Warrior Poet

by Timothy J. Stoner

  David tensed, anticipating an attack.

  After a moment of silence, the king let out a tight breath and leaned back just a little. His knuckles were no longer white. Straightening in his chair, he raised his hand, palm forward, and his voice rang out. “You have permission. Go, David, my son, and the Lord be with you!”

  David was flooded with relief, then pride at the honor he’d been given. This was followed by a sudden doubt about what he had so confidently assured the king. He ignored it.

  Before David was ushered out, Saul motioned for Abner to come to him. The general listened to the king, nodded, and gestured for David to follow him. “The king wishes you to wear his armor into battle,” he explained as he walked briskly to the king’s dressing area at the back of the tent.

  David’s heart dropped. He had seen the armor up close when Jonathan first introduced him to his father. It was impressive but designed for the tallest warrior in Israel. The niggling doubt was now turning into something that felt more like fear, and the comforting presence seemed to have evaporated. Abner pulled aside the back curtain and directed him inside the chamber.

  As the general draped the coat of mail over him, David remained silent, hoping that the foolishness of the king’s instruction would be obvious to the experienced warrior.

  “Walk toward that post,” Abner muttered, his lips pursed in disapproval.

  David was walking toward the opposite wall of the tent when the curtain parted and the king stepped in. Saul did not seem to notice that the coat’s fringe was dragging on the ground. He walked up to David, took off his bronze sword, and without speaking a word handed it to him. Its weight shocked David. It was as heavy as a two-year-old lamb.

  By now, dread and embarrassment had chilled David’s zeal. Feeling ridiculous, he cursed himself silently for being a proud fool. He took a step forward, sliding his feet to keep from getting tangled. It was as clear to him as it evidently was to Abner that he would fall on his face if he took a normal step. The general stared at David, lifting his eyebrows emphatically, willing him to speak. Though he was second-in-command, Abner no longer dared, since the onslaught of Saul’s fits, to contradict the king.

  His heart thundering in his ears, David finally said, “You have honored me, my king, but I have not had any experience with this armament.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “I am but a shepherd, and I am used to the weapons of a shepherd. Please allow me to fight with those I have tested and mastered.” David’s face flushed. He wanted desperately to wipe the water from his eyes.

  The king strode forward and placed his hand on David’s head. Saul lifted David’s face with both hands so that David was looking into his eyes. The old warrior bent down and kissed David on each cheek. The king’s lips quivered, and the muscles along his jaw were clenched.

  “You may do as you have asked. You are a hero in Israel,” whispered the man who had once been David’s hero. David’s eyes stung, and his chest burned with joy at words he had dreamed about hearing his whole life.

  “Thank you, my king,” David managed to whisper, placing the sword back into Saul’s hands and pulling off the heavy coat. As he walked out into the heat of a cloudless Judean afternoon, David knew that he would gladly die for this man. The only thing in his hand was his shepherd’s cudgel, and slapping against his thigh were the sling’s leather straps.

  Not wanting to be confronted by his brothers, he ran down a narrow defile, out of sight of most of the Israelites and the Philistine monster. There were some surprised oaths and exclamations as a few soldiers caught sight of him heading into the valley.

  David bent down next to a creek bed. The winter rains had not yet come, so the creek was barely a trickle. He let out a quavering breath and stretched out his sling hand. It was shaking. He needed only five stones, but they had to be perfect. He could not allow himself to be rushed.

  It was impossible to block out Goliath’s taunts. They were amplified by the hills on each side, transforming them into an astonishing weapon. Though he was not tired by the brief run David noticed that his breathing was coming in short gasps. He forced himself to take in long, slow breaths.

  When David had stood on the northern summit of Elah, the Philistine’s mocking words were fearsome, but not quite so intensely and personally threatening. Now that David was on the same level with the bronze-covered giant, the fierce voice was devastating.

