have but a single chance and needs must be well placed to do it!"
Nereb turned to them with an intent look. "You both believe that your archers could break such a charge?" he half challenged.
"It is as Kheti has said. The ground must be right, the archers posted properly, and it must be well timed—there would only be an instant or two in which all would be just right. But—given those instants, aye, even a gang of Kush raiders could cause you trouble. Nubian bows have both the power and the range."
"You may have to make good that boast," warned the other.
"It is no boast, Lord," Rahotep returned. "I have seen Hori of my command drive an arrow clear through an oryx while it fled. And all of my men are proven marksmen."
Nereb left them to report to his superiors, and it seemed that they were not to have an early opportunity to prove their skill and so win formal admission to the ranks before them. The archers grew restless, grumbling in half whispers. And those whispers became pointed criticism at the performance of a company of bowmen using the shorter bow of the north and shooting at targets the Nubians viewed with open contempt. Only his presence, Rahotep knew, kept those comments from being voiced aloud.
He was heartily tired of breathing dust, baking in the sun, and standing without employment, when a runner dodged around a company of spearmen, to reach the Scout archers.
"Lord," he panted to the captain. "Pharaoh would look upon you—come!"
They followed the messenger at a jog trot in a zigzag path to avoid chariots and footmen, until they came up before a platform on which was a folding stool under a sun canopy. Two fanbearers kept the sultry air moving over the blue war helmet of the man who sat there. Captain and archers alike, they prostrated themselves before the Lord of the Two Lands.
"Pharaoh would see the power of your arms, Captain. Let your men fire at the targets." It was the Prince Kamose who advanced to relay the order. And Rahotep, not daring to look up at the face beneath that blue helmet, worked his way backward through the dust until it was permissible to rise and face the stuffed cowhide bags being set up on the range.
He frowned at the shortness of that range and, forgetting everything but the necessity of doing their best, waved the targets back and yet back again, though the men setting them were agitated at his gestures.
"Each man will fire in turn," he said to Kheti, "and then two volleys together upon signal."
"Even so, Lord," the other agreed and passed along the order.
One after another the Nubians stepped to the line, the huge bows were bent, and arrows sang through the air, to be buried feather-deep in the hide targets. Kheti took his place, and, last of all, Rahotep, the silver bracer winking on his hand. Though his bow was less than these his men carried, it was made to the same pattern and his aim was as good.
Then, as one man, the archers drew into a level line, Kheti at one end, Rahotep at the other. The captain threw a quick glance along the line and then his lips shaped a whistle. Twelve arrows flew almost as one, and all twelve hit the targets. A hum of comment arose from the watching officers and men, but a messenger came from Pharaoh's platform.
"It is Pharaoh's will that you fire against moving targets now," the officer told Rahotep. "They shall release birds from a net. Let your men be ready."
What followed was much like the exhibition they had given Nereb on the Nile ship. None of the birds got across the field to freedom. And Rahotep was given orders to approach the platform once again. He stood with bowed head to hear the Lord of the Two Lands speak for the first time.
"It is pleasing that Captain Rahotep and his men be taken into our service. Let them be enrolled as Scouts attached to the troops of the Prince Kamose."
"Life! Prosperity! Health!" Rahotep voiced the conventional answer. "May the Son of Re live forever!"
He was turning over in his hands with a
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