by Sam Barone
Eskkar appraised the two. Both wore ragged clothing, tunics either too small or too large, both patched and worn through in spots. Each had long and wiry arms. Neither man came up to Eskkar’s shoulder in height, and he guessed their age as about fifteen or sixteen seasons, barely enough to be considered a man, even in Akkad.
Gatus stretched his arm and pointed to the closest one. “This is Nivar.”
Nivar had long brown hair tied back with a bit of leather.
“Shappa has fifteen seasons,” Gatus said, gesturing toward the other. “He’s the older, so I’ve put him in charge of Nivar and the others for now. They’re the first of your detachment of slingers, if ever there is such a thing. As for the rest of them,” he jerked his head toward the others standing nearby, “we’ll see.”
Eskkar ignored Gatus’s remark, in part because he knew the old soldier was as interested as Eskkar in learning if slingers could play a part in Akkad’s growing army. Nevertheless, Eskkar had proposed this idea, and he didn’t intend to change his mind now, no matter how foolish it might turn out to be. He studied the two slingers. For a moment, he was reminded of Tammuz, a skinny thief who had disobeyed orders, taken a bow, and killed an Alur Meriki warrior in the first battle to save the city.
Another of Trella’s sayings came to mind. If a thing is worth doing, then do it as well as you can. It was her idea, after all, to make use of Tammuz, and that had worked out well, despite Eskkar’s misgivings.
He walked over to the table and picked up one the slings. Eskkar hadn’t touched one of these since his boyhood, when he’d used one to hunt rabbits and other small game for his mother’s cooking pot. This sling was longer, with a shaped leather pouch at the end of two long strands of flaxen cords. The cords, he noticed, were made of thinner, plaited strands that felt supple to the touch. One end of the cord ended in a small loop, the other in a thick knot. The pouch differed as well. Square-shaped, but fastened at opposite corners, the remaining points faced up and down. It had a hole the thickness of his thumb in the center.
“Well, Nivar and Shappa, I’m glad Gatus found you. Perhaps we can convince old Gatus that slings can be as deadly as an arrow, and even more useful in other ways.”
The boys bowed, and only Shappa managed to mumble a greeting. They were clearly in awe of Eskkar, who towered over them both. In fact, everyone appeared tense, not sure what would be asked of them. He decided to relieve the tension a bit.
“Did I ever tell you, Gatus, about the time I was nearly killed by a slinger?” Eskkar raised his voice so that everyone could hear. “The stone flew right past my ear and splintered against a cliff face.” He didn’t add that it was a woman who’d nearly split his head.
“It would take a dozen stones to dent your head, Eskkar,” Gatus said.
Grond laughed, while the boys standing close enough to hear gaped in shock at the rude jest directed at their king.
“It’s true.” Eskkar ignored the remark. “Then another time, I was on horseback and a … man nearly unhorsed me with a sling.” He’d almost said the word “shepherd”, but decided that it didn’t sound very impressive to admit he’d almost been killed fighting a sheep herder over a band of foul-smelling sheep.
“But you survived,” Gatus said. “So the slinger’s stones didn’t bother you too much.”
“No, but they made me change my tactics, and that’s why I want to see what can be done with these men.” He turned to Shappa. “Show me what you can do.”
Shappa took the sling from Eskkar’s hand, and selected three slightly oval stones about the size of a fat walnut from a pouch at his waist. The boy could scarcely control his excitement. He slipped the middle finger of his right hand into the loop and grasped the knot of the other stand between thumb and forefinger. He dropped a stone into the pouch, and started walking away from the wall.
Everyone moved with him, leaving the wall empty. Two of the boys carried the table well to the side, and Gatus picked up his stool and took it with him.
Shappa stopped about forty paces from the wall, and looked at Gatus.
“Go ahead.” He settled himself on the stool once again.