  David focused on locating the smooth stones. On their size and weight rested his life and that of Saul’s entire army. His defeat would most probably mean the death of the king as well as that of Jonathan, who was becoming more of a friend to him than a prince. And, as if this were not enough, failure would most likely bring down destruction on the entire nation.

  While four stones would suffice, David wanted five. One for the giant, one for his shield bearer—who held his own spear—two for the hulking brothers looming nearby, and one just in case.

  Always take one more than you need was the slinger’s rule, whether you came from the hills of Judah or were part of the elite corps of Benjamites. The joke was ancient but carried the old warrior’s wisdom: You never want to be caught without your stones. On the practice field with Jonathan, it was commonplace to hear a slinger yell, “Why one more than you need?” followed by the swaggering response: “You never know when you’ll need the extra stone.”

  The briefest smile touched David’s lips, then vanished with another thunderous bellow. Maybe this is the real point of the joke, he decided, placing the fifth projectile in his pouch. Laughing takes your mind off the terror. Bowing for a quick prayer, he picked up his shepherd’s rod, stood, and followed the bend of the creek to meet the giant.

  Still hidden by a craggy wall of rock, David examined his opponent. From this distance—around eighty paces away—the giant loomed like one of the massive, ancient terebinths sprinkled around the valley. He was an astonishing sight—almost twice as tall as David, and three times heavier. Not only was he enormous, but he also was covered from head to foot in burnished metal. His armor glowed in the hot orange sunlight.

  David estimated that the fine mail draped from throat to knees, by itself, must weigh as much as he did. And the giant’s shins—nice targets—were sheathed as well. David could make out the large point of a thick javelin protruding from the quiver on Goliath’s back. But what concerned him was the spear that towered over his armor bearer. Its chiseled head was big enough to tear David’s body in half.

  “Send out your hero!” bellowed the giant.

  David let the rod in his right hand slide down so that its knobby head rested against his fist. It was a twig in comparison with Goliath’s weapons. The brute could snap it with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Are you nothing but an army of old women? Where is the might of Israel?” The giant’s taunts were drowned out by the laughter of thousands of Philistines along the southern ridge. They outnumbered Saul’s army three to one. The pounding of fists against bronze breastplates made the valley floor tremble.

  Goliath swung his sword in wide, sweeping arcs. The giant was powerful and loud but did not appear to be the most coordinated of fighters. There was a spastic unpredictability to his swings that would have made him look comical were he not so terrifying. To David he seemed to be an embodiment of those ferocious summer storms that unexpectedly lashed the Judean mountains. Goliath was at the same time fascinating and horrifying.

  “You boast of your God—well, I defy you and your God!” The last three words were almost a shrill scream.

  David blinked in dismay. It was as if Goliath had delivered a slap to the side of his head. The challenge could not be ignored. He drew in a shaky breath and stepped into the open. Both the giant and the soldiers lining Elah noticed him at the same time. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the valley. The stunned silence seemed to stretch forever and was finally snapped by an incredulous roar. It
was the incoherent sound of rage and shock. It was the most humiliating thing David had ever felt, and it was made worse by the almost palpable disbelief of the ten thousand Israelites who flanked him to his left. He could feel Eliab’s eyes stabbing him. He felt naked, humiliated, and completely alone. It was then that he felt his knees begin to tremble.

  As he choked down his mounting panic, waiting for Goliath to address him, David noticed that the Philistine had foolishly chosen to face the descending sun in the western sky. Observing the tilt of the head and almost choreographed motions, David recognized that this giant intended to both frighten and dazzle the onlookers. A needle of doubt pricked him: behind the bluster might very well lurk a cunning intelligence. The rays of the sun reflecting off his bronze armor, from helmet to shin greaves, made him shine like a god. His swarthy, clean-shaven face, set off by the blazing metal, made him look not quite handsome, but awful and formidable.

  The giant turned to face the Israelites. “What is this?” the brute screamed, his entire body shaking David squinted; his eyes were burning. The sun glinting off Goliath’s armor made him shimmer like a mirage. Shaking his head in disgust, the Philistine turned sideways, ignoring his challenger and directed his wrath at the Israelite soldiers flanked along the northern hills.

