Goliath

By Danzel Fegen

Body found DNA active, cloned, Goliath from the biblical past is fitted with high teck gear and powerfull weapons by the US military. When the giants controlling circuits fail, he has a bunch of prisoners and the military running as he heads on into a major US city.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danzel Fegen
• Release date: Dec 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781732181151

Danzel Fegen

Born in Johannesburg South Africa, Danzel is a writer of screenplays, graphic novels and both fiction and historic fiction. He currently lives in Los Angeles California.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Spring, 1045 B.C.

She knew how to kill Goliath. It was a matter of timing and the axe would do the job. Soon she would rest with the knowledge he was gone from her. Gone to the dragons that would hurl his body to the maggots, gone would be his soul to that fiery place with the winds of the gods. After that she would live in peace. But, first the axe, she had to get to it, maybe when father and mother slept. Mother must not be around with her strong hand to stop her.

With a haunting laugh that echoed through the trees, Avena shuddered for it was close. A twig snapped. He was really close now. Her little imagination turned to reality. In play, she would have entered the larger path from one of the many winding trails above the homes of her folks, the giants. They were the giants of the tall trees, and they were the giants known as the loud savages that ravaged alongside the Philistines that had brought swift deaths to the Israelites.

With a snub to her noble nose, Avena pushed her dimpled chin up in the air and caught her breath. She rubbed one of her brown eyes that had both brows smeared with black ash and studied the path she knew her pursuer would soon exit. He, the mighty Goliath, would be on her within seconds with a sword in hand and ready to slay. Avena smiled, the brute would have to catch her first.

She was a princess, a lady of the forest, not what Goliath had called her, a beast. How dare he, for I’m not an animal?

Avena was glad that the drizzle held back a bit, for the low bushes and ferns that reached up under her girly frocks were dampening, and the white clay she gloved her arms with was beginning to streak.

Careful not to slip and fall in her stance, she steadied her footing. Amongst the smoke below her, she saw the movements of her people below the path. "Soon I would be back with mother," she smiled with that thought of comfort and licked her wide lips.

Her clear face, apart from her darkened eyebrows, indeed made her look like a princess. The fashion of dress that revealed pale bare knees from mid-drop below a clammy waistline. A crisscrossed pair of skin straps were strung up high on her calves are tied walk-ons made from cow hide.

With a scream that had her clenching a tight fist, Goliath suddenly skidded onto the path above and stopped. He was a dark haired boy dressed partly in skins and brown cloth that clung wet and muddy from play.

Rising on the balls of his bare muddied feet, Goliath sank his chin to his sternum imitating the way his father scanned the forest with eyes up in his brow. He spotted Avena forty yards away. She was a daunt girl wearing a crown of thick woven leaves, his prey and now the enemy.

Avena stuck out a tongue at him and with a deep breath, and with a sweep of her hand pushed aside a thick fringe of hair from her face. She turned and sped off like a diving sparrow down the only trail she knew he would not follow.

Goliath gritted his teeth at her decision. That path, he’d once taken, was where he once saw a spider and knew there were snakes there too. He then had have to back around onto another trail, and, soon, he disappeared into the forest.

Down further from the path where Goliath had left, there were movements, misty streams that swirled in a grey smoke with the dizzying aroma of roasting meat that wafted in and out of the tall oak trees from the valley. Behind that, the patchy marine layer obscured the rolling hills. Farther back behind the tall trees shone the remnants of the setting sun that reflected skimmed light off the ocean. The warm coastal breeze, too, that strayed in from the west with its rain, brought a reminder of the seasons change.

The giant footprints on the path brought the first warning of the potentially dangerous folk of the area to any intruders. Warnings too, were the combustive chants and cheers that reached up the valley in echo from the people as a flood of male voices…? "Groell… Groell…!"

While their kids played in the forest, the giants of Gath were in respite which symbolized with the celebratory men and their ‘Groell’ chant. A respite, a call for celebration and a break, with meat to rejoice over. The season of rain and mud, having not yet past, was a break in the weather and the giants of Gath seized the opportunity for their feast.

‘Groell’ was the local mix of wine and wheat brew. The men of Gath were feasting from a successful hunt that would not be taken likely to a wayfarer of his kind.

