Quest for Honour by Sam Barone Page A

Sumerian cavalry. Those who had attacked their camp had no mounts. More important, the Sumerians would be expecting their horsemen to rejoin them, and might assume that this was part of their own force. When the Sumerians realized their mistake, it wouldn’t matter. Hathor would give the order to charge. He had no doubt that his thirty horsemen, fresh and well armed, could scatter these poorly armed, exhausted, and thirsty opponents.
    Their slow approach lulled the Sumerians. Men sank back to the ground, apparently relieved that they would not have to fight or run again. Hathor’s eye caught sight of four horses. If these men still had mounts, they must belong to the Sumerian commanders, else they would have vanished long ago.
    “Bowmen,” Hathor said, “I don’t want those horses or their riders to get away. Make sure they don’t.”
    Two men moved out in front of the Sumerians. One was tall and lean, and dressed in a blue tunic that even at a distance stood out from the rest. He stood with one hand on the hilt of his sword, while the other waved Hathor forward, impatience showing in his every movement.
    Hathor and his men drew within a hundred and fifty paces before the man’s eyes widened in surprise. Close enough, Hathor decided. He needed some space to get the horses up to speed.
    “Attack!” Hathor kicked his horse into a run and tightened his legs around the animal’s body. In moments, the powerful animal raced over the ground, hooves pounding, ears flat, as excited as its rider. Hathor’s sword flashed from its sheath, and he raised it up over his head and swung it around. “Attack! Akkad! Attack!”
    As they’d been trained, the Akkadians shouted their war cries at the top of their lungs as they urged their horses forward.
    “Akkad! Eskkar!”
    The words struck fear into the Sumerians. Those standing turned and ran, already two steps ahead of those who had to first scramble to their feet. Hathor directed his horse straight at the man in the blue tunic, who turned and fled toward the horses waiting nearby. In a few long strides, the shoulder of Hathor’s horse crashed into the man’s back, knocking him to the ground. Then the Akkadians, still screaming their war cries, charged into the fleeing men.
    Swords rose and fell, blood spurted into the air. Men screamed in agony, struck by sharp blades, knocked aside by the horses, or justtrampled underfoot. Again and again swords descended, each strike eliciting a cry of pain. A few Sumerians tried to fight, but a tired and thirsty man on foot had little chance against a sword swung down from a horse. Even those Sumerians untouched by any weapon were affected, the age-old fear of men on foot caught from behind by mounted warriors.
    In moments the Akkadians had swept through the scattering enemy, leaving a trail of bloody bodies. Hathor yanked hard on the halter, turned his horse around, then kicked it into a run once again. He rode straight toward the enemy horses. Tied to a bush, they had panicked at all the noise and the scent of blood, struggling wildly against the ropes that held them. One broke free and bolted back toward the north. A Sumerian struggled to untie another animal when Hathor struck him down. An Akkadian arrow slew another who flung himself across a horse and tried to escape.
    “You!” Hathor shouted at the man who’d fired the killing arrow. “Guard these horses! Let no one near them!”
    The Egyptian scanned the battleground. Bodies littered the earth, many of them shrieking in pain from their wounds. His horsemen had dispersed all over the area, already reduced to chasing down individuals trying to flee. Hathor ignored all the killing. His men knew what to do. They would finish off every man they could, until their horses could go no further.
    Dismounting, he tied his mount’s halter to the same bush that had restrained the Sumerian horses. He had time to give the animal a friendly pat on its shoulder before he walked back to the edge