Godforsaken luckless Hindu. Now you can be reborn a Brahmin. Only sooner than you thought. A shout of alarm erupted from behind, and he looked to see the remaining Rajputs charging in formation, bows already drawn. The water churned around him as they dashed by, advancing on the shore. The Rajputs' horn bows hissed in rapid succession as they sent volleys of bamboo arrows into the darkness. But the returning rain of arrows was dense and deadly. He saw the Rajput nearest him suddenly pivot backward in the saddle, an arrow lodged in his groin, below his leather chest guard. Hawksworth watched incredulously as the man clung to his saddle horn for a long last moment, pulling himself erect and releasing a final arrow before tumbling into the water. Again lightning flared across the sky, and in the sudden illumination Hawksworth could see shapes along the shore, an army of mounted horsemen, well over a hundred. They were drawn in tight formation, calmly firing into the approaching Rajputs. The lightning flashed once more, a broad sheet of fire across the sky, and at that moment Hawksworth saw Vasant Rao gain the shore, where he was instantly surrounded by a menacing wall of shields and pikes. Then more of the Rajputs gained the shore, and he could hear their chant of "Ram Ram," their famous battle cry. The horsemen were moving on the caravan now, and when the lightning blazed again Hawksworth realized he had been surrounded. The dark figure in the lead seized Hawksworth's right arm from behind and began to grapple for his sword. As he struggled to draw it away, the butt end of a pike came down hard on his forearm. A shot of pain pierced through to his mind, clearing away the last haze of the brandy. "You bastard." Hawksworth realized he was shouting in English. "Get ready to die." He twisted forward and with his free hand stretched for the pistol in his boot. Slowly his grip closed about the cool horn of the handle, and with a single motion he drew it upward, still grasping the sword. As he raised himself erect he caught the outline of a dark object swinging above him in the air. Then the lightning flashed again, glinting off the three large silver knobs. They were being swung by the man who held his sword arm. My God, it's a _gurz_, the three-headed club some of the Rajputs carry on their saddle. It's a killer. He heard it arc above him, singing through the dark. Unlike the Rajputs, he had no leather helmet, no padded armor. There was no time to avoid the blow, but he had the pistol now, and he shoved it into the man's gut and squeezed.