Chapter 101: The Most Reliable Underling

Ashina Chuo had not actually come to join Zhang Zhao; he had come to scrounge what he could.

The people of Shule city could not figure out where Zhang Zhao was, but Ashina Chuo, a local power broker, knew.

However, he did not know that Zhang Zhao had come from Khotan. He thought the real Gaochang royal clansman, Pugu Feng'en, had arrived.

As Basmyls who had ultimately chosen to migrate east and survive on Liao territory rather than convert along with the Karluks, their faith in the Buddha was unshakable.

And naturally, after Satuq Bughra Khan took power, they had suffered suppression both open and covert, and their days had grown hard.

So as soon as Ashina Chuo heard that a Pugu Feng'en had come from Gaochang, he thought of currying favor, to see whether he could wheedle a few scraps from this wealthy and powerful Gaochang royal clansman and improve his tribe's living conditions.

Or if this Lord Pugu Feng'en Tarqan proved a reliable master, his thousand-odd people might as well submit to him and find a stretch of well-watered, lush pasture in the Buddhist land of Gaochang.

But no matter how carefully he schemed, he had never reckoned that there could be someone like Zhang Zhao in this world — that after more than a hundred years, a Han would still want to restore the glory of the Great Tang.

It was truly meat buns thrown at a dog. The moment Ashina Chuo reached Zhang Zhao's camp, Zhang Zhao latched onto him.

Of course Zhang Zhao was going to latch onto Ashina Chuo. These Basmyls were practically tailor-made to be his underlings!

They believed in Buddhism, hated the faith of the Arabs, bore a grudge against the Karluks, had counted as loyal subjects of the Great Tang in earlier years, and historically most of them had ultimately merged into the Han.

Moreover, in the Kara-Khanid Khanate they were known as a guest tribe, frequently conscripted to serve as cannon-fodder vanguard troops, and their will to fight had always been strong.

To refuse underlings like these would be an insult to Heaven's own arrangement.

"It seems Commander Ashina has never witnessed it. No wonder — when the Commander was born, the Great Tang had already withdrawn from Anxi.

But today you are in for a treat. I am the bravest warrior of the Great Tang, and here happen to be eleven executioners with the blood of Buddha's faithful on their hands. Allow me to give the Commander a small demonstration!"

As Zhang Zhao spoke, he slowly shed the cloak draped over him. Only then did Mahmud realize that this man smiling at them was wearing a suit of dark-gold lamellar armor beneath his outer robe!

But how could lamellar armor have a solid piece of raw iron plate across the chest?

Ashina Chuo did not know whether to laugh or cry. He had only come to see if he could scrounge a little something — a bit of cloth or salt would have been enough to send him on his way!

He had no desire to admire the martial prowess of some Great Tang warrior, nor to watch any more killing.

This Pugu Feng'en had to be a madman. These past days he had dragged him all over the place, and right before his eyes his men had killed at least a hundred warriors who had come from Shule city.

Still — he had to admit — the warriors under this Pugu Feng'en Tarqan were truly excellent. They could launch night raids and carry out sudden assaults.

A few days earlier, in order to ambush a band of brigands, they had crouched by the bone-chilling waters of the Red River for over a double-hour without a single complaint.

"Clang! Clang!" Mahmud looked up. The gold-armored man opposite beckoned, and a troop of cavalry galloped over from the distance, then tossed down a pile of weapons.

There were curved sabers, long spears, and shields, all still stained with blood, and judging by the color of the dried blood, it had been sprayed on at most a few days before.

"That is Ibnle's shield! I recognize it — I watched Ibnle paint that red eagle on it myself!" a holy warrior beside Mahmud suddenly cried out in alarm.

Mahmud looked closely. That somewhat battered shield was indeed Ibnle's. He was a burly man from Samarkand who had gone to Jiashi city before Mahmud to search for the Gaochang Tarqan. He had never imagined the man had already been killed.

Suddenly, as if something had occurred to him, Mahmud jerked his head up and stared at the gold-armored man opposite. Could this be the Gaochang Tarqan he had been searching so hard for?

"The eleven of you, come at me together. If you can knock me down, you may return safely to Shule!"

The gold-armored man spoke, in the Uyghur tongue. Mahmud could understand it; after all, Bughra Khan also spoke Uyghur. Had he not known the language, he could never have stayed in Shule all these years.

"We are merely passing merchants and dare not contend with a noble lord. Please, let us go!"

Mahmud put on a pitiful expression, testing whether he could bluff his way through.

"Ha! Yah!" But no sooner had he spoken than the gold-armored man opposite, spear in hand, gave a few soft shouts, and with several leaps and bounds came springing over.

The spear in his hand flashed cold, and a holy warrior who had been staring blankly at the weapons on the ground did not even have time to step back before the spear pierced his chest.

Splurt! A jet of blood gushed from the hole the spear had punched through him!

"Grab the weapons! Fight him to the death!" Mahmud shrieked, and was the first to snatch up the shield painted with the red eagle. Seeing such decisive killing, he knew the other side had no intention of letting any of them go.

Mahmud was indeed the most battle-experienced of these holy warriors. He did not go for a long spear, nor a curved saber, but went straight for the shield.

The instant he raised the shield, Zhang Zhao's thrust arrived. This time he was aiming at a holy warrior in a tattered long robe.

Judging by the color of that tattered robe, the man's hands had certainly been stained with no small amount of blood, for its mulberry-purple hue and loose cut clearly marked it as a remade black monastic robe.

Crack! The shield slammed hard against the spear tip, deflecting Zhang Zhao's thrust just slightly. The long lance grazed past the target's shoulder, and the holy warrior let out a shriek, his arm instantly drenched in blood.

Having knocked Zhang Zhao's long lance aside, Mahmud had not yet managed to grab a curved saber for himself when Zhang Zhao, almost instantly, drew the lance back and thrust again — this time straight at Mahmud's shield.

Mahmud's heart seized. A long lance of four or five meters was extremely difficult to wield; without long practice, even a simple thrust was hard to make powerful.

Yet the gold-armored man opposite not only thrust with ferocity but also recovered and struck again with terrifying speed. He was absolutely a master.

Clang! The violent collision of lance and shield confirmed Mahmud's judgment. With a shriek, he let the enormous force of the blow carry him flying backward.

Although his backward leap had shed much of the force, Mahmud was still thrown into a daze.

But he knew his choice had been correct, for without that move he would have been dead — the shield had been pierced straight through by the opposing lance.

Zhang Zhao let out a soft sound of surprise. This big-bearded fellow opposite really did have some skill; two killing blows had both been neutralized by him.

But surprise aside, Zhang Zhao's hands did not slow. He swiftly drew back the long lance and thrust again, this time at a tall man who had already picked up a long spear.

Since he had to recover the lance before thrusting, Zhang Zhao was a second or two slower. Unfortunately for his opponent, Zhang Zhao's long lance was longer than the ragged spear opposite, so although the other man moved first, both spears struck their targets almost simultaneously.

Ding! Zhang Zhao merely swayed slightly, but the man holding the long spear screamed, a great hole punched through the left side of his chest.

"Allahu Akbar!" Just as Zhang Zhao was about to draw back his long lance, a short holy warrior who had not gotten a weapon roared, lunged forward, and wrapped his arms around Zhang Zhao's lance.

The holy warriors, now with two dead and two lightly wounded, saw the chance and almost simultaneously charged Zhang Zhao with shouts.

Zhang Zhao grinned savagely, released the long lance, and drew the hengdao saber at his side.

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