Yet from the six male deer that roasted on spits the town’s men that were about to enter into another call for Groell quickly lowered their communal urns and turned to look. The women, some wrapping root vegetables in palm leaves, some on their knees burying the folds into the ashes beneath the stags, looked up. Here too, the town’s children that ran and shrieked along the damp, mud-rock adjoining footpaths, clutching at spears fashioned from low-hanging branches in gleeful reenactment of their elder’s hunt, came to a halt. The hapless morsel-seeking dogs, readying to eat and some scratching flees, stopped their actions. They lifted their heads.

The calls ‘Groell… Groell…!" brought Avena back to reality again as she advanced forward in another direction towards the tall figures swaying like rag ghosts in a layer of smoke that thickened below their knees.

There, in a clearing bounded amongst a circle of tall oak trees, they now stood. Then, a scream, brought their frozen celebration to a moment of pause. All heads turned to the direction.

A girlish shriek echoed through the camp that was unlike the sounds of the children at play at their feet. It was followed by the frenzied cry, Stop! You are really scaring me!

Like heavy rain, the patter of little feet came at a running speed through a trail, and between the stoic giants, around their legs and between standing swine skin urns. The crying child, Avena, rushed to her plump mother, Ahdarr, and flung herself into her warm arms. Goliath says I’m a deer and he’s going to hunt me!

Indeed, on Avena’s heels they saw from a path behind a group of smaller children, a bare footed mighty child hunter tromping like a man footed dinosaur.

Avena’s mother smiled as she picked her off the ground. With tenderness she hugged to comfort her squalling wide eyed girl and stepped aside looking down at the boy that quickly gained on his victim to hold his weapon up at the mother and daughter.

Goliath was a portly boy of eight but already a giant among the giant people.

Run, Goliath bellowed. His wooden spear now weighed over his head up and ready to throw. Run hard, for I will find you and cut you both down!

Then as he got even closer with a menacing pull to his face the little warrior found himself swept off his feet and lifted high in the air.

Goliath, his father, Childath boomed and turned the squirming child in his arms until their eyes met, were you mean to Avena?

Yes! Goliath admitted in an indignant struggle to regain ground with his legs. I didn’t call her a deer. I called her an Israelite!

At this admission, laughter erupted from the adults enthralled by this little outrage. Childath a ‘Santa’ of a giant smiled broadly. Soon, my son; soon you will be a warrior. He lowered the boy back on his feet. But you do not want to be known as Goliath, the friend killer. Do you? Young Goliath gulped, but his large eyes held their pent courage. Now go to Avena and help her dry her tears.

Goliath stood for a moment, his spear dangling from his hand, once again only a trimmed branch.

But she called me a soft dog.

Laughter again erupted from the adults.

Do you know what that means my son? Goliath nodded in the negative.

You would one day know my son, you would know when you reach my age and when your wife call’s you that.

Childath turned towards a woman handing him an urn filled with frothy beer, she rolled her eyes and waved a fist at him.

Go! His father commanded. And as Goliath rushed off to the girl and her mother, his father shook his head. Soon enough my boy, you shall be a warrior.

The loud combustion chants and cheers continued as the rejoicing continued.The dogs shied, barked, and unsure if this was still wild play as they dodged the children’s makeshift weapons and circled around to snap at their ankles to goad them on in the game; some continued their begging and scratching. These were good times, and the promise of better summers to come.

"Groell… Groell…"

Chapter 2

In the valley of the Giants

One year later, the call for ‘Groell’ made the lone wanderer that entered the territory shudder in fear.

He’d passed the giants oversized bloodied swords that were propped up against posts, and entered the territory of uneven odds. Driven by hunger and a place to sleep, the wanderer whose name was Rosha stumbled forward with frozen eyes to stop point blank. He saw a sight down the path that made his blood curdle in fear. Amidst the smoke a woman wearing a red shoal amongst the festival of people was fervently waving him on in.

When the woman beckoned with even more vigor, Rosha felt his feet stumble forward in anticipation of a meal despite his fear. He rubbed his smoke ridden eyes and strutted towards the thickest part of the tumulus smoke, towards the woman with the red cover amongst the rag staggering ghosts.

