Sam Barone: Conflict of Empires

“Throw down your sword, Shulgi. I’ll let you live. You can surrender your — ”

“Better to die after I kill you, you filthy — !”

Eskkar knew better than to heed an enemy’s words. He struck first, jabbing the lance toward Shulgi’s face. The shield rose to deflect it, and Eskkar struck at Shulgi’s left leg with a vicious overhand stroke from his sword. But the Sumerian recovered and shifted away before the blow could strike, though the blade knocked a clod of dirt and sand from the earth.

Shulgi laughed and circled to his right. “You’re slow, old man, with your clumsy weapon. I’ve killed a dozen horse-fighters with their long swords.”

Behind Eskkar, the sounds of battle began to fade. More and more men joined the circle, to watch the two leaders fight. Even a few Sumerians, having thrown down their weapons in surrender, now stood on the ring that encircled the two fighters. Eskkar gritted his teeth. No matter what the cost, he could not allow Shulgi’s taunts to continue.

At least Eskkar had recovered most of his breath. He attacked again, sword and lance, thrusting and cutting, shifting his feet, even leaping over a body. But Shulgi danced away each time, using his shield and short sword effectively, counter-striking at every opportunity.

Eskkar kept up the attack, trying to overwhelm the younger man with sheer strength. Blade clashed against blade, and this time Shulgi stood toe to toe. Twice he used his shield to force Eskkar back. The bloody grass littered with weapons and debris hindered both fighters. Eskkar knew what would happen to the first man to slip and fall.

“Better summon your archers to finish me, barbarian, before it’s too late.”

Shulgi attacked for the first time, his short sword flashing in the sun as it sought to weave a deadly web of bronze around his enemy.

After three hard strokes, Eskkar broke off the contact, leaping back and to his right, away from Shulgi’s sword arm. The Sumerian’s strokes were too quick, too powerful for Eskkar’s long sword to counter for long. By now his chest again heaved with the exertion.

“Too proud to call on your men, old man?” Shulgi taunted. “They see what’s happening.”

Eskkar used his anger to attack, but Shulgi met his advance, his shield absorbing the vicious overhand strike of Eskkar’s blade. Only the slim lance in Eskkar’s left hand kept Shulgi’s sword at bay. Another four or five hard strokes forced Eskkar to give up the attack, once again moving back and to his right. His right arm was weakening, and he knew Shulgi could feel it, too.

And then he remembered. Many years ago Eskkar had fought a skilled and powerful swordsman, a warrior so strong that even Eskkar’s strength and youth could not defeat the man. A trick had saved Eskkar’s life then, a gamble that would leave him open to a deadly stroke if it failed. Still, he felt the sword growing heavier in his hand, the blade sagging a little lower after each attack. Eskkar realized he would not last much longer against his younger opponent. He took one deep breath.

“Time to die, boy king!”

As the last word left his lips, Eskkar attacked with a ferocity that took every bit of his remaining strength. The blades clashed again and again, mixed with the dull thud of sword against shield. Stroke followed stroke, until Eskkar felt himself weakening. He threw himself back and to the side, as he’d done twice before.

Shulgi had waited for the same moment. As soon as Eskkar shifted, Shulgi, moving with a blur of speed, turned to his left, lunged forward, and struck at where Eskkar’s unprotected sword arm would be.

But Eskkar had not fully shifted his body, and instead of dodging to the right, he flung himself forward and to his left, diving under Shulgi’s overhand swing that would have cut Eskkar’s arm in two if he’d moved as Shulgi expected. Instead, Eskkar slid onto his left knee, and thrust the point of his sword into Shulgi’s exposed armpit, the weapon’s tip piercing the laces that bound Shulgi’s breastplate and stopping only when the blade bit against the shoulder bone.

Shulgi whirled around and struck downwards, but Eskkar had already rolled away, wrenching his sword loose and regaining his footing. Blood poured down Shulgi’s side as he advanced again. He lunged at Eskkar’s head with his sword, and Eskkar nearly failed to raise his blade in time to parry the stroke.

The Sumerian king tried to raise his sword for another attack, but his arm muscles refused to obey, and Eskkar struck the weapon aside with his own. Shulgi flung himself forward, raising his shield and trying to smash into Eskkar and bring him to the ground.

Eskkar closed in, lowering his left shoulder and smashing his body against the shield. Shulgi, moving slower, couldn’t shift to the side as he done before. Eskkar’s weight now flung Shulgi backwards. The Sumerian’s heel caught on the outflung leg of a body and he crashed onto the trampled earth. The sword fell from his hand. Shulgi looked up, unable to lift his right arm, already growing weak from the blood loss that streamed down his right arm and side.

Shulgi tried to recover his sword, but Eskkar placed his left sandal on the blade, pinning it to the ground. He had to take two breaths before he could get control of his words. “I told your father

… he should have stayed in Sumer. You should have learned from what happened to him.”

Blood now soaked the ground beneath Shulgi’s arm. The Sumerian glanced at his right arm, already covered in blood, and then laughed. “A trick… to keep yourself alive. The mighty Eskkar.” He coughed, tried to laugh, then coughed again, this time spewing blood from his mouth onto his chest.

“Enough talk, Sumerian.” Eskkar thrust down, not with his sword, but with the lance in his left hand. The slim bronze tip tore into Shulgi’s throat and buried itself in the earth. His eyes bulged with pain, then rolled up into his head. The body twitched for a moment, then lay still. The boy king of Sumer had at least died bravely, fighting to the last. A warrior’s end, and better than his father’s.

Eskkar didn’t care. He straightened up, letting go of the lance, and looked around the circle of men. It had grown in depth, and it seemed as though half the Akkadian army had stopped and watched the brutal demise of Shulgi’s ambitions.

A cheer started, at first just a few men, then more, until everyone joined in. The realization that they had not only won the battle, but destroyed the enemy and killed its king sank in. They had survived and would live. The jubilation rose in intensity, until every voice shouted the same refrain. “Akkad! Akkad! Akkad!”

He let the chant go on, until their voices ran out of breath. Eskkar raised his sword, forcing himself to keep the blade steady. “You’ve won a mighty victory!” Another cheer answered him. “Now on to Sumer!”

This time the roar shook the battlefield. A new cry went up. “Death to Sumer! Death to Sumer!” It went on and on, this time accompanied by the clamor of men crashing swords against shields, until the sound came from every voice and floated from horizon to horizon on the warm air.

T wo miles away King Naxos of Isin sat on his horse, his advisor Kuara at his side. The two men had slipped out of the city, and ridden south before swinging around to the east, taking care not to be seen by the handful of Eskkar’s men still guarding the ditch. All over the horizon, they saw hundreds and hundreds of men running or riding away, all of them heading south. Many would flee to Isin, but Naxos had already given orders to admit only those who could prove they lived there.

Suddenly, a roar ascended into the heavens, a mighty cheer that echoed over the ground.

“That will be Shulgi’s death knell,” Kuara said, shaking his head in disgust. “His army is destroyed. Now Eskkar will march to Sumer and tear it down.”