Chapter 17: Battle

King Khamul waited impatiently for the city's gates to swing open, his magnificently arrayed war horse in striking contrast to Shantar's pony, and to the plain gear of the battle hardened veterans drawn up in serried ranks behind him. The inner gates with their facings of bronze had been swung back, and they could see the hordes of the enemy through the bars of the outer gate. Green clad officers shepherded green jacketed troops into position. Green pennants floated overhead, and in the distance they could see the cylindrical tower of a hastily erected temple to Kathool.

"You seem calm enough." Khamul's impatience had transmitted itself to his horse, making it dance nervously. "When will Orzad attack?"

"Not until Sholim's men are fully committed to their own attack on Talai. He will want to achieve the maximum possible shock effect, since he is bound to be badly outnumbered. Hill men don't fight well in solid ranks. They are happiest in real rough and tumble brawls where individual strength and skill count." Shantar rose in his stirrups to peer through the outer gate. "What in the name of all the Gods are they doing now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look at them! They're swinging the main mass of their reserves around with their backs to the ocean. I don't see what they expect to gain by it."

"Maybe they want their flank protected." Khamul shrugged, dismissing the problem. "We'll have to close this gate for now. Here comes the first wave of attackers."

Ranks of foot soldiers moved forward in a solid mass, screened by lines of horsemen. Finding no soldiers to oppose them, they swarmed forward, loosing flight after flight of arrows at the defenders atop the city walls. An arrow, arching high over the now closed gate, shattered on the pavement nearby. Shantar noted idly that its shaft had been notched so that it would break on impact and couldn't be used against its senders. As the first attack subsided, runners from all sections of the walls reported minimal damage.

"Where are those Hill men?" Khamul snarled, his smile of satisfaction changing to black anger. Before Shantar could answer, a shrill trumpet call rang out from one of the palace towers.

"They come now!" Shantar's face lit up with a wolfish grin, and he gripped his sword hilt tighter. The gates swung back with a brazen crash, and they charged out into the midst of their enemies.

"For the King and Talai!" The battle cry rang out as the corps of battle hardened soldiers clove through their massed opponents like an axe through soft cheese. Shantar lost all track of time, his bloody sword rising and falling in a terrible rhythm that struck fear into the hearts of the men who faced him. Beside him, Khamul cut and thrust with lightning like speed and precision, and his soldiers fanned out behind them like the faces of a bronze wedge. In the distance, they caught occasional glimpses of turmoil where a similar flying wedge of destruction moved toward them.

"They're falling back!" Khamul's shout could barely be heard above the sounds of battle. In the distance, shrill horns bleated. The opposing soldiers fell back even faster, swinging around with their backs to the sea to form a solid wall of men between their attackers and the hastily erected Temple of Kathool.

Shantar echoed Khamul's triumphant cry. The two attacking forces came together like the jaws of a trap, facing around to stand shoulder to shoulder against Sholim's army. Forming a dense line, they moved toward the green jacketed horde, moving with a grim unity of purpose that should have daunted the bravest foe. Closer and closer they drove toward the cylindrical tower. They could see clearly the green robed Sholim gesturing wildly as he commanded his generals to hold fast.

Shantar checked his pony, letting the horses to either side of him move ahead slightly. Tearing his short bow from where it hung from his saddle, he nocked an arrow and let it fly. A cry of triumph rose to his lips as the green robed priest fell backward, but it broke off in mid shout. All along the line of battle, clouds of greenish smoke were rolling toward them. The gentle sea breeze carried the vapor among them, and suddenly a deadly silence fell.

The surging strength drained from his muscles. To both sides, his fellow warriors sat their immobile horses like drooping straw figures. Somewhere in his mind a cry of 'Slave Drug' echoed dismally. A grinning lout of a green clad soldier cut Khamul down with a single thrust of his gory spear and turned toward him, but from some deep well of strength Shantar managed to pull at his pony's reins.

The beast turned sluggishly, moving at a jarring lope with no regard for obstacles. With fingers that seemed cast from lead he sawed at the reins, guiding his uncaring steed past dimly sensed fences and trees. A vague feeling of purpose kept him going, moving always toward the snow capped range of hills that loomed in the middle distance. His pony kept up the same bone jarring lope until at last, in the fast gathering tropical night, it stumbled over an unseen obstacle. It staggered on for a few more steps before collapsing in a twitching heap, too tired, too numbed by the slave drug to get to its feet. Shantar lay where the fall had pitched him, letting the drug that coursed through his veins claim him at last.