  It was painfully obvious to David that the giant was seeking to humiliate him.

  “Am I not Goliath of Gath, the Philistine champion?” he roared. His clean-shaven face and sensuous lips were a sharp contrast to his coarse, guttural roar. “What is this litter’s runt you have sent to face me? Do you take me for a nipple-sucking private that you challenge me with this child who looks to be more girl than man?”

  Goliath drew his curved sword and shook it at the army. “Are you making sport of me?” Spittle flew from his mouth. “Look at this weakling you’ve sent against me. Is this what serves as a champion in Israel these days? And his weapons!” He snorted, aiming the tip of his sword at the young shepherd. “He comes with a stick and a stone to try to break my bones!” At this joke the Philistine threw his head back to expel a shrill rasp of laughter. It was like a saw squealing as it cut through resistant wood.

  The skin on the back of David’s neck crawled. The Philistine hordes on the incline to David’s right erupted. He whispered the warrior’s prayer, his eyes clenched in fierce concentration. As if he’d heard the petition, Goliath grew still, lowering his sword. He dragged a hairy forearm across his lips, wiping away the spittle.

  The back of David’s throat burned. It was that unmistakable stench of black smoke and rancid meat. And this time it was affecting his knees. They were trembling. A wave of panic made the glowing figure swim before his eyes. Only one thing came to mind—the warrior’s prayer. Desperately he whispered, “Lord Sabaoth—Lord of the heavenly hosts—deliver me, for I trust in Your name.” He repeated it several times, trying to quiet his mounting fear.

  Goliath was staring at him intently as if measuring him with his eyes.

  David’s heart sank. From this distance, eighty paces away, he could make out no crack in the giant’s armor. All hope and confidence left him. He clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from quivering. Gathering his last fragments of courage, he pushed his foot forward, the sling heavy in his left hand.

  Leering, Goliath gestured at the shepherd’s rod. “Am I a dog, that you come at me with a toy? Dagon curse your impudence to the abyss! Come to me, and I will give your sweet, young flesh to the birds and the beasts.”

  With ease of practice, the Philistine thrust his sword into its scabbard and pulled the spear away from his armor bearer, who was standing in front of him. Goliath widened his stance, thighs and calves bulging. Shifting his left foot forward, he centered his weight on his back foot. He held the weapon horizontally, then tossed it lightly into the air, finding its balance. The weight of its bronze head, almost as large as David’s, made the pole bow deeply as it fell back into his hand. Snorting with satisfaction, the giant motioned insolently for David to approach.

  The young shepherd inched forward, sweat running down his back, as he still tried to locate a weakness in the armor.

  Unable to restrain his excitement, the giant threw back his head and bellowed.

  The sound of hunger and derision turned David’s insides to water. He no longer cared whether the Israelites could see his terror. His breath was coming in gasps. It was suddenly clear—there would be no deliverance. There was no chink in the brute’s armor.

  All that was left was to run.

  His fingers loosened on the braided thongs, and the stone fell out of the leather pouch. As he turned to escape, Goliath drew back his spear, and a triumphant cry echoed off the valley walls.

  And then David felt a hand on his back.

  David twisted his head to look behind him, and at that instant, from the corner of his eye, he saw Goliath’s throwing arm bend backward as the giant let out a derisive cry.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  There was no one behind him. Still, the force of the shove knocked David down and sent his rod spinning crazily away from him. He caught himself with his outstretched hands as Goliath’s spear thrummed past him. The giant let out another roar; it was an explosion of outrage. Scrambling to regain his balance and get to his feet, David felt the stone that had slipped out of his sling. It was under his palm. He closed his fingers over it and stood up.

