By the time the oncoming Tartars were clearly visible, Daoud was back with the right wing of the Mameluke army, at the head of his own troop. The Tartars came on at an unhurried trot, spread out in a series of long ranks, one behind the other, and he could see their fur-trimmed helmets, their waving lances, their colored signal flags. He could hear their shrill war cries and the braying of their horns. Above their front rank flew their savage standard, rows of long black tails of animals waving from crossbars mounted on a tall pole.
Drawn up across the plain behind Baibars's yellow banner were dark ranks of Mameluke heavy cavalrymen armed with tall spears and wearing steel chain mail and helmets.
Daoud saw Qutuz's green flag, small and far to the west, dip, heard Baibars's cry, relayed the shout to his men.
In a moment the parched earth of the plain of the Well of Goliath was trembling under the hooves of fifteen thousand Mameluke horses. The kettledrums of Baibars's tablkhana, his camel-mounted band, thundered, and the trumpets blared, sending Daoud's blood racing.
Daoud drew his double-curved bow of horn and sinew out of the case hanging from his saddle and nocked an arrow as the galloping hooves of his horse jolted his body. He let his voice pour out of him in a long scream.
The braying of the Tartars' signal horns floated over the plain. They, too, were galloping, bent over the necks of their ponies. The Tartar horses were short-legged, their barrel-shaped bodies encased in leather armor.
Ugly little horses, Daoud thought.
The ponies of the Tartar unit passing him all appeared to be white with black spots. The Tartars' tunics were brown, their trousers gray, and their fur-trimmed iron helmets painted red.
Ahead of him Daoud saw Baibars's yellow standard fluttering against a sky gray with dust. Baibars's wing and the Tartars were riding past each other. The emir was leading his men eastward. To Daoud's left, across an empty space of grassy plain, the Tartar army was passing them, charging to the west. Arrows flew from the Tartars, but singly, not in volleys. Daoud loosed an arrow of his own at the passing horde. It arced over the bare strip between the two armies and fell in the Tartar mass without result that he could see.
He looked back toward the center of the Mameluke host and saw small figures in white robes striding through the grass. They were holy men, he knew, dervishes dedicated to death. As they marched on foot and unarmed against the Tartars, they were calling on God to avenge the martyrs of Islam. Arrows flew at them from the Tartar lines, and in an instant it seemed the dervishes vanished as they crumpled into the tall grass.