Jericho

By Diana Rego

Giants and Prophets.
Princes and Prostitutes.
A place where blood is currency and only the violent survive.
Fear is a luxury you can not afford ... in Jericho!

When Zalmon, son of the former Prince of Judah, and his best friend, Othniel, are secretly chosen to spy out the formidable city of Jericho, the two find the task far more treacherous than they could ever imagine.

Accidentally thrown together with the captivating temple priestess, Rahab, the two must escape monstrous giants, a bloodthirsty people and a violent king with the help of their beautiful new companion, in exchange for the promise to protect her and her family.

But unforeseen problems threaten their oath and Rahab is left at the mercy of the vengeful king. Will glory, honor, or love be enough in the end--or will ancient forces, locked in battle, destroy them all?

Exhilarating action and a steamy adventure, this ancient story is retold in a stunning new way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diana Rego
• Release date: May 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005803841

Diana Rego

An award-winning actress and writer, Diana loves a good story. So when she's not traveling around the world or embarking on random adventures, she enjoys sharing the exciting stories that keep her awake at night.

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The names, locations, and events of this story are based on historical/biblical events. However, the story, characterization, and relationships outside of historical events are the exclusive creation and intellectual property of the writer. No part of the story outside of historical/biblical events, names, and locations may be used without the express written permission of the writer. For inquiries contact [e-mail]

JERICHO, LORDS OF CANAAN. Copyright ©️ 2019 by Diana Rego.

All rights reserved.

Cover design and art by Diana Rego. 

Title page design and art by Diana Rego.

Map design and art by Diana Rego.

Cover copyright ©️ 2022 by Diana Rego.

Map copyright ©️ 2019 by Diana Rego.

ISBN-13: 978-1-095-57714-1 (Amazon trade paperback)

ISBN-13: 979-8-479-19769-7 (Amazon trade hardcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1-987-06418-6 (Barnes & Noble trade paperback)

ISBN-13: 978-1-987-09793-1 (Barnes & Noble trade hardcover)

To Matthew, Angela, James, John, Sarah and Michael—

For all those stories we used to tell.



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"From dust was Man made, his very bones sculpted of clay

But when the Great Father breathed life into his nostrils,

A piece of His heart escaped and rested within Man’s breast.

So the Father loved Man for the piece of His heart within,

And His love for Man was so great, no other creation of the Father could compare.

But Man was frail and fickle and the brightest Star resented the Father for His Love,

So he devised a plan to expose Man’s flaw, to make Man fall from favor,

So the Father could not love him any longer.

But the Great Father grew angry when He learned of the Star’s deception,

And cursed the Star to one day be crushed beneath the heel of the Seed of Man.

But Man now tainted could not remain with the Great Father,

Still the Father had a plan to save Man and sacrifice His Own as the Seed.

But this enraged the Star who thought to pollute the Seed of Man leaving none to crush him.

So the Star took some of his Brothers and fell to Earth and lay with the Daughters of Man,

And the Star’s children grew great and strong and feasted on the Children of Man.

But the Great Father still loved Man and grew angry at what the Star had done,

So He sent a great flood to destroy the violent children of the Star and rescue Man,

And He locked away the Brothers of the Star to be judged when the Seed arrived.

Then Man again roamed the earth and the Father loved Man, tho’ it must be from afar,

So the Father selected one son of Man and promised him the Seed and the Land of Plenty.

But the Star and his Brothers lay again with the Daughters of Man,

and raised up mighty children,

And the Star sent his mighty children to the Land of Plenty to inhabit it

and build great cities and strongholds.

So when the son of Man and his Seed arrived, the children of the Star would be ready

to finish what their brothers had not.

And for hundreds of years they have awaited the arrival of the son of Man and his Seed

for the chance to destroy them once and for all,

And Break The Great Father's Heart Forever."

~ The Song of the Anakim

PART ONE

for Glory

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T

he sound of the chariots racing along the top of the wall trembled through her body. But the only sound Rahab heard was the thunder of her own heartbeat pounding against her chest— run, run, run .

Rahab turned her gaze out across the land that stretched beyond the city’s massive outer wall to still her frantic heartbeat. The vibrant blossoms dotting the fertile land were at such stark contrast to the carnage taking place within the walls, it brought a detached sense of peace.

She did not let her gaze linger for long, though. Standing high up on the King’s private balcony, she was too visible.

