The moon was a half crescent on that 1823 night.
A poisoned dart flew in the darkness and struck a guard of the Oyo Empire. He died before he hit the ground.
King Ghezo and his warriors from Dahomey had invaded Oyo.
The champion of Oyo killed enemy combatants in his path while others avoided him; one stood fearless before the mammoth sized champion.
Their spears clanged and their movement was as though to a symphony.
The Oyo champion shortened the length of his spear, forcing the enemy within his reach. He side stepped when the enemy's spear lunged and almost immediately delivered a powerful kick to the enemy's abdomen.
The Dahomey warrior fell to the ground. The champion lunged for the enemy's chest; the enemy moved, but not fast enough as the spear left a cut on his arm.
The enemy kicked the champion's leg from his supine position.
The champion fell, but his massive right hand held the enemy by the throat: choking him. The champion was curious. 'Who was this man who fought so bravely and refused to buckle like the others?'
With his other hand he forced the mask off the wriggling man and stared.
The eyes that stared back at him belonged to no man. They were soft brown eyes; and the face had soft features. Alas, it was no man he fought, but a woman: one of the great Amazons of Dahomey.
He gasped as a small knife pierced his heart.
The Oyo champion had a wry smile as he whispered, 'It is an honour to die by your hand.'
By morning, Dahomey had victory over Oyo; and thanks to the Amazons, Dahomey would no longer pay tribute to the Oyo Empire.
3 июл 2024
