Chapter 240: Great King Zhang's Dream Horse

Though in Zhang Zhao's eyes, the poison fire spewed by the pear-blossom spears was about on the level of a large firework from later ages.

The only thing a bit beyond that was that they were packed with broken porcelain shards and iron filings, which could do a little damage.

But to the people of this era — especially these Shudra archers and spearmen conscripted by the Xixi Dynasty — the golden flames spurting from the enemy cavalry's long spears were terrifying to the extreme.

On a battlefield, a man's spirit is naturally in a state of extreme tension; only well-trained veterans can turn that tension into the excitement of fighting fiercely and killing the enemy.

But for Shudras who had been conscripted on the spot, who had no desire at all to fight and only wanted to stay alive and return home to their families, that tension was a horror that made them unable to keep from soiling themselves.

Amid the gray dust thrown up by the erupting gunpowder, Ma Shacai led three hundred light cavalry, like demons emerging from hell.

They passed through the choking sulfurous smoke, wearing helmets that in the eyes of these Indians looked bizarre, their faces blackened by gunpowder into great smudged masks, the spears in their hands spewing hell's poison fire.

All of this made them look incomparably terrifying, and combined with the dreadful legend of the Juer Khan slaughtering the king's thirty thousand troops, it perfectly matched the image of devils in the minds of the Xixi infantry.

Another burst of golden gunpowder shot out, and one unlucky Xixi spearman took a blast full in the face.

The skin on his face was quickly seared by the high heat into wrinkles and blisters, and his eyes streamed blood where the flying porcelain shards had slashed them.

His face was covered in black dots where the iron filings had struck home, and the choking poison smoke made him dizzy and staggering.

"Mama! I want to go home!" The unlucky spearman, broken by the searing pain and overwhelming terror, threw down his spear with a clang, turned, and fled.

An officer nearby rushed forward in fury and slashed at the fleeing soldier, the long blade cutting into the spearman's shoulder and sending blood spraying out.

But that pain was not even on the same level as being hit by the pear-blossom spear and the fear of death; after taking the blow, he only ran faster, like a madman.

Ma Shacai noticed the officer. He rode over, and with a light flick of the saber in his hand, the officer's round head was easily taken off his shoulders.

"Run! We're defeated!"

"Run! The Juer Khan has sent devils!"

"Run! Fire-breathing demons have come out of hell!"

The officer's death was like a signal: the front-rank infantry, who had borne enough pressure, collapsed in an instant.

And when the infantry behind them saw an acquaintance — his face covered in gray blisters and sesame-like black dots, blood spurting from his eyes, blood spurting from his arm — wailing that devils had come,

the impact was no less than if, in a later age, you saw a pack of brawny naked men on the subway, charging straight at you and looking like they wanted to... you.

Just imagine it — that would be absolutely horrifying. These conscripted Shudras, who had long since had no stomach for battle, instantly scattered in all directions.

Fight? Fight your mother's war!

Use your own life to defend the Kshatriya lords' right to exploit you? Being a slave to one master is the same as being a slave to another!

"Damn! Officers to the front, form the leaping assault troops, pick up the pace!"

Ma Yaozi stood dumbfounded for a brief moment, then began bellowing furiously and quickening his step.

What the hell — Ma Shacai's three hundred-odd light cavalry had actually broken a square formation of more than three thousand men.

If they kept adjusting formation every few dozen steps, by the time they closed in, the day would be long over.

Better to just go straight in with the officers as the leaping assault troops and treat this as a brawl. These Indians don't deserve the high-level tactic of formation fighting.

In the distance, Zhang Zhao could see it too: the strength of the forty thousand Xixi troops across from them was far inferior to the thirty thousand under Modapala in the Khyber Pass.

"Have Li Ruotai's heavy cavalry armor up and keep watch on the enemy heavy cavalry. The rest of the units will draw out their elite to form leaping assault troops and formation-breakers. All troops, attack!"

