daze and notched dusty arrows to their strings. They showered the sons of Kedorlaomer with shafts. The two-man teams thrust their massive shields upright, arrows thudding against them, sticking, quivering. Then, as one man held the shield, the second leaned out to fire arrows at those on the wall.
Atalanta saw that her uncles and great uncles had the advantage of height . The archers of Havilah however, the sons of Kedorlaomer, were expert marksmen. Their bows seemed like living things, their arrows like angry wasps seeking victims.
Now the Slayer who was drunk on Ymir’s mead, the one held steady by the two shamans, howled dementedly. Foam flecked his lips and he gnashed his teeth. The shamans pressed a stick dangling with strings of meat into his hands. They whispered to him and his eyes glazed weirdly. Holding the stick, screaming vile oaths and profanities, he began to stalk toward the wall.
The spearmen of Nod opened ranks . Ugly, huge hyaenodons in leather padding snarled and fixed their beady eyes on the meat stick. They had massive crushing jaws and their hides were spotted like leopards. The doglike creatures were only a little less than five feet at the shoulder and ten feet long. Each had been harnessed to a trace stapled to an uprooted tree trunk. Huge wheels had been bolted onto the hoary trunk. Axes had whittled the shaft-head into a blunt point, into a ram. The wheels groaned as the hyaenodons pulled and their jaws slavered. The naked, mead-drunken Slayer began to run. The hyaenodons ran faster after him. Behind the ram marched spearmen of Nod, clinking in their mailcoats, shields glittering in the morning sunlight.
“ Kill the Slayer!” the elder of Chemosh shouted.
Chemosh a rrows no longer flew at the archers of Havilah, at the great pin-cushioned shields, but at the sprinting Chooser of the Slain. Howling, he raced for the brass gate, his eyes glazed in madness.
The spearmen also ran and so did the giant dog-like creatures . The ram bounced and creaked as it trundled after them. The kettledrums of Ymir pounded. Horns brayed with savagery.
Then a n arrow pierced the berserk Slayer. He ignored the shaft sticking in his chest. A second arrow struck him in the thigh. Then a third and a fourth arrow hit. One caromed off his head. He laughed, staggering, waving his meat stick, almost to the gate.
“ Shoot the hyaenodons!” the elder shouted, the second oldest son of Chemosh.
It was too late . The Slayer reached the gate and pounded his fists upon it. Men of Chemosh leaned over the stone wall, drilling their shafts directly down at him. The Slayer groaned and slumped to the ground, more than fifteen arrows sticking him. Then the hyaenodons leapt upon the meat stick, greedily devouring strips of meat. A second later the speeding ram burst against the gate, blowing the doors off their hinges.
Over and past the ram , past the snarling doglike creatures, poured the chanting spearmen of Nod.
Clan Chemosh died that day.
14.
With her tale told, Atalanta drained her wine and sat staring at a dancing flame. Both Noah and Gaea begged her to stay. She could escape this doomed world aboard the Ark and survive in the world to come. Atalanta shook her head. Out of all her clan, only she had broken out. She had narrowly avoided hunting hyaenodons and patrolling charioteers. Her great fleetness of foot, her almost legendary running skills, had saved her and she would continue to run. The curse of Ymir marked her: that none would escape the compound alive. Unless she fled far away, Ymir’s Slayers would capture her and put her to death, hideously.
Gaea gave her a mule , a package of food and shekels.
As Atalanta readied her mount outside, Rahab tapped her on the shoulder,
The woman of Chemosh scowled . She was lithely limbed, a survivor clearly. The way she wore a hooked dagger on her belt made it seem she knew how to use it. Rahab could well imagine Atalanta running long.
“ I can’t take you with
Atalanta saw that her uncles and great uncles had the advantage of height . The archers of Havilah however, the sons of Kedorlaomer, were expert marksmen. Their bows seemed like living things, their arrows like angry wasps seeking victims.
Now the Slayer who was drunk on Ymir’s mead, the one held steady by the two shamans, howled dementedly. Foam flecked his lips and he gnashed his teeth. The shamans pressed a stick dangling with strings of meat into his hands. They whispered to him and his eyes glazed weirdly. Holding the stick, screaming vile oaths and profanities, he began to stalk toward the wall.
The spearmen of Nod opened ranks . Ugly, huge hyaenodons in leather padding snarled and fixed their beady eyes on the meat stick. They had massive crushing jaws and their hides were spotted like leopards. The doglike creatures were only a little less than five feet at the shoulder and ten feet long. Each had been harnessed to a trace stapled to an uprooted tree trunk. Huge wheels had been bolted onto the hoary trunk. Axes had whittled the shaft-head into a blunt point, into a ram. The wheels groaned as the hyaenodons pulled and their jaws slavered. The naked, mead-drunken Slayer began to run. The hyaenodons ran faster after him. Behind the ram marched spearmen of Nod, clinking in their mailcoats, shields glittering in the morning sunlight.
“ Kill the Slayer!” the elder of Chemosh shouted.
Chemosh a rrows no longer flew at the archers of Havilah, at the great pin-cushioned shields, but at the sprinting Chooser of the Slain. Howling, he raced for the brass gate, his eyes glazed in madness.
The spearmen also ran and so did the giant dog-like creatures . The ram bounced and creaked as it trundled after them. The kettledrums of Ymir pounded. Horns brayed with savagery.
Then a n arrow pierced the berserk Slayer. He ignored the shaft sticking in his chest. A second arrow struck him in the thigh. Then a third and a fourth arrow hit. One caromed off his head. He laughed, staggering, waving his meat stick, almost to the gate.
“ Shoot the hyaenodons!” the elder shouted, the second oldest son of Chemosh.
It was too late . The Slayer reached the gate and pounded his fists upon it. Men of Chemosh leaned over the stone wall, drilling their shafts directly down at him. The Slayer groaned and slumped to the ground, more than fifteen arrows sticking him. Then the hyaenodons leapt upon the meat stick, greedily devouring strips of meat. A second later the speeding ram burst against the gate, blowing the doors off their hinges.
Over and past the ram , past the snarling doglike creatures, poured the chanting spearmen of Nod.
Clan Chemosh died that day.
14.
With her tale told, Atalanta drained her wine and sat staring at a dancing flame. Both Noah and Gaea begged her to stay. She could escape this doomed world aboard the Ark and survive in the world to come. Atalanta shook her head. Out of all her clan, only she had broken out. She had narrowly avoided hunting hyaenodons and patrolling charioteers. Her great fleetness of foot, her almost legendary running skills, had saved her and she would continue to run. The curse of Ymir marked her: that none would escape the compound alive. Unless she fled far away, Ymir’s Slayers would capture her and put her to death, hideously.
Gaea gave her a mule , a package of food and shekels.
As Atalanta readied her mount outside, Rahab tapped her on the shoulder,
The woman of Chemosh scowled . She was lithely limbed, a survivor clearly. The way she wore a hooked dagger on her belt made it seem she knew how to use it. Rahab could well imagine Atalanta running long.
“ I can’t take you with
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