Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 20

          It was when a band of finely clad warriors emerged from the tents of the confederates that I knew true challenge was brewing. 

         This new group donned helmets of bronze or steel atop white or red turbans.

          More than one of them had the luxury of a shirt of mail. Those who didn't wore at least a leather jerkin, which also suggested a warrior of rank. These men were not petulant, they did not hop from one foot to another like apes, they did not exchange useless words with us. These were evidently hardened men, seasoned warriors. More joined them, and slowly yet surely, they formed two formidable lines of warriors, faces dark and shadowed in their helmets, bodies stiff in fighting stances.

         The man in charge of our unit was slow to react and by the time we were ordered to loose our arrows at them, they had drawn their shields, still on the far bank.

         Their formation was incredible, unlike anything I had ever seen before! Each man's shield was interlocked with that of his neighbor – the right side overlapping his neighbor's left, and so forth. The second rank of men, however, raised their shields high as they crouched, protecting the heads of the men of the front rank. A shield wall of sorts. Resembling a turtle's shell!

         And their pace was that of a turtle as well, it seemed. One slow step followed another, each one accompanied by a deep-throated grunt as the disciplined warriors advanced in unison. They did not exchange insults with us nor did they display overwhelming foolishness by isolating themselves from their group to call out for a duel as the others before them had. They were disciplined. Determined.

         They were warriors.

         I shivered again. Only this time it was not the cold.

         "Loose!" the order was barked.

          But our attempts were fruitless. Our arrows hurled away, but they found only the wood, leather or alabaster of enemy shields, decorated with cow skins and animal hides.

          The shield wall continued to lurch into motion, pelted with arrows that could have been as effective as wasp stings. Their impressive formation did not break even when they clambered down their bank and into the trench full to bursting with rainwater, corpse, blood and debris.

          They waded through the rainwater and stepped over the rotting corpses of fallen comrades. More arrows whizzed past, but as they progressed, I could see no fresh corpses discarded behind.

          A fresh drizzle of rain patted down just then. I wiped the drops away, clearing my vision. There was yelling behind us, demanding for us to part. We acquiesced, and I turned to see five men coming forward, rolling the usual boulders before them.

         With heavy grunts, they heaved the boulders off the cliff with, all five of them tumbling down toward the approaching warriors. The boulders rumbled and jutted, finally crashing down into the firm formation.

        Three boulders rolled away wayward, a distance from the intended target. One of them crushed several men on the right side, and the other had a similar effect on two men in the center. Their screams of horror echoed in the ditch below, and the usual crunching and snapping of bones followed.

       Their bodies were left twisted and grotesque at the heels of their comrades, their blood turning the rainwater of the trench a dirty pink. I thought I could see brains floating as well.

        But it was too little too late.

        The men in the front rank of the shield were already clambering up the bank to our side, I realized with alarm.