Following an extremely sharp conch horn, on every wall, warriors and militiamen suddenly leaned out and shot death arrows fiercely. They half-drawn the new longbows and shot sharp copper arrows, piercing the cotton armor of the running warriors. They drew their traditional single wooden bows and fired fanged bone arrows, piercing the heads and faces of the stagnant warriors.
Giowa below the city held his shield high and looked up. Then, his pupils shrank, his body subconsciously squatted down, and he raised his shield above his head. Thousands of Tarasco archers fired their arrows at the same time, and a deadly hail of arrows suddenly shot out from the top of the city, roaring through the sky. The shield in Giowa's hand rang continuously, and then there was an obvious stinging pain in his shoulder, and it was obvious that he had been hit by an arrow. Several personal guards beside him rolled to the ground like gourds, screamed and covered their heads and faces, and struggled again before being shot into hedgehogs.
Almost at the same moment, hundreds of Tarasco militiamen half stood up and shouted. They raised their arms, took aim, and then threw pointed wooden spears as long as their arms and fist-sized round stones under the city wall. The wooden spear was condescending, and with the dull sound of wind, it penetrated the warrior's body mercilessly, pinning them to the ground. The thick rocks continued to accelerate, and with irresistible force, they slammed into the warrior's leather helmet, knocking down both the man and the helmet.
Giowa crouched on the ground, hiding his body directly behind the big shield, and no longer cared about watching the battle. A violent collision sound "bang bang" came, and the screams of the guards were heard continuously, but quickly and faintly. In the current siege battle, the leather armor on his body seemed so weak. Even for a strong warrior, death can come at any time and wither away in just an instant.
Not far away, Shulot could see more clearly for a moment. This long-prepared volley cleared the air in an instant and nailed hundreds of Otomi warriors!
The young commander waved the flag quickly, the same sharp conch sound sounded, and more than a thousand Mexica crossbowmen also fired arrows at the top of the city. The arrows and crossbow bolts were like a raging torrent, knocking down the weeds at the top of the city in a matter of seconds.
A capable Tarasco warrior holds a longbow and has a fierce look on his face. From a distance of forty steps, he shot an arrow accurately into the cheek of the Ottopan warrior, and immediately became the target of the archers in the city. The capable warrior was about to nock an arrow again, but he paused suddenly, then weakly let go of his hand, letting the copper arrow fall from his hand.
A bone arrow penetrated through his unprotected chin, and with a "puff" sound resounding in the flesh and blood, it slanted through his mouth. The unbearable pain was felt instantly. The warrior did not die immediately and was still trying in vain to open his mouth. Then, another crossbow bolt roared and penetrated the warrior's chest. He immediately knelt down, his hands still struggling. It wasn't until an extremely precise arrow pierced his eye, two inches deep, that he gained final relief and fell backward on the city wall.
Four or five of Tarasco's militia shooters stood close together. Wearing civilian clothes, they squeezed into the narrow gaps in their shields and fired arrows at the same time, shouting to shoot down the enemy. More than twenty feather arrows came with the shout, most of them were blocked by the shield, causing a constant "bang bang" sound.
Only four or five long arrows penetrated through different gaps, and then penetrated into the weak body without stopping. The long arrows at close range were so powerful that they passed directly through the body without being blocked by cloth or flesh, stringing the militiamen together with a "chichi" sound, and their blood immediately mingled. The militiamen screamed in pain and struggled hard, but they could not separate. They just opened the wound, bleeding more bright red, and then solidified into a group of still sculptures.
There are also brave Tarasco militiamen who raise their right arms and throw powerful short spears. As soon as the short spear was released, the powerful crossbow arrow was thrown into the vital part of his exposed chest, and he fell to the bottom of the city wall without saying a word. At the last moment of his life, he only saw his short spear hit the target and pierce an Otopan warrior who was charging forward. The other party staggered for two steps, then fell down, his face buried in the soil. Then, the brave militiamen also smashed away the dust, and died silently together, two steps away from the samurai who fell to the ground with a spear, head to head.
Shulot was expressionless and nodded slightly. The Tarascans who were shooting could not be completely covered, and this wave of arrows at close range also took away nearly a hundred defenders. The projected firepower from the city's head stagnated, and the archers hid again. They shot intermittently towards the city from the gap between the wooden sign and the earthen platform, and their accuracy was greatly weakened.