The slinger turned slightly away from the target, with his left hand closest to the wall. The pouch hung straight down from his hand. With a snap of the wrist, Shappa spun the sling toward the ground, stepping forward and extending his right arm as he released the cord.
A shower of mud showed where the stone impacted, close to the center of the target’s body. For the first time, Eskkar noticed the many pock marks in the wall. Gatus must have had the boys practicing for some time.
Eskkar frowned. He’d been unprepared for the swiftness of the throw, and had missed what Shappa had done. “Again,” he ordered.
Shappa picked up another projectile, with all of Eskkar’s attention focused this time. As the stone fell into the pouch, he understood the reason for the hole in the center – to give the pouch a better grip on the projectile, making it less likely to slip out during the rotation. Odd that he’d never thought of that as a child, nor had anyone else in the clan. This time the slinger whipped the sling around twice, releasing the stone before the second whirl had been completed, again stepping forward with an overhand throwing motion.
With another spray of mud fragments, the second stone landed just below the gouge the first had made. Two good casts, Eskkar decided, but nothing that he couldn’t have duplicated with a bow. He pushed that thought from his mind. Comparing bowmen to slingers made no sense. He didn’t intend to use slingers as bowmen. These boys weren’t strong enough, and the bows and arrows his archers required took plenty of gold to construct and the men months to train.
No one said anything, but every eye was fixed on Eskkar. He looked at Gatus, but the man had occupied himself cleaning a fingernail. Eskkar turned back to Shappa. “How fast can you make a throw?”
Shappa moved toward Nivar, who had brought a handful of stones with him. The slinger selected three stones, and then stepped back to his original position. He dropped the first stone in the sling, and this time he turned to Eskkar.
“Begin.” Again Eskkar focused his attention on the slinger.
The sling swung round, the stone released at the top of the swing. As the pouch descended, the release strap flying through the air, Shappa extended his left hand, a stone held in his fingers. The still-whirling pouch closed over the second stone, the trailing release strap swung back to the slinger’s right hand. He caught the knot and applied another powerful spin to the sling. The second stone was launched toward the target, while Shappa’s left hand extended once again into the pouch’s path. The third stone soon flew on its way.
Eskkar realized his mouth was open, and closed it. He’d never seen anything like that before, still didn’t believe what his eyes had just told him. In fact, if anyone boasted they could reload a pouch like that, he would have thought him a liar. Eskkar guessed that the three stones had been launched before a man could count to five. Even Mitrac and his arrows couldn’t match that speed, but of course, the arrow’s flight had much greater range. Or did it?
“How far can you cast such a stone?”
“With a good chance of a hit, King Eskkar, about seventy-five paces,” Shappa answered, looking more confident now that he’d proved his skill. “But with smaller stones, I’ve hit targets at double that distance.”
That matched the distances an Akkadian archer had to hit his targets – three out of four at seventy-five paces, and two out of five at one hundred and fifty. Mitrac and some of the other master bowmen could hit targets at over four hundred paces, something else Eskkar once wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
“Can you do better? Can the range of throws be extended?”
“No, my lord, not easily. The stones vary in weight and shape too much to make a perfect cast each time.”
“Do it again,” Eskkar said. “And this time do it slower, and explain what you’re doing at every step.”
He made the boy do it twice more, until Eskkar felt certain he understood the process. Then he turned to Nivar. “Let me see what you can do.”
“Underhand, Nivar,” Gatus called out, still sitting on his stool.
Nivar stepped forward and took Shappa’s place. Where the first slinger had shown a calm demeanor, Nivar could scarcely conceal his excitement. The stone slipped from his fingers when he tried to drop it into the pouch. To Eskkar’s surprise, not one of the onlookers laughed. Everyone kept silent, except Gatus, who scratched his beard noisily.
Nivar faced the target, his body turned slightly to the side in the same position as Shappa. This time the sling swung the opposite way, but the projectile flung itself forward almost as quickly. When the stone struck the target, it was still traveling at an upwards angle. A good shot, and just as much mud had blasted off the wall.
