Shiri by D.S. Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t have to wait long to discover the truth of her tale. He paled when he saw them, a monstrous host of Egyptian soldiers pouring out of the pass. There must be twenty thousand at least. Ahead of them riders were running down the last few survivors from Asher’s company.
    At the fore of the juggernaut, Jacobaam could see Pharaoh’s personal guard, the Companions, rushing to form up. Behind them marched countless thousands of spearmen. They beat their rawhide shields in tune to their steps. Perhaps two thousand medjoy archers from desert kingdom of Nubia, naked but for cheetah skin loin cloths ran at their flanks. And all the while more and more were belching out of Aruna.
    To face this onslaught was Jacobaam’s army of farmers and peasants, brothers and sons, eight thousand from Jezreel and the northlands, two thousand from the mountains and vales of the south. Many had never before held sword, bow or axe. Gods be good, I send them to their deaths.
    The Gyptos were but three hundred yards away now, their warning horns blaring, their ranks a mass of confusion. Once they had formed up all would be lost, no army could match them on the open plains. Only the fact that he had caught them still exiting the pass gave him any hope at all. Jacobaam’s chariot weaved left and right in front of his troops as he shouted encouragement at them.
    Two hundred yards from the Gypto lines and arrows began to fall amongst them. One or two of his men stumbled. The rest paid little heed. Jacobaam placed a powerful hand on Ba’al and with a yell he raised it above his head. An incomprehensible roar went up from the masses behind and their steady jog increased in pace. A lone voice started the chant and was drowned out by ten thousand more, “Jacobaam! Jacobaam! Jacobaam!”
    A hundred yards out Jacobaam jumped from his chariot, his driver wheeled away to the right. This was not some palace bred princling accustomed to fighting from safety and distance. This was Jacobaam, King of Shepherds, and he would fight on foot as ever before. In the front rank he would stand shoulder to shoulder with the common born, feet planted wide in the free earth, the Storm Lord in his hands.
    He turned before them caring not for the ever increasing rain of Gypto shafts that fell about him. He swung Ba’al aloft, “Fight for me!” He bellowed, “Fight for your comrades! Fight for your family and for your wives! Fight for your daughters and for your sons! But above all else, fight for YOU!”
    His men roared and without need of the order the jog burst into a run. Jacobaam turned as they overhauled him and he joined the charge. They surged forward, screaming like wild beasts. Fifty yards, a massed volley from the Gypto archers barely slowed them. Twenty yards, rock and stone from Gypto slingers bounced off them. Ten yards, the Companions’ lowered spears and shouted threats didn’t scare them. With fury they crashed against the invaders that meant to enslave them all. By the gods they would not do so without a fight.

X
    Josef stared at the columns of dark smoke blotting out the horizon. The battle has already begun! He spurred his mounts and drew up beside the old King’s litter, his face red, his eyes wide. “We must quicken the pace or it will be too late!”
    Aratama peered through the curtains of the litter. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, his brow furrowed and wrinkled as if he could not comprehend how this could be happening, “No … this cannot be … Pharaoh is days away.”
    “Pharaoh is on us now!” Josef shouted. “Give the signal! We must move as quickly as we can! We will take him in the flank or at the very least add our force to my father’s and bolster his ranks.”
    The King shook his head, his face was ashen. Josef jumped from his chariot and grabbed the old man by the arm, shaking him almost violently. In half a daze Aratama turned to him, “No, no, youngling we … we must not be rash. We ... must come to the battle