by Cliff Graham
His right hand was tightening. He’d squeezed the sword hilt so hard that his fingernails had snapped off, exposing raw and painful flesh.
Eleazar winced as an enemy sword slipped through his block and nicked him on the forehead. The Philistine withdrew his weapon quickly to strike again. Eleazar brought his broken sword up to deflect the blow, but not in time — the hot metal burned into his chest.
The Philistine shouted hoarsely in triumph, believing he had made a killing blow. Eleazar lurched backward, landing on his back on a trampled patch of barley, wrenching the Philistine’s sword away from his grip with his foot.
He shook his hand to free his broken sword from his grip. It did not release. He pounded his fist on the ground, and still it did not release.
There were shouts, shadows blocked the sun in the dusty air. He bit at his rigidly frozen fingers, still not releasing their grip on the sword hilt.
More men coming!
David rushed into the forest following the tracks of the fleeing men, anger powering his steps. Branches slapped across his face. Hundreds of men stampeding like cattle through the forest left a distinct trail.
As he crossed another dry creek bed, he saw motion ahead of him in the forest. A cloak, a tunic? It came from the direction of an old rally point, a gnarled tree with a dead top that jutted out from the edge of a cliff. They were not far from the caves. He heard shouting through the trees.
David pulled his sling out again and withdrew three stones from his pouch. He entered the clearing to see his troops bent over with their hands on their knees, crowding next to the old tree like it was a mighty sentinel that would shield them from their enemies.
“Korah, Ribai, and Hurai!” David shouted the names of the three northern commanders so loudly that everyone snapped their heads up.
Ribai, standing on a rock near the tree, raised his arm. “My lord, you are safe! There were so many of them, we were going to come back —”
David dropped one of the stones into the sling notch, never breaking his stride. He whirled it three times, and before the man had finished speaking his skull had been splattered, showering the men around him with bright crimson blood and bone fragments.
Men gasped in horror and fell away from the carcass.
“Majesty! We were —”
David sent the next stone at a man who had emerged from the front ranks of panting troops, and it struck him in the lower jaw, tearing it away and exposing his upper teeth grotesquely. It was Hurai. He clawed at the wound in shock, unable to find the lower half of his face. A burbling sound erupted from his throat, and he raised his hands toward the heavens.
“Mercy, sire!” one of the other soldiers howled.
David reached the group and grabbed a javelin from a cowering man nearby, his eyes cold and murderous. He showed the weapon to the dying man struck by the stone.
“Your orders were to throw volleys of these into the Philistine ranks to finish the attack,” he said, his teeth clenching together and his voice quaking with fury.
The commander, Hurai, tried to speak but could not with his ruined mouth.
An aide stepped forward. “Lord, we —”
“Cowardice on the battlefield cannot be tolerated.”
“Forgive us —”
David rammed the javelin into Hurai’s open throat. The man twitched and convulsed.
Men wailed at the sight. They threw themselves on the ground and tossed handfuls of dirt into the air.
“Mercy on us, Majesty, mercy on us!”
David walked past the second corpse and searched the crowd. “Where is Korah?”
Fingers pointed to the tree, where the third commander stood shaking. David walked toward him.
Korah fled.
Watching him scramble up the slope, David dropped a stone into the sling and held it silently, letting the man run for a moment. He was especially angry at Korah’s cowardice; all of his bluster in the council at Hebron had meant nothing.
As the terrified officer reached the crest of the slope, David whirled his sling once through the air in a slow arc, sped it up, and whirled again.
A hand caught his elbow, and the stone and sling jerked to a halt. “In the name of Yahweh, have mercy!”
David turned angrily. It was an old man. His eyes held David’s gaze, firm. It gave David pause. David did not recognize him, yet he seemed familiar.
Then the old man crumpled to the earth. He grabbed the king’s feet. “Kill your servant, lord, but let that man live.”
David’s face twisted in hatred. The old man kissed his feet and begged him again.
“Mercy, great king, mercy.”
The soldiers around David also threw themselves onto their faces in the dirt, reaching their hands toward him in complete subservience. Voices howled, songs of death were hummed through fear-tightened lips, dried and cracked from lack of water.
David turned back toward the ridgetop just as Korah disappeared over it. He yelled. He kicked the old man in the ribs in frustration. “Never, ever abandon the attack! You should all die for this cowardice!”
“We should, great king, we should! Mercy on us!” the old man rasped, holding his side.
David wondered briefly why such an aged man was in his army. But he pushed it out of his head. “I want an immediate rally back to the valley. Eleazar is caught there, alone, defending you and your families. If you fall back against my orders again, Sheol will be a relief after what I do to you!”
The men shouted their approval, still calling for mercy as they gathered themselves off the ground. David pointed at three different men and promoted them on the spot. Still terrified, the three urged their men back through the forest, trying to regain a semblance of order.
David, panting and furious, wiped the sweat from his forehead on the edge of his tunic. He squeezed his eyes shut to calm his rage. After a few quiet seconds, the stillness of the woods and the sound of birds told him that all was well, and he opened his eyes once more.