Fear was not a luxury one could afford in Jericho, not for a stunning captive from a foreign land. Even now in the heat of the race, she could feel eyes fixed on her. It was not safe to indulge in even the smallest of reprieves.

As the youngest priestess chosen in over a hundred years, Rahab knew it was not just her foreign features that drew the eye. She had spent her entire life learning how to captivate and enthrall.

Since the tender age of three, her unique features had caught the eye of the High Priest, and by the age of eleven, she was engaged as a priestess.

Now at seventeen, her charm was irresistible, cultivated for the sole purpose of bartering for the interests of the gods—and the King. Right now, it was on display for the King’s guests, the Giantess and the Brothers—well, one in particular.

Schooling her features so as not to arouse unwanted attention, Rahab glanced to where Sheshai raced neck and neck with another chariot along the track on top of the wall, bare-chested and covered in the traditional blue paint of the riders.

The same paint stained Rahab’s fingertips emitting a phantom pulse, a reminder of the skin she had applied it to earlier. Her heart echoed in reply— run, run, run —and Rahab had to fight the urge to clench her fists against the noise.

A massive warrior, double the size of any ordinary man, Sheshai was the eldest and without question the most dangerous of the Brothers. Cunning, cruel, and with a voracious appetite for power, he was as terrifying as he was beautiful —the perfect specimen of the giant Anakim race .

His fiery red hair, bright green eyes, golden skin, robust form and (when it pleased him) alluring personality made her forget at times that within the god-like body lay the heart of a monster. He could both thrill and terrify her in the same breath.

In the King’s extravagant chariot, a gift to the mighty giant, Sheshai’s teeth flashed as the loud crack of his whip sent chills down Rahab’s arms. Haunting memories of whips and blood and pain bloomed in her mind’s eye as Sheshai’s horses launched into a frenzied gallop.

The people roared as the chariots barreled past them and the ground beneath Rahab’s feet vibrated from the sound drawing her from her dark thoughts.

She blinked.

Not daring to look away again so soon, Rahab focused her attention on Sheshai’s impressive body, both admiring and hating the display of raw power. It was a trick she had learned to hide her fear by focusing all her attention on something else until her mind forgot the sensation.

A jolt sent Sheshai’s chariot bouncing out of control.

Reclining on a luxurious couch beside Rahab with a splay of the best foods in the land before her, Namer, the Giantess, tensed.

Rahab knew the female was too smart to let her own emotions show, but she watched as Namer made subtle shifts in her powerful muscles even as she remained on her couch.

In this heightened state, attending to the massive female Rahab imagined she would have felt no different than if she were trapped in a pit with a sleeping lion. There was no escape in either scenario.

Unnerved, Rahab returned her awareness back to the grinning giant careening around the track. Having seen the mastery the giant possessed in everything he attempted, she wasn’t surprised when Sheshai managed to regain control. He turned to look at the offending chariot racing beside him.

Rahab knew the green-painted driver to be one of the King’s armor-bearers with an appetite for several of the temple’s beauties. She had been visited by the man once, but Rahab considered herself fortunate that the green driver was among those who could not afford her lavish prices as his appetites were violent.

It was one of the benefits of her exotic beauty, being able to charge more for her company. Some of her more common Sisters were not so fortunate.

She could see, even now, the evidence of one of his visits on the face of such a Sister. Rahab would not be sorry to see the brutal man defeated.

Sheshai cracked his whip again, drawing Rahab’s wandering focus as he urged his horses to move faster along the straightaway. The green driver mirrored the command as his second, the man in the chariot meant to fight, engaged with Sheshai’s second.

It was the cruel humor of the King to put the smallest of men in the chariot with the giant Sheshai—a calculated move, no doubt. The intrigues of the palace, and the temple for that matter, were none of her concern, but that did not mean that she did not listen when a stray word was spoken near her ear—or the ear of her brother.

As the two chariots disappeared from view around the back of the track, Rahab dared a glance toward the other attendants gathered around the King and his advisors.

Agum, her twin brother, stood in his temple garb, a white and blue tunic fitted to his lithe form with a red sash tied around his waist as a sign of his position. He carried a pitcher of whatever substance suited the High Priest at the moment.

Manon, a nasty, vicious man if crossed, presided over the temple and all those who were lucky enough to be chosen to serve within its lavish walls. He had held the position of High Priest for as long as Rahab could remember.

