“Shields!” The bellow released a cloud of white steam in the cold morning air, cloven feet pounding into the dirt as shields of wood were raised to form a wall of wood. “Spears!” At the call, wooden stakes rose to match the shields. For a man to approach would be to court death, to leave the decision in the hands of the Khor. His Khor.
“Hoooh,” they called, the wooden spears thrusting out towards him. Too slow, they merely collided with his own shield as he moved in, his hand grabbing the nearest shield and pulling it away, his own spear jabbing into the Khor behind it. The Khor brayed as he fell, the others to the side backing away, turning their shields and spears towards him. They were warriors, yes, but they were not soldiers. They did not know how to work together, nor how to defend themselves properly. He barely knew it himself, making mock formations that failed to match the real thing, relying more on physical ability than training.
“Up,” he said to the fallen Khor. The spears had been blunted, no more that clubs in their hands. Mighty as they were with clubs alone, they were better with spears. “Spar.” The Khor gave no complaints, matching up with each other, jabbing at one another and blocking blows with shields. None dared approached Galal. The result would be obvious.
He watched them, correcting their stances as they fought, berating those who learned too slow and offering no words of congratulations for those who succeeded. To win was its own prize.
The tribes males were few in number. Six, not including himself or the ones too young. Even of the six adults, several were still growing. The rest of the tribe were females and children, ten of each. Twenty-six in total, plus the talker. A tribe, now a village, but no city. No country.
“Do the Khor sweat?” Looking to his side, he saw the talker. Nalmet. A hard name to pronounce.
“What is sweat?” Galal asked. He had not heard the word.
“Hard to explain. Does water come from your body when it is hot, or when you are active?”
“We do,” he replied. An odd question. “Do humans?”
“Yes.” What was the point in asking? Nalmet remained silent, continuing to view the mock battles before them.
“We need food,” he said after a moment.
“Cattle.”
“Not enough of them. We need to maintain the number we have.”
“Hunting, then.”
“If you can. This is not a great location. You need to think further ahead.”
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“What would you suggest?”
“I do not know the area any better than you. Do the Khor fish? Is there a nearby lake?”
“No lakes. Only death water further north.”
“Death water?”
“Can’t drink it. Bad taste, makes you sick.”
“Salt water, if I would hazard to guess. Interesting. We should investigate later.”
“Fine. For now, hunting!” The sparring Khor ceased their battles, looking to Galal. “Get true spears!” They followed his commands, dropping their practice weapons and shields in a pile, each collecting a single large stake and standing before him. “Follow!”
Galal led them, entering the woods opposite from where they once came. The Khor, despite their sizes, were quiet hunters, the group moving through the woods with nary a sound. The woods were becoming empty, obvious from the smell of it. Earth, dirt, leaves, plants. All inedible to the Khor.
They moved quickly, pacing through the woods, moving down wind as they went. Their own smells would travel in the air, a warning to any prey, yet a temptation to predators. Blood could mean many things, and the Khor reaked of it.
“Bear.” Galal stopped, the others with him, as they caught the scent. Upwind, though far. They moved towards it, their pace slowed as they crept to its source. Time passed in silence, then they saw it. Three cubs, and a mother more than twice their size. “Get the cubs,” he ordered. “Go.”
The Khor were swift, Galal leading the charge, spear in hand. He leapt at the black furred animal, his wooden spear puncturing the beast, the animal collapsing with a roar as it bled. Its cubs were luckier, several spears cutting through their necks and sides, their deaths far more swift than their mothers. Galal pulled the spear away and struck the creature again, the second blow ending its life. Iron air filled his nostrils, blood rushing to his lungs as he let loose a roar that cascaded through the woods, birds hidden within the trees revealing themselves as they fled.
The Khor followed suit, releasing their own roars in tandem with his own. The echoes dying down, he lifted the carcass, tossing it over his shoulder, blood dripping down his fur. The others did the same with the cubs, three of the carrying the spoils of their hunt as they walked back, the others trailing behind as guards. Other beasts wouldn’t come after their victory cry, but starved beasts were foolish creatures.
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“I can guess from when you were in the colosseum, but do Khor not skin animals?” Nalmet asked. Always with the questions.
“No. We pull the fur away and eat,” Galal replied, dropping the carcass onto the ground. The talker had given him no reprieve, coming to him with the question as soon as they arrived. His mind worked too much.
Nalmet handed him a human dagger, though it was no more than a knife in his own hands. “Skin it,” the man said. He took the blade and stuck the corpse, slicing along the underbelly. “Now pull the skin back gently, and cut this part,” he said, guiding Galal as he severed the fur from the meat. At the end, the man took the bear hide himself. “Good enough. Would you like to do the rest?”
“For what purpose?”
“Tanning. The animal’s hide can be made into clothing or used for warmth. Sold, if you want to trade with humans,” he said.
Relenting to the man’s words, Galal skinned the cubs as well as the eldest females carved the bear fat and meat, adding it all to a boiling pot. It was a simple haul, perhaps enough for a few days. Not enough to last a full tribe long. Unsustainable.
“Talker,” he called out, the man turning around. “Could we trade with humans?”