by Brian Godawa
Goliath responded, “We have trained for twenty-five years. We have organized the Rephaim forces of Philistia to be the most feared regiment in the land. We are ready for any commission.”
Dagon explained, “The reason I formed your warrior cult those many years ago was not merely to defeat the Israelites, as abominable as they are. The real purpose of your existence is to seek out an individual, a Chosen Seed within Israel, who was prophesied to crush the head of the Serpent.”
“The destruction of our seed,” muttered Goliath.
“Precisely,” said Dagon.
“Is this the gibborim ruler of Israel, King Saul?”
“No. Saul is cursed. We believe the messiah is someone else. But we do not know who. He is already within the ranks of Israel, but he has not risen. He has not shown himself. I want you to use conspiracy and intrigue to find out who this Chosen Seed is. And then I want you to hunt him down and kill him.”
“Gladly, mighty Dagon.” The implications were obvious. If they killed the savior of Israel, they would kill its only hope, and the nation would be a grain harvest ready for winnowing with the scythe of Dagon.
He said, “We will draw him out, and cut him into pieces.”
Ishbi remained subordinate and quiet. Inside, he felt elation. He had been waiting for many years. He could feel his familiar spirits inside him become frenzied with joy.
Dagon said, “Continue to maneuver your giant regiments as before. But only reveal this new command to your officers and your ruler, the Lord of Gath. Secrecy is crucial to the plan’s success. This is not a war, this is an assassination.”
The two warriors backed out of the sanctuary. They went off to meet with their other officers and make their plans.
Asherah and Ba’alzebul came from behind the image.
Asherah asked, “How reliable is this Lord of Gath?”
Dagon said, “He is a cuckold and a fool. But he is obedient.”
Chapter 24
Bisha was an older woman of fifty-five years, but she had aged well. She kept her skin soft with oils. She applied make-up artfully, using just enough to accent her declining beauty, but not so much as to look garish or desperate. She kept her long, black hair brushed soft every night. She watched her diet, avoided rich foods and ate small amounts.
But she never denied her sexual appetite. In this she indulged with ferocious abandon in honor of her patron goddess, Asherah. Life was too short, and she wanted to experience every sexual pleasure conceivable, before she returned to the dust. So she fornicated with everyone she possibly could. She even had carnal knowledge of some animals out of curiosity.
But her favorites were giants. She loved the strong, manhandling that giants gave her. They were overwhelming, frightening at times. And painful. She loved to ride the edge of death during coitus. It made her feel alive being so close to Mot.
She cried out in muffled pain, her eyes fixed on a terra cotta teraphim of Asherah with hands under her large breasts.
The giant who ravished her now was Lahmi of Gath, the brother of Goliath. He was just thirty-five years old, about eight and a half feet tall and five hundred pounds. He was careful not to crush her but he knew she liked to feel pain.
Their conjugation was more than sexual pursuit for both of them. She was an older woman who enjoyed the virility of young men, but she also received a thrill from powerful men. Lahmi was an officer of the mighty warrior guild, the Sons of Rapha. It was her goal to bed every one of the six officers of the Sons of Rapha. This was difficult because they were a tight-knit group of men with sexual companions in each other and their younger apprentices and armor-bearers. Fortunately, the easy ones like Lahmi enjoyed both male and female copulation. But the more difficult ones would have to be bribed or blackmailed into satisfying her pleasure. This was extremely difficult in a patriarchal culture like Philistia, but she was up for the task, excited by the challenge. However, at the moment, she was late for her next meeting. After she achieved satisfaction, she barked, “I am late. You have to go.”
She jumped out of her bed, kissed her Asherah idol, and quickly threw her clothes on.
She fixed her hair as she scurried down the long hallway toward her destination. She was still fixing her dress as she entered the room. A herald announced her.
“Lady Bisha of Gath.”
She strode proudly up to the throne of her husband, Achish ben Maoch, Lord of Gath. He was sixty, hair gone gray from a troubled reign. He had become portly from pleasuring himself with food. In a way, they had become like their idols El and Asherah, an impotent, old, bearded deity and his powerful goddess consort.