The fierce drumbeat never stopped, and Otopan's warriors roared and charged, finally reaching the top of the city. A dozen warriors desperately set up a heavy wooden ladder and set it up on the bluestone city wall. They could climb to the city in sight.
The Tarascans on the top of the city poked their heads out again. Under the strong urging of the supervising warriors, the militiamen suddenly threw clay pots of different sizes, and then threw down heavy wood and stones. The clay pot crashed onto the city wall and exploded, releasing a cloud of gray powder. The Otopan warriors below the city burst out with a scream that was not like a human voice, covered their eyes with their hands, and writhing in pain on the ground. This is the raw and hydrated lime common in volcanic areas and has been used for many years in construction and agricultural production.
The warriors under the city turned their backs on things, loosened their palms, and ran around in confusion. The wooden ladder tilted and fell to the ground, directly crushing the two warriors. The wood and stones at the top of the city also fell with a crash, smashing several warriors into a ball on the ground. The ground was soon dyed red and gray.
Witnessing this tragic scene, the nearby archers quickly adjusted and began to prioritize shooting at these militiamen throwing clay pots. On the city wall, a Tarasco militia maniacally shouted the name of God, raised the clay pot in his hand, and was about to smash it down. Several feather arrows came with a "whisper", hitting him from top to bottom. The militiaman suddenly leaned back and could no longer lift the clay pot containing lime, and the clay pot fell silently.
Behind him, several militiamen from the same village turned pale with fear and pushed him hard from behind without hesitation. The fanatical militiamen took the slipped clay pot with them, falling from a height of six meters, and then bloomed with a "bang" on the ground, bringing out a cloud of white mist. The shrill screams sounded outside the city, but it was several Ottopan warriors who were suddenly blinded.
The militiamen on the city had just breathed a sigh of relief when the whistling arrows struck again, nailing most of the militiamen to death. Only one person managed to escape. The militiamen who escaped were so terrified that they lay motionless in a pool of blood at the top of the city, never wanting to get up to defend the city again. When the warrior supervising the battle saw this gap, he waved his bronze spear and drove the next group of militiamen onto the city. Then, without hesitation, he ordered that the last militiaman be thrown into the city along with the corpses of his fellow villagers. Soon, there were final screams outside the city.
The crossbowmen of the earth platform and the shield chariot suppressed them hard, and the archers of the nest chariot cleared them at fixed points. Soon, several chaotic sections of city wall appeared on the left side of the southern city. Hundreds of Otopan warriors finally set up wooden ladders and climbed up through these chaotic gaps. In just a dozen breaths, dozens of warriors boarded the city, shouting excitedly. They waved their shields to resist the thrusting bronze spears, then struck out their war clubs and fought with the large group of Tarasco militiamen.
Shulot's eyes lit up and he looked expectant. He waved the command flag, and the tall and strong temple guards lined up, ready to go to support at any time. Then, the crossbowmen on the high platform received instructions one after another, and fired concentratedly at both sides of the city walls, nailing a group of militiamen to death.
On the top of the wall, a Tarasco militiaman was suddenly hit by an arrow in the head and died on his back. The Tlaxcala wooden bow in his hand fell aside. Two steps away, the young militiaman Weziti's eyes turned red and he was about to reach for the wooden bow. Then there was a "bang" sound, and he was hit hard on the forehead, suddenly interrupting his movements.
"Stupid wood! Don't take that wooden bow, you will die if you take it!"
The accent of his hometown came from behind Weziti, awakening him from the urge to fight. The young militiaman squatted and turned around, and saw the familiar old militiaman Chihuaco. The old militiaman also squatted down, pushing a stone as big as his chest in his hand. He wore a thick wooden shield on his head and tied it tightly to his chin with a sisal rope, like a shelled river turtle.
"Uncle, where did you get this shield? Isn't there a gentleman's helmet over there?"
Wezti shook his dizzy head and took a closer look at Chihuaco's appearance. Last time, the old militiaman led them to escape from the battlefield. After rowing for three days, they had to return to the fortress before the marshal. Since then, the old militiaman has been promoted to a leader in everyone's mind, a convincing old uncle.
