Chapter 116: This Is No Simple War

In the early morning beneath the walls of Shule, a thin mist hung over the ramparts as the ancient drawbridge slowly lowered.

The clamor made this grim, iron-walled city feel like a bustling market, as a great crowd of holy warriors from every region talked loudly among themselves and, led by their respective chieftains, slowly filed out of the city to form ranks.

They were almost all infantry, with very few cavalry, because nearly all cavalry had been absorbed by the Karakhanid state before even reaching Shule.

This state, built mainly around the Three-Clan Karluks and supplemented by the Nine-Clan Oghuz, with Uyghurs and other peoples mixed in, had a steadily growing settled population, but most of its people still kept nomadic habits, so in the Karakhanid army infantry were the minority and cavalry the majority.

Thus anyone with good horsemanship and his own cavalry equipment could quickly blend into the khanate's army.

Men like these, who could not afford warhorses and gear and were drawn purely by the high pay of the east, became the Karakhanid state's main source of infantry.

Historically, in the wars between the Karakhanids and Khotan, those who died in the greatest numbers were exactly this kind of cannon fodder, their brains addled by wealth and Allah.

And it was precisely because of them that the Karakhanid state recovered so easily from one crushing defeat after another, until in the end it simply wore Khotan to death.

And today, Governor Itihad was playing the same trick again.

The whole city of Shule held more than sixty thousand people, of whom over seven thousand were soldiers, and of those, fifteen hundred of the most experienced cavalry had been sent out.

Of the nearly sixty thousand remaining, apart from fifty thousand residents, there were seven or eight thousand holy warriors.

Some days earlier, Satuq Bughra Khan had expended too many holy warriors in the siege of Balasagun, so another three thousand had been conscripted, and now fewer than five thousand remained.

Governor Itihad had originally intended to stir up their religious fervor and use them to defend the city, but now he could no longer afford such concerns; he wanted to use these men to test the strength of the Khotanese army outside the city.

Amid the rumbling war drums, more and more holy warriors began forming ranks below the walls; the wealthier ones wore all manner of armor from their own gear, while the poor wrapped themselves in a few thin garments and clutched curved blades.

It seemed the hundred-odd holy warriors Zhang Zhao had killed near Jialu Post must have been the elite among these men.

"Every unit, form up near the main camp as previously arranged. No one is to attack without orders!"

Zhang Zhao finished the last sesame cake in his hand and began issuing orders to the officers around him. If the previous days had been an appetizer, this was now the real test.

Below the walls of Shule, the Karakhanid force placed more than three thousand holy warriors in the center.

They were almost all infantry, equipped with a certain number of long and short bows; the front ranks generally had some shields, a third of the men had armor, and the rest wore single-layer clothes and carried curved blades or spears — one look told you they were cannon fodder.

The Karakhanid army was arrayed on both flanks, with a screen of light cavalry on the outermost edge covering the main force.

Further in were armored infantry, nearly every man carrying a bow along with spears, swords, hammers, axes, and the like, numbering around three thousand in all.

Zhang Zhao had no doubt that these men would not only serve as the main force attacking him, but would also act as executioner-supervisors.

That made over six thousand men! It seemed Itihad had staked a great deal. As he was observing, a company of cavalry rode out from behind the infantry still forming ranks, clearly sent to report to someone.

Zhang Zhao did not know how many cavalry Itihad had kept outside the city, but he was certain some had been kept — that much was clear from the unprecedented wolf-smoke rising from Shule's walls and the two great black banners raised there.

Cavalry released from the city before a great battle could not be the watered-down sort from the previous days; they had to be the Karakhanid elite. It was these cavalry that were truly deadly! If the battle went badly, Zhang Zhao would not even have a chance to flee.

He glanced back at Liu Zaisheng, and this Commandant of the Palace Guard cupped his hands toward Zhang Zhao.

"Two days ago, when I delivered the heavenly horse to the Son of Heaven, I reported the military situation here to His Majesty as the general instructed. As long as the Right Guard of the Valiant Cavalry can arrive, we need not fear the Karakhanid horsemen!"

