shattering bone, smashing flesh and battering the heart to pulp. It was meant to be a death blow. The mace weighed no less than half a hundred kilos. Flung with that force from a galloping horse, it would have struck Vasudeva with ten times that weight on impact.
Vasudeva raised his crook just in time to meet the oncoming mace.
It turned to pulp.
Kamsa saw the solid metal crumple as if striking against a house-sized boulder, heard the sound of the metal being crushed, and saw the mace wilt like a flower sprayed with poison. It thumped to the ground, no more than a piece of twisted metal.
Kamsa roared his fury.
Then he turned and pointed at the companyof archers who stood staring in disbelief at the extraordinary proceedings.
‘ARCHERS! RAISE YOUR BOWS!’
He had to repeat the order twice more before they obeyed; even so, they moved sluggishly, like men under water. One of them remained gaping open-mouthed and Kamsa vented his fury by pulling out another javelin from its sheath on his saddle and flinging it at the man. The javelin punched through the archer’s neck and came out the other side in an explosion of blood and gristle, almost decapitating the man. His body fell, shuddering and spitting blood from the horrific wound for several moments, accompanied by a wet gurgling sound as the air in his lungs was expelled out of the severed throat. After that, the archers moved more efficiently, their years of training and relentless discipline taking over their numbed minds.
‘AIM!’ Kamsa shouted. The target was obvious.
The officer commanding the company of archers called out in alarm. ‘Sire, if we miss our mark, we shall hit our own!’ The danger was obvious: in a field crowded with their own compatriots, the arrows were bound to overshoot their mark and strike friendly bodies.
Kamsa didn’t care.‘LOOSE!’ he cried.
White-faced and blinking, the archers let loose their arrows.
Over three dozen longbow arrows flew through the air at Vasudeva and his companion. This time, Vasudeva did not even bother to raise the crook. There was no way he could block forty arrows with a single stick.
But he faced the barrage calmly. His face had progressed from the expression of wonderment that Kamsa had seen earlier to a look of acceptance. It was almost beatific in its calmness.
The arrows shattered in mid-air as if striking an invisible wall.
Blue light sparked where their points struck nothingness.
Vasudeva’s companion flinched, then stared around in amazement as splinters fell around them in a harmless shower.
Kamsa screamed with frustration. ‘AGAIN!’ he cried.‘LOOSE AGAIN!’ Another barrage. The same result. Kamsa lost his senses completely.
He pointed at the cart, yelling, ‘ATTACK! KILL THEM BOTH!’
But not a soldier moved on the field. The archers lowered their bows, ashen-faced. Those nearest to the cart gazed up in amazement. Several joined their palms together in namaskar, as if paying darshan to a deity in a temple.
Kamsa rode forward, striking these men down, crushing them under his horse’s hooves.
He whipped others, roared again and again. ‘ATTACK! I COMMAND IT. ATTACK!’
But not one man of the thousand moved to obey.
Kamsa rode around in a red rage, killing and maiming his own men. Unable to get them to respond to his commands, he took a fresh sword and hacked them down where they stood. He killed at random, not bothering to check if the man was dead, leaving many mortally wounded. None cried out, none protested. All gazed at Vasudeva and joined their palms in awe, dying without argument.
sixteen
Finally, with dozens of his own soldiers lying in bloody splotches on the field, Kamsa’s anger dissipated.
He leaned over the mane of his horse, pressing his hand down on its neck, the blade of his sword dripping blood. He was more exhausted than after a battle.
He looked up at Vasudeva at last.
‘I accept,’ he said in a voice unlike himself. ‘I will respect the terms of
Vasudeva raised his crook just in time to meet the oncoming mace.
It turned to pulp.
Kamsa saw the solid metal crumple as if striking against a house-sized boulder, heard the sound of the metal being crushed, and saw the mace wilt like a flower sprayed with poison. It thumped to the ground, no more than a piece of twisted metal.
Kamsa roared his fury.
Then he turned and pointed at the companyof archers who stood staring in disbelief at the extraordinary proceedings.
‘ARCHERS! RAISE YOUR BOWS!’
He had to repeat the order twice more before they obeyed; even so, they moved sluggishly, like men under water. One of them remained gaping open-mouthed and Kamsa vented his fury by pulling out another javelin from its sheath on his saddle and flinging it at the man. The javelin punched through the archer’s neck and came out the other side in an explosion of blood and gristle, almost decapitating the man. His body fell, shuddering and spitting blood from the horrific wound for several moments, accompanied by a wet gurgling sound as the air in his lungs was expelled out of the severed throat. After that, the archers moved more efficiently, their years of training and relentless discipline taking over their numbed minds.
‘AIM!’ Kamsa shouted. The target was obvious.
The officer commanding the company of archers called out in alarm. ‘Sire, if we miss our mark, we shall hit our own!’ The danger was obvious: in a field crowded with their own compatriots, the arrows were bound to overshoot their mark and strike friendly bodies.
Kamsa didn’t care.‘LOOSE!’ he cried.
White-faced and blinking, the archers let loose their arrows.
Over three dozen longbow arrows flew through the air at Vasudeva and his companion. This time, Vasudeva did not even bother to raise the crook. There was no way he could block forty arrows with a single stick.
But he faced the barrage calmly. His face had progressed from the expression of wonderment that Kamsa had seen earlier to a look of acceptance. It was almost beatific in its calmness.
The arrows shattered in mid-air as if striking an invisible wall.
Blue light sparked where their points struck nothingness.
Vasudeva’s companion flinched, then stared around in amazement as splinters fell around them in a harmless shower.
Kamsa screamed with frustration. ‘AGAIN!’ he cried.‘LOOSE AGAIN!’ Another barrage. The same result. Kamsa lost his senses completely.
He pointed at the cart, yelling, ‘ATTACK! KILL THEM BOTH!’
But not a soldier moved on the field. The archers lowered their bows, ashen-faced. Those nearest to the cart gazed up in amazement. Several joined their palms together in namaskar, as if paying darshan to a deity in a temple.
Kamsa rode forward, striking these men down, crushing them under his horse’s hooves.
He whipped others, roared again and again. ‘ATTACK! I COMMAND IT. ATTACK!’
But not one man of the thousand moved to obey.
Kamsa rode around in a red rage, killing and maiming his own men. Unable to get them to respond to his commands, he took a fresh sword and hacked them down where they stood. He killed at random, not bothering to check if the man was dead, leaving many mortally wounded. None cried out, none protested. All gazed at Vasudeva and joined their palms in awe, dying without argument.
sixteen
Finally, with dozens of his own soldiers lying in bloody splotches on the field, Kamsa’s anger dissipated.
He leaned over the mane of his horse, pressing his hand down on its neck, the blade of his sword dripping blood. He was more exhausted than after a battle.
He looked up at Vasudeva at last.
‘I accept,’ he said in a voice unlike himself. ‘I will respect the terms of
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