My treatment had improved even more after slaying the Egyptian. The Amorites would often joke with me, those of Jethro’s band, at least. They’d ask my opinion about certain dagger moves and nod when I gave them combat aphorisms I’d learned from my teacher the Spartan. I stayed out of Jethro’s path, though. Whenever he saw me, he paused to study me. I suspected he still wasn’t pleased with my victorious attitude and challenging stare.

  Whenever the caravan halted, I practiced as I’d done at Knossos. The Spartan master-at-arms would have been proud. I also regained weight and strength, putting my malnourished time with the Amurru behind me.

  The land became rougher and the shimmering Salt Sea visible in the east. From what I heard, we headed toward a fortress of the Emim. The Amorites said the Emim were giants.

  That got me to pondering. Could the Emim be the brothers of the Minotaur? He’d been larger than a normal man, although I wouldn’t have called him a giant.

  I asked one of the seven spearmen who watched me. “What do you mean by giants?”

  “There are several tribes of them in Canaan, not just the Emim. They’re called the sons of Anak.”

  “I’ll bite. Who’s Anak?”

  The spearman glanced around, moving closer as we trudged along the trail. Clearing his throat, he said, “Legend holds that Anak lived above, in Heaven. He came down to Earth with others of his kind. Many of them slept with mortal women, the most beautiful, any they chose. From the union came sons called Rephaim and Nephilim. There are several tribes of them, the Emim, Zuzim, Horites and others.”

  “You’re saying these giants are sons of gods?”

  “When you see them, you tell me.”

  “You’ve seen the Emim?”

  “I have,” he said. “They’re the sons of those from above, from Heaven. They’re huge, powerful and easily angered by the likes of us. I don’t see how the kings of the East hope to subdue them, especially as the sons of Anak have decided to marshal into one mighty host. The giants will meet Chedorlaomer at Ashteroth Karnaim, the great city of the Rephaim, and crush him for good.”

  “We’re headed to Ashteroth Karnaim?”

  He nodded.

  That night, I wondered about my mission to slay the acolyte of the strange god. Could the Minotaur have told me to slay a giant? If there were many tribes of them, perhaps the acolyte was a son of Anak. How could I possibly slay a giant if what the spearman told me was right?

  The next day, we passed a fortress built upon the side of a hill. There, I saw my first giant. He was nearly nine feet tall, and he peered at us from the battlements of the castle, the one overlooking the trade route that led north.

  I shivered with dread. The spearman had spoken truly. How could any number of warriors face a host of giants? The idea was preposterous. Yet, the Amorite slavers marched slaves north. Why would giants need slaves, whipped and beaten men? How could the slaves help against the kings of the East? Would the slaves dig trenches, erect walls, or did giants eat people? Were they cannibals perhaps?

  Word trickled down as we marched along the northern road. Our caravan headed for the Zuzim, who lived around a fortress called Ham. There, we’d rest. There, Jethro and the other slavers hoped to sell their captives to agents of the Rephaim who’d trekked south to Ham.

  Several hours later during the afternoon, a scout ran back shouting. He raced