“I am so sorry, my love. I was indisposed.”
Achish watched her with an impatient eye, grumbling, “You kept us waiting.”
She said to the others, “Please accept my humble apologies. I will try to find some way to make it up to you fine warriors in the future.” Her words had double meaning, her eyes lingered lasciviously over them.
The four officers of the Sons of Rapha stood before the throne. The fifth was just arriving, Lahmi, also fixing his clothes as if he had just awakened from a sleep—or just got out of bed.
Achish could not help but notice the similarity between the two latecomers. He pretended not to know, because Bisha’s political connections and ruthless machinations had helped him gain the Lordship of Gath, and continually aided his interests in the Philistine Council of Lords.
Lahmi stood next to his brother, Goliath, and comrade Ishbi ben Ob. These two Bisha had not been able to seduce. Behind them were the two others that she had bedded at various times previously; Saph, nine feet tall, and a hefty eight hundred pounds; and Runihura, a dark skinned Egyptian, leanest of the band at seven and a half feet tall and four hundred pounds. The sixth Son of Rapha, Argaz, was shrouded in mystery. He was kept out of the public eye. He had been burned so badly in a fire that he looked like a monster from the underworld. He was also abnormally large, fifteen feet tall and twelve hundred pounds. His mere hideous presence would strike terror into the hearts of any who saw him. Simply put, he could not be seen in public without causing chaos. They therefore saved that for battle. Because he had lost his genitals in the fire, Bisha would never know her fantasy of being painfully ravished by the behemoth.
These were the officers over the five regiments of Rephaim in the Philistine army. Each presided over one hundred warriors and had won various honors of war that raised him to the highest rank of the Yalid ha Rapha.
Goliath was their champion and he spoke for the group. “My lord and lady, we have sure intelligence from Dagon himself that there is a messiah in Israel who is about to rise to power. This gibborim is capable of defeating our entire nation, and some say he will conquer the entire land of Canaan.”
“King Saul?” asked Achish, surprised.
“No, my lord.” Goliath nodded to Ishbi.
Ishbi said, “My mother is an Ob in Endor, and she has reported to me that King Saul is in the grip of an evil spirit whom she believes is Nimrod of old.”
Achish looked shocked. “How could that be?”
Goliath spoke again. “He is cursed by their god. That is why Dagon is confident that he will be replaced by someone far greater.”
Achish wondered what the ramifications could be on his own rule.
Bisha wondered what it would be like to fornicate with a king infested by a malignant spirit of such magnitude.
“What we recommend is a contest.”
“Of Champions?” asked Achish.
“Yes,” said Goliath. “If you assemble your forces for war, we will call out their mightiest champion to engage in single combat with our mightiest champion to resolve the conflict without massive loss of soldiers.”
It was a common stratagem from their Aegean origins. But it was also known and practiced among Mesopotamian and Canaanite cultures as well. So the Israelites were familiar with it.
Goliath continued, “This tactic will surely draw out their hidden
messiah by an appeal to his vanity.”
“And you are confident of your victory?” Achish asked.
Goliath was the uncontested champion of all Philistia. It was said that not even the monstrous Argaz could best him.
“My lord, I have been preparing for this moment all my life. I will crush this Chosen Seed, tear out the root and strangle the Hebrew dynasty before it has had the chance to get started.”
Bisha sighed. She was drawn to this mighty gibborim, and his unavailability just made her more desirous.
The plan was unassailable. Each one of the Sons of Rapha was capable of the deed, not merely Goliath their champion. This increased the odds of success in Achish’s mind.
Ishbi was second only to Goliath in both rank and skill. Of all of them, Ishbi was the most capable of besting the champion. But he deferred to Goliath and was happy to be his submissive partner in more places than on the battlefield. As the son of an Ob, he also seemed to have a connection to the spiritual world, which gave him an otherworldly presence in battle. Combatants were known to be harassed and distracted by unseen forces, his familiar spirits, when opposing him.