Fierce sounds of fighting filled the sky, and "whooshing" arrows passed through their heads. Chihuaco shuddered and looked around, but did not see the samurai master. Then he whispered.
"Don't wear the old man's helmet or the old man's leather armor. The Mexicans are just staring at that outfit! You can find a shield or a clay pot to put it on. Then come with me and squat down. Push the stone down!"
Vezti vaguely understood something. He bent down, found an empty clay pot, put it on his head, and then pushed the stone with the old militiaman.
Soon, the supporting warriors looked nervous and climbed to the top of the city with their spears. They hurried past and rushed towards the city wall on the other side of the river, shouting to drive away the militiamen along the way. The arrows whistling under the city also shot straight at the city head over there, bringing down groups of defenders from time to time.
Chihuaco held the stone in his hand and looked carefully in his eyes.
He looked at the brutal fighting not far away. Dozens of lean warriors rushed to the top of the city and fought with the supporting gentlemen. From time to time, someone screamed in pain and fell to the ground, either outside the city or inside the city. There was like a fire making soup. The gentlemen on both sides were like firewood thrown in, boiling the city wall continuously, causing blood to splash like boiling soup.
The old militiaman shuddered again. He took out the blood-stained herbal bag and took two strong puffs. The smell of medicine in the medicine pack is getting weaker and weaker, but the smell of blood is much stronger. But somehow this action calmed him down.
When the old militiaman came to his senses, he saw that Vezti was already one step ahead of him and was about to push the big stone off the city wall. He was so angry that he grabbed the young militiaman by his pants and pulled him to the ground.
"Wezti, come back here! Are you stupid?! Do you really want to throw this big stone down? Open your eyes and take a look. This is the only big stone nearby. After pushing it down, the gentlemen will have to force it. I'm shooting arrows and throwing spears while you're here...Hurry up and push me back!"
The young militiaman was stunned for a moment. He looked around, and there was a lot of fighting all around. The gentlemen were passing by in a hurry, but no one paid attention to this place. Then, he obediently pushed the big stone back, and together with the old militiamen, they squatted on the ground and pushed the stone.
"Uncle, the Mexicans are very fierce today. Do you think we can hold on?"
Amid the brutal fighting up and down the city walls, the old militiamen crouched down and made gestures while looking around at the situation. He answered casually.
"The people who are coming are all the new young gentlemen. The hundreds of old gentlemen behind have not come up and are all waiting under the city wall. Today's situation is estimated to be able to be maintained. But looking at the ferocious momentum of the Mexica people, the following Ah, I’m afraid I won’t be able to carry it for long!”
At this point, the old militiaman sighed and muttered to himself.
"Why can't the rocket I picked up turn into a fire demon? Otherwise, if you ask the nobles for a job as a water gate guard, you will have a way to survive at the critical moment!"
Not long after returning last time, a noble gentleman came down and reorganized the militiamen. Chihuaco, an old militiaman, took the opportunity to donate the rocket he had picked up.
The old man was overjoyed and took the rocket to study repeatedly. He opened the round paper shell in the middle and identified the charcoal powder and the "stone of the dead" inside. Then, the gentlemen dried the damp powder and ignited it carefully. As a result, this thing is no different from ordinary charcoal powder. Even if it is burned normally, it produces very choking smoke and does not suddenly burst into flames.
Chihuaco couldn't figure it out, and neither did the gentlemen, so the promised reward was gone. The old militiaman was just promoted to a militia squad leader, in charge of more than a dozen militiamen, and then he was thrown into the fiercest south city head and became a pile of firewood. After just over ten days, almost all of his militiamen were dead, and now only a few obedient fellow villagers were left, fishing together in the city.
The old militiaman was thinking carefully, but in the "swishing" rain of arrows, he heard Vezti's frightened call.
"Uncle, uncle! The Mexicans are coming up!"
Chihuaco shuddered and looked ahead. At some point, another group of lean warriors came forward, picked up the wooden ladder that had fallen on the ground, and built it up to the top of the city again. Following the movements of the warriors, the arrows from behind crossed the city head first, passed through his prone back, and directly shot several militiamen behind him to death.
