[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Blood spurted, red as red in the dying sunlight, and then I looked at a second man, my eyes locking with his under the bronze brows of our helmets, and my spear shot out and caught another man – oldest trick in the world – caught him between his thorax and his helmet, ripping up his chest and plunging deep into his neck, stealing his life.He fell off the spear point and I reversed my spear, thrusting underarm with the butt-spike.I thrust deliberately into the aspis of a fourth man.He was trying to retreat – under my feet, the sand thumped as other men came off the Storm Cutter’s bow.I knew that in a fight like that, I had to attack – attack and keep attacking until my arm failed me, because as soon as they recovered from the shock, they’d turn back into warriors and kill me.My butt-spike stuck in the bronze face of his shield.I ripped it out and thrust again, knocking him back and off balance by attacking his shield.I could feel Idomeneus behind me, so I pushed forward, thrust into my opponent’s shield and when the tip stuck I used it as a lever and prised his aspis to the right.Idomeneus killed him with a quick thrust over my shoulder.All my marines were on the beach, and my deck crew was pouring in behind them, the shield wall forming, hardening the way bronze hardens when you pour the molten stuff on a slate floor to make a sheet, and even as the wall solidified we pressed forward up the beach.The Ionian Greeks I had been fighting were in flight, and I risked a look – pushed my helmet back on my brow and looked left and right.To the left, the town burned, throwing an evil light on the beach.On the road from the town were two hundred or more Thracians.Their leader was inciting them to deeds of valour, or simply promising them loot – I didn’t understand a word of his language, but I knew what that body language and those gestures meant.The other ships were landing.Briseis was stern to stern with my Storm Cutter and Herakleides was sending his marines right down Storm Cutter, over the bow and onto the beach, leading his men himself.Oh, I loved him like a brother that hour.To my right, the big knot of Persians and Phoenician marines was wheeling towards me, intent on pushing me off the beach before the other ships were ashore.My men were like the runners in the fight at the pass.We were drawing all the enemy to us, while the other ships got their marines ashore.I knew the game.I roared defiance at them.I was Ares.I raised my spear over my head and told them they were all dead men, in Persian.I had no intention of awaiting the onset of the enemy.If I waited, the Persians and the Thracians would hit me together – and each of them outnumbered me.On the other hand, my rowers were coming over the sides now, and every breath put three more men in the rear ranks.‘The Persians!’ I shouted, and I ran forward a few paces and held my spear parallel to the enemy line.‘On me!’We’d been together all summer.My crew knew what I wanted, and they were beside me in three long breaths, more than a hundred men.A ship’s length to my right, I saw Herakleides’ black horsetail and I knew his big aspis was locked into the line.‘Heracles!’ I roared.‘HERACLES!’ came the response like the thousand-fold voice of the god, and we were off up the beach.The Phoenicians had no bows, and the handful of Persian officers got off one volley – I know that I got an arrow in my shield – and then we were into them.That was hard fighting, no quarter given, and the sun was set low enough that skill was replaced by luck.Twice I caught heavy blows on my sword arm – one bent my vambrace without cutting through into my arm and a second blow was the flat of an axe and not the blade, thank the gods, or my life would have spurted out of my arm.Even so, I dropped my spear and Idomeneus stepped past me while I fell on my knees.A blow that hard unmans you – I thought I was finished for a long heartbeat, then my eyes told me that my sword hand was intact, my arm ached but was not broken, and again the vambrace had held and saved my life.But while I was on my knees, a Mede in a gold helmet and bronze aventail cut at my head with his short akinakes.His blow landed, and my ears rang.But Hermogenes stood by me, and he made clumsy parries with his spear over my shoulder.When you are in a real fight, your world is a tunnel formed by the walls of your helmet and the width of the eye slits.I had no idea whether we were winning or losing, but even with my ears ringing and my arm afire, I knew that having their heroic captain on his knees in the sand was not going to help my men win their way up the beach [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl centka.pev.pl
