“Report! The Persians have left the gorge and are pursuing us!”

“Excellent. How many?”

“About six or seven thousand, all archers and horse archers, it seems!”

“Damn Persians! They must think they can rout us all with their arrows—laughable!”

“Then good! The more they bring, the more we’ll kill!”

“Can Davos hold them there?”

“Then our attack must be swift and fierce!” Cheirisophus said firmly. “Gentlemen, return to your command positions at once and deploy the formation. We advance on them!”

“Raaah!!…” The leaders rolled up their sleeves and set to action.

…

Artaozus emerged from the gorge and hastily deployed his battle formation, just as the day before: archers in the center, cavalry on both flanks.

He had barely advanced two li beyond the mouth of the gorge when a scout rode back to report: “The Greeks are coming straight at us!”

Though Artaozus was excited, he had plenty of battle experience. He knew that this kind of harassing tactics required room to maneuver, and he did not want to be confined to the mouth of the gorge. So he immediately ordered his entire force to shift left.

Horse archers and archers were both highly mobile troops, but with a formation of seven thousand men already set for battle, changing formation took time—and the Greeks did not grant him that time.

Soon after Artaozus issued the order, Greek figures appeared in his field of vision. He tensed up at once, fully aware that trying to adjust the formation while the enemy was closing in would be sheer suicide.

He countermanded the order and restored the battle formation, his mind racing: After two volleys of arrows to disrupt the enemy’s advance, he would immediately shift left at speed, break contact with the Greeks, and seek a new opportunity to strike.

But his expression quickly changed. The Greek line before him was far longer than his own flanks, and as they advanced, they kept extending sideways.

Artaozus knew the traditional Greek phalanx well. They usually packed their ranks deep—often seven or eight rows or more—to crush the enemy with sheer mass. Yet now their formation looked thin, perhaps only two or three rows deep. How dared they do that? Then it dawned on him: His own force consisted entirely of light cavalry and archers. The Greeks had no need to rely on numerical weight; they would still win easily.

The Greeks meant to envelop him! He had been careless! Artaozus panicked, his expression wavering. He wanted to withdraw immediately, but with the formation already deployed, retreating shamefully like that would not only harm morale but also waste precious time.

He had made a promise, after all—at least let me fire one volley, he thought. Seven thousand arrows might disrupt their formation, maybe even cause confusion. And even if it didn’t work, there would still be time to pull back.

With that in mind, Artaozus decided to take the risk. He quickly summoned his subordinate commanders, instructing them carefully on the order of retreat…

Once everything was arranged, he felt much more at ease. Watching the Greeks steadily approach, he decided to give the order to shoot when the distance closed to about a hundred meters.

Come on, you Greek barbarians—come and die! He grinned savagely. But at around two hundred meters, the enemy’s bronze trumpets sounded. The Greeks stopped! Frustrated, he did not want to advance his own troops. Switching from attack to retreat was prone to chaos, and Artaozus only wanted a smooth withdrawal. He would wait for the Greeks to attack instead. Now he felt that having too many troops had its own drawback—command did not flow smoothly.

Then he saw countless arms rise above the rear ranks of the Greek heavy infantry, beginning to whirl overhead.

Slingers! Artaozus shuddered. He remembered that the Greek mercenary army had no slingers—how had they suddenly acquired them?!

There was no time to think. A hail of stones, fist-sized and dense as hailstones, pelted the center of the Persian formation. The archers there had their bows drawn, ready to release, when they were struck with no armor to protect them. Heads split open, blood flowed—some were even knocked unconscious…

The Persian center plunged into chaos.

