Sam Barone: Clash Of Empires

Daro had seen men whipped to death before. Vicious criminals, murderers, and even bandits might face such a punishment for a heinous crime. But Daro had never seen anyone’s family persecuted and tortured to death for the crimes of another. By the time the last of Sabatu’s kin had succumbed, his weakened body and mind had endured so much that Daro worried Sabatu might not survive a rescue followed by a long journey.

Nevertheless, the potential benefit to King Eskkar and Lady Trella had convinced Daro to attempt the rescue. Yavtar’s trading voyage, the goods he’d sold in Sushan, even the Star of Sumer mattered little. He and Daro had undertaken the difficult and dangerous passage primarily to gather information about the Elamite Empire and their plans to invade the Land Between the Rivers.

Passing through Sushan’s crowded market, Daro had paused to watch the public torture. But as soon as he learned the identity of the victim, he realized the opportunity. What better way, Daro reasoned, to learn about the Elamite army than by spiriting out one of its high-ranking commanders. Such a man would undoubtedly know everything about Elam’s generals, their weapons and tactics, even their personal strengths and weaknesses.

And so Daro had risked his own life to slip into the prison barracks in the middle of the night and carry Sabatu from Sushan’s torture room. The Elamite ruler would be furious at Sabatu’s escape, not to mention the two guards Daro had killed in the process. Grand Commander Chaiyanar, the satrap of Sushan, might not have figured out exactly what had happened, but he’d ordered the harbor sealed, lest his missing prisoner attempt to escape by ship.

Yavtar frowned at the helpless man. “I hope he’s worth it. I warned you this might happen.”

Daro shrugged. A soldier first and last, he seldom worried about the cause of any dilemma. What was done was done. “Anything you want me to do?”

“Just row, damn you.”

Daro nodded, and picked up an oar. The race had indeed started. He added his strength to those of the crew. For this voyage, Yavtar had selected his best men from his crews of rowers in Sumer, the home port of the Star , and now those choices would prove their worth. Every man straining at his oar knew what was at stake. If the Elamites captured the Star , Yavtar and Daro would be tortured to death, but the fate of the crew would be little better. They would be turned into slaves, then lashed and worked until they dropped dead.

With no choice except to flee, the men needed little urging to do their utmost. Reach, pull, withdraw, and reach again. The oars dipped rhythmically into the river, propelling the graceful ship through the water.

The long chase continued. By midmorning, a favorable wind blew down the river, and allowed Yavtar to rest his men. The ship hunting them had a sail as well, but whatever boatmen remained onboard lacked Yavtar’s skill. The Elamite ship yawed from time to time, wasting both the wind and its rowers’ best efforts.

Even so, the Elamites’ greater number of oarsmen nearly made up for the squat lines and clumsy attributes of the Apikin . The brute strength of her rowers kept the race close. Now only Yavtar’s proficiency with his ship prevented the Elamites from closing the distance and getting near enough to launch their arrows. One or two wounded men, and the Star would be overtaken.

Not that they hadn’t tried. Twice they had loosed volleys at the Star of Sumer , but each time the enemy shafts had plunged into the Star’s wake, and no shaft reached within fifty paces.

The wind held steady for most of the day, but whenever it slackened or died down, every man went back to the oars, driving the boat downriver as fast as they could. Despite the Star’s utmost travail, the pursuing ship clung stubbornly to their stern, sometimes closing to within a quarter of a mile. What the trailing ship lacked in speed and grace, it more than made up with the extra number of its soldiers, determined to drive the Apikin through the water until they could catch the Star .

The long day dragged on, as Yavtar’s exhausted men sweated and rowed, too tired even to swear at their situation.

The sun finally neared the western horizon. “Pull, damn you, pull!” Yavtar, standing at the tiller shouted. “We’re almost at the sea. We’ll be safe in deep water.”

This late in the afternoon, the swift passage down the river had extracted a high price from every man. Daro ignored the pain in his arms, across his chest and shoulders, and down his back. The hands that wielded the oar ran with blood, and the raw scrapes on his knees added to his misery.

A sharp wind blew across Daro’s face as he dragged his oar through the choppy water, but even the cool breeze off the Great Sea failed to dry the sweat from his brow. All the men rowing the Star of Sumer had labored to exhaustion, fighting wind and water that sought to roll over the lightly-laden ship. Despite the danger, Daro didn’t worry about drowning, nor did his crewmates. The ship pursuing them promised far greater pain than a quick death beneath the waves. The Star’s oarsmen would row until they collapsed.

Daro glanced around at the other members of the crew. Each man endured, working as hard as he could. Still, Daro knew the ship’s crew couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. But Yavtar knew his trade, so he must have some plan ready to shake the Elamites.

Now, just before dusk, the Star approached the end of the Karum River, where its waters emptied and dissipated into the Great Sea. After leaving the river’s mouth, the vessel needed to turn its bow to the west, toward its home port of Sumer. However the stubborn wind and the sea’s current had a different plan, as they combined to force the ship to the east.

By now even Daro’s powerful arms, strengthen by years of archery practice and countless voyages up and down the Tigris, protested the grueling demands. He struggled to keep his rhythm — reach, pull, withdraw, and reach — but the rocking and pitching of the vessel fought his efforts. His hands burned from the oar’s roughness, and pain grated against his knees with every stroke.

More than any man in the crew, Daro knew exactly what awaited them if they were captured. He’d seen Sushan’s prison and its torturers.

“Pull, you bastards! Pull, unless you want to sail to the Indus!” Ship Master Yavtar bellowed above the grunts and heavy breathing of his crew.

“Pull yourself, damn you,” one of the rowers called out. “I’ll steer the boat.”

Daro and a few of the crew found enough breath for a brief laugh. Yavtar, one of the wealthiest men in Akkad, probably hadn’t touched an oar in years.

“When you own the boat,” Yavtar shouted in reply, “you can steer. Until then, you lazy excuses for sailors had better earn your pay, and row!”

Daro glanced over his shoulder at their passenger. Sabatu hadn’t moved, and might not even be aware of the frenetic activity taking place around him. Before his arrest and condemnation, Sabatu had climbed high in the Elamite army’s hierarchy, attaining the position of High Commander. That rank meant he’d led at least five hundred men, which made him far more valuable than Yavtar’s lost cargo. What Sabatu could reveal about Elam’s armies, strategies, and tactics might save hundreds of Akkadian lives in the coming war.

Daro had hoped the Elamite garrison would suspect some of Sabatu’s loyal soldiers or close relatives had carried off the rescue. But either someone had noticed Daro’s midnight swim to the military compound’s dock, or the city’s soldiers were just being thorough when they rushed to search the boats in Sushan’s harbor. Of course, the Star’s flight told the Elamites all they needed to know.