Sword Destiny by Robert Leader

sides allowed for no chance to rest. They attacked each other savagely while the fighting continued to rage all around them.
    Salim had the advantages of weight and muscle power, while Tuluq was tall and lean with a cat-like speed. In single combat, Tuluq would have been the faster, but in the crush of battle they were forced close and Salim’s greater strength was telling in the exchange of blows. For a moment they were pushed almost chest-to-chest, and Salim took the opportunity to slam his helmet forward in a massive head butt. As their steel-crowned heads crashed together, the sharp edge of the short bar that protected the bridge of Salim’s nose cut deep into Tuluq’s cheek.
    Tuluq was flung backward, his cheek split to the bone, his senses reeling as much as his body. Instinctively he knew that he was fatally exposed, and in desperation, he whirled blindly with his sword as he spun full circle. There was no skill in the move, but the gods smiled and he was lucky. Salim had drawn back his elbow for the killing lunge when Tuluq’s sword was unexpectedly flung round to take him in the neck. Blood spurted as his throat was severed and Salim was stopped dead. He rocked for a moment on his heels and then toppled backward like a felled oak.
    There was a pause in the battle, a moment of silence, and then a roar of terrible rage. Ranjit had seen his brother fall and he too leaped down from his chariot and ran forward with a dreadful lust for revenge. Tuluq saw the equally massive figure charging toward him like the tormented ghost of the man he had just killed. It was too much and Tuluq fled. He reached his chariot and scrambled aboard, snatching for the reins and slapping them furiously at the flanks of his two horses. He looked back over his shoulder to see Ranjit brandishing his sword and bawling at him to come back, but for this day’s fighting, he’d had enough.
    As Tuluq quit the field, the attack upon the bridge faltered and broke up. The men of Maghalla and Kanju fought their way out from the bridge and began to retreat along the bank of the Mahanadi. Ranjit’s house warriors decimated them and the rout became flight.
    Zarin was pressing home his attack upon Nirad with almost total concentration, sensing that the younger man was rapidly weakening and realized too late that something was amiss. As his supporters melted away, he flicked a surprised glance over his shoulder. For Nirad, it was a last chance, but it was enough and with a final flash of inspired swordplay, he ran Zarin through. The prince of Karakhor and the prince of Maghalla and Kanju both looked as though they could not quite believe the outcome and Zarin died with that look of startled uncertainty still on his face.
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    Jahan and Sardar fought with the ferocity of tigers, attacking and retreating in turn, each man trying to wear the other down. They were evenly matched. Where Jahan’s extra years may have slowed him down, his longer reach and accumulated skill more than made up the balance. Sardar was beginning to swing more wildly, but Jahan was finding that his sword was becoming heavier and his breathing harsher and harder. The fight between them was still in the balance as they slugged it out sword to sword, but even in the thick of the fight, Jahan’s senses were finely tuned to all that was happening around him. That was his undoing, for gradually he became aware that there was another threat to his beloved city.
    The sounds of battle were too still all around them, and yet from the direction of the city bridge he could hear the ring of steel and shouts of excitement. Another man might have missed those sounds with the non-stop clashing of his own blade and that of his opponent deafening his ears, but not Jahan. He knew that he had been drawn out for more than one reason. Sardar intended to kill him, but also he had been used as a distraction.
    The circle of watching faces was not totally intent on