.Blood spurted, red as red in the dying sunlight, and then I looked at a second man, my eyes locking with his under the bronze brows of our helmets, and my spear shot out and caught another man – oldest trick in the world – caught him between his thorax and his helmet, ripping up his chest and plunging deep into his neck, stealing his life.He fell off the spear point and I reversed my spear, thrusting underarm with the butt-spike.I thrust deliberately into the aspis of a fourth man.He was trying to retreat – under my feet, the sand thumped as other men came off the Storm Cutter’s bow.I knew that in a fight like that, I had to attack – attack and keep attacking until my arm failed me, because as soon as they recovered from the shock, they’d turn back into warriors and kill me.My butt-spike stuck in the bronze face of his shield.I ripped it out and thrust again, knocking him back and off balance by attacking his shield.I could feel Idomeneus behind me, so I pushed forward, thrust into my opponent’s shield and when the tip stuck I used it as a lever and prised his aspis to the right.Idomeneus killed him with a quick thrust over my shoulder.All my marines were on the beach, and my deck crew was pouring in behind them, the shield wall forming, hardening the way bronze hardens when you pour the molten stuff on a slate floor to make a sheet, and even as the wall solidified we pressed forward up the beach.The Ionian Greeks I had been fighting were in flight, and I risked a look – pushed my helmet back on my brow and looked left and right.To the left, the town burned, throwing an evil light on the beach.On the road from the town were two hundred or more Thracians.Their leader was inciting them to deeds of valour, or simply promising them loot – I didn’t understand a word of his language, but I knew what that body language and those gestures meant.The other ships were landing.Briseis was stern to stern with my Storm Cutter and Herakleides was sending his marines right down Storm Cutter, over the bow and onto the beach, leading his men himself.Oh, I loved him like a brother that hour.To my right, the big knot of Persians and Phoenician marines was wheeling towards me, intent on pushing me off the beach before the other ships were ashore.My men were like the runners in the fight at the pass.We were drawing all the enemy to us, while the other ships got their marines ashore.I knew the game.I roared defiance at them.I was Ares.I raised my spear over my head and told them they were all dead men, in Persian.I had no intention of awaiting the onset of the enemy.If I waited, the Persians and the Thracians would hit me together – and each of them outnumbered me.On the other hand, my rowers were coming over the sides now, and every breath put three more men in the rear ranks.‘The Persians!’ I shouted, and I ran forward a few paces and held my spear parallel to the enemy line.‘On me!’We’d been together all summer.My crew knew what I wanted, and they were beside me in three long breaths, more than a hundred men.A ship’s length to my right, I saw Herakleides’ black horsetail and I knew his big aspis was locked into the line.‘Heracles!’ I roared.‘HERACLES!’ came the response like the thousand-fold voice of the god, and we were off up the beach.The Phoenicians had no bows, and the handful of Persian officers got off one volley – I know that I got an arrow in my shield – and then we were into them.That was hard fighting, no quarter given, and the sun was set low enough that skill was replaced by luck.Twice I caught heavy blows on my sword arm – one bent my vambrace without cutting through into my arm and a second blow was the flat of an axe and not the blade, thank the gods, or my life would have spurted out of my arm.Even so, I dropped my spear and Idomeneus stepped past me while I fell on my knees.A blow that hard unmans you – I thought I was finished for a long heartbeat, then my eyes told me that my sword hand was intact, my arm ached but was not broken, and again the vambrace had held and saved my life.But while I was on my knees, a Mede in a gold helmet and bronze aventail cut at my head with his short akinakes.His blow landed, and my ears rang.But Hermogenes stood by me, and he made clumsy parries with his spear over my shoulder.When you are in a real fight, your world is a tunnel formed by the walls of your helmet and the width of the eye slits.I had no idea whether we were winning or losing, but even with my ears ringing and my arm afire, I knew that having their heroic captain on his knees in the sand was not going to help my men win their way up the beach [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]