Chapter 54: The Empire That Faded Away

To go or not to go? For Mahashide, this had already become an extremely pressing question.

By all reason, fifty riders should not have failed to break ten men on the other side. The enemy had not suffered a single wound, while four of his own had died in battle and seven or eight were injured. Continuing the fight would not yield a good result.

But Mahashide quietly glanced at the riders he had gathered around him. Every man's face showed hesitation and the urge to retreat, even his closest confidants.

He did not need to guess: if he withdrew now, he would never be able to rally a band again.

Because if fifty riders could not defeat ten men, who would follow him in the future? Who would believe they could seize any wealth under him?

He glanced once more at the warhorses resting in the shade in the distance, and Mahashide made his decision. He spoke in a low voice to a trusted follower beside him.

"Send two men to water the horses and give them beans and grain. We won't charge on horseback this time. Everyone switch to foot bows and long blades. This dihqan is going to fight these sons of Tang on foot!"

The crowd showed little reaction, because everyone could see the sons of Tang across the way were not easy to deal with. They did not have Mahashide's concerns. If they retreated, so be it. Failing to seize anything was better than losing their lives.

Seeing that the men's enthusiasm was still low, Mahashide had no choice but to stake his own fortune.

"We charge once. If we can't break them, we leave. The other side has hardly any horses anyway, so we can leave whenever we want.

Do you see those brocades and silver ingots the sons of Tang have piled up? I'll take only one share. The rest will be divided equally among everyone!"

At these words, the surrounding riders' reaction immediately turned fervent. The goods the sons of Tang had piled up were worth at least eight or nine hundred silver coins.

If Mahashide took only one share, each of them could get more than twenty coins. They knew that in Balasagun, even the most beautiful slave girl cost less than ten silver coins.

"Good! Dihqan, Aluoduo from Chiyi obeys your command!" Spurred by the high reward, the Karluk petty lord who controlled a dozen or so other riders agreed.

In this era, the rhythm of warfare was actually rather slow. Large battles with thousands of casualties in a single day had basically never appeared again in the Western Regions after the decline of the Great Tang and the Tibetans.

A fitting analogy: at this time, the battles between the states and tribes of the Western Regions were basically a case of amateurs pecking at each other.

So after Mahashide across the way mobilized his riders, the battle did not erupt immediately.

Believing Zhang Zhao had no mobile cavalry, Mahashide first let the riders who had already charged twice eat something. Only after they had rested well did he unhurriedly have them put on leather armor, mail, and the like. During their earlier charges, at least, they had worn no armor.

Retreat! That was Zhang Zhao's order. Although he did not fear the thirty or forty men across from him, adding needless casualties was pointless.

The killing power of foot bows was not something horse bows could match. Zhang Zhao's armor was sufficient protection, but Ma Yaozi, clad in ring-mail, was not necessarily so well protected.

Besides, Bai Congxin and the others who had circled around should already be in position. Withdrawing into the poplar forest was the best choice. The soldiers of Hanshan Du had not yet tasted blood!

"The enemy is afraid! They are terrified! Don't let them escape, warriors!" When Mahashide saw Zhang Zhao leading his men running toward the poplar forest, he felt his heart ease at once. He shouted and charged forward at the head of his men.

The charging followers also put away their foot bows. The rest would be settled by blade and sword!

"Dong! Dong! Dong!" The stirring war drums sounded. Before they had run more than a few steps, Mahashide, who had been preparing to pick up the silks and silver ingots at the edge of the poplar forest, sensed something was wrong. He climbed onto a rock and looked, and instantly went numb all over.

In the poplar forest, countless warriors had suddenly appeared. They gripped long spears, swords, and shields. Nearly every man wore armor, and there were at least seventy or eighty of them.

A man in golden armor burst out with ferocious speed. With a flick of the short lance in his hand, the Karluk at the very front of the charge fell.

A rapid succession of bowstring twangs rang out. Both sides, without prior agreement, chose to shoot at each other.

Only, on Mahashide's side, screams rose one after another, while the other side suffered almost no harm.

It turned out that all of his side's arrows had flown at the golden-armored man charging out front. But the golden-armored man's armor offered excellent protection. Although he was stuck full of arrows like a hedgehog, his movements were not slowed in the slightest.

Boom! The two sides slammed into each other. Mahashide did want to retreat, but the enemy came too fast — so fast he had no time even to turn and flee. The brutal mutual thrusting of long spears began.

Because both sides wore armor, a single thrust could not put an enemy out of the fight. Often a warrior only fell after suffering at least four or five wounds.

Spurred by adrenaline, both sides howled madly. There was no parrying, and no time to think of escape. They simply thrust at each other again and again by instinct.

But the gap in strength between the two sides was still too great. After only three or four minutes of thrusting, seven or eight of the men around Mahashide had fallen. Yan Jin in particular, wielding a modao glaive glaive glaive, was exceptionally ferocious.

In this brief slaughter, the cruelty of cold-weapon combat was once again laid bare. In the age of firearms, a single bullet often ends a life; the time a person has to think grows short, so relatively high casualty ratios can be endured.

With cold weapons, however, one feels life draining away through continuous, brutal fighting. Armored men especially: most do not die from a single thrust, but from massive blood loss after being wounded again and again while forced to keep fighting fiercely.

This is also the main reason why, in large-scale decisive battles of the cold-weapon age, casualties of less than ten percent could render an army unable to continue fighting.

It is a long, drawn-out cruelty. Only the bravest warriors can endure it without breaking.

One slash! Two slashes! Three slashes! Yan Jin's chops came faster and fiercer each time. Amid his loud shouts, the chest of the mail-clad warrior facing him had been hacked into the shape of a squirrel mandarin fish.

Finally, on his fourth chop, this tenacious warrior fell. It was none other than Mahashide's standard-bearer, Aimanduo.

With this warrior's fall, Mahashide's gang, which had come on so ferociously, collapsed outright. Wailing and weeping, they turned and fled for their lives, weapons strewn across the ground. Many even stripped off their armor as they ran.

Zhang Zhao did not take part in this clash. He was observing carefully, observing the combat strength of these Hanshan Du soldiers in whom he had placed his hopes.

The result satisfied him greatly. Although their discipline and formation integrity were somewhat lacking, their bravery absolutely far exceeded the enemy's. If these men could be drilled properly, even a hundred or so of them would be a rare and valiant force.

Aluoduo ran at the very front. He had already thrown away his skirt armor and breastplate!

What the hell kind of Han folk merchants were these? Who traveled a trade route with nearly a hundred armored soldiers? Those cold-gleaming modao glaive glaive glaives and that golden armor, both familiar and strange, made Aluoduo think at once of an empire his fathers and grandfathers had spoken of — the Great Tang!

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