Lahmi always stood in the shadow of his older brother. It drove him to be a fierce, relentless fighter in order to establish his own identity. But he also never forgot how Yahweh had almost killed him and his best friend Ittai when he had been a child. The Hebrew god had sent a plague upon the Philistines for their capture of the magical box that housed that invisible god. Lahmi had Dagon to thank for his life, so he battled without concern for survival. There is nothing more ferocious than a warrior who is ready to die for his god. Yahweh was his most hated enemy.
Runihura, whose name meant, “Destroyer,” was a black high-born Egyptian who was a master of the loop javelin. This was a special addition of a stringed loop attached to the javelin and used to propel the missile faster and farther upon release. It was said Runihura could hit a target at three hundred yards. His family line was almost ended by the ten plagues of Egypt. He sought revenge on Yahweh for the destruction of his people and nation.
Saph was a master swordsman with the scimitar, the common weapon carried by the officers that warranted the nickname “Guild of the Scimitar.” He traced his lineage back to the mighty Og of Bashan, who had been massacred by the Israelites upon their arrival in the land four hundred years ago. Saph saw himself as a blood avenger of his people. The object of his most burning hatred was this race of cockroaches called Israel. He was dedicated to driving them into the sea.
The mighty fifteen foot Argaz struck terror into everyone’s heart who faced him in battle and was known to kill scores of men at a time with the sweep of his titanic six foot iron sword. His height was an unusual anomaly and reminded many of the legendary Ahiman, one of the Anakite Sons of Arba. He too had been fifteen feet tall and was a figure of great legendary exploits. His death was never spoken of.
Achish of Gath did not have one champion to face this cowardly messiah king, wherever he was hiding. He had six. Six times the odds in his favor.
“I will take your advice,” said Achish. “I will prepare for battle. Where do you think would be the optimum location for your victory? Somewhere to aid our invasion of Israelite territories.”
Goliath said, “The Valley of the Terebinth, fifteen miles southwest of Bethlehem.”
The Valley of the Terebinth, known to others as the Valley of Elah, marked a natural entry point for conquering from the Philistine homeland into the hill country of the Saulide kingdom.
It would be the perfect spot to thrust a Philistine scimitar of war.
Chapter 25
Ittai pounded the red hot iron with a strong arm. He was now thirty-five years old. Despite his hatred for the Sons of Rapha, he was a Gittite in heart and soul, so he had returned to his native Gath to blacksmith after Micah had died. The Philistines had spearheaded the development of smelting metal and had become experts and innovators in the craft. Prior to King Saul’s reign, the tribes of Israel were divided and unable to share knowledge and commerce efficiently. They had failed to develop the craft of blacksmithing, which resulted in a dearth of weaponry. Philistia had so dominated the region and monopolized on the craft, the Israelites were dependent upon the Philistines for the manufacturing and sharpening of their agricultural tools. The Philistines were considered among the first of the iron cultures. They had become particularly known for their iron chariots, unequaled in the land.
Ittai had become a specialist in weaponry, creating swords, javelins, daggers, maces and other implements of war such as helmets and armor. He knew weapons inside and out, from their weight and balance to their destructive capabilities in battle. He had also become an expert in tactical use of these multiple weapons, as a means for perfecting his craft.
On this day, he worked on a new kind of metal that he revealed to no one. He had heard rumors of this new metal that was stronger than iron from other smiths. There were occasional cases of its use in Anatolia and eastern Egypt, but it remained a mystery to most. It was called steel and it was much stronger than bronze and iron, though less malleable. Bronze was still the most used metal. Ittai had been experimenting with various techniques of smelting iron with carbon at higher temperatures and he had finally arrived at a satisfying mix that enabled him to work on the very sword he currently plunged into the water for cooling.
But this was not the only smithing secret Ittai harbored. Another was the whip sword named Rahab. Ittai had worked for many years trying to master it. He felt a secret, holy responsibility as its latest keeper.
