Quest for Honour (38 page)

Kushanna looked forward to his return. Perhaps by then, she would have learned all there was to know about Lady Trella. Possibly even enough to have her killed. There was, after all, plenty of poison in the box.

M
id-morning had come and gone before Eskkar arrived at the barracks, his long strides forcing his guards to hurry to keep pace. He hated being late, especially over such a petty interruption as the one he had just left behind. A dispute between two traders had escalated into a pushing and shoving match, which brought them before Nicar, in his role as Chief Judge of Akkad. For once, even Nicar’s conciliatory skills had not managed to resolve the issue, and both sides had demanded an appeal before the king.

After three years of settling many foolish disputes, Eskkar had learned to control his temper and keep his patience. Today’s crisis, however, required him to keep from laughing. The two men involved, both prosperous merchants, had practically come to blows over a prospective virgin bride. The girl’s father had somehow managed to offer his daughter in marriage to both belligerents. The man who first received the promise demanded the girl at the original and agreed upon price. The second potential husband had entered the fray soon after, offering more coins for the girl. Naturally, the father had changed his mind as to his choice of suitors.

The men involved caught up with Eskkar just as he departed the compound for the barracks, and insisted on their case being heard right there in the lane. While the two traders exchanged insults and threats, the father demanded his right to sell his daughter to whomever he pleased, and the girl alternated between sobbing at her embarrassment or shrieking at her father. It seemed she preferred the first suitor, but Eskkar couldn’t be sure.

His first thought, which he decided to keep to himself, was that whoever won the girl would be overpaying and getting a poor bargain.

By then the crowd included the families of the two prospective husbands, the father of the girl involved, and a few dozen onlookers as excited as if they were watching a wrestling match. The onlookers voiced their own opinions, calling out one or the other’s name, each faction trying to outshout the other. A few placed bets on the outcome. At last Eskkar made his ruling. The girl was to go to the first suitor, but the father was ordered to pay half the dowry to the second man, because he’d offered something for sale that he didn’t have, a clear violation of the marketplace rules.

Howls arose over the harsh ruling, but Eskkar ignored that. The next time a foolish dispute cropped up, those seeking settlement might remember and accept the Chief Judge’s decision.

By the time everything resolved itself and Eskkar could slip away, the sun had moved high in the sky, and no one appeared satisfied, except perhaps the red-faced virgin and most of the onlookers, who always enjoyed watching someone else’s discomfort. Eskkar’s good mood had vanished into a black cloud of anger that showed itself on his usually calm face.

With Grond at his side, Eskkar entered the training ground and strode to where Gatus sat on his tall stool, taking advantage of a sliver of shade cast by the barracks. On the wall just behind Gatus and his stool, a charcoal outline of a man had been scratched into the mud. A small table stood nearby. Two young men Eskkar didn’t recognize sat in the dirt beside Gatus. A few dozen paces away, half a dozen skinny youths waited with barely suppressed excitement, staring open mouthed at the king of Akkad.

Eskkar caught the look on Gatus’s face, and knew the old soldier was tempted to remark about the lateness of the hour. Gatus resisted the urge, probably only because there were so many young recruits around.

“We were delayed by the Chief Justice, Gatus,” Grond called out as they approached, thereby avoiding Eskkar having to say something that might sound like an apology.

“No matter.” Gatus slid off the stool, and paused a moment to adjust his tunic. “At my age, I need the rest anyway.”

“What have you got for me?” Eskkar asked, aware that his voice sounded harsh. He took a deep breath. No sense taking things out on Gatus and these men, older boys, actually, and probably too young to know what they were getting into.

“I’ve found a few slingers for you.” Gatus nodded his head toward the two young men beside him. They scrambled to their feet as soon as they saw Eskkar. “They’re ready to give you a demonstration.”

Eskkar appraised the two. Both wore ragged clothing, tunics either too small or too large, both patched and worn through in spots. Each had long and wiry arms. Neither man came up to Eskkar’s shoulder in height, and he guessed their age as about fifteen or sixteen seasons, barely enough to be considered a man, even in Akkad.

Gatus stretched his arm and pointed to the closest one. “This is Nivar.”

Nivar had long brown hair tied back with a bit of leather.

“Shappa has fifteen seasons,” Gatus said, gesturing toward the other. “He’s the older, so I’ve put him in charge of Nivar and the others for now. They’re the first of your detachment of slingers, if ever there is such a thing. As for the rest of them,” he jerked his head toward the others standing nearby, “we’ll see.”

Eskkar ignored Gatus’s remark, in part because he knew the old soldier was as interested as Eskkar in learning if slingers could play a part in Akkad’s growing army. Nevertheless, Eskkar had proposed this idea, and he didn’t intend to change his mind now, no matter how foolish it might turn out to be. He studied the two slingers. For a moment, he was reminded of Tammuz, a skinny thief who had disobeyed orders, taken a bow, and killed an Alur Meriki warrior in the first battle to save the city.

Another of Trella’s sayings came to mind. If a thing is worth doing, then do it as well as you can. It was her idea, after all, to make use of Tammuz, and that had worked out well, despite Eskkar’s misgivings.

He walked over to the table and picked up one the slings. Eskkar hadn’t touched one of these since his boyhood, when he’d used one to hunt rabbits and other small game for his mother’s cooking pot. This sling was longer, with a shaped leather pouch at the end of two long strands of flaxen cords. The cords, he noticed, were made of thinner, plaited strands that felt supple to the touch. One end of the cord ended in a small loop, the other in a thick knot. The pouch differed as well. Square-shaped, but fastened at opposite corners, the remaining points faced up and down. It had a hole the thickness of his thumb in the center.

“Well, Nivar and Shappa, I’m glad Gatus found you. Perhaps we can convince old Gatus that slings can be as deadly as an arrow, and even more useful in other ways.”