“Again,” Eskkar ordered, his eyes narrowed as they watched every movement, determined to miss nothing of the process.
Another throw, the underhand motion similar to the way Eskkar had skipped stones across a pond in his youth. This time the missile struck in the target’s head. No doubt a few more paces back, and it would have missed the target.
“A good throw, Nivar.” Eskkar wanted to encourage the boy. “How fast can you throw three stones?”
Nivar tried to duplicate Shappa quick reload, but the second stone missed the target, and the third failed to stay in the pouch.
“I’m sorry, Lord Eskkar,” the embarrassment in Nivar’s voice was plain to all. “I only learned Shappa’s way of reloading a few days ago.”
“Which method will cast the stone farther?” Eskkar asked. At the same time, he motioned to Shappa to give him the sling.
“There seems to be a difference of opinion about that,” Gatus said. “A lot depends on the individual slinger, of course, but it seems to me that the underhand method will throw the stone farther, but perhaps not with the same force.”
“Better a stone falls on the rear ranks than in the dirt,” Eskkar remarked, modifying the archer’s old adage. By now he’d fitted the sling to his finger, and dropped a stone in the pouch. He whirled the sling, turning it over again and again, until he thought he knew when to release it. Imitating the two slingers, he stepped forward as he let it fly. The stone sailed right over the barracks and landed somewhere out of sight.
But not out of hearing. A loud voice began cursing the fool who threw stones in the air.
Eskkar had to force himself not to smile. He didn’t mind looking foolish, not as long as he could master the skill. Again and again he threw, five, ten, up to twenty stones. At first he took two revolutions for each throw, but soon learned to launch the projectile with a single spin. A second revolution added little to the force of the stone. Eskkar’s results ranged all over the barracks wall, the dirt between, and the sky above. But by the twentieth stone, he’d slipped into what had to be the proper rhythm, stepping forward and throwing his arm directly at the target.
He grunted in satisfaction when he struck the target twice in succession. By then sweat covered his face and bare chest. The task seemed simple enough, but he realized you had to concentrate on what you were doing. No doubt, over time, the skill of each slinger and the individual steps would merge into a smooth motion that required little thought. Just like an archer. When you mastered your craft, you scarcely needed to aim the weapon.
But not on the first day, or the second. He looked around, and found Gatus had gone, leaving Eskkar and Grond alone with the recruits. Gatus might have rounded up the boys, but it was the king who conceived their use, and it should be the king to whom they gave their loyalty.
“All right, I want to see every man throw. Line them up, Shappa. Nivar, get some boys and collect the stones.”
Grond helped out, making sure the now excited boys stayed at their place in the line. Eskkar told them to start with the more usual, overhand throw. There would be plenty of time for practicing with the underhand toss.
One by one, the boys demonstrated their skill. Soon stones were flying all over the barracks area, and Grond had to clear everyone out of possible danger. That included anyone to their rear, as some boys in their haste sent rocks whirling behind them, into the dirt at their feet, or straight up into the air, with everyone dodging the missile’s return to earth.
Eskkar took several more turns with Shappa’s sling, which he decided he preferred after trying a few of the others. Everyone wanted to demonstrate his skill, and as the boys grew accustomed to Eskkar’s presence, their nerves steadied, their voices rose, and the ability to strike the target improved.
Not that he cared much about an individual’s expertise. Eskkar wanted to see how effective a group of slingers could be. Working with five at a time, he had them rain stones on the abused barracks’ wall, which soon looked like it was in danger of crumbling back to the mud. He still had trouble imagining the force with which the stones landed. Any enemy struck in the head would be going down, even if he happened to be wearing a helmet. Hits on arms and legs would be painful and slow a fighter down, probably taking him out of the battle.
The sun moved across the sky, but Eskkar never noticed. Midday came and went, and he kept the boys at it.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Eskkar?”
