Chapter 52: Pushing It Too Far

"Bayish, you dog-slave, these are the Tang merchants you spoke of? What kind of traveling merchant wears armor and forms a battle line?" Mahashide lashed his horsewhip through the air and pointed at a man beside him wearing leather armor.

The man called Bayish nimbly stood up on his horse's back to look into the distance. After a moment, his face lit up with even greater excitement.

"Dihqan, I've seen clearly now. Those sons of Tang number only a dozen or so. So what if they have armor? It only proves how rich they are!

That's more than ten suits of armor, and by the edge of the poplar grove there are at least ten camels. Who knows how much silk, brocade, and porcelain from the Great Tang they're carrying? Dihqan, you're about to get rich."

Dihqan was not a name but a form of address. In recent years, under the influence of the Persian Samanid dynasty, the Karakhanid realm and even the Gaochang Uyghurs had begun to popularize this title. From a small village head or clan chief to a market leader or the lord of a town or city, anyone could hold the honorific of Dihqan.

"Hahaha! You dog-slave have a point!" Mahashide thought it over and found it true, and at once burst into smug laughter.

"Eagles! Kill those sons of Tang, and the gold, silver, jewels, silk, and brocade will all be yours!"

Zhang Zhao, with Fan Shun and a few others, formed a horizontal line of eight, two in front and six behind. As for the rest, they had gone deep into the poplar grove under Yin Yaozi's leadership.

In truth, Zhang Zhao was still not very professional at this. They should have pretended to be in chaos, driving the camels and horses every which way, putting on a panicked appearance, and even scattering some silk and brocade on the ground. That way Mahashide and his men on the other side would not have hesitated, but would have charged straight at them.

"Clop-clop-clop!" Heavy hoofbeats sounded. Having finished their council, Mahashide and his men spurred their horses and began riding slowly toward them.

An armored cavalry charge into a formation? That was impossible! Ordinary men simply could not perform such a maneuver, and the quality of the warhorses could not reach that standard either. But riding around the formation, driving and intimidating them, and harassing them with soft horse bows was still possible.

Zhang Zhao unhurriedly put on his phoenix-wing helmet and took the long-tipped bow from his back.

"Ready!" Yan Jin, the deputy commander Yan, who had thrust his modao glaive glaive glaive into the ground, bellowed. Zhang Zhao's archery was decent, but his range estimation was not. Only a fierce man like Yan Jin, who had fought his way back from the heartland of Tibet, had such skill.

"Fifty paces! Loose!" Old Zhang Zhong stood beside Yan Jin. The moment he heard Yan Jin's shout, he fiercely waved the little red flag in his hand, and Zhang Zhao and the other seven loosed their arrows almost simultaneously.

Forty paces away, a rider who was just turning his horse aside and drawing his bow to shoot suddenly seemed to be struck by an invisible iron hammer. With a scream, he tumbled headfirst from his horse, and two or three cavalrymen near him were hit as well.

"Thirty paces! Loose!" Yan Jin bellowed again. Old Zhang Zhong waved the red flag once more, and eight arrows shot out fiercely again.

"Neigh!"

"Aiyo!"

There were pained cries of wounded horses and the pained shouts of falling riders. Mahashide felt in some dim way that a longbow was aimed at him. He squeezed his thighs, feeling a surge of pressure in his bladder, relaxed his hand, and loosed the arrow he had already nocked.

"Thwip! Thwip!" The riders around him, seeing that Mahashide had shot, hurriedly loosed their own arrows as well.

But the distance was still not close enough. Their opponents were shooting at them with foot bows of seven or eight dou draw weight and two-dan divine-arm crossbows, while they themselves were using soft, weak horse bows. The difference in killing power could be imagined.

With a clatter, Zhang Zhao was struck by several arrows, and the ground was studded with long and short arrow shafts, as if wild grass had suddenly sprouted from the earth. Yet he was not hurt at all, and it barely even hurt.

Beside him, Yan Jin yanked the arrow shafts hanging from his armor twice and grinned. "The bows are too soft. Can't hurt us!"

As they spoke, Fan Shun and Qiong Reduojin behind them loosed two more arrows, and another unlucky rider toppled in response. Zhang Zhao and Yan Jin, since they would soon be fighting hand to hand, did not shoot again, but conserved their strength.

As this rider fell, the cavalry who had charged over so arrogantly, their hoofbeats striking dread into men's hearts, wheeled around in a grand, showy arc twenty paces from Zhang Zhao and went back. They did not even have the courage to charge in.

Mahashide was so furious his nose went crooked. In that one charge just now, one man had been shot down and was already near death, five or six more were wounded, two of them quite seriously, and three horses had been injured. The six men who had gone around to attack the hill had also come running back in disarray, one shot dead and one injured in a fall.

But the enemy? Not a single hair on them had been harmed. What the hell was this? Several dozen riders against fewer than ten sons of Tang, and they had suffered such a loss. A complete humiliation.

Uh... Zhang Zhao rubbed his nose and looked at Deputy Commander Yan beside him with some surprise.

"That's it? I thought the men of the steppe were all wolves, coming and going like the wind, able to tear apart formed infantry with ease?"

Yan Jin blinked, looking at Zhang Zhao with some puzzlement.

"Who told the young lord that these roving riders could easily tear apart a great formation of armored soldiers? If they were really that formidable, how would it ever have fallen to us Han folk to hold the Central Plains? The whole world would belong to those barbarians.

If I were the enemy leader, leaving now would be the best choice. But if he insists on fighting, he can also keep dragging it out. After all, they can dismount and rest, while we can only stand here under the sun in armor, roasting!"

With that, Yan Jin sat down cross-legged on the ground, took out a waterskin and moistened his mouth. Behind him, Ma Yaozi and the others also sat down and began resting on their own.

Zhang Zhao quietly took several deep breaths and steadied his pounding heart. Ma Yaozi and the others might not be able to beat him in a fight, but their battlefield experience was clearly several levels above his.

Yan Jin was actually right. The best decision for the enemy was to mount up and flee. If it truly dragged on, there would be no result without half a day or a full day.

But how could Zhang Zhao let them have their wish? He snapped his fingers at old Zhang Zhong, and old Zhang Zhong trotted off eagerly to notify Fan Running and the others.

Before long, dozens of bolts of silk and brocade and a chest of silver ingots were piled up beside Zhang Zhao and his men. In the morning sunlight, the finest brocade meant as a gift for Li Shengtian, King of Khotan, glittered and gleamed, and at once dazzled Mahashide and his men across the way so badly they could not open their eyes.

Ma Yaozi even walked out between the two battle lines, dropped his trousers, and brazenly pissed in the enemy's direction. The smug look on his face was such that even Zhang Zhao wanted to give him a good slap.

Absolutely infuriating!

"Damn it! These sons of Tang are pushing it too far! Eagles of Arslan Khan, rest well. This time we'll smash through them in one charge! Once we take them down, I'll give each man half a bolt of silk!"

Mahashide was truly enraged now. They were looking down on him! Displaying the silk like that—wasn't that just saying that he, Mahashide, lacked the ability to take it?

And besides, that silk really was fine! Taken to Talas or Balasagun, it would sell for at least several hundred Samanid silver coins.

As for Zhang Zhao, he was not particularly covetous of the enemy's horses. But for himself and his soldiers, those riders across the way—who hovered between competent and incompetent—were exactly the right material for practice.

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