It was rumored that he poisoned his predecessor once he had secured the support he needed to take the position for himself. Rahab would not be surprised if the rumor proved correct. No one was more devoted to the whims of the gods as the ancient man seated beside the King, a coveted position held by only the most powerful in the kingdom.

Of late, Manon had begun to favor her brother when selecting his personal attendants. It was an honor and yet one that Rahab wished had been bestowed on someone else.

So close to the powerful man, Agum was often present when confidential information was discussed. He sometimes passed the most pertinent information on to Rahab. It wasn’t enough to incriminate them, but it was enough to ensure their family’s protection. Regardless, it was a dangerous position, and she worried for him more than she cared to admit.

The roar of the crowd announced the chariots' reappearance and Rahab turned to see Sheshai’s blue second hurling blade after blade at the green chariot, most of which were deflected away. Rahab’s jaw tightened against the bile rising in her throat as the crowd, like wolves, set on an injured spectator, the unfortunate recipient of a stray blade.

The people could be as ravenous and bloodthirsty as the giants sometimes. The man’s screams barely rose above the cheer of the crowd as they tore into his wound, ripping off the flesh and savoring it with their teeth.

Nothing in this world could ever induce Rahab to participate in the ritual of eating another’s flesh. Even though it was an expected part of the week-long celebrations to the gods, in hopes of receiving their blessing for the harvest, she could never stomach it. She breathed deep, turning away from the sight as though for a better view of the race.

Down the length of the wall, both chariots raced at a terrifying speed as they neared the next turn. The wall was built in an uneven loop around the city which was constructed on top of the hill, with multiple twists and turns, some tighter than others, as it wrapped around the elongated circle.

Sheshai gave his reigns another sharp crack, preventing his horses from easing up as they plunged ahead. The green chariot, eager to overtake him, kept pace along the outside and together they sped into one of the tightest turns of the track.

Rahab couldn’t help but watch transfixed as Sheshai’s chariot tilted to the side, one wheel leaving the track and spinning mid-air. His second clung to the chariot for dear life. Rahab’s breath caught as Sheshai threw his enormous weight into the tilt, increasing the angle, his laugh rumbling across the city.

Shards of wood flew in all directions as Sheshai crashed into his green opponent, the exposed wheel of the green chariot bursting on impact. The disabled chariot barreled into the crowd and screams rang out as people struggled to escape their impending death.

Rahab curled her toes to maintain her composure, grateful that she  had secured a promise from her mother and younger sister this morning to avoid the races. There was no safe place to watch during a race, except perhaps on the King’s balcony, and that was only if you considered standing surrounded by some of the most powerful beings in the land safe.

The green driver and his second only had a moment to call out before they were lost over the side of the wall, their cries dying with them. The air erupted with an ear-splitting roar as the crowd’s bloodlust rose to a new level of ecstasy. The cadence of Rahab’s heartbeat sped to match their cry— run, run, run, run, run.

Rahab marveled as Sheshai’s chariot rebounded from the impact and landed upright albeit still out of control as it cleared the sharp turn. Sheshai cracked the reins once more, sending his horses into a panic as they dragged the swaying chariot behind them.

Beside her, Talmai, the youngest and perhaps the most treacherous of the Brothers, chuckled.

He’s getting nervous.

Namer whipped her head toward Talmai, baring her teeth at him and Rahab stopped breathing altogether. Her heart throbbed with renewed sense of urgency, but she managed to remain still.

Talmai smirked as he gestured.

Rahab knew better than to glance at the King sitting resplendent on his lavish couch surrounded by his Elite. Any movement on her part right now might draw the attention of any number of predators sitting and standing around her, not the least of which being the vicious Namer lounging before her and on whom she was supposed to be attending—not that the Giantess wanted attending to.

Ignoring the gesture from her companion, Namer hissed like an animal before turning her fierce gaze back on Sheshai. Her posture, however, remained poised and tense. By the energy radiating from her, Rahab suspected the enormous female would much rather be racing through the land gutting people and feeding on their blood to sitting as one of the King’s pampered guests.

Still, Rahab preferred the Giantess to the middle brother, Ahiman.