  Though his eyes told him he was alone, David felt a distinct presence next to him. He was certain it was the angel who had appeared in front of the ark. Dust kicked up at his feet, and a strong breeze undulated and whirled around him, exactly as it had when that man-eater had charged up the hill toward him and Jahra. He had forgotten the unusual wind, and it had never occurred to him that it was the work of an angel. Only this time it was more personal. And by its mass, David sensed that the angel was at least as tall as the Philistine trying to kill him.

  A Voice entered into him. It had no specific content. Though it was calm, confident, it was slightly disconcerting, for it contained ripples of amusement. For the briefest moment he was annoyed. Was he once again being mocked? But then he realized that the joke was not on him but on the bronze-sheathed braggart in front of him. David felt a flash of pity, which was extinguished immediately by a white-hot flame that rose from the soles of his feet and flew up into his chest. He had the sensation that his hands and arms had grown heavier, infused with power.

  Goliath had pulled his javelin loose and was poised to hurtle it at David, but suddenly he recoiled. The Philistine warrior stood absolutely still, his right arm bent at a throwing angle, his mouth open in an expression of disbelief.

  Bold words massed, then burst from David’s mouth. They singed the air and resounded off the sides of the narrow valley. “You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of Yahweh Sabaoth—the God of the armies of Israel whom you have dared to insult.” His voice had taken on the same resonance as that of Samuel’s when the old prophet anointed him king. “Today Yahweh shall deliver you into my hand, and I shall kill you.” As he shouted this challenge, he carefully slipped the smooth stone back into his sling.

  Rage was billowing inside him. He hurled back at Goliath the same taunt the giant had used moments earlier. “I shall cut off your head, and this very day your dead body shall be food for the birds of the air and the wild beasts of the earth.” Then, fixing Saul’s army with a ferocious glare, he shouted: “And all the earth will know that there is a God in Israel! And all of you will know that it is not by sword or by spear that Yahweh gives the victory.” The Israelites stared back at him in astonishment.

  David swiveled his body and pointed toward Goliath and the swarm of soldiers massed along Elah’s southern slope, their bronze helmets glittering in the afternoon sun. “And let it be known this day that Yahweh is Lord of the battle and that He will deliver you—all of you—into our power!”

  B
efore the last word was out of his mouth, David was running. His first strides were short and compact; then when he was within thirty paces from the stunned Philistine champion, they lengthened. Goliath’s mouth had sagged wider, revealing ragged yellow teeth. David could no longer feel the ground, nor could he feel his left arm. He could only hear the sling humming next to his left ear.

  Now! came the quiet command. Rather than releasing the pressure of his thumb and forefinger, he did something he had never thought of doing—he leaped, throwing himself into the air as he let the thong loose.

  There was a satisfying thwack as the stone flew straight at the gaping giant. It struck the top of his bronze nosepiece, but instead of careening away with a loud clang, it made a dull, metallic thud that reverberated through the valley. It was the sound of a javelin penetrating a breastplate of iron. Goliath’s head jerked back. He staggered but did not fall. David, still running, was close enough to see blood pouring down the face of the giant, bathing his eyes, dripping off his nose.

  The monstrous warrior righted himself, shook his massive head, and blinked to clear his eyes. He tried to speak, but no sound came. Goliath’s armor bearer dropped the heavy shield, pulled out his sword, and with backward strides shuffled quickly toward the Philistine army.

  Goliath took a step forward, then another. On the third step, he began swaying from side to side. It was both terrible and spellbinding. He tried to lift his javelin, swayed once more, then slowly bent forward at the waist and collapsed, arms splayed beside him.

  The impact knocked Goliath’s helmet into the air along with the javelin. They were still rolling away from the defeated champion when David ran up beside him. He gripped the hilt of Goliath’s curved sword, yanking it out of its sheath. There were bubbles forming on the giant’s lips as he labored to expel one last taunt. David stood above him, holding the sword high with both hands. Borrowing Jonathan’s war cry, he screamed,“Yahweh Sabaoth Immanuel!” The Lord of the heavenly hosts is with us! And with one stroke, he drove the blade through Goliath’s neck, plunging its edge into the ground.