Here, he found, he was suddenly dwarfed among a communal of giants that did not look amicable in any way. He gulped and looked back seeking a quick retreat. Too late, a Rubicon was crossed!

The man from the Roman region never knew that the giants of Gath were on respite. With the season of rain and mud having not yet past. For there was a break in the weather and the giants of Gath had seized the opportunity to feast.

The woman that waved him on in was a colossal, her hairy pale legs, swollen from the clay water that played havoc to their arteries and clogged up their kidneys. Rosha paled as a hooked finger pointed down at him and screeched in a tone he’d once heard when caught stealing bread, To bed!

Rosha felt his legs move like jelly, but in the wrong direction. Instead of backing up the muddy slope and away, he advanced forward against his will. In a flurry of simultaneous actions that increased his effort to flee, he was skidding in the mud.

Again Rosha tried to back up the path. He turned around, but his feet back treaded. He slide forward. "Oh lord, I’m in it now, and death is certainly upon me." He thought, and vowed to fight his way out. And if by some divine will of god, I lived, I would seek for a meal and a place to sleep elsewhere.

Something or someone clamped a grip on him that made everything darken momentarily. And, as the wind from a nervous breath wheezed out his lungs, his upper left torso shot a pain into him like a huge pulled tooth.And the earth from beneath his feet disappeared. He… now a hangman, was craned across the smoke below him like a wriggling dark eyed rat.

"No, I will not die, he thought, his mind refusing to accept death. Rosha, kicked and swung his free hand around and pulled at what he knew not. No, not now, Not before I’ve lived a long life, had a family, a farm, a vineyard, with kids and be able to bake bread, crispy crunchy bread when I want. What about a goat and cow? Not yet." Rosha’s mind raced, "No, I do not want to be eaten by these monsters no matter how much they laughed; I will fight till the last." The man from the Roman region kicked harder, but made no contact with anything solid.

Hey, go easy on him! one of the giants spoke.

Obscured by the smoke, Childath, with a smile, pointed a broad finger at him. Rosha, held up high by a fellow giant turned a small head towards the booming voice. Childath barked, Whoever’s kid that is, make sure he’s fed and put to bed?

With his ribs about to crack, and his lungs in a dry rasp for air, the grip held fast as Rosha floated through the celebrations with the giant carrying him off.

Like a bundle of clothes, Rosha found himself hurled through a skin flap doorway of a tent structure he knew not of. He landed on all fours amongst a heap of tanned skins. He froze at what he saw. A hive of kids were at play, some gorging from clay bowls filled with succulent meat pieces, others hurling loaves of bread towards a large clay water urn. Rosha’s dark eyes surveyed the surroundings. It is a mad house.

The giants’ kids played everywhere, throwing sheep skin bedding at each other, the urn wobbling with the loaves yet not toppling. The girls nursing ragged dressed rock painted heads resembling babies. The boys were in the midst of an epic battle with their sticks. The largest and loudest of them all, was Goliath.

He needed to move on, to sneak out the way he was thrown in, "but first something to drink." He figured. To one side he noticed the urns. Whatever they contained, they looked filled with something well-guarded, "maybe wine," nearby he noticed, slouched, amongst them was the ugliest looking man he had ever imagined. Rosha, quickly stuffed some choice meat pieces into his mouth from a nearby platter, then looked again at the ugly man. He was giant of a molester put to oversee the children and the drink.

From the kids’ behavior, the molester’s task was to take care of the urns.

Rosha lowered his head and struck out in that direction. The molester’s large beady eyes instantly rested on him like a spider to an approaching fly.

"Drink and escape," Rosha thought eying the doorway. He’d made a grave mistake to even try.

Who the heck are you? The giant barked.

I need nectar for the night to quell the dreams, if you please, master. Rosha said.

And whose child are you, a child that’s as ugly as to carry dark chin stubble?

Rosha thought fast, I’m from over the hill from my visiting mother called Hilda.

Nay, The giant grabbed him so fast that Rosha yelped at the speed and thud of it. A vice grip had clinched him and another latched around his neck I’ve seen the like of you before. You are a thief from yonder village and a liar. There’s no mother named Hilda there.

