The canyon beca a slaughterhouse, bodies piling up from the stone wall to the entrance. So were crushed into pulp, others writhed in agony, wailing amidst streams of blood.
"Raise the shield wall!"
"Javelins ready!"
Juleios, though tense, gave his commands clearly and steadily as he watched the trapped Persians.
The Persians who clambered over the wall faced a hail of javelins from Epitenes and his light infantry. Greek heavy infantry ford an impenetrable shield wall, with the first four ranks braced tightly together, their spears protruding like a lethal barrier, blocking the path. The panicked, unorganized Persians were easily struck down.
Juleios had ordered the stone-and-wood wall to prevent cavalry charges. Without it, rampaging horses could devastate even the sturdiest phalanx. But the wall exceeded expectations. Coupled with the piled corpses, it blocked the Persians entirely, leaving them unable to muster enough force to breach Juleios’s defense.
The battle didn’t last long. Trapped between pursuing Greeks, an impassable wall, and the hellish chaos within the canyon, the Persian soldiers finally broke. Surrender beca their only option.
When the Greek commanders excitedly gathered to et Juleios after the battle, the horrific sight in the canyon left them speechless.
Even the bravest among them, n who had seen countless atrocities, froze at the ghastly scene.
The bodies of Persian soldiers were piled high, many crushed under the weight of their comrades, their limbs twisted unnaturally. Blood soaked the earth, and the cries of the injured echoed throughout the canyon.
Even Clearchus, who prided himself on his composure, turned pale. But when his gaze fell on Juleios, his expression changed, filled with awe and respect. Xenophon, always the articulate one, sumd it up in a trembling voice: "Juleios... you truly are... a favored one of Hades!"
Juleios stood silently amidst the carnage, his face betraying no emotion. But deep down, he struggled. This is war, he told himself over and over, a mantra to suppress the wave of nausea and guilt threatening to overwhelm him. "This is war! This is war!"
When Juleios turned to Clearchus and asked how to handle the captured Persian soldiers, Clearchus’ response was as cold as the canyon winds: "Once their weapons and armor are confiscated, cut their tendons, stab their thighs, and release them back to Tissaphernes. Let him deal with them."
Juleios frowned. The suggestion sent a chill down his spine. "Is that truly necessary?" he asked cautiously, his voice carrying a hint of doubt.
Clearchus’ sharp gaze bore into him. "We are rcenaries, not saints. Do you have the resources to feed them? Or spare the n to guard them? No? Then let Tissaphernes waste his ti and energy tending to his broken n while we press on."
Though Juleios found the response brutal, he reluctantly saw the logic. He nodded but didn’t respond further. The soldiers began stripping the prisoners of their armor and weapons, ignoring their desperate pleas. Clearchus watched with satisfaction. "You did well, Juleios," he said, scanning the aftermath. "The Persians who see this will be scared to death."
As Juleios and his blood-soaked troops exited the canyon, their comrades erupted into thunderous cheers. To them, Juleios was the hero who had single-handedly blocked the Persian advance and secured their victory. The admiration in their eyes was evident, but Juleios barely acknowledged it. His mind was elsewhere, consud by thoughts of the lives lost on both sides. Despite the glory he had earned, a heavy weight pressed on his chest.
That afternoon, Tissaphernes’ army finally arrived at the canyon. Upon witnessing the carnage, Tissaphernes himself was overco with rage. His helt clattered loudly as he hurled it to the ground. The once-proud Persian general stood frozen for a mont, surveying the devastation. The stench of death was overwhelming, and the cries of the wounded pierced his ears.
"Clean this up!" he barked at his trusted guards, pointing toward the bodies. "And I don’t want the rest of the army anywhere near this cursed place. Take another route around the mountains."
Ariaeus, who had been trailing silently behind Tissaphernes, watched the scene unfold with a grim expression. Though he hadn’t spotted Artoxares’ body among the countless corpses, he knew his rival was dead. In just three days, two of his competitors for power had fallen, yet Ariaeus felt no triumph—only a gnawing sense of foreboding. These Greeks, he thought, are not ordinary n.
In this battle, over 3,000 Persians were killed, another 3,000 were wounded, and not a single soldier escaped. By contrast, the Greeks suffered negligible losses. The disparity was staggering.
Clearchus’ earlier prediction seed correct: the Persians were paralyzed with fear. For several days, they avoided engaging the Greeks entirely, allowing the rcenaries to march and plunder without resistance. The Greeks, emboldened by their success, pressed forward until they reached a city by the Tigris River—Larissa.
Arrival at Larissa
Larissa was a grand city, its massive walls towering high above the landscape. The lower half of its walls was built of stone, while the upper half was made of mudbrick. Rising nearly 30 ters tall and spanning about 10 miles in circumference, the walls were a testant to the city’s forr glory. Yet, as the Greeks approached, it beca clear that Larissa was no longer the thriving tropolis it once was. The fields surrounding the city lay barren, the villages deserted, and only a handful of figures could be seen moving within the city’s shadow.
Marrici, Juleios’ guide, provided so context. "Larissa was once called Kala during the Assyrian period," he explained. "It was a great city of the des until Cyrus the Great conquered dia. Interestingly, Cyrus never breached Kala’s walls. Instead, it is said that the sun god Mithra cast the city into darkness. For days, the sun did not shine, and the terrified inhabitants believed they had been forsaken by the gods. They abandoned the city, and only then did Cyrus claim it."
Juleios listened intently, finding Marrici’s tales a welco distraction from the grim realities of their campaign. Marrici, a rchant by trade, was not only knowledgeable about the region’s geography but also a gifted storyteller. Since Clearchus had stressed the importance of understanding terrain, Juleios had made Marrici his guide. Marrici’s anecdotes about sopotamian history, though sotis exaggerated, provided rare monts of levity during their arduous march.
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