Off to his right, Sargon glimpsed the shadowy bulk of Skala as he swung up onto his horse. He waited only a moment for his men to follow his action, then he launched the attack. By then the five Ur Nammu riders had closed to within a hundred paces from the herd.
Shouting their frightening war cries, Skala and his riders splashed across the stream and charged into the corral. The single strand of rope burst under the stress of Skala’s mount, and then the warriors were deep in the midst of the horse herd.
Sargon saw the warriors’ swords flashing in the night, rising and falling, their edges glinting in the dim light of the nearest campfire. Skala’s men never stopped sounding their war cries or attacking the horses. To the sleeping Carchemishi, Skala’s handful of men probably sounded like a hundred.
The horses screamed in pain, as the swords cut into their bodies. Not killing strokes, but slashing cuts meant to wound and frighten the suddenly aroused brutes.
Sargon’s string of animals reacted as well, tossing their heads and pawing the ground. The animals had caught the excitement. He found himself fighting with all his strength to hold onto the halters. With the need for silence gone, Sargon spoke aloud the calming words Garal had taught him, as he struggled to keep the animals under control.
Makko, too, had the same problem, though he mixed a few curses in with his attempts to keep his string from breaking loose. With a savage jerk from Makko’s left hand, he brought the most troublesome mount under control. “Follow me, Sargon.” Makko started walking down the slope and toward the camp.
Sargon did the same, and found the animals much easier to handle when he led them forward. The dumb brutes wanted to be doing something, and they always felt safe when a warrior guided them, especially following in the track of more horses. Besides, the ululating war cries of the warriors was a familiar sound to them. Still, Sargon’s hands burned from the ropes, and he kept his grip tight. He would not let one horse escape no matter what.
Moving forward gave him a better view of the chaos in the enemy camp. Sargon saw Chinua and his seven warriors spread out in a line, each about ten paces apart. They were calmly shooting arrows into the camp, shooting at every good target, and especially anyone who appeared to be trying to get the soldiers under control.
Sargon saw that this was far easier than any target practice he’d taken. Chinua’s men were practically at the edge of the stream, and they were striking at targets less than twenty or thirty paces from them.
The horses, driven mad with fear or pain, had burst through the far side of their rope corral and into the camp, trampling or knocking aside anything in their path. Nothing could halt the terrified animals now, and they swept through the camp, heedless of anyone in their path. If the enemy noticed the handful of warriors urging them on, it didn’t really matter. Before they could react, the horses had vanished into the darkness on the far side of the camp.
Inside what remained of the camp, pandemonium ruled. Jerked awake from a sound sleep, many enemy soldiers were caught in the path of the stampeding horses, their hooves pounding into the earth. Everyone seemed to be shouting at someone. Others fumbled for their weapons, but no alarm had been given, and at first some weren’t sure they were under attack.
When they realized that arrows were cutting them down, they found themselves unable to see their attackers, who shot at them from the darkness. The looming shadow of the mountain still served its purpose even this close to the camp.
One of the Carchemish soldiers near the campfire tossed an armful of dry grass on the nearest watch fire. The flames shot up, and Sargon realized that a pile of combustible grass and twigs had been prepared for an emergency. But this time it worked only in favor of the Ur Nammu, revealing the men in the camp stumbling about as they tried to comprehend what had happened. Chinua’s bowmen had even better light to shoot by.
Sargon realized most of the enemy soldiers not yet fully grasped the situation. Their first thoughts were of a stampede. Only when they heard the war cries and saw their companions dropping with arrows in their chests did they realize they were under attack.
Chinua and his men shot every arrow in their quiver with their usual speed, aiming each shot with care. With the extra shafts from Skala’s men, that meant about twenty to twenty-five arrows from each warrior. Knowing how fast a warrior could loose a missile, Sargon did the sum. Probably two hundred and twenty arrows were launched, in less time than a man could count to eighty.
The horses were long gone by then, the entire herd driven right through the camp. Sargon never heard Chinua’s signal, but suddenly Makko trotted forward, dragging his string of mounts, and Sargon followed. Now arrows were flying from the camp into the darkness, as a few of the enemy soldiers finally realized they were under attack and brought their weapons into action.
But they were shooting at shadows and noises. Chinua’s men had already fallen back, racing toward Sargon and Makko. Sargon heard the frightening hiss of arrows overhead, but none landed near him.
Then hands were grasping the halter ropes from Sargon’s grip. A few warriors found time to laugh among themselves as they swung onto their mounts. As soon as he handed off the last halter, Sargon jumped astride his own horse, clinging tight to the animal’s mane.
Chinua led the way, as the warriors galloped off to the east. Sargon saw the first rays of dawn reaching up into the sky, giving the horses a chance to pick their way.
In moments they had left the carnage behind them, though the din of shouting men and the cries of the wounded could still be heard. Less than quarter of a mile from the camp, they slowed to cross the stream. A rumble of hoof beats sounded to their right and Sargon caught sight of a shadowy herd of horses galloping in the same direction, at least thirty or forty animals.
Skala moved up in Sargon’s estimation. He would never have believed that five riders could control so many half-crazed animals in the dark.
“Skala did well.”
Sargon turned to find Garal riding beside him, the warrior’s white teeth gleaming in the growing dawn. With a shock, Sargon realized that Garal continued to keep an eye on him.
Up ahead, Chinua slowed their pace, and spoke to each of the men in his band. Only one warrior had taken a wound, an arrow that had grazed his neck. By now they were over a mile from the camp. Chinua shouted out the order to halt, and the healer moved up to wrap a strip of cloth around the wounded man’s throat.
No one bothered to dismount. Excitement rippled through their ranks. They had raided a much larger force and not lost a single man.
Sargon watched as Skala and the stolen herd moved ahead. The warrior would let the animals run until they grew tired. Then they would be easier to control.
“How soon before they start after us?”
Garal laughed, as jubilant as the others. “Not long. But first they’ll have to recapture some horses.”
“With so many men, that won’t take too long.”
“Oh, yes, we’re in for a hard chase and a long ride. But with the mounts Skala stole, we should each be able to ride two or three horses. We’ll keep ahead of them.”
Chinua shouted out the order to get moving. The sun had risen, and now the horses could see their footing clearly. Chinua followed the course taken by Skala’s horses.
Just before they rode out of sight of the enemy camp, Sargon took one last look back. No one pursued them. Not yet. But he knew the Carchemishi were going to be very angry, and they had a large force of fighters, far more men than the Ur Nammu. Sargon wondered what Subutai would do when he heard the news.
24
Three days later, a little after midafternoon, Chinua’s war party rode over the crest of a hill and saw the Ur Nammu camp below. Sargon eased his horse to a stop, as Chinua halted the party for a few moments, to give each man a chance to enjoy the sight of home. Every man, gaunt, hungry, and dog tired, breathed a sigh of relief. They had pushed the horses as hard as they could each day.