The boys bowed, and only Shappa managed to mumble a greeting. They were clearly in awe of Eskkar, who towered over them both. In fact, everyone appeared tense, not sure what would be asked of them. He decided to relieve the tension a bit.

“Did I ever tell you, Gatus, about the time I was nearly killed by a slinger?” Eskkar raised his voice so that everyone could hear. “The stone flew right past my ear and splintered against a cliff face.” He didn’t add that it was a woman who’d nearly split his head.

“It would take a dozen stones to dent your head, Eskkar,” Gatus said.

Grond laughed, while the boys standing close enough to hear gaped in shock at the rude jest directed at their king.

“It’s true.” Eskkar ignored the remark. “Then another time, I was on horseback and a . . . man nearly unhorsed me with a sling.” He’d almost said the word “shepherd”, but decided that it didn’t sound very impressive to admit he’d almost been killed fighting a sheep herder over a band of foul-smelling sheep.

“But you survived,” Gatus said. “So the slinger’s stones didn’t bother you too much.”

“No, but they made me change my tactics, and that’s why I want to see what can be done with these men.” He turned to Shappa. “Show me what you can do.”

Shappa took the sling from Eskkar’s hand, and selected three slightly oval stones about the size of a fat walnut from a pouch at his waist. The boy could scarcely control his excitement. He slipped the middle finger of his right hand into the loop and grasped the knot of the other stand between thumb and forefinger. He dropped a stone into the pouch, and started walking away from the wall.

Everyone moved with him, leaving the wall empty. Two of the boys carried the table well to the side, and Gatus picked up his stool and took it with him.

Shappa stopped about forty paces from the wall, and looked at Gatus.

“Go ahead.” He settled himself on the stool once again.

The slinger turned slightly away from the target, with his left hand closest to the wall. The pouch hung straight down from his hand. With a snap of the wrist, Shappa spun the sling toward the ground, stepping forward and extending his right arm as he released the cord.

A shower of mud showed where the stone impacted, close to the center of the target’s body. For the first time, Eskkar noticed the many
pock marks in the wall. Gatus must have had the boys practicing for some time.

Eskkar frowned. He’d been unprepared for the swiftness of the throw, and had missed what Shappa had done. “Again,” he ordered.

Shappa picked up another projectile, with all of Eskkar’s attention focused this time. As the stone fell into the pouch, he understood the reason for the hole in the center – to give the pouch a better grip on the projectile, making it less likely to slip out during the rotation. Odd that he’d never thought of that as a child, nor had anyone else in the clan. This time the slinger whipped the sling around twice, releasing the stone before the second whirl had been completed, again stepping forward with an overhand throwing motion.

With another spray of mud fragments, the second stone landed just below the gouge the first had made. Two good casts, Eskkar decided, but nothing that he couldn’t have duplicated with a bow. He pushed that thought from his mind. Comparing bowmen to slingers made no sense. He didn’t intend to use slingers as bowmen. These boys weren’t strong enough, and the bows and arrows his archers required took plenty of gold to construct and the men months to train.

No one said anything, but every eye was fixed on Eskkar. He looked at Gatus, but the man had occupied himself cleaning a fingernail. Eskkar turned back to Shappa. “How fast can you make a throw?”

Shappa moved toward Nivar, who had brought a handful of stones with him. The slinger selected three stones, and then stepped back to his original position. He dropped the first stone in the sling, and this time he turned to Eskkar.

“Begin.” Again Eskkar focused his attention on the slinger.

The sling swung round, the stone released at the top of the swing. As the pouch descended, the release strap flying through the air, Shappa extended his left hand, a stone held in his fingers. The still-whirling pouch closed over the second stone, the trailing release strap swung back to the slinger’s right hand. He caught the knot and applied another powerful spin to the sling. The second stone was launched toward the target, while Shappa’s left hand extended once again into the pouch’s path. The third stone soon flew on its way.

Eskkar realized his mouth was open, and closed it. He’d never seen anything like that before, still didn’t believe what his eyes had just told him. In fact, if anyone boasted they could reload a pouch like that, he
would have thought him a liar. Eskkar guessed that the three stones had been launched before a man could count to five. Even Mitrac and his arrows couldn’t match that speed, but of course, the arrow’s flight had much greater range. Or did it?

“How far can you cast such a stone?”

“With a good chance of a hit, King Eskkar, about seventy-five paces,” Shappa answered, looking more confident now that he’d proved his skill. “But with smaller stones, I’ve hit targets at double that distance.”

That matched the distances an Akkadian archer had to hit his targets – three out of four at seventy-five paces, and two out of five at one hundred and fifty. Mitrac and some of the other master bowmen could hit targets at over four hundred paces, something else Eskkar once wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

“Can you do better? Can the range of throws be extended?”

“No, my lord, not easily. The stones vary in weight and shape too much to make a perfect cast each time.”

“Do it again,” Eskkar said. “And this time do it slower, and explain what you’re doing at every step.”

He made the boy do it twice more, until Eskkar felt certain he understood the process. Then he turned to Nivar. “Let me see what you can do.”

“Underhand, Nivar,” Gatus called out, still sitting on his stool.

Nivar stepped forward and took Shappa’s place. Where the first slinger had shown a calm demeanor, Nivar could scarcely conceal his excitement. The stone slipped from his fingers when he tried to drop it into the pouch. To Eskkar’s surprise, not one of the onlookers laughed. Everyone kept silent, except Gatus, who scratched his beard noisily.

Nivar faced the target, his body turned slightly to the side in the same position as Shappa. This time the sling swung the opposite way, but the projectile flung itself forward almost as quickly. When the stone struck the target, it was still traveling at an upwards angle. A good shot, and just as much mud had blasted off the wall.