2 - Blades of Mars by Edward P. Bradbury Read Free Book Online

effort. Their habitual looks of suspicion
changed somewhat, however, as soon as they entered the big room set aside for
the meeting in Morahi Vaja's house. They saw Hool Haji there and they said, ‘He
is like the old Bradhinak alive again!' And that was enough. There was no
bowing of the knee or servile salute - they held themselves straight. But there
was a new air of determination about them now.
                   Having ascertained that all were convinced of
Hool Haji’s identity, Morahi Vaja unrolled a large map of Mendishar and hung it
on the wall behind him. He outlined our basic strategy and proposed tactics in
certain conditions. The local leaders asked questions - very thoughtful and
penetrating ones - and we answered them. Whenever we could not answer at once
we discussed it.
                   With men like these, I realised, pitched
against the unwary Priosa, it would be no difficult
feat to win the capital and wrest Jewar Baru's stolen power away from him.
                   But still the feeling of disquiet was with me.
I could not shift it, I was constantly on my guard,
glancing about me warily, my hand on my sword,
                   A meal was brought into the hall at midday and
we ate as we talked, for there was no time to lose.
                   By early afternoon the initial talking was
over and smaller details were being discussed - how best to use certain small
groups of men with a special fighting-skill, how to use individuals such as the
local champion spearmen, and so on.
                   By dusk most of us were satisfied that on the
day set for the attack - in another three days - we should be ready and we
should win!
                   But we were never to make that attack.
                   Instead, at sunset, we were attacked!
                   They came on the village from all rides and we
were hopelessly outnumbered and out-weaponed.
                   They came in a charge, mounted on daharas,
their armour shineing in the dying sunlight, their plumes waving and their
lances, shields, swords, maces and axes flashing.
                   The noise was terrible, for it was the baying
blood-lust of men prepared - no, enjoying the prospect - to wipe out a village,
man, woman and child.
                   It was the cry of the wolverine debased in a
human throat.
                   It was a cry not only to strike terror into
the hearts of the women and children, but into the hearts of grown, brave men.
It was a cry that was merciless, malevolent, already triumphant.
                   It was the cry of the human hunter of the human
prey!
                   We saw them riding through the streets,
striking at anything that moved. The cruel glee on their faces was
indescribable. I saw a woman die clutching her child. Her head was sliced off
and the child impaled on a lance. I saw a man trying to defend himself against
the battering weapons of four riders - and go down with a shriek of rage and
hatred.
                   It was a nightmare.
                   How had this come about? We had been betrayed,
that was plain. These were the Priosa, unmistakably.
                   We rushed into the streets, standing shoulder
to shoulder and taking the savage riders as they came at us.
                   It was the end of everything. With us dead the
people would be leaderless. Even if some escaped, there would not be enough to
launch any sizeable revolt.
                   Who had betrayed us?
                   I could think of no one. Certainly not one of
these village-leaders, men of pride and integrity, who were even now falling
before the weight of the Priosa attack.
                   Night fell as we fought - but darkness did
not, for the scene was illuminated by the houses which the attackers