Shulgi’s taunts to continue.
At least Eskkar had recovered most of his breath. He attacked again, sword and lance, thrusting and cutting, shifting his feet, even leaping over a body. But Shulgi danced away each time, using his shield and short sword effectively, counter-striking at every opportunity.
Eskkar kept up the attack, trying to overwhelm the younger man with sheer strength. Blade clashed against blade, and this time Shulgi stood toe to toe. Twice he used his shield to force Eskkar back. The bloody grass littered with weapons and debris hindered both fighters. Eskkar knew what would happen to the first man to slip and fall.
“Better summon your archers to finish me, barbarian, before it’s too late.”
Shulgi attacked for the first time, his short sword flashing in the sun as it sought to weave a deadly web of bronze around his enemy.
After three hard strokes, Eskkar broke off the contact, leaping back and to his right, away from Shulgi’s sword arm. The Sumerian’s strokes were too quick, too powerful for Eskkar’s long sword
to counter for long. By now his chest again heaved with the exertion.
“Too proud to call on your men, old man?” Shulgi taunted. “They see what’s happening.”
Eskkar used his anger to attack, but Shulgi met his advance, his shield absorbing the vicious overhand strike of Eskkar’s blade. Only the slim lance in Eskkar’s left hand kept Shulgi’s sword at bay. Another four or five hard strokes forced Eskkar to give up the attack, once again moving back and to his right. His right arm was weakening, and he knew Shulgi could feel it, too.
And then he remembered. Many years ago Eskkar had fought a skilled and powerful swordsman, a warrior so strong that even Eskkar’s strength and youth could not defeat the man. A trick had saved Eskkar’s life then, a gamble that would leave him open to a deadly stroke if it failed. Still, he felt the sword growing heavier in his hand, the blade sagging a little lower after each attack. Eskkar realized he would not last much longer against his younger opponent. He took one deep breath.
“Time to die, boy king!”
As the last word left his lips, Eskkar attacked with a ferocity that took every bit of his remaining strength. The blades clashed again and again, mixed with the dull thud of sword against shield. Stroke followed stroke, until Eskkar felt himself weakening. He threw himself back and to the side, as he’d done twice before.
Shulgi had waited for the same moment. As soon as Eskkar shifted, Shulgi, moving with a blur of speed, turned to his left, lunged forward, and struck at where Eskkar’s unprotected sword arm would be.
But Eskkar had not fully shifted his body, and instead of dodging to the right, he flung himself forward and to his left, diving under Shulgi’s overhand swing that would have cut Eskkar’s arm in two if he’d moved as Shulgi expected. Instead, Eskkar slid onto his left knee, and thrust the point of his sword into Shulgi’s exposed armpit, the weapon’s tip piercing the laces that bound Shulgi’s breastplate and stopping only when the blade bit against the shoulder bone.
Shulgi whirled around and struck downwards, but Eskkar had already rolled away, wrenching his sword loose and regaining his footing. Blood poured down Shulgi’s side as he advanced again. He lunged at Eskkar’s head with his sword, and Eskkar nearly failed to raise his blade in time to parry the stroke.
The Sumerian king tried to raise his sword for another attack, but his arm muscles refused to obey, and Eskkar struck the weapon aside with his own. Shulgi flung himself forward, raising his shield and trying to smash into Eskkar and bring him to the ground.
Eskkar closed in, lowering his left shoulder and smashing his body against the shield. Shulgi, moving slower, couldn’t shift to the side as he done before. Eskkar’s weight now flung Shulgi backwards. The Sumerian’s heel caught on the outflung leg of a body and he crashed onto the trampled earth. The sword fell from his hand. Shulgi looked up, unable to lift his right arm, already growing weak from the blood loss that streamed down his right arm and side.
Shulgi tried to recover his sword, but Eskkar placed his left sandal on the blade, pinning it to the ground. He had to take two breaths before he could get control of his words. “I told your father . . . he should have stayed in Sumer. You should have learned from what happened to him.”
Blood now soaked the ground beneath Shulgi’s arm. The Sumerian glanced at his right arm, already covered in blood, and then laughed. “A trick . . . to keep yourself alive. The mighty Eskkar.” He coughed, tried to laugh, then coughed again, this time spewing blood from his mouth onto his chest.
“Enough talk, Sumerian.” Eskkar thrust down, not with his sword, but with the lance in his left hand. The slim bronze tip tore into Shulgi’s throat and buried itself in the earth. His eyes bulged with pain, then rolled up into his head. The body twitched for a moment, then lay still. The boy king of Sumer had at least died bravely, fighting to the last. A warrior’s end, and better than his father’s.
Eskkar didn’t care. He straightened up, letting go of the lance, and looked around the circle of men. It had grown in depth, and it seemed as though half the Akkadian army had stopped and watched the brutal demise of Shulgi’s ambitions.
A cheer started, at first just a few men, then more, until everyone joined in. The realization that they had not only won the battle, but destroyed the enemy and killed its king sank in. They had survived and would live. The jubilation rose in intensity, until every voice shouted the same refrain. “Akkad! Akkad! Akkad!”
He let the chant go on, until their voices ran out of breath. Eskkar raised his sword, forcing himself to keep the blade steady. “You’ve won a mighty victory!” Another cheer answered him. “Now on to Sumer!”
This time the roar shook the battlefield. A new cry went up. “Death to Sumer! Death to Sumer!” It went on and on, this time accompanied by the clamor of men crashing swords against shields, until the sound came from every voice and floated from horizon to horizon on the warm air.
Two miles away King Naxos of Isin sat on his horse, his advisor Kuara at his side. The two men had slipped out of the city, and ridden south before swinging around to the east, taking care not to be seen by the handful of Eskkar’s men still guarding the ditch. All over the horizon, they saw hundreds and hundreds of men running or riding away, all of them heading south. Many would flee to Isin, but Naxos had already given orders to admit only those who could prove they lived there.
Suddenly, a roar ascended into the heavens, a mighty cheer that echoed over the ground.
“That will be Shulgi’s death knell,” Kuara said, shaking his head in disgust. “His army is destroyed. Now Eskkar will march to Sumer and tear it down.”
Naxos shook his head. “I doubt it. The Sumerians would be fools to resist, and Kushanna is anything but a fool. She’ll slip away, or come up with some idea to turn aside the Akkadian’s sword.”
“Well, if anyone can talk their way out of trouble, she’s the one. Do you think Eskkar will turn his fury on Isin?”
“He may be a barbarian,” Naxos said, “but he’s no fool, either. He knows he’ll need as many allies in Sumeria as he can get. With Larsa gone and Sumer’s wealth exhausted, Akkad needs our trade to recover, just as we need theirs. No, he’ll keep his word and spare our city.”
“Then we’ll have to ally ourselves with him.” Kuara sighed. “Still, it may not be so bad, if Akkad directs its trade to Isin. In a few years, we’ll be strong again.”
Naxos had reported his encounter with Eskkar to his advisor, but hadn’t mentioned that Eskkar had invited him to visit Akkad. “Perhaps I will visit the barbarian’s city for myself.”
Kuara glanced at him. “You’d put yourself within reach of Trella’s power? Why would you risk your life to go there?”
“Ah, to meet Lady Trella, of course.” Naxos laughed. “Sooner or later, Eskkar is going to get himself killed. Some day she may need another strong leader to protect her.”
Kuara shook his head. “If what Eskkar told you is true, you just escaped Kushanna’s poison, my king. I don’t think you should be taking yourself from the path of one viper and placing your neck in front of another.”
“Well, we’ll see about that. After all, only the gods know what the future holds.”
“I doubt if that particular future is in the stars.”
Naxos laughed. “Well, the years will tell us. Now let’s get back to Isin. We’ve got to fill in that ditch as soon as possible.”
The first thing Razrek felt was a fly buzzing around his face. He lay flat on his back, something hard pressing against his spine. His eyes refused to open, and all he could make out was a reddish haze. Blood, he decided. It took all his strength to raise his hand and rub it across his eyes. First one eyelid, then the other broke loose from the dried blood, and the fierce mid-morning sun nearly blinded him. Razrek closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain. Something had struck his head, but he couldn’t remember . . .
The silence washed over him. He heard no sounds of fighting, no horses crying out, nothing. Razrek used the pain to force hims
elf fully awake. The battle had ended. No matter which side had won, he had to get to a horse.
“Here’s another one still alive.”
Razrek squinted into the sun, but couldn’t see the speaker. He tried to sit up, but a foot planted itself firmly on his chest.
“This one’s a commander, at least,” another voice remarked. “Look at that fancy knife!”
Razrek twisted his head and gazed upward. A boy had moved into view over him, a bulging sack slung over his shoulder and a long knife in his hand.
“Should be good for a few coins.”
Another boy joined the first, his shadow blocking out the sun. Razrek saw a sling hanging from the second boy’s neck. He, too, carried a long knife in his hand. Both blades, Razrek realized, were stained with fresh blood.
“Should we take him to Shappa? He may be someone important.”
“And give up what he’s carrying? Your wits are slow today, little brother.”
Before Razrek could reach for his knife, the second youth dropped down and thrust his blade into Razrek’s neck. The powerful stroke sent the sharp point straight through the flesh and into the earth.
Pain lanced through Razrek’s throat and head. He flailed his arms, trying to grasp the knife, but already he felt blood gurgling up. Choking, he thrashed about, but the pressure on his chest increased. His muscles failed him, and the pain slipped away. His eyes remained open, and words still reached his ears.
“Look at this purse! We’ll never have to work again!”
“Hurry, before anyone sees! Strip the body. He may have more concealed in his tunic.”
For Razrek, the bright morning sun faded to darkness as the two slingers finished looting his dead body.
By sundown the Akkadians had established a camp about a mile north of the battlefield, every man and beast stumbling wearily northward until they reached the chosen site. The burst of energy after the defeat of the Sumerians had faded. Exhaustion set in, as well as sadness. Many in Eskkar’s army had died, though not as many as he’d expected. The wounded – and there were many – needed to be cared for. With the river now clear of Shulgi’s men, more riverboats arrived to deliver food and take those who could not walk back to Akkad.
