Sam Barone: Conflict of Empires

Without seeming to aim, he put a shaft right through the eye of the first battle-crazed Sumerian to step over Gatus’s still struggling body. Shaft after shaft, propelled from the powerful bow, tore into the enemy, many of them too weary to lift their shields high enough to protect their faces.

The second rank of archers targeted the enemy’s legs, shooting downward into the mass of churning limbs that were packed so close together that almost every shaft had to strike something before it buried itself in the earth. Mitrac realized those facing him were not spearmen. Most of those had fallen victim to the Akkadian spears. These men lacked the large shields that the Sumerian infantry carried. Most were armed only with swords and small shields.

The deadly flight of arrows halted the surging Sumerians. Even those with shields found their protection of little use. At such close range, many bronze-tipped shafts bored through the hide-covered wood with enough strength to kill or wound the flesh pressed against it. Mitrac’s bowmen had plenty of arrows, and in moments they’d launched a thousand arrows at the concentrated enemy line.

The Sumerians halted, unable to advance in the face of the withering arrow volleys. A few glanced up, to see even more archers racing toward them. Cries went up from behind them, as Klexor’s horsemen continued to pound their rear, the sound of Akkadian war cries at their back adding to their confusion. In a few heartbeats, panic raced through the Sumerians.

Mitrac saw the effect of his arrow storm. “Advance! Keep shooting!” Even as he bellowed the words, he stepped forward, still loosing shafts as fast as he could. “Kill the Sumerians! Death to Sumeria!”

“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!”

B reathing 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.