Ittai took a break before returning to his secret project. Before he could pick up the hammer, a pair of slender hands covered his eyes from behind. He knew instantly who it was. He could tell by the touch, by the sweet smell in his nostrils.
“Ummi, you know it is dangerous to sneak up on me like that.”
“I am simply proving my point that brute force and practiced skill are not always the victor. Sometimes the smallest mouse can surprise the enemy and break through a defense.”
“Well, ‘my enemy,’ what nefarious plans do you have for torturing me tonight?”
She giggled. “The ultimate torture. The one thing you dread the most. Your deepest darkest fear made real. A meal with my parents.”
“Ummi,” he complained.
She placed her arms around his neck. It was difficult because he was so husky and muscular. She felt completely safe with him. His heart was flesh as she would often say, in contrast with his iron exterior.
She said softly, “Smooty, we’ve been talking about this forever. What holds us back?”
Smooty was her affectionate nickname for him, created by combining the sootiness that his smithing caused with the dirty smudging he inevitably created when he touched things with his blackened hands.
Ittai could not think of what to say. He could not look at her.
She kept up her assault. “Is my big bad burly Smooty a scared little mouse after all?”
He looked at her. Those gorgeous Philistine eyes. Her luscious pulpy lips and wavy black hair. Her infectious smile.
“You are right.”
Her eyes went wide with shock. She could not believe it.
“I am a mouse.”
She didn’t expect that. Was he only delaying more?
“And you are a rascally puma playing with me before you eat me.”
She wasn’t sure where he was going with this. It might not be what she had hoped.
Then he smiled back. “I will propose to your father tonight. There is no reason to wait any longer.”
“Oh, Smooty!” She hugged him and kissed him deeply on the lips.
“But you must promise me one thing,” he said. “You had better be that rascally, ferocious feline in the marriage bed.”
She smiled seductively. “Oh, this puma has pleasure planned for you that you never even dreamed of.” She punctuated it with a playfully condescending, “Mouse.” She ended with a low seductive growl an
d Ittai’s knees almost buckled from the excitement that rose up within him.
She jumped out of his arms and ran away, shouting back to him, “I will tell father you are coming. See you at dinner tonight!”
Ittai breathed a deep sigh. He was truly in love with this woman. He had met Ummi not long after he returned to Gath. He had wanted to start over and stay hidden in the blackened shadows of his workshop. But when he met her, she was like a light of happiness providing hope for his miserable darkened existence.
His past was nothing but pain, a pain he had still never shared with his beloved Ummi. His rejection by the Sons of Rapha and his best friend, in addition to his sickness and subsequent self-mutilation and running away. His experience under King Saul of Israel at Gibeah was also burned into his soul. The Israelites had always been the enemy, but he had seen something in them and in their god that contrasted with the abominations of the Ammonites. That revelation awakened a nagging concern in him about his own nation. How was Dagon any different from Molech? Could the Philistine cosmopolitan sophistication, compared with the rustic primitiveness of Israel, be a deception? Could it be that evil was made beautiful and trapped him in its web of deceit? He was a haunted man.
A voice snapped him out of his haunting.
“Runt!”
All his happiness, and all his hope, deflated at the sound of that familiar voice. It was Lahmi, his boyhood best friend, torn from him when he had been rejected from the Sons of Rapha. He would never live down the reason for his rejection, because he would always be reminded of it in their insulting nickname for him.
Once Ittai had returned to Gath, he would inevitably run into his old friend. Ittai had become a master weapons craftsman, and the Sons of Rapha were an elite warrior guild. Every time they needed weapons, Lahmi would show up and chide Ittai, while placing his order with the insulted blacksmith.
Lahmi had changed after his initiation into the order all those years before. He had become hard and cruel like Goliath and the others. He looked down on Ittai both literally and metaphorically. In a warrior culture, failing to achieve military status was a mark of inferiority, and only power was respected. So Ittai received nothing but contempt. Whatever past they had shared was dead.