Mercy, God of my salvation. I hear you.
“Where did you come from?” he asked the old man he expected to see still cowering at his feet.
But he was gone.
THIRTY-NINE
Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb staggered after Josheb through the forest. Benaiah thought of water. He saw it everywhere in his imagination. It poured from treetops, out of rocks, washed over his feet. He found himself swimming in the Nile again, taking gulps of water with each stroke.
But there was only dust and stone in front of him.
The rest of the Thirty were fanned out around them on the hillside, attempting to sweep out the remaining Sword of Dagon troops as they made their way back to the place where David and Eleazar were likely battling for their lives.
“How is your face?” Josheb asked Gareb.
“Ugly before the dagger wound, so I can’t imagine what it looks like now.”
Benaiah grinned. He loved Gareb’s wit.
“Does anyone have any water left?” Josheb asked.
They looked at one another. Benaiah swallowed painfully, his throat filled with dust. Heads shook.
“Stay alert,” said Josheb. “They’ll hit us again.”
“They lost many when our helper came,” said Keth.
The hillside rippled with small gullies. They rushed through them one at a time, up and down each hump in the earth, and it was just when Benaiah was realizing that they should probably slow down that the Sword of Dagon counterattack began.
Benaiah ducked away from a javelin, but before he did, he saw that each gully on the hillside had a squad of Philistines defending it, and with steep rock on their left and open valley on their right, the Thirty would have to battle through the ambush.
Josheb ordered all of them down. The men split into their battle teams and then took turns charging forward. A team of three would assault through the brush and into the next gully under a hail of javelins and blades, and when they engaged the enemy, another team rushed forward
.
Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb immediately formed their own battle team and made ready to rush when it was their turn. They heard the shouts, and then they were running. Benaiah charged forward with his shield and sword out. Keth covered his left side, Gareb his right, and the Sword troops reacted perfectly, deflecting the attack.
Shammah was in the busy streets of Hebron when he felt the call in his spirit. He put down the fruit he was examining in the market while waiting for Joab to reappear and looked heavenward. All sounds of the busy market ceased in his mind.
His eyes closed, and he mouthed the words of prayer that were so frequently on his lips. His frustration at being left behind while his brothers marched to war was gone.
They needed him now.
In the open, in front of all who were watching, he raised his arms and cried out loudly to Yahweh. Many stared at him as though he was mad, but he did not care.
Josheb glimpsed Benaiah struggling through the gully and saw that his men were losing ground. The Sword troops, entrenched, were not budging from their positions. It was going to be costly trying to force them out through the usual strategy.
Josheb pulled out his spear. He had no equal with it. It was his burden and his blessing.
Then he ran to the lines and attacked.
Benaiah was able to kill one soldier, but lack of water was slowing him, and his arm was tiring, and he failed to raise his shield in time to prevent another Philistine’s blade from striking his shoulder. His sideways roll saved his life, and as he was about to move back into a braced attack posture, a spear impaled the Philistine and was withdrawn faster than he could blink.
After spearing him, Josheb spun the man around and used him to block the next few blows, and then he ran toward the next gully. Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb followed him.
Josheb plowed through the next rank, moving too quickly to be hit by the weapons aimed at him, and then he penetrated the next, and the next, and Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb had to summon all of their remaining effort just to keep up with him.
The rest of the Thirty saw that Josheb had penetrated all of the Philistine lines by himself and surged after him to divide the enemy.
Benaiah was hit from behind — he whirled, caught a sword with his club before it could slice through his neck. He smashed the club into the Philistine’s face.
Another man dove at his knees and wrestled him to the ground. Benaiah elbowed the man’s neck, then tried punching him in the ear but only caught the helmet. The Philistine shoved a dagger near his face. Benaiah blocked it, but the Philistine was strong and thrust it again.
Benaiah released his grip on the Philistine’s wrist and jerked his head back, letting the dagger swipe near his face, then caught his thumb on the hilt. He shoved the tip back into the Philistine’s eye.
Someone else bumped into him. Keth, fighting off two Philistines.
Benaiah picked up his club and struck the Philistines down from behind.
“They’re breaking off into wedges, just like how we fight,” Benaiah panted.
A wedge of Sword troops appeared just as he said it and made him leap over a ledge into a bush down the hill to avoid them. Gareb and Keth leapt after him, and as they landed they scrambled together to make their own wedge.
Up the hill they could see the rest of the Thirty trying to fight their way out of the counterattack. Then the Sword wedge that had chased them down the hill hit them.
Benaiah ducked out of the way when the huge man leading the Sword wedge swung a cudgel like it was a piece of straw.
“Why don’t any of our tribes have giants?” Gareb grunted.
It was the first time that Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb had fought together in a wedge, but they knew it instinctively. Keeping their space from one another, they protected each other’s flanks and took turns attacking to keep the wedge tight.
A wedge of Sword troops charged them. Benaiah waited for them to break apart at the last moment, but their discipline held, and Keth had to yield a few cubits of ground to set his attack.