"Commandant Liu, you have worked hard. Go and prepare. In today's bloody battle, you imperial guards of the Son of Heaven are the main force!"

Zhang Zhao said with a smile to Liu Zaisheng, though inwardly he felt uneasy. Liu Zaisheng had said "as long as they arrive," not that they would certainly come. As for the military ability of this good uncle of his, Zhang Zhao truly did not have much faith.

In front of the camp, the troops under Zhang Zhao's command formed three small square formations, and in the exact center stood his Hanshan Company armored soldiers.

Without question, once the fighting began, the center would see the fiercest and hardest combat, and only the armored soldiers of the Hanshan Company could be sent to hold it.

The Khotan Palace Guard was arrayed to the left and right of the Hanshan Company. These were Li Shengtian's own personal guards, and their numbers were not fixed, because they were rotated in from the Divine Might Left Army and Divine Might Right Army, the two pillar forces of Khotan, to serve in the forbidden palace.

Historically, they had withstood being swamped by Karakhanid manpower for nearly forty years before their blood was finally drained and they ceased to exist, so their fighting ability was assured.

Behind these three square formations were the three hundred-odd men Zhang Zhao had selected from his own rabble.

Most of them had armor of their own; though tattered or crudely stitched together from fabrics and leather, it still offered some protection. These men were the reserve force in case the three front formations could not hold.

Behind them were several hundred soldiers of the Divine Mechanism Company, built over the past two days around the hundred-odd disciples of the monk Zhitong as its core.

They were positioned on the hillside, and when the two sides finished exchanging bow and crossbow fire and the enemy closed in, that would be their moment.

At the very rear of the Divine Mechanism Company soldiers were the true rabble, numbering over seven or eight thousand. In truth, calling these burdens Li Shengtian had dumped on Zhang Zhao a rabble was being generous.

They were a group of farmers, small peddlers, low-ranking temple monks, horse-tenders, and shepherds who had originally lived inside Shule and in the surrounding areas of Upper Artush, Lower Artush, and the outlying prefectural towns.

Nearly all of them were pitiful souls who had lost everything when Satuq Bughra Khan forcibly seized their land to support his Ghulam guards and pushed the policies of Islam.

If, back when they were being oppressed and even driven out, they had still had hot blood, then if someone had organized them — even as cannon fodder — their rage and hatred would have made them cannon fodder with fighting spirit.

But by now, after being driven away and sent off amid Karakhanid oppression and Khotan's ill intentions, countless of them had done anything to survive, endured every humiliation, and their blood had long gone cold.

The reason they could follow Zhang Zhao today, apart from an unconscious instinct to go with the crowd, was that Zhang Zhao had at least given them food.

Eating their fill was impossible, but half-full was manageable; otherwise they would have all run off before even reaching the walls of Shule.

That they had not run off yet was simply because they felt Zhang Zhao was a good man — tired as they were, at least there was food — and perhaps, deep in their hearts, they still held some expectation.

The expectation that if the Khotanese really did break through Shule and drive out Satuq Bughra Khan, they might win back what they had once lost.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! We were forced into this!"

"O Buddha! Open your eyes! My family has made offerings to you for generations — show your power just once!"

Piercing wails rang through the mist-filled morning. Everyone widened their eyes and looked toward the source of the sound; even the "burdens," seated with their backs to the battlefield and ordered not to look, could not help turning their heads.

At the very front of the slowly advancing Karakhanid army, a dense mass of men and women surged forward, weeping and wailing as they slowly walked toward Zhang Zhao's camp.

"Donkey-fucking barbarian scum!" Even Ma Yaozi, a killer with a somewhat twisted mind, could not help cursing savagely, his face changing color.

These people were not Khotanese. Even if they did not follow Islam, they were still subjects of the Karakhanid state! Itihad had sunk to the madness of using these people as the vanguard.

Zhang Zhao drew a sharp breath, cold flooding his lungs. So in the eyes of men like Satuq Bughra Khan, he was fighting a religious war!

All chapters have been cached for you. Download the APP to view them.