This was it. This was the place where Arrnam his grandsire, in the presence of his entire army, had fallen on his sword and his corpse had been left for the kites and the hyena, and his clan’s wealth, prestige and honour had vanished for ever along with his clan. Rather than be sold into slavery his entire clan’s warriors had slaughtered each other, as was their right, and the last had been so dignified field marshal Saynam of the Shenta clan had ordered he be allowed a swift death rather than be forced into further humiliation.
This was the place where the events had occurred that had caused the Magellsi family names to cease to be, and the families’ mares to choose which one of their rival clans’ stallions they wished to give themselves and their fillies to. This was where Arrnam had cursed and ended the Magellsi’s future and at the same time ensured that every square inch of the planet and everything on it was returned to the enemy and they the fighting, warrior Oumajali, known to all as the Centaurs, returned home empty handed after a thirty year war that had cost them untold in silver and some tens of thousands of warriors. The place where the impossible had become reality when they had been within less than an hour of taking possession of the entire planet.
The Oumajali were a warrior race. They fought anywhere and everywhere there was fighting to enjoy. They fought for silver, they fought for land and they fought for slaves. Generations ago, before it became forbidden, they had fought for mares. The truth was they fought for the love of fighting. Before the space drive they had fought on Oumajali with each other and then with the space drive they had fought within their galaxy till they had subjugated all other species. When the limited space drives had been superseded by the impulse drives they carried their culture of war to the rest of known space. None could stand before them for long, and they had never had any real opposition to their expansion, except the planet they were about to take after thirty years of hard fighting. Even though it had been a long war it had offered no real resistance Till that fateful day.
Tarjji and Layeal gazed at the statues in awe. Their understanding of such matters was the most sophisticated of their race, they were famous for it, yet still they could not understand how two such small mares could bring an inter galactic culture to it’s knees. Tarjji was the sole surviving full blood stallion of Arrnam’s clan, though he and his brother had been counted amongst the Shenta from early colthood. From the day of Arrnam’s fall from grace, every known stallion of his clan had been slaughtered, even the newfoaled colts hadn’t been spared, for that was the Oumajali way.
Silvermane, Tarjji’s dam, had only been pregnant a few days when she gave herself to Elgal of the Daarleen clan and was still nursing Eyebright her youngest filly. Not a one of the mares and fillies of the Magellsi had been hurt, but the pregnant had been watched and all colts had been slaughtered at their foaling to prevent any future vengeance on behalf of the Magellsi. As always the newfoaled fillies had been untouched.
Silvermane had reported her pregnancy late and Elgal had celebrated his virility at impregnating his new and very beautiful, high status mare of the once so proud Magellsi clan immediately. He was blissfully unaware Silvermane had chosen to give herself to him because she’d considered, due to his arrogance and stupidity, he was the stallion most likely to be duped regarding her foal should it prove to be a colt. Silvermane’s deception had worked, and three years later she left Elgal for Tennal of the Shenta clan. Tennal, a nephew of Saynam, was in every regard a better stallion than Elgal, and he’d been happy to rear all Silvermane’s foals as his own. Silvermane had told Tarjji the truth of it on her deathbed when she still belonged to the then grieving Tennal. Layeal had been suckled after the fighting by their dam Silvermane on the orders of Saynam and the two brothers, despite their differences, were close.
That fateful morning had boded well for battle. Arrnam had been looking forward to it. The enemy had been flushed out of the city and the last fifty or so had dug themselves into trenches on the open plain for a last stand. It was to be the day his forces would wipe them out. Oumajali law said nothing could be claimed till an entire planet was under Oumajali control with no resistance. This was the last battle the planet had to offer and as usual, when it was over, the squabbling over the land, slaves and resources would begin as the entire planet became an Oumajali possession. The sun was well up when the fighting started. The ritual stand and fight offered to a beleaguered enemy was well under way. The offer was simple, stand and fight one to one and if you win you may go and live the rest of your life as you chose, or refuse and face slaughter. None would touch and all would honour a victor of such an event, but none had ever in their entire history bettered an Oumajali warrior.