It was rumored throughout the land that the three Brothers were the physical manifestation of the three brother gods Ba’al Hadad, Ba’al Yam, and Ba’al Mot. Sheshai, the embodiment of the god of the sky, was wild, unpredictable, and by birthright the most powerful. Talmai, though smaller than the other two, was as slippery and invasive as the god of the sea. But there was no mistake that Ahiman was the most otherworldly of the three.

The towering male stood as the god of death, himself. His piercing eyes held no emotion. His body was made of pure strength, built not for power but for speed and his movements were never without intention. Rahab had no doubt that if the thought ever crossed the giant’s mind to kill, there would be nothing and no one to prevent him from doing so—no one except maybe the giant busy chasing down the red-painted chariot on the track.

Rahab fought a chill of fear threatening to run down her spine. To her horror, the embodiment of Death glanced her way.

The cadence of her heartbeat raced. It was no longer a call, it was a command, a roar to escape, to hide, to run away, all those things that were impossible for her to do right now unless she wanted to pay the ultimate price—her life and the lives of her family. She couldn’t risk so much.

Under the crippling eye of the god made flesh, she managed to remain poised, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Or perhaps it wasn’t her heartbeat, but the roar of the crowd. The sound became a heart-pounding chant as Sheshai raced past the balcony, closing the gap between himself and the red chariot in the lead.

Rahab felt as trapped as the horses at the end of Sheshai’s tether. Spittle flew from their lathered mouth’s speckling their sweat-soaked coats as they hauled their fearsome rider at full speed down the track and into another turn.

As the chariot teetered again on one wheel, Sheshai threw his eight cubits away from the edge of the wall, countering the force of the tilt. The crowd went wild with anticipation. Most chariots were lost taking that turn so fast.

Rahab cringed as Sheshai’s chariot settled back into place, his size enough to keep it from overturning, right on the tail of the chariot ahead. He was so close that his horses’ hooves nicked the end of the wood. The red-painted second loosed a spear attached to the side as Sheshai signaled to his horses.

Both the red-painted driver and his second were known as some of the greatest racers in the land having won countless victories over the years. Perhaps it was their reputation that prompted Sheshai’s participation in the races this year.

Built like a fighter, the red-painted second raised the spear to attack as Sheshai edged closer and closer alongside them when from around his back the red driver unleashed a splay of daggers, flying toward Sheshai’s chest.

A gasp escaped Rahab’s lips and Sheshai barked a laugh just as they disappeared around the blind section of the track.

On her couch, Namer went still.

Fearing her reaction had drawn the attention Rahab had been so careful to avoid, she waited, not daring to breathe, as the Giantess tilted her head back and sniffed.

Cheers from the crowd told Rahab someone had died, who she didn’t know. After a moment, a sound escaped Namer’s lips, reminiscent of a cat’s purr.

Rahab relaxed. With the scent of fresh blood in the air, she was safe—for now.

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Joshua’s breath was near ragged as he climbed toward the crest cut between the two mountain ranges. His legs trembled, and his knees ached as he labored against the incline. Sweat was already beading on his upper lip, and he could feel a single drop trailing down his spine.

On this side of the hill, there was no breeze, and despite the chill of the early morning air, Joshua was longing for a reprieve. He didn’t remember this climb to be quite as severe as a younger man.

His blade slapped at his hip, already producing a sore spot on his thigh, and Joshua considered again the wisdom of bringing it along. He wasn’t going into the land, after all, just getting a look at it.

Joshua dug his staff into the dry earth, using it as leverage while using his other hand to pin the swinging annoyance to his side. He should have just left it back in his tent.

He paused to breathe.

What was his rush anyway? He had already waited nearly forty years to see the land again, couldn’t he afford a few extra minutes? He looked back down the hill he’d climbed—really a small mountain—and gazed out across the encampment below.

Divided into the twelve houses with the tabernacle located at the heart of it, the camp formed a cross that stretched almost as far as he could see into the wilderness.

From this high up, they looked like a unified people, but in truth, they were far from it. The princes were proud, strong-headed, and willful with more concern for their own glory than the people’s well-being. On the best of days they were no better than a bunch of warring chieftains, on the worst they were deadly.

The sight of the people was enough to spur Joshua upward. He had waited long enough, and he would be damned if he waited another moment.

Gritting his teeth against his protesting limbs, Joshua dug in his staff and panting with each step, found a rhythm as he ascended.