The great battle began. This was absolutely a battle in this timeline's history of cold-weapon warfare that later generations would endlessly praise.

Two thousand Fengtian Army warriors and one thousand Khotan palace guards, plus more than three thousand men of the Shunyi Left Army and over a thousand sons of wealthy families from Huwen City — more than eight thousand men in all — surrounded the forty thousand-odd Xixi Dynasty soldiers and attacked them from every side.

And it was fighting without much method, relying entirely on individual valor, so much so that this battle produced a great number of champions who could stand against ten thousand.

Ma Shacai with three hundred men routed three thousand infantry; Man Xiong single-handedly collapsed a hundred-man company of spearmen; Shan Zhu'er, wielding twin blades, cut from the right flank to the left and pierced straight through the Xixi battle line — and so on.

The battle lasted about half a shichen. The forty thousand Xixi troops utterly collapsed, throwing away armor and weapons; fleeing soldiers scattered across the hills and plains, and some who could no longer run simply dropped to their knees and pressed their heads into the mud in submission.

The only force that still maintained some semblance of order was the thousand-odd Kshatriya heavy cavalry on the hill, led by the Xixi crown prince.

That heavy cavalry really is excellent! Zhang Zhao's mouth watered at the sight.

Of course, it was not because these Xixi Kshatriya heavy cavalrymen were especially brave, or their armor and weapons especially fine, but because of the warhorses beneath them.

These horses were long-limbed and sleek, with a smooth, flowing build, and the muscles on the inner side of their forelegs formed a clear inverted triangle, full of the beauty of power.

Their foreheads were broad and glossy, their nostrils full and moist, and their eyes gleamed with the light of intelligence — not the dull, vacant gaze of ordinary livestock.

The most remarkable thing was their ears: the tips curled inward toward the center and could stand almost straight up from the head.

Some horses' ear tips could even touch each other, forming an especially adorable heart shape; later generations called them horses that make a heart with their ears.

These were the famous Indian Marwari horses, known in China by the widely circulated name of Tianzhu fold-eared horses.

This breed's explosive power and endurance sit at a perfect point of balance, with a handsome appearance and elegant bearing.

Whether as mounts for light cavalry on long-distance raids or as mounts for heavy cavalry in explosive charges, they are both outstanding.

Perhaps they fall far short of Mongolian horses in long-distance raiding, and are inferior to Ferghana horses in impact, but their virtue is that they possess both advantages — not the most outstanding at either, but good enough.

And that is enough! Their excellent adaptability means they can be equipped on a large scale.

Besides, in the Five Dynasties of the Central Plains today, there are not many Ferghana-type warhorses. The fold-eared horse's explosive power is weaker than the Ferghana's, but it is absolutely stronger than the warhorses of the Five Dynasties of the Central Plains.

At the same time, the fold-eared horse has one quality Zhang Zhao values most of all: it is not as delicate as the Ferghana horse.

This creature grows up in a place like India, so it is especially heat-tolerant; add high disease resistance and easy keeping, and it is simply Great King Zhang's dream horse.

"Tiance, go tell them: hand over all the Marwari horses — stallions, mares, and foals alike — and I, in my great mercy, will take only their property and spare their lives!"

Zhang Zhao was so excited he began rubbing his hands like a fly. In the Khyber Pass, he had not found many fold-eared horses among Modapala's cavalry, which had made him think the breed had not yet appeared in this era; he had not expected to see them here.

But there were only a few hundred on the other side, so it seemed likely that the fold-eared horse population was still small, and even the Indians themselves were somewhat reluctant to equip and use them on a large scale.

Great King Zhang guessed correctly: at present, the fold-eared horse was an extremely precious steed even in India.

They were basically used by nobles for hunting wild boar and for a sport similar to polo, and had hardly been equipped for the battlefield at all; the Brahmins and Kshatriyas used them to display their prestige and show off.