That was when Josheb, appearing out of nowhere, assaulted the rear of the Philistine wedge. He killed all three Sword troops with three perfectly timed strikes.
Benaiah whirled around, looking for more. He saw Philistines pulling back into the bushes and scrambling through the nearby wadi.
“They’re withdrawing,” he said.
“They need to retreat, not withdraw,” Josheb said.
“We need to get back to David before they organize again,” Gareb said.
The four of them slipped through the trees to find the rest of the Thirty.
FORTY
In the Elah Valley, a huge warrior stepped out of the ranks, and the others backed away. It was one of the champions that Eleazar had seen gathering in the valley. He had broad shoulders and arms the size of trees, taller than any other soldier by a head. Eleazar had no time to catch his breath before the giant was rushing at him.
He pulled at his fingers to break their grip on the hilt so he could get another weapon for his right hand. They remained frozen, and the shattered sword stayed in his hand. Tired and confused, he could not understand why the sword was not falling out of his hand. The warrior threw Eleazar to the ground and raised a spear.
Eleazar rolled to his left, yelling, swinging his blade across the giant’s knee guards harmlessly as the spear hit the dirt next to him. The Philistine giant stabbed with the spear again, hitting Eleazar’s broken sword as he held it up to block.
Need the covering!
Why weren’t the others charging him while he was down? Even the giant balked momentarily, staring over Eleazar’s head at something. Eleazar saw his opportunity and shoved his broken sword forward. The jagged tip cut into the giant’s thigh. Eleazar twisted the blade, feeling the muscles shred. The warrior knelt, grabbing at the wound.
Energy came again. Eleazar rolled to his feet, yelled furiously, and sliced the blade across the only exposed part of the giant’s neck, buried under layers of armor. The giant fell.
Eleazar heard the sound of more swords clanking and breaking as the battle continued. But with who? Who else were they fighting? The giant had paused to stare at something just before Eleazar had stabbed him. What had he seen?
Eleazar’s eyes were blurry. He wished he could look behind him, but the threat was in front. He crawled to his knees to be ready for the next attack.
But the others were running in terror.
David crested the bank. He felt the end of his strength coming and coughed out a song of praise to his God for renewal. He kept running forward, ignoring the awful pain in his throat and weakness in his bones.
Finally, Eleazar came back into view. David was overjoyed. He was still alive, and the enemy was fleeing!
But who was that with him?
There were but two Philistines left, the rest having fled when they realized that swords, spears, and javelins would never bring down the foe they faced this day. The dozen remaining Philistines had stepped back from the Hebrew demon with the fiery strike, shouted to their god Dagon, and spat in the dust before running toward the entrance to the pass to escape the counterattack that might come from the Hebrew Lion.
Eleazar, his fingers still rigidly wrapped around the hilt of the broken sword, took short, quivering breaths. His throat was so dry it choked him. The missing fingernails and the spots where blades had found flesh were numb, but he knew they would hurt later. Hurt badly.
Eleazar was kneeling, his legs too tired to stand, but he was ready, and spoke to the Philistines standing in front of him in their tongue.
“When you are ready.”
Hearing the challenge in his own language, the foot soldier lost heart and sprinted after his comrades, but the other, a commander by the design of his helmet, held his sword at eye level and continued watching something behind Eleazar, an amulet dangling from his free hand. Eleazar recognized him as the Philistine officer he had spared at the chariot.
“Tell me why you
spared me,” the Philistine said, as though thinking the same thing, his eyes darting over Eleazar’s shoulder every few seconds. His face was covered in blood, his nose broken, and his jaw was swollen and distorted.
Eleazar chuckled, wiped his dirty lips on the back of his hand, and spat. “I won’t do it again, if that is what you are asking.”
“What sorcery do you use?”
“No sorcery. Our God is powerful.”
The Philistine’s mouth twitched as though he was about to reply, but he just stood holding the sword up. They glared at each other.
The Philistine finally lowered the tip of his sword into the churned-up dirt and rested his weight on it. Eleazar saw him take several deep breaths and glance around the field. Whatever the man had been nervously watching was gone.
Careful to not draw attention from the Philistine, Eleazar resumed trying to move his fingers. They were as solid as limestone. His knuckles were pure white and there was no blood left in the muscles of his hand to move them with.
They heard rumbling, and Eleazar and the Philistine turned toward the other side of the valley. The companies of Hebrews who had abandoned Eleazar and David in the fight were rushing up the slope from the creek bed. They crossed the lines of destroyed chariots and some broke off to find water pouches and weapons from the soldiers. David was in front of them.
The Philistine looked at Eleazar one more time, nodded his head slightly, and knelt while leaning on his weapon to wait.
“I will stay with you,” he said.
“Why?”
“My own people will kill me after today’s loss. I would rather go to the afterlife killing Hebrews than being executed by my own army.”
“Then try to kill me now.”
“You spared me. I am honor bound to do the same with you. I will wait for your men.” He looked up over Eleazar’s head again. “And you have sorcery that I don’t know.”