Movement at the top startled him to a stop. He listened, unsure if the sound was human or animal. Lions and wolves could be found in these hills, though Joshua doubted they would still be out at this time of the morning. He gripped the handle of his blade, grateful now that he had brought it with him.

After a moment of silence, a faint humming reached Joshua’s ear, and he relaxed. Joshua knew that sound just like he knew who it was he’d find waiting for him. There was only one other person left in the camp who had seen this land, smelled it, tasted it — and he had already beaten Joshua to the top.

Joshua picked up his pace, pumping his arms and digging his staff into the earth for leverage until the ground began to even out. Reaching the crest, an invigorating gust of breeze embraced his flushed face.

In all those years of wandering, Joshua had dreamt of this land, of the colors, of the tastes, of the smells, of life. But nothing in his dreams could ever compare to what met him on the other side of the mountain.

The air was fragrant with the sharp tang of cypress and juniper mixed with the sweet caress of almond blossoms, and Joshua inhaled as much as his lungs could hold, savoring each delightful moment.

In the early light, the valley was bursting with life. Pink flowers of the flax danced in the breeze while deep red and brilliant yellow flowers speckled the rich green expanse. A strange vigor pulsed through his burning limbs, lifting the years from Joshua’s aged soul.

Clouds sailed across the sky in the spring breeze while in the distance, Joshua could see the mighty Jordan River raging from the spring rains. The tranquil blue-green waters churned a muddy brown stretching out about five times as wide as the last time Joshua had beheld it—crossed it even. The waters mirrored the turbulence within Joshua’s own chest, at such contrast to the peaceful, beckoning land.

Thirty-eight years since we last looked out over this land. Joshua jumped at the sound, having forgotten for a moment that he was not alone up here. Recovering himself, he turned to his oldest friend. Caleb, son of Jephuneh, Prince of Judah, stood grinning at him. Some days I thought I’d never set eyes on it again.

Joshua had to admit that there were days while they wandered in the harsh wilderness that he too wondered if he would ever see the land again. The rest of their kin had long since passed away while they had wandered.

Even Moses was gone. His body was never found, but Joshua knew that they would never see their beloved prophet again. Not in this life anyway.

Before Moses had disappeared, he had anointed Joshua, who was himself quite advanced in years and passed on the mantle of prophecy with the command to lead the people into their inheritance.

The problem was Joshua was a prophet only by name. He had yet to receive any prophecy or perform any miracles. Without either of those two, the latter being the more advantageous, his authority was non-existent.

Joshua doubted he would have been able to convince all twelve Princes, his own included, to make it this far had Caleb not been his strong ally.

To take them into the land, Joshua needed resounding support. He could wield his own blade alongside Caleb and the men of Judah, but without the rest of the tribes, they would not succeed. If they went in, they had to go in together.

It’s been a long time, my friend.

Thirty-eight years could destroy any man’s hope even one as resilient as Caleb’s. Caleb gazed out, caught up in a dream. When he turned back to Joshua, there was a light in his eyes bright enough to rival the vibrancy of the flourishing land.

And it’s finally time to take what’s ours.

Joshua took another breath of the invigorating fragrance from the valley below before turning toward the camp stretching for miles behind him, hidden in the recess of the mountains dividing the land from the wilderness.

Where the valley was brimming with life, the wilderness was stark, harsh and … endless. What little plant life grew was only fit for the livestock that ran through the camp, and even that could be scarce enough at times to cause concern. Had their God not rained down His mana or sweet bread every morning and sent the quail on occasion in the evenings, the people who had grown numerous would long ago have perished from hunger.

Joshua fought the urge to turn back to the beckoning valley.

Look at them. So many of them, so many chances for something to go wrong. It only takes one to stumble, and we all fall.

After all the years of wandering and hoping and praying and dreaming, right here on the edge of finding rest, someone—any one of those hundreds of thousands of people in that camp—could do something foolish to keep them from entering their lands at last.

Have faith, my friend, Caleb’s eyes gleamed. This time, nothing will stand in our way.

As if in reply to Caleb’s challenge, the crack of pottery and cry of women echoed against the mountainside. Caleb whipped his head in the direction of the sound, scanning for trouble. The noise came from Caleb’s own tribe.

Not again, Caleb muttered under his breath, and his demeanor shifted into the unyielding Prince of Judah. He threw Joshua an exasperated look before he set off toward his tents.

Knowing his friend, Joshua almost felt sorry for the two young men he knew were about to be on the receiving end of their prince’s wrath.

