The White Conquerors: A Tale of Toltec and Aztec

by Kirk Munroe

Cautiously the fox circled about his adversary seeking an unguarded point at which to strike. On account of his fettered leg Tlahuicol could only turn half-way round, but he would then whirl about so quickly that, in spite of his disadvantage, he presented no opening for attack for some minutes. At length, wearying of such fruitless play, he purposely made his movements slower, until the Fox, thinking his opportunity had come, sprang forward to deliver a deadly blow. In an instant his sword was struck from his hand. Broken and useless it was sent spinning to the further side of the arena, and the Fox reeled backward with the force of the blow. Recovering himself he sprang to a soldier who stood near, snatched a javelin from his hand, and hurled it with deadly aim at Tlahuicol's head. Without moving his body, the Toltec bent his head to one side, caught the hurtling weapon in his left hand, and, almost with the same motion, flung it back with such terrible force that it passed completely through the body of the Aztec and fell to the ground behind him. He staggered, fell, and was borne, dying, from the scene.

Instantly two of his companions took his vacant place. Filled with rage they advanced impetuously and somewhat incautiously. As their weapons were raised to strike, the terrible maquahuitl of Tlahuicol crushed the skull of one like an egg-shell, and then, with a fierce backward blow, sent the other reeling a dozen paces away, so severely wounded that it was doubtful if he might ever recover. Marvellous as this feat was, it did not wholly save the Toltec from the descending sword of his third enemy. The keen obsidian blade cut a frightful gash in his side, and he was instantly bathed in his own blood.

But the wounded warrior had no time to consider his own condition, for, almost before he realized that he had been struck, two fresh assailants were upon him. One of these was cleft from casque to shoulders by Tlahuicol's awful weapon, which seemed to the breathless spectators like a thunderbolt in the hands of a god. Ere the Toltec could recover himself, the other rushed in and bore him to the ground, where, falling uppermost, the Aztec hoped to deal a fatal blow with his dagger. Before he could accomplish his purpose the champion's arms had enfolded him in an embrace so deadly that the breath was driven from his body with a sound that might be heard in all parts of the amphitheatre, and his ribs were crushed like pipe-stems. Leaping to his feet, amid thunders of applause from the frenzied spectators, the Toltec flung the lifeless body from him, and regained his ponderous sword just in time to meet the onset of his sixth, and most powerful, assailant, he whose casque was fashioned in the likeness of an ocelot.

Now the breath of the champion came in sobbing gasps, and he was so weakened by loss of blood that it seemed impossible for him to withstand the furious onslaught of this fresh adversary. For the space of two minutes the exchange of blows was so rapid that there was but one continuous crash of sound. Then the ocelot leaped back beyond reach of his tethered opponent. The Toltec staggered and seemed about to fall. Suddenly, rallying his failing strength, he hurled his heavy weapon so truly, and with such mighty force, that the last of his assailants was swept over the edge of the platform on which they had fought, and rolled, to all appearance lifeless, to the base of the royal pavilion.

For an instant there was a silence as of death in the vast amphitheatre. Then it was broken by a thrilling cry in the Mayan tongue of "Father! oh, Father! you have conquered! you are free!"

Tlahuicol, who had fallen to his knees with the force of his last effort, lifted his drooping head and looked to where Huetzin struggled in the grasp of two brawny priests. Then, very feebly, with his right hand, he made a sign such as but two persons in that vast concourse recognized. He touched his forehead, his breast, and both shoulders. It was the sign of the God of the Four Winds, the almost forgotten symbol of the Toltec faith. Huetzin knew it, and so did one of the priests who held him.

With the making of this sacred symbol of his race, the mighty warrior fell forward and lay prone on the bloody stone, unmindful of the wild storm of plaudits by which his unprecedented victory was hailed.

Suddenly, while all was confusion, the fierce figure of Topil, the chief priest, sprang to the platform, and, snatching the dread knife of sacrifice from his girdle, bent over the prostrate man. The next moment he rose, and with a savage cry of triumph held aloft the heart of the bravest son of Anahuac. The cheering of the multitude sank into a shuddering cry of horror at this dastardly act. Had another committed it he would have been rent in pieces, but the person of the chief priest was sacred.

Even the elements seemed aghast at the dreadful deed; for, though the sun had not yet set, the sky was darkened by a veil of inky blackness, and an ominous moaning filled the air.

Paying no heed to these portents, nor to the black looks of those about him, Topil screamed to his fellows that the son should share the fate of the father, and that the god was weary of waiting for the offering of their hearts. Then, bidding them follow him with the prisoner, he sprang up the steps of the great temple. With shrill cries the obedient priests forced a passage through the surging multitude, and hurried Huetzin in the same direction. Even the king had no power to stop them, for in Tenochtitlan the chief priest was mightier than he.