The old militiaman's hands and feet were cold and his face was pale. At the critical moment, he showed unimaginable agility, crawling backwards with his hands and legs, shouting, "I'm going to get the rocks, everyone, hurry up and throw them down!"
Vesti was obedient and pushed the big boulder down first, smashing an Otopan warrior directly into the dirt. The wooden ladder at the bottom of the city shook, and then it was set up again towards the top of the city.
The militiaman behind rushed forward and threw a short spear at the wooden ladder, and then was knocked down by the crossbow bolt with a "whoosh". Another militiaman quickly picked up the wooden bow on the ground, fired an arrow suddenly, and killed a warrior. A moment later, an arrow hit him accurately, shooting through his throat, and the tip of the arrow came out through his neck.
Vezti's heart trembled, and he also crawled to get the stone. Several warriors supervising the formation at the rear quickly stepped forward, kicked and beat the militiamen to the front, and then pressed down the formation with spears themselves. The wooden ladder was finally stabilized at the top of the city, and the copper hook hooked onto the city wall. The two militiamen tried hard to push him down, but they were only shot into gourds by arrows. Then, a dozen Otomipan warriors, like dexterous apes, descended on the city with awe-inspiring killing intent.
The current warrior rushed forward and drove the militiamen back several steps. Then, a dozen warriors climbed up, wielding war clubs with sharp edges, cutting into the fragile bodies of the militiamen. More than a dozen bronze spears were thrust at him, but they were accurately blocked by the opponent's shield. Years of martial arts were like instinct. The warriors of Tarasco in the rear led the charge, and the militiamen followed. Spears and war clubs clashed, and both sides fell one after another.
A kneeling corpse suddenly moved. Chihuaco, an old militiaman, poked his head out from behind and quickly looked at the situation. He looked at the enemy warriors who were gathering more and more, and then at his own militiamen who were being killed one after another, and felt a chill in his heart. If this continues, even if subsequent reinforcements arrive and can drive off the enemies at the top of the city, I won't be able to survive that time!
Chihuaco thought hard and was in a daze for a moment, then shouted loudly to his side.
"Boys, come over with spears and squat next to me!"
Hearing the familiar voice, Vezti seemed to have found his backbone. He picked up a spear that could be seen everywhere from the corpse on the ground, and came over with five or six militiamen from the same village.
"I shout the slogan, and you all join me and stab the leg in the center!"
"Uncle, if the center can't deal with the enemy or our people, how can we stab them?"
The young militiaman asked blankly.
"Stop talking nonsense! No matter who he is over there, he won't be able to hold on for long anyway, and he will be stabbed to death by me!"
The face of the old militiaman Chihuaco showed a rare ferocity. he shouted angrily.
"One, two, three, stab!"
Sixty-seven spears passed through the crossed legs and stabbed toward the center at the same time. Several people fell down immediately on both sides of the war, half of them were Otopan warriors and half of them were Tarasco militiamen. They struggled with their legs covered, and then were trampled on by the crowd, and there was no sound for a moment.
"One, two, stab again!"
Several more people fell down, and the two warring parties came to a slight standstill. The Tarasco militiamen began to push the Otopan warriors who had ascended first toward the ladder.
"Stab! Stab again! Stab again!"
Continuous shouts were heard, and new militiamen joined in. A dozen people squatted down and stabbed at the warriors' unprotected legs and feet. This kind of wound is not fatal, but it can make the injured lose the ability to fight.
The Tarasco militiamen continued to thrust out their spears, and the newly mounted warriors had to stop and squat down to cover their lower parts with their shields. The Tarasco warriors who were supporting from the rear finally rushed to the top of the city and cooperated with the militiamen to drive the Otopan warriors down.
"Hoo, ho!"
Chihuaco, the old militiaman, slumped on the ground, still wearing his shield on his head. He smiled slightly and was about to say something to the surrounding militiamen. A shrill rain of arrows struck again, killing several of the militiamen beside him in the blink of an eye. The gentlemen at the top of the city also fell down screaming.
There was a "bang" on the old militiaman's head, and his momentum directly brought him down into a pool of blood on the ground. After a moment, he stretched out his blood-stained hands, touched the arrows stuck on the shield, and murmured to himself.
"There is really no way to survive in this kind of day..."