He turned to see Trella standing behind him, Annok-sur at her side. Trella must have been there for some time. Her usual four bodyguards accompanied her, all of them watching the performance. Trella held a basket in her arms. The smell of fresh bread made him realize how hungry he felt, and that he’d promised Trella he would return to the house at midday to join her. A glance at the sky told him that it was closer to mid-afternoon than noon.
“Trella, I’m sorry …”
She laughed and touched his arm. “I haven’t seen you this excited in a long time. All of you, playing like children.”
He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Did you see them make throws? Some are good. Others …” he took her arm and guided her more to the side where they might be safer from an errant throw.
“Since you missed your meal, I brought you and Grond some bread.” She handed a loaf to each of them.
Eskkar tore a hunk of bread from the loaf and took a bite. “We forgot to eat. We’re were having too much fun.”
“That wall is going to collapse soon. The whole barracks may come down.”
“These stones … when they land … they could smash a man’s ribs, knock him off his feet. They’re hot to the touch after they strike the wall. I wonder why?”
“I don’t know, husband. Let me think about it. Does it matter?”
“No. What matters is that a good slinger can cast stones very quickly and with good distance and accuracy.” He finished another mouth of bread. “These boys are too small and weak to make good swordsmen or archers or spearmen, but they can still kill, if they’re used right.”
He glanced around, feeling guilty for having the bread when the others had none. A few boys were still slinging stones at the wall, but most of the others sat on the ground, taking a rest, watching the king and queen.
“Enough slinging.” Eskkar’s voice caught everyone’s attention. “Come here and sit down.”
The boys moved closer to where Eskkar, Trella, and Grond stood. Most of them had never seen Lady Trella, since she seldom left the house and its grounds. Of course they all knew the stories told about her, and curiosity had them staring at her with their mouths open. Some forgot their manners and stared, in the way of young boys, at the nipples pushing up against her dress.
Eskkar bunched them closer so that he could see their faces. Each looked tired, covered with sweat, and full of excitement, some still talking about what they had done. The moment Eskkar started speaking, they quieted down.
“Each of you came here today because you wanted to fight Akkad’s enemies.” Eskkar let his eyes meet each and every face. “To be an archer or spearman or swordsman requires both great strength and size. All of you would
be turned away if you tried to join those ranks. I wasn’t sure that a sling could be effective in a real battle. But today you’ve proven to me that men of smaller stature can fight and kill as well as any bowman or spear-carrier. I’ve seen that, in your hands, slings can be a deadly weapon, and soon Akkad will need all the weapons and men it can find. Those of you who want to fight our enemies will be given the chance. If you do not want to fight, then you should leave now.”
He waited a moment, giving them time to consider, but, of course, not a boy moved. All of them were caught up in the moment. Right now, they would do anything and everything he asked of them.
“If you stay, you’ll have a safe place to sleep and enough food to eat.” Both those were important. Half of them looked as if they hadn’t eaten in days. “You’ll even be paid, first as a recruit, then after you master your skills, as a soldier. In return, you’ll work hard and train every day. In time, the best of you will train the others. For now, Shappa and Nivar will take charge of your training, for as long as they show themselves worthy.”
Food, shelter, and an occasional copper coin would be more than most of them had ever had or expected. Every upturned face shone with happiness and pride.
“When the time comes to fight, you’ll be assigned to where you’ll do the most good. But I promise you that Akkad’s bowmen and fighters will be at your side, to make sure you do not stand alone. Are you with me?”
They all shouted at once, speaking so quickly Eskkar couldn’t be sure of what anyone said. It didn’t matter. They would join, they would train, they would fight. Many of them, he knew, would die, but that didn’t matter now, either. He turned to Trella.
She nodded, and he knew he’d done well, binding more recruits to his side.
“Shappa, take your men to Gatus. Tell him to find quarters for you, and that you’ll start training in the morning.” No doubt Gatus was expecting them. He would have understood the implications of the sling at once.