The slingers loosed their shots rapidly, and another volley arced into the sky, darkening it…

Artaozus’s eyes burned red with desperation. He shouted hoarsely, “Retreat! Retreat now!!…”

The trumpeter was about to sound the horn, but the enemy’s bronze trumpets rang out first, louder and higher. The Greek heavy infantry, who had been standing still, roared, “Ares!!!” and began charging toward the Persians at full stride. The entire Greek line surged like a tidal wave, fearless of any reef or shoal ahead, vowing to swallow the land. It was an overwhelming momentum, enough to crush whatever weak morale the Persians still had. Even a gap opened in the front center of the Greek formation, releasing several dozen cavalrymen who galloped at the lead, charging straight at the enemy.

The Persians collapsed completely. They ignored their officers’ commands entirely—or even swept the officers along with them as they fled wildly. The carefully planned retreat order was thrown to the wind. Cavalry, archers, right wing, left wing, center—all rushed in a chaotic mob toward the mouth of the gorge. Only one thought filled their minds: Get away from those terrifying Greeks!

Defeated! Defeated! Defeated without firing a single arrow!! Artaozus had fought in the Battle of Cunaxa before, and as a teammate back then, he had cheered the Greeks for easily crushing the Persian king’s army. Now, facing a Greek charge himself, he truly felt the horror of the Greek heavy infantry. At that moment, his mind went blank. He clung tightly to his horse’s neck as his attendants surrounded him, spurring toward the gorge at full speed. Since he had been in the rear of the center, closest to the gorge mouth, he and his attendant cavalry were nearly at the front of the fleeing Persians.

The gorge mouth loomed ahead. The wide space suddenly narrowed, and the steep, continuous peaks forced the air to flow only through the opening, making Artaozus, just entering, almost unable to open his eyes against the fierce mountain wind.

“Hiyah!” He squeezed his horse’s flanks, knowing full well: the faster he got through the gorge, the fewer men he would lose.

The road through the gorge was not straight but formed an S-shaped curve. For Persian cavalry hardened by years on the battlefield, this was no challenge. They handled their horses well, and even at the first bend, they did not slow down much.

As they sped around the base of a cliff, a wall suddenly appeared before them—a simple half‑man‑high barrier of piled stones and timber. Artaozus and his attendant cavalry could not rein in their mounts in time and crashed straight into it. Horses screamed, men yelled, a chorus of cries…

Artaozus was flung from his horse. The last thing he saw was the rock face rushing toward him…

The Persian rout poured into the gorge like a flash flood, filling it to the brim, shoving and pushing forward…

When the surviving cavalry ahead halted in shock, the soldiers behind were still desperately running forward…

Then an even more tragic scene unfolded: The men in front were knocked down, and before they could get up, they were trampled by the soldiers surging in from behind. Their frantic struggles tripped others, and the latter waves of routed men, desperate to escape Greek slaughter, kept flooding in…

Inside the gorge, men kept falling, being trampled, falling, trampled… Behind the stone wall, the bodies piled up layer upon layer, stretching all the way to the mouth. Some soldiers were ground into pulp, others still writhed, screaming amid rivulets of blood—it was a living hell!

“Raise the shield wall!”

“Javelins ready!”

Seeing the Persian soldiers pressed against the stone wall, Davos was somewhat tense but kept his mind clear and his commands distinct as he issued them in order!

The Persians who managed to scramble over the stone wall were first met by peltasts under Epithenis, who loosed javelins into their ranks. Then the Greek heavy infantry, drawn up in dense formation, formed a shield wall to block their way. The front four rows pressed chest to back, giving support to the first row from behind. Their spears extended past the front rank, forming a wall of points that sealed the passage. The panicked, disorganized Persians were easily cut down.

Davos had his men bring stones and timber to build that simple wall, originally meant to prevent the Persian cavalry from charging—because once horses got up to full speed, no matter how many ranks the heavy infantry formed, they might not hold, and losses would be heavy. So he used the barricade to slow the cavalry. He never imagined the wall’s effect would far exceed expectations. Combined with the mountain of corpses, it choked the gorge, preventing the routed force from gathering momentum to break Davos’s defensive line.

The battle did not last long. With pursuers behind, no way forward, and hell in between, the Persian rout broke down completely and surrendered in droves…