Rosha could not reply. He was being choked by a hairy hand that resembled sphincters. The choice meat pieces he’d eaten were beginning to expel from the pressure. The gurgling sound he emitted brought on fits of laughter from the kids that surrounded them. His blackening thoughts were beginning to flash a fading alarm, do something or this is the end, he thought.

They call me Khah, the giant’s eye was up close to his face. Rosha could smell its viscous fluid, It means one who breaks bones. I’m going to break yours.

I have beads for you, Rosha squealed a reply from inside his chest plate, Red ones. Let me go and you’ll have them.

There came no answer. Rosha found to the applause of the kids distancing behind him that he was floating painfully outside the tent.

Khah with Rosha in a tight grip, headed towards the small clump of trees where a sickening howl emitted. Rosha noted too, that Khah carried him with a limp on his right leg. He thought maybe there was a chance for him if he broke away; "maybe I could out run this monster." Then Rosha saw the source of the sound and the deep pit it was coming from. What he saw in the pit made him wish he would wake up from this nightmare. He saw impaled, by the sharp wooden spikes some twenty feet down, a groaning man impaled among rotting skeletons of other long dead victims.

Prepare to die! Khah’s words echoed as he held him over the pit. Rosha kicked out. His feet struck nothing.

What are you doing with that child? The voice of Childath boomed. Let him be.

Nay, he’s to join the other thief.

Leave him be, I warn you. Childath continued.

Nay, he’s to join the other imposter.

Khah, extended his arm further and let go his grip.

Rosha felt the wind of the fall and saw the spikes rise up at him. He closed his eyes and wished a quick death. He felt his body strike the bottom in a crunching noise.

With patchy visions of Khah being impaled alongside him, and visions of himself rising from the dead by the seat of his pants, and a large mouth sucking at his face in an embrace of life, Rosha hallucinated. The inflation of his chest in series, like a sheep’s stomach being blown up with the hiss of a gaseous release that wheezed through his ears. "If this is death," he thought, then why am I being placed amongst soft skins and given long gulping doubles of wine? Rescued and resuscitated by Goliath’s father Childath, Rosha was left to sleep in a deep slumber.

Rosha never knew pain like he did the following morning. Hoisted by the hair of his side burns, especially between pinched fingers. He was jarred up into the air from a cozy sleep by an irate looking tubby mother smelling of beer breath.

"Should I cry or yell?"

There was no room for indignation, just another fear of his bones being crushed and a fall into the pit. It was a sharp eye that spotted him. Obvious to anyone, especially the mother, no kid of any giant grew stubble and picked at a noble nose.

Young Goliath came to his rescue saying. Mother, you said you’d find a shield bearer for me one day, you promised. The hangovered mother took one look at Rosha dangling in her right pinchers, then, smiled through palm leafed stained teeth, consenting.

Rosha’s face, held in a locked jaw position, is in anguish. His eyes bulged from under thick eyebrows. "In no way am I going to be this spoiled kid’s stick carrier."

Chapter 3

Fall, 1020 B.C.

Long after Rosha rabbit tailed to freedom the first chance he got, and leaving behind his beads and worldly possessions, a new founder stepped forth to replace him. The giants named him Rhea, a name taken from the way their chants sounded at a distance from the valley. His real mane was Modjammad Kadj, a renegade Moroccan that disliked his living conditions at home and had wandered the land to seek a better life.

The man looked like a mini version of Goliath’s father Childath with his Santa grey beard and barrel waistline. The exception being that Rhea’s beard was dark due to being younger. Rhea loved to comment his thoughts on everything. If he thought someone looked like a squirrel, he would say it. And when Childath at first did not like being called an old grey lion from Rhea, he crumbled something about disrespect and that he would rip the shield bearer like bread. But soon, the term grew on him.

The giants of Gath willingly fitted Rhea with the position as shield bearer, and had him shave his head bald. And Rhea’s charm, loyalty and will to serve Goliath, made him their only choice amongst the aggressive surge that vied for the position. They too knew, that it would keep him in bondage to their needs with whatever Goliath wanted. They enjoyed Rhea’s will against their restraint, yet wished the shield bearer would at times simply keep quiet.

Now, older, and locked in a life of burden, Rhea realized the mess he was in and wanted out. His will to