Empire Rising
37
much faster than the others. Nearly forty-five arrows loosed into a crowd of sixteen or so bandits, since a few hadn’t made it all the way into the square before the ambush started.
“Did we lose anyone?”
Hamati grunted in disgust. “One of the bandits finally got an arrow fitted to his bow and Markas took a shaft in his arm. But it was poorly drawn. It didn’t even go through. The women are tending to him. He’ll be fine in a few days.”
Fitting an arrow to a bow, while trying to control a panicky horse at the same time, sometimes meant you couldn’t pull the shaft as far back as you wanted. With the smaller bows the horsemen used, that could result in a weakly launched shaft. The bows Eskkar’s men used were much larger, more powerful weapons, shooting a heavier arrow, and were as useful for hunting game as men. Their weakness was that they were too big to be used from horseback. That disadvantage didn’t trouble Eskkar, since he didn’t have many horses, nor men who knew how to fight from them.
The bandit leader on the ground groaned, and Hamati kicked him casually in the ribs, but not hard enough to break anything. “Captain, except for one bandit at the square who was knocked senseless when his horse was killed, these two are the only ones left alive. All the rest back there are dead or dying.”
The other prisoner was shoved to the ground, alongside the man Eskkar had fought. The wounded man gasped in pain at the impact. The shank of the arrow, still protruding from his back, had brushed against the ground, twisting the shaft inside his shoulder and no doubt sending a wave of pain through the man.
“Better pull that out of him,” Eskkar ordered, looking at the wound.
Mitrac’s arrow had struck the man’s right shoulder, but looked low and deep enough to be fatal. The man would likely die, but might live long enough to answer some questions.
“Bring them both back to the square, and we’ll see what we can get out of them.” Eskkar glanced up at the sun and realized it had scarcely moved.
The whole fight had lasted only moments.
Hamati, meanwhile, stepped over to the injured prisoner. Before he realized what was coming, Hamati gripped the shaft and ripped it from the man’s shoulder. A piercing scream erupted from the wounded man; then he fainted from the pain and shock.
Eskkar returned to the square. He counted nine carcasses, several with 38
SAM BARONE
multiple arrows protruding from breast and neck. The rest of the animals, some of them wounded, their eyes still wide with fear and nervous from the smell of blood, had been rounded up and pushed into the same rope corral that had contained the soldiers’ animals last night. The stink of blood, urine, and feces rose up from both man and beast. Eskkar didn’t mind the familiar smell. He knew you had to be alive to notice it.
A horseman since he’d grown old enough to sit astride one, Eskkar hated the thought of killing such fine horsefl esh. But despite the familiar pang of sorrow at their deaths, he knew that, in battle, you did what you had to do. The men remembered their training, to shoot fi rst at the horse.
When you shoot the horse, even if it’s only wounded, the animal panics and the rider can’t control it. When the horse goes down, the rider is usually stunned or injured from the fall. First you stop the charge, then you kill the dismounted riders. Hamati’s veterans had all fought in the siege of Akkad and they had learned that lesson very well indeed. Tonight, there would be plenty of fresh meat for everyone, and Eskkar had gained himself another eight or nine riding stock animals for his men.
The other sight wasn’t as pleasant. A woman, blood spattered all over her face and arms, sobbed as she knelt against the side of the elder’s house.
Nisaba and another woman attended her, their arms around her, trying to give comfort. The bandit captured in the square lay dead, his throat slit by the
37
much faster than the others. Nearly forty-five arrows loosed into a crowd of sixteen or so bandits, since a few hadn’t made it all the way into the square before the ambush started.
“Did we lose anyone?”
Hamati grunted in disgust. “One of the bandits finally got an arrow fitted to his bow and Markas took a shaft in his arm. But it was poorly drawn. It didn’t even go through. The women are tending to him. He’ll be fine in a few days.”
Fitting an arrow to a bow, while trying to control a panicky horse at the same time, sometimes meant you couldn’t pull the shaft as far back as you wanted. With the smaller bows the horsemen used, that could result in a weakly launched shaft. The bows Eskkar’s men used were much larger, more powerful weapons, shooting a heavier arrow, and were as useful for hunting game as men. Their weakness was that they were too big to be used from horseback. That disadvantage didn’t trouble Eskkar, since he didn’t have many horses, nor men who knew how to fight from them.
The bandit leader on the ground groaned, and Hamati kicked him casually in the ribs, but not hard enough to break anything. “Captain, except for one bandit at the square who was knocked senseless when his horse was killed, these two are the only ones left alive. All the rest back there are dead or dying.”
The other prisoner was shoved to the ground, alongside the man Eskkar had fought. The wounded man gasped in pain at the impact. The shank of the arrow, still protruding from his back, had brushed against the ground, twisting the shaft inside his shoulder and no doubt sending a wave of pain through the man.
“Better pull that out of him,” Eskkar ordered, looking at the wound.
Mitrac’s arrow had struck the man’s right shoulder, but looked low and deep enough to be fatal. The man would likely die, but might live long enough to answer some questions.
“Bring them both back to the square, and we’ll see what we can get out of them.” Eskkar glanced up at the sun and realized it had scarcely moved.
The whole fight had lasted only moments.
Hamati, meanwhile, stepped over to the injured prisoner. Before he realized what was coming, Hamati gripped the shaft and ripped it from the man’s shoulder. A piercing scream erupted from the wounded man; then he fainted from the pain and shock.
Eskkar returned to the square. He counted nine carcasses, several with 38
SAM BARONE
multiple arrows protruding from breast and neck. The rest of the animals, some of them wounded, their eyes still wide with fear and nervous from the smell of blood, had been rounded up and pushed into the same rope corral that had contained the soldiers’ animals last night. The stink of blood, urine, and feces rose up from both man and beast. Eskkar didn’t mind the familiar smell. He knew you had to be alive to notice it.
A horseman since he’d grown old enough to sit astride one, Eskkar hated the thought of killing such fine horsefl esh. But despite the familiar pang of sorrow at their deaths, he knew that, in battle, you did what you had to do. The men remembered their training, to shoot fi rst at the horse.
When you shoot the horse, even if it’s only wounded, the animal panics and the rider can’t control it. When the horse goes down, the rider is usually stunned or injured from the fall. First you stop the charge, then you kill the dismounted riders. Hamati’s veterans had all fought in the siege of Akkad and they had learned that lesson very well indeed. Tonight, there would be plenty of fresh meat for everyone, and Eskkar had gained himself another eight or nine riding stock animals for his men.
The other sight wasn’t as pleasant. A woman, blood spattered all over her face and arms, sobbed as she knelt against the side of the elder’s house.
Nisaba and another woman attended her, their arms around her, trying to give comfort. The bandit captured in the square lay dead, his throat slit by the
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