"Great King, you have a fine eye — those horses are truly excellent!" Guo Tiance, overjoyed, galloped over; he wanted to personally make a round of surrender appeals.

But what the gleeful Guo Tiance got when he rode over was not bowing and submission, but a bleak and drawn-out horn call.

Amid the horn call, some six hundred Xixi Dynasty Kshatriya heavy cavalry formed into an arrowhead formation.

They had donned their iron armor and unhurriedly put on their helmets, each man draped in a brightly colored cloak. The sound of horns rang out, as if issuing a challenge to Zhang Zhao.

"Huh?" Great King Zhang exclaimed in surprise. So this was to be the final battle! There was even a touch of romanticism to it. Among these Indian fools, there were actually men with such courage?

Li Ruotai beside Zhang Zhao trembled with excitement, and clasped his hands from horseback.

"Great King! Please allow this humble general to lead the troops against the enemy. This is the ancient rite of the Indian nobility! They have come to die gloriously in battle. Please grant them this honor!"

"Grant them this honor? Hmph!" Great King Zhang snorted coldly in disdain.

"They feast on the fat of the people in ordinary times, yet when the moment comes they have no strategy at all, and can only think of dying to be done with it. The Master said: war is a matter of vital importance to the state, the ground of life and death, the way of survival or ruin — it must be examined thoroughly!

These men have turned a matter of national importance into a performance fit for jesters, and they call it a glorious death in battle. What glory is there in that?

Captain Li and all our brave warriors are the nation's heroes. How could they accompany these Indian barbarians in making such a laughingstock of themselves?"

Li Ruotai, hearing this, did not entirely agree, but at the same time felt rather pleased inside. In an instant he felt himself several levels above the enemy — this time he was on the fifth level.

Zhang Zhao's words were half true and half false. In truth, he did not want Li Ruotai to go up and add needless casualties. Besides, those Kshatriya heavy cavalrymen of the Xiaxi were all riding folded-ear horses — if they got hurt, who would bear the loss?

"Yan Jin! Gather all the old brothers of our Hanshan Du, and bring up five hundred crossbowmen from the Khotan Palace Guard. Let these Indian barbarians taste the power of our sons of Tang's strong bows and hard crossbows. Tell every brother: shoot only the men, not the horses!"

Yan Jin understood at once. So the Great King had his eye on their horses. No wonder he had sent Registrar Guo over earlier to urge their surrender, and no wonder he now seemed somewhat angry and embarrassed. Those Indian barbarians dared not give the Great King face — they deserved to die.

Six hundred elite crossbowmen against six hundred heavy cavalry — who would win?

Generally speaking, heavy cavalry would certainly win. As long as they could endure the casualties and charge through, scattering the crossbowmen's formation, they could not lose.

But when six hundred Indian Kshatriya heavy cavalry faced the six hundred crossbowmen of the Hanshan Du — especially with two hundred Divine Arm crossbowmen among them — the outcome was no longer in doubt.

The Divine Arm crossbows, with a draw weight of two shi and one dou, felled an armored horse with every shot, each one collapsing at the twang of the string. Before the six hundred Kshatriya heavy cavalry could even begin their final acceleration, nearly a hundred riders were already gone. By the time they reached the front, their formation had completely fallen apart.

Yan Jin let out a great roar, and six hundred modao glaive glaive glaives rose high — men and horses alike were shattered where they stood!

Severed arms, broken limbs, and shattered armor plates flew through the sky. The moment the two sides met, the so-called heavy armored cavalry were hacked into chaos and sent fleeing in every direction by the modao glaive glaive wielders.

For already during the charge, the Divine Arm crossbows had shot away all their courage. What carried them to the front was not courage, but momentum.

Jiermoke, standing behind Zhang Zhao, went weak at the knees with fright and collapsed onto the ground. He saw it clearly now — the two sides' martial strength was simply not on the same level.

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