straight down from his hand. With a snap of the wrist, Shappa spun the sling toward the ground, stepping forward and extending his right arm as he released the cord.
A shower of mud showed where the stone impacted, close to the center of the target’s body. For the first time, Eskkar noticed the many pock marks in the wall. Gatus must have had the boys practicing for some time.
Eskkar frowned. He’d been unprepared for the swiftness of the throw, and had missed what Shappa had done. “Again,” he ordered.
Shappa picked up another projectile, with all of Eskkar’s attention focused this time. As the stone fell into the pouch, he understood the reason for the hole in the center — to give the pouch a better grip on the projectile, making it less likely to slip out during the rotation. Odd that he’d never thought of that as a child, nor had anyone else in the clan. This time the slinger whipped the sling around twice, releasing the stone before the second whirl had been completed, again stepping forward with an overhand throwing motion.
With another spray of mud fragments, the second stone landed just below the gouge the first had made. Two good casts, Eskkar decided, but nothing that he couldn’t have duplicated with a bow. He pushed that thought from his mind. Comparing bowmen to slingers made no sense. He didn’t intend to use slingers as bowmen. These boys weren’t strong enough, and the bows and arrows his archers required took plenty of gold to construct and the men months to train.
No one said anything, but every eye was fixed on Eskkar. He looked at Gatus, but the man had occupied himself cleaning a fingernail. Eskkar turned back to Shappa. “How fast can you make a throw?”
Shappa moved toward Nivar, who had brought a handful of stones with him. The slinger selected three stones, and then stepped back to his original position. He dropped the first stone in the sling, and this time he turned to Eskkar.
“Begin.” Again Eskkar focused his attention on the slinger.
The sling swung round, the stone released at the top of the swing. As the pouch descended, the release strap flying through the air, Shappa extended his left hand, a stone held in his fingers. The still-whirling pouch closed over the second stone, the trailing release strap swung back to the slinger’s right hand. He caught the knot and applied another powerful spin to the sling. The second stone was launched toward the target, while Shappa’s left hand extended once again into the pouch’s path. The third stone soon flew on its way.
Eskkar realized his mouth was open, and closed it. He’d never seen anything like that before, still didn’t believe what his eyes had just told him. In fact, if anyone boasted they could reload a pouch like that, he would have thought him a liar. Eskkar guessed that the three stones had been launched before a man could count to five. Even Mitrac and his arrows couldn’t match that speed, but of course, the arrow’s flight had much greater range. Or did it?
“How far can you cast such a stone?”
“With a good chance of a hit, King Eskkar, about seventy-five paces,” Shappa answered, looking more confident now that he’d proved his skill. “But with smaller stones, I’ve hit targets at double that distance.”
That matched the distances an Akkadian archer had to hit his targets — three out of four at seventy-five paces, and two out of five at one hundred and fifty. Mitrac and some of the other master bowmen could hit targets at over four hundred paces, something else Eskkar once wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
“Can you do better? Can the range of throws be extended?”
“No, my lord, not easily. The stones vary in weight and shape too much to make a perfect cast each time.”
“Do it again,” Eskkar said. “And this time do it slower, and explain what you’re doing at every step.”
He made the boy do it twice more, until Eskkar felt certain he understood the process. Then he turned to Nivar. “Let me see what you can do.”
“Underhand, Nivar,” Gatus called out, still sitting on his stool.
Nivar stepped forward and took Shappa’s place. Where the first slinger had shown a calm demeanor, Nivar could scarcely conceal his excitement. The stone slipped from his fingers when he tried to drop it into the pouch. To Eskkar’s surprise, not one of the onlookers laughed. Everyone kept silent, except Gatus, who scratched his beard noisily.
Nivar faced the target, his body turned slightly to the side in the same position as Shappa. This time the sling swung the opposite way, but the projectile flung itself forward almost as quickly. When the stone struck the target, it was still traveling at an upwards angle. A good shot, and just as much mud had blasted off the wall.
“Again,” Eskkar ordered, his eyes narrowed as they watched every movement, determined to miss nothing of the process.
Another throw, the underhand motion similar to the way Eskkar had skipped stones across a pond in his youth. This time the missile struck in the target’s head. No doubt a few more paces back, and it would have missed the target.
“A good throw, Nivar.” Eskkar wanted to encourage the boy. “How fast can you throw three stones?”
Nivar tried to duplicate Shappa quick reload, but the second stone missed the target, and the third failed to stay in the pouch.
“I’m sorry, Lord Eskkar,” the embarrassment in Nivar’s voice was plain to all. “I only learned Shappa’s way of reloading a few days ago.”
“Which method will cast the stone farther?” Eskkar asked. At the same time, he motioned to Shappa to give him the sling.
“There seems to be a difference of opinion about that,” Gatus said. “A lot depends on the individual slinger, of course, but it seems to me that the underhand method will throw the stone farther, but perhaps not with the same force.”
“Better a stone falls on the rear ranks than in the dirt,” Eskkar remarked, modifying the archer’s old adage. By now he’d fitted the sling to his finger, and dropped a stone in the pouch. He whirled the sling, turning it over again and again, until he thought he knew when to release it. Imitating the two slingers, he stepped forward as he let it fly. The stone sailed right over the barracks and landed somewhere out of sight.
But not out of hearing. A loud voice began cursing the fool who threw stones in the air.
Eskkar had to force himself not to smile. He didn’t mind looking foolish, not as long as he could master the skill. Again and again he threw, five, ten, up to twenty stones. At first he took two revolutions for each throw, but soon learned to launch the projectile with a single spin. A second revolution added little to the force of the stone. Eskkar’s results ranged all over the barracks wall, the dirt between, and the sky above. But by the twentieth stone, he’d slipped into what had to be the proper rhythm, stepping forward and throwing his arm directly at the target.
He grunted in satisfaction when he struck the target twice in succession. By then sweat covered his face and bare chest. The task seemed simple enough, but he realized you had to concentrate on what you were doing. No doubt, over time, the skill of each slinger and the individual steps would merge into a smooth motion that required little thought. Just like an archer. When you mastered your craft, you scarcely needed to aim the weapon.
But not on the first day, or the second. He looked around, and found Gatus had gone, leaving Eskkar and Grond alone with the recruits. Gatus might have rounded up the boys, but it was the king who conceived their use, and it should be the king to whom they gave their loyalty.
“All right, I want to see every man throw. Line them up, Shappa. Nivar, get some boys and collect the stones.”
Grond helped out, making sure the now excited boys stayed at their place in the line. Eskkar told them to start with the more usual, overhand throw. There would be plenty of time for practicing with the underhand toss.
One by one, the boys demonstrated their skill. Soon stones were flying all over the barracks area, and Grond had to clear everyone out of possible danger. That included anyone to their rear, as some boys in their haste sent rocks whirling behind them, into the dirt at their feet, or straight up into the air, with everyone dodging the missile’s return to earth.
Eskkar took several more turns with Shappa’s sling, which he decided he preferred after trying a few of the others. Everyone wanted to demonstrate his skill, and as the boys grew accustomed to Eskkar’s presence, their nerves steadied, their voices rose, and the ability to strike the target improved.
Not that he cared much about an individual’s expertise. Eskkar wanted to see how effective a group of slingers could be. Working with five at a time, he had them rain stones on the abused barracks’ wall, which soon