Zalmon, the son of the former Prince of Judah before Caleb, was a young man with a fearless if not cheerful disposition and a charm that could work its way into the stoniest of hearts. The other, Othniel, was Caleb’s orphaned nephew, trained by the Prince of Judah himself.

Rumor had it that the young man was unmatched in his fighting skill, but in truth, Othniel was not known for much other than being caught in the thick of a mess with his rambunctious friend.

Joshua took a deep breath, trouble it seemed had found them early today.

Turning his back on the camp, he looked once more out across the valley as his mind wandered to what lay beyond.

Jericho—the first city they’d reach upon entering the land. It was a city known for its mighty warriors and insurmountable wall, not to mention its barbaric inhabitants who practiced any number of abominations.

Joshua’s stomach seized, despite having skipped breakfast, at the memory of the depraved inhabitants sacrificing their own infants, placing them in the burning hands of their gods and drinking their blood.

Taking a deep breath, Joshua let the soothing fragrance of the valley settle him. The weight of the blade on his hip was a comfort as he gripped the handle.

He had believed when Moses first sent him and the other spies into the land that their God would deliver them and help them reclaim the inheritance that the ancient King Melchizedek had bequeathed to their Father Abraham. After all those years of wandering, he still believed it.

The problem was that the city was by all accounts impenetrable unless by some miracle Jericho had already been destroyed during their sojourning.

Joshua doubted it. He had seen those walls with his own eyes, it would take a supernatural advantage to capture that city. Even the infamous race of giants dwelling in the land would be hard-pressed to take it. But Joshua didn’t doubt that their God would give them the victory, supernatural or otherwise, he just doubted that the people would even try.

Joshua dug his toe into the earth as his brain raced in circles. He had revisited this same problem countless times over the last few weeks of their journey. With his lack of authority, Joshua would have to find a way to convince the people to follow him into the land despite not knowing how they were going to take it.

He had hoped by the time he reached this spot, the answer would have presented itself.

There was talk already among the princes of sending spies, but Joshua knew that sending spies as Moses had all those years ago would only create more opportunity for the people to fail, just like their fathers had.

He glanced back toward the camp and spied a group of men racing toward Judah’s tents.

A thought tickled his mind.

Maybe there was a way to anticipate the princes’ demands while also ensuring their support. He just needed the right person. Someone eager, fearless, and who could be trusted.

Joshua shook his head at the plan taking root. He required not one person but two. Two young men who had been groomed by the best and were just crazy enough to go.

It was a wild shot—but then again hadn’t his God told him to have courage?

Besides, Joshua had to smile to himself, at the very least if those two were busy sneaking into Jericho, there would be two fewer mischief-makers in the camp to cause trouble.

More cries rose up from Judah’s camp.

Yes, Joshua hummed to himself, less trouble indeed.

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W

hen the chariots reemerged, Rahab could make out the limp body of Sheshai’s second bouncing against the giant. Blades protruded from his chest and the dead man’s blood stained the blue dye on Sheshai’s back. Sheshai, on the other hand, remained unharmed.

Reaching behind, the giant grabbed the man and hurled the corpse into the crowd to their everlasting delight as the lead chariot began pulling away.

Liberated of his companion Sheshai cracked his whip with a renewed energy, driving his horses beyond their reason. Nerve-racking screams tore from the animals and Rahab could make out the whites of their eyes as crimson stripes lined their haunches and streamed down their legs.

Her heart ached for the unfortunate beasts, but she dismissed the feeling with a thought. She had enough souls to care for and worry about, she couldn’t afford to add two animals who were bred for this very purpose.

Steeling herself against her emotions, Rahab watched as Sheshai bore down on his opponent again. The red-painted second readied his spear as an eerie hush swept through the raucous crowd. The end was approaching, and she couldn’t welcome it soon enough.

The two chariots raced at breakneck speed toward the balcony where Rahab had no doubt Sheshai would make his final show. The red-painted second hurled the spear at the giant with the force and accuracy only a trained warrior could execute. This time, however, Sheshai leaned into the path, catching the lethal head in his left shoulder without a sound.

The crowd stilled.

As the chariots past just beneath the balcony, Rahab saw the red driver glance over his shoulder just as Sheshai reached up, gripped the end of the spear shaft and tugged it out of his shoulder. His blood shone as