Time: The end of the third month of training
Location: The grand camp of Anshan
At the end of the third month since the day the Persian tribal warriors had been stationed in the Anshan garrison, the plain of Anshan was no longer that scattered and chaotic training ground; it had transformed into a magnificent stage for power and order.
The sky was clear and blue, and the sun shone upon a sea of steel and men.
For the first time in the history of Pars, a complete army, consisting of three ten-thousand-man corps (legions), had gathered for a final parade and maneuver.
Thirty thousand men, whose identity until recently was defined by the name of their tribe, now stood with uniform leather armor and gleaming cast-iron weapons, like a single body before the command platform.
On the wooden platform, Cambyses stood beside the elders and chiefs of all the Persian tribes.
Their faces, once full of doubt, were now a mixture of astonishment and pride.
They could hardly believe that these were the same scattered warriors they had sent here four months ago.
Beside Cambyses, a ten-year-old Kourosh stood with a calm that did not match his age.
He looked at this army, at this manifested dream of his, and in his heart, he made the final calculations.
Arash, in the role of a general, mounted on a tall, black horse, drew his sword from its sheath and raised it to the sky.
With his clear shout, the sound of dozens of horns and the roar of hundreds of war drums echoed across the plain.
This was the beginning of the parade.
The first Hezarbod, with a red flag on which the image of a winged lion was engraved, began to move with coordinated and pounding steps.
The sound of thirty thousand armored feet on the ground, like the roar of thunder, made the earth tremble.
Their order and coordination were not so flawless but were far beyond an army that had only trained for three months.
Gashtasb, the elderly tribal chief, turned to Cambyses and said with a voice trembling with excitement:
"My king, this... this is a miracle. I have never seen such order in my entire life."
After the parade, the maneuver began.
Arash issued the command to form simple battle formations.
The corps, with incredible speed, changed from long lines to dense defensive squares.
Then, the more complex maneuver began.
The central corps, commanded by Arash, took a defensive position.
The right-flank corps, commanded by Bagpat, began a rapid turning movement to outflank the hypothetical enemy.
At the same time, the left-flank corps, with a deceptive tactical retreat, tried to trap another force.
This was a stunning display of maneuverability and coordination, guided by the communication system of drums and flags.
However, not everything was flawless.
During the rapid turn of Bagpat's corps, one of the hundred-man units, mostly composed of the proud warriors of the Maraphii tribe, moved slightly faster than the rest.
A small gap was created in the line.
Kourosh, who was watching with a keen eye, saw this lack of coordination and a small frown appeared on his forehead.
He whispered to Cambyses:
"Tribal pride is still in their blood. Their speed is good, but their discipline is not perfect. More work needs to be done on it."
Cambyses, seeing this sharp observation, nodded in agreement.
This small inefficiency gave the maneuver a more realistic feel and showed that this war machine was still evolving.
The climax of the display came with the entry of the specialized units.
First, the cavalry with long spears performed a display of a crushing charge.
Then, the new scythed chariots entered the field.
The cast-iron blades attached to their wheels gleamed under the sun.
With dizzying speed, they passed through the wooden dummies, mowing them down like stalks of wheat.
This scene was so terrifying and impressive that many of the elders involuntarily took a step back.
Finally, the army stood before the platform.
Thirty thousand men, by striking their spears on their shields, let out a coordinated roar that shook the sky:
"Long live Pars! Long live Kourosh!"
Confidence surged on the face of every single one of them.
They now believed in their own power, in their commanders, and in their new weapons.
They were no longer a collection of tribes.
They were the Persian corps.
Cambyses, with eyes shining with pride and tears, looked at his son.
He placed his hand on Kourosh's shoulder and, with a voice trembling with emotion, said:
"They are ready. This is an army that can conquer the world."
Kourosh looked at his father.
A smile full of confidence and perhaps a little pride appeared on his lips.
He, who had built this entire war machine from nothing, believed in his own power.
He nodded his head in agreement and, with a calm but firm voice, said:
"Yes, Father. They are ready."
This scene, this absolute confidence, was the prelude to the storm that was on its way.
A storm that was about to teach this young genius that real war never goes according to the maps drawn on paper.