Sam Barone - Clash Of Empires

“King Eskkar, I don’t. .”

“There is no need to say anything now, Sabatu. Go. Decide what you want to do. In the morning, tell Daro of your decision.”

Surprised at the abrupt dismissal, Sabatu stood. He’d expected more entreaties or threats or promises of gold for his service. But this King offered nothing, merely a chance to serve and become one of his people.

Once again Sabatu bowed low, and then turned and left the chamber. On the landing, he looked down and saw Daro lounging in a chair with his legs sprawled, waiting for him.

The King of Akkad had spoken the truth. The time for a decision had indeed arrived. Sabatu knew he would sleep little tonight.

Sabatu and Daro strolled through Akkad’s lanes, moving at a slow pace as almost everyone they encountered seemed to know Daro and wanted to have a few words with him. They visited the marketplace and the docks, stopped by the site of the new temple being built for the goddess Ishtar, and even paused at the soldiers’ barracks.

While there Daro led the way behind the rambling structures, to an open space where the soldiers trained or practiced with their weapons. A small area served as a narrow archery range, and even this late in the day, Sabatu saw ten or twelve men using the targets.

“The barracks grew too large and crowded, so they moved the regular archery range across the river. This one is used mainly by the instructors to test new bows and shafts, or for any soldiers needing extra work.”

One master bowman functioned as range master, offering guidance or help to anyone who needed it. He made sure that everyone put aside their bows before walking down to examine their targets. The man nodded to Daro, but kept his eyes on the archers.

Sabatu understood. Accidents happened often enough, and a moment’s carelessness might mean someone’s misfortune.

Daro insisted on launching a few arrows at the small archery range. “It’s been days since I pulled a bow.” He selected a new bow from the testing table, strung the weapon, and collected a handful of target arrows. Taking his stance, Daro launched the first arrow toward the target.

Sabatu stood beside Daro, and found himself impressed despite his own experiences with the bow. Daro proved himself a fine bowman, and the heavy Akkadian arrows struck with a powerful force. The typical Akkadian bow stood a hand’s length longer than the bows used by Elam’s archers, and appeared thicker as well.

“Most of the wood comes from the far north,” Daro explained. “Mitrac, he commands all of Akkad’s archers, told King Eskkar about the famous trees of the northern forest. Mitrac’s kin returned home after they settled their blood feud with the barbarians. But since we fought together, Mitrac’s family established a steady trade with Akkad for the select wood. Very rare and expensive, of course, but the bows constructed from the heartwood of the steppes last far longer, and keep their power.”

By now Sabatu had heard most of the tales of the mighty Akkadian archers, and those, too, he had discounted. But after seeing Daro bend a bow, not to mention the obvious pleasure the man took in his craft, Sabatu revised his ideas. When the range master proclaimed a halt, Daro reluctantly lowered the weapon.

“Can I try your bow?” The words slipped from Sabatu’s mouth almost without thought.

Daro’s eyes widened. “If you think you can draw it. .” He extended the weapon toward Sabatu, then pulled it back. “Wait here a moment. I have an idea.”

He turned and trotted over to the archer’s shed, a flimsy wooden structure that held extra bows, strings, target shafts, wrist guards, and the rest of the items needed for any bowman. After a quick discussion with the boy tending the weapons, Daro strode back to his companion.

“Here, try this one.” Daro handed Sabatu a smaller, sharply curved bow. “This is a little smaller than those that Hathor’s cavalry use, but at close range, it’s just as deadly.”

Sabatu accepted the weapon. Holding it up, he examined its length, and found it similar to those used by some of Elam’s soldiers. With difficulty, he managed to grasp the bow with his left hand. His stiff fingers resisted, but he ignored the pain in his thumb. Daro handed him a target shaft.

However without full use of his thumb, fitting the arrow to the bowstring proved a challenge. Sabatu felt his frustration rise, but before he could react, Daro moved to his side.

“Let me do that.” He nocked the shaft to the string.

Once again, Sabatu struggled, trying to draw the weapon without losing his grip on the arrow or bowstring. Once, twice, his fingers slipped from the shaft. He grit his teeth, and tried again, this time using all of his fingers behind the string. The bow bent, and Sabatu realized how weak his arm had become.

The other bowmen on the range had stopped their practice and their talking. Every man watched Sabatu’s struggle. Aware of their eyes, Sabatu ignored the ache in his hands. Using all his strength, he drew the arrow back until his fingers brushed his cheek, aiming at the butt. Then he loosed the missile.

The shaft flew through the air. At the barrack’s small range, the targets were only thirty paces away from the shooting line. Sabatu’s shaft struck the bale of straw well below the target, the flight just high enough to avoid landing in the dirt.

Nevertheless, a cheer went up, and every man on the line gave a shout of approval or offered a word of encouragement. Each archer understood the pain that Sabatu must feel, what he must endure, and so they rejoiced in his success. After all, the power of the gods flowed through bow and string to the shaft. How else to explain the magical power of the weapon that could slay a man at a hundred paces?

Daro, a big grin on his face, smacked Sabatu on the back so hard that he nearly dropped the bow. “Well done! A fine shot!”

Sabatu had to pry the fingers of his left hand from the grip of the bow, but he managed a smile. “Not much of a bowman.” He handed the weapon back to Daro.

“Not today,” Daro agreed. “Not today, but tomorrow and the day after, who knows?” He handed the cavalry bow to the range master, and swept his long arm around Sabatu’s shoulders. “I think it’s time we get something to eat.” They resumed their walk, leaving the barracks area and heading back toward the center of the city.

The sun had turned to dusk, and Sabatu felt the stirrings of his appetite, as if launching a single arrow had taxed his strength.

“Tonight I’ve something special planned for you,” Daro said, as he guided Sabatu down the lane. “Since this may be your last night in Akkad, I thought you should at least enjoy yourself.”

“As long as the food is good, I’ll be more than satisfied.”

Daro led the way into the more exclusive part of Akkad, where the houses stood taller and the outer walls higher.

“This is Zenobia’s,” Daro said, as they approached one particularly impressive home. “Here you can sample the finest food in Akkad, along with its most beautiful and skilled women. Only the well-off can afford to visit her house. Fortunately, as a commander in the Hawk Clan, I am allowed an occasional visit.” He grinned at his companion. “They say Zenobia came from the Indus all the way to Akkad, just to favor us with her gifts.”

Sabatu tried to protest, but Daro ignored him. They passed through the guarded red gate, and found themselves in a lush and carefully cultivated garden. Far nicer than the few plants that the King’s Compound boasted, the carefully tended flowers yielded a pleasant perfume that scented the air. The structure’s outer walls shone in the setting sun, no doubt from a fresh coat of whitewash.

A tall woman with blond hair that reached below her waist waited at the door, and welcomed Daro by name, though her smile for Sabatu was just as warm. She escorted them into the main house, where the enticing smells of roasting meat permeated the air, overpowering the more delicate scents worn by their guide.