Conflict of Empires es-3

by Sam Barone

  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 horseflesh 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.

  I gnoring 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.

  The Sumerian cavalry had finally halted all movement to the east. Despite their confusion, they wheeled their horses around, delighted at the chance to fall upon Eskkar’s rear, and Shappa could see the commanders urging their men to attack. He spun the sling and loosed the first stone, flinging it into the mass of horsemen less than a hundred and fifty paces away. Beside him, Shappa heard the pants and grunts of the rest of his men arriving, followed a moment later by the sound of whirling slings.

  The Sumerian horsemen needed only moments to turn around and countercharge. Shappa didn’t intend to give them that moment. “Throw! Throw! Slow them down!”

  A few of the slingers let loose their missiles while they pressed ahead, but most slowed down enough to put all their force into the throw. Hundreds of stones rose up into the air, to descend on the Sumerian cavalry. In moments, the air hummed with the steady sounds of slings snapping as they hurled their small but deadly projectiles at the enemy horsemen.

  By now all four hundred slingers were in range, and missiles filled the air, striking horse and rider in what seemed like an unceasing rain of bronze. It was almost impossible not to hit something, with so many horses jammed together. The animals began bucking and rearing, whinnying in pain as the heavy round pellets stuck their necks and chests, or glanced off their flanks. Some of the riders turned aside, moving either toward their own rear or trying to get to the slingers’ flank or rear.

  Shappa had to prevent that. If he could move his men directly between Eskkar’s cavalry and the enemy horsemen, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone in his rear. The thought that he might get run down never entered his head.

  “Keep moving forward! Move closer!” Shappa gave the order and set the example, moving forward, determined to put his slingers directly between Eskkar’s force and the Sumerian horsemen. Off to his right, he caught a glimpse of Nivar urging his men in the same direction, even as his friend loosed his own weapon.

  Enemy riders went down, struck by stones or pitched from their mounts. The countercharge against Eskkar’s riders hesitated, then stopped, as men fought to control their animals. None of the Sumerians or Tanukhs had ever faced slingers before, and this new tactic by this strange foe had them confused. Their horses, too, reacted with fear to these men whirling things through the air.

  Shappa knew his men looked helpless and vulnerable, without any real weapons. The obvious Sumerian tactic would be to ride them down. To accomplish that, the great numbers of Sumerian cavalry needed only to move as a concerted force, ignoring their losses until they could ride into the slingers’ midst. But the stones kept coming, smashing into the enemy horsemen with even greater force as the slingers drew closer.

  A few riders charged the slingers. Some even managed to evade the dozens of stones flung at them. But when those hardy Sumerians tried to strike down the apparently helpless slingers, they saw their opponents throw themselves to the ground beneath the Sumerian swords, only to rise up an instant later and strike with their long knives at the rear legs of the horses. Wounded animals reared out of control, unhorsing their riders, who then became easy targets for the slingers’ stones or long knives.

  Shappa had trained his men well, and they knew to seek out enemy commanders as targets for their missiles, those men who would be trying to restore order and rally their ranks. Without commanders urging them forward — ordering them to run down the slingers and kill them at any cost — the Sumerians continued to hesitate, then some began turning away from the rain of missiles. They saw the fate of those who had rushed into the slingers’ midst, and decided a more prudent course of action was to ride around them. A few galloped off, as much to get out of range of the slingers as to reach the Akkadian rear.

  Shappa ignored them. He kept directing his slingers against the mass of horsemen still milling about. The stones sought them out, arcing higher in the sky before falling. When they struck the horses, the animals bolted or started bucking, often tossing their riders to the earth at the same moment. Shappa had to keep up the pressure. The Sumerians had thousands of riders, and if it occurred to all of them to simply ride around the flanks of the slingers, both Eskkar and the spearmen would be in trouble.

  But the havoc and commotion of E
skkar’s charge had driven reason from their heads. They had thought only of attacking Eskkar’s smaller force, hitting them from the rear and wiping them out. They wanted to reach the Akkadian king, not waste time on insignificant slingers, and risking their own lives in the process.

  Shappa had no time to worry about that. He kept dropping stones into his pouch, and flinging them toward the enemy. Suddenly his hand came up empty from the first pouch. He had already thrown over thirty stones. He ripped open the second sack, and hoped that the Sumerians turned back, or help arrived, before he emptied that one as well. Off to one side, he saw a large force of enemy horsemen moving across the battle line, intending to attack Gatus’s rear.

  That didn’t concern him. His task this day was to halt or slow down the Sumerian cavalry, and by all the gods, he intended to do just that.

  R azrek picked himself up from the ground. He didn’t remember falling, but a stone must have struck his bronze helmet and knocked him from his horse. He needed both hands to push himself to his feet. His sword had vanished, lost in the debris that now littered the battlefield. Bodies of men and horses lay scattered on the ground all around him. Those cursed slingers continued to hurl their missiles into his horsemen, many of them milling around like a bunch of frightened women.

  With an oath he stumbled toward the rear. A horse kicked its heels, its halter tangled around its dead rider. The man’s body kept the frightened animal from bolting. A vicious cut with his knife freed the rope, and Razrek jerked the halter so hard that the stunned animal ceased its frantic efforts to get away. Still, it took all his strength to pull himself onto the animal.