By mid afternoon the enemy had been reduced to two who refused the ritual combat. Arrnam had been incensed that they were dragging out his wait for victory. The two had shouted that he should lead his entire forces in person and they would butcher them all starting with him and those too cowardly to face the two of them, which doubtless included him, they would chase back to whatever insignificant mud ball of a planet they’d been spawned on and butcher them there. Arrnam had never been the most even tempered of Oumajali, and he’d responded by telling his forces to build sweepers. A sweeper was a whole tree, maybe a foot in diameter with four feet long, spring metal teeth fastened onto its surface. They were heavy enough to rest on the ground but when dragged over a depression in the ground the barbed metal teeth sprang down into it dragging out anything it contained. The technique Arrnam ordered was armoured Oumajali would gallop over the trench using their swords to force the defenders to stay down so they couldn’t pick off the warriors dragging the sweepers forward which would then dispose of the two. Sweepers were for animals, and it was considered improper by all and dishonourable too by most to use them on an enemy, but Arrnam was beyond reason or listening to advice.
That was when it all went wrong. The defenders hurled insult after insult. They clearly knew how to enrage their enemy. Arrnam was frothing at the mouth when he ordered the two thousand and odd warriors of his clan to line up in front of the sweepers which were ready to follow them. The rest of his army he ordered to watch. He was gloating in anticipation of his rewards, for Saynam had arrived to watch. Arrnam was proud of the inglorious end he had provided the insolent enemy who would be ripped apart like animals, which in his mind they clearly were, by the sweeper barbs. All was readied and Arrnam had ordered the warriors to charge.
But the enemy had not behaved as anticipated. As the front rank of warriors had galloped over the trench, the enemy had not cowered down, but had stood swinging their swords creating mayhem in the charging Oumajali ranks. Four hundred and fifty-two of the Oumajali had broken legs in the mêlée and immediately fell on their swords. A further couple of hundred were to die of their wounds, most acquired from Oumajali shoes, and even more were too crippled to be of further use as warriors and so took their own lives.
Yes, the two were dead, but not as a result of the sweepers. They had chosen their own way to die, and the toll they had exacted had been huge. Two hundred and twenty-six to one was vastly more than any Oumajali had ever taken on. The figure was later found to be five hundred and six to one when the exact death count was known. Arrnam had been expecting to be rewarded for the enemy deaths and the final delivery of the planet, but Saynam had been of another mind. “Being me their bodies immediately. I shall personally geld any who treats their remains with less than the utmost of respect. Their sacrifice deserves all possible honour or we dishonour every last Oumajali warrior.”
It had been done immediately, and then as the bodies were seen the enormity of the shameful Oumajali defeat had hit them. They’d just been bested at odds unknown in their entire history by two warriors with breasts, mares! And one was heavily pregnant and movement could be seen. An adult Oumajali warrior massed fifteen hundred kilos or more [at least thirty-three hundred pounds, a ton and a half] stood six feet at the withers and could gallop at forty-five miles an hour for several hours fully armed. The razor sharp steel shoes on his each of his four hooves massed three or four kilos apiece [six to nine pounds each] and he carried weaponry and armour that weighed more than one of the enemy. These two warrior mares were tiny, at most sixty-five kilos [a hundred and forty pounds], a hand span less than six feet shoes to mane and possibly capable of ten miles per hour for an hour carrying nothing, certainly not carrying a foal.
That the two were warriors was indisputable. Their heroic sacrifice for their people had been understood and witnessed by thousands of Oumajali who prayed to the Great Stallion that when their time came they could die thus. Full ceremony was required for their endings, or Saynam knew he would have a full scale mutiny on his hands. He was in full agreement, for such consummate warriors, warriors who knew they were about to die within seconds, yet warriors right to their last breath, regardless of their race, were owed no less, by all true warriors of all races.
Deep down Saynam knew he’d rather have dined last night with the fallen enemy warriors than with the over full of himself Arrnam. On seeing the pair his reaction had been immediate, bending low on both front knees to the fallen he said in respectful tones to Dremaarl his second in command, “Enough have died. Have a medic cut in for the foal. All shall pray for a stallion, and see that it has what it needs including a dam to suckle it. A dam of the highest status from the Magellsi mares. It is all over here. I wish every warrior off the planet within one rotation. There will be no victory, nor spoils here. The victory and the planet and all it contains are theirs.” There was silence for a full minute as the warriors, like their field marshal, bowed lowed to the fallen.
The silence was broken by the medic who said, “The dam was already in the process of giving birth, Saynam. It’s a healthy stallion. I shall arrange matters as you ordered.”
Turning to Arrnam, Saynam said, “Two of their mares humiliated your entire army, Arrnam, one on the point of foaling. You may well have cost us over a thousand warriors, and for what? An unspeakable act of dishonour because you could not take the same kind of insults you were throwing at them. You disgust me. You may call yourself a warrior, but you know nothing of the warrior’s code. Your clan is no more. Do what is necessary, or I shall order it done.”
Oumajali descent was via the mare not the stallion, for it was always clear who a foal’s dam was, the sire could always be disputed, for a mare in her heat was at best indiscriminate. So a foal was reckoned as the offspring of which ever stallion owned the mare at the time she foaled. Those who suckled the milk of the same mare were siblings irrespective of their sire, or as Oumajali had it, ‘Brotherhood is in the milk.’ Mares were never truly of a clan or family for they could choose to give themself to another stallion whenever they wished. They had to be the property of a stallion, but they chose their stallion, and if dissatisfied chose another taking their foals with them.
It had always been the case that a mare would present herself to any stallion she chose when in her heat, though usually she would stand for whichever stallion was behind her, even one of her own colts. Most would stand when not in their heat though many only for their own stallion, but still it was their choice which stallion they allowed to mount them. Upset mares could be dangerous and there were records of more than one stallion who had forced a mare awakening a gelding and ending himself. Such had always been the subject of scorn, for it was folly to press an unwilling mare when so many were eager.
That was why mares had to belong to a stallion, so that when they were not responsible for their actions the stallion could be held accountable. The Oumajali had always said, ‘A mare can either be thinking or winking, but not at the same time.’ That was why it had been forbidden for stallions to fight over mares for generations, for else the stallions would have reduced the Oumajali population to nothing as a result of the oestrous controlled behaviour of the mares. Mares acknowledged the saying to be true, and attributed it to Featherhooves, an ancestral mare of some twenty-two hundred years ago. The mares of the Magellsi, unlike the stallions, lost none of their status as a result of Arrnam’s act, for they would not be mares of the Magellsi for long.
Ordering the foal of the fallen warrior mare to be suckled by a high status Magellsi mare had been the highest death honour Saynam could confer on her, and it was unanimously approved by every stallion under his command. All Oumajali promotions were by acclamation of the warriors. The ability to see the right solution to such intractable problems was why Saynam was so highly respected and had been chosen to be the field marshal and battle commander, the highest ranking warrior in all Oumajali. They didn’t like that the campaign had been abandoned after such a high cost, but all acknowledged Saynam had made the only honourable decision and none thought to question it. To a warrior honour was beyond price and life itself, and the few who had misgivings held their peace, for the disdain of their peers could only lead to certain death.
And that was how the historians Tarjji and Layeal his brother, the foal of the pregnant enemy who’d been nursed by their dam, came to be standing there in front of the hugely breasted, sword wielding, bronze statues, one of which was bulging with her pregnancy, that had been erected on Saynam’s order in honour of the now legendary sacrifice the two mares had made for their race. The sacrifice that was now a part of every Oumajali colt’s and filly’s education. The two wanted to see for themselves the place where it happened and what had come to the culture of those who had brought their entire parasitic culture to it’s knees and ensured its retreat back to it’s own galaxy. The psychological impact of the mares’ act had been immense and devastating for the Oumajali.
The Oumajali still were coming to terms with the fact that they were not invincible. They couldn’t just take whatever they wanted with impunity, and their empire was still shrinking. Battle loss was no longer rare, for they knew doubt, and not only were their warriors crippled by that knowledge, their opponents were fortified by it. Tarjji estimated they would be forced back to Oumajali within a couple of centuries at most, and have to trade, negotiate and work for their requirements long before then.
The two brothers were famous for chronicling of the history of the Oumajali. Their fame was as much due to their notoriety as their perception and intelligence. Tarjji was notorious for Silvermane’s actions which had ensured he survived the purge of Arrnam’s clan, for by the time it became public knowledge the events were history. Layeal was notorious for being the physically insignificant Oumajali, who as a foal had been taken from the belly of his dead dam. It was their belief that for the first time in two millennia the Oumajali were developing as a species and that Tarjji’s kind owed the two mares of Layeal’s kind a debt beyond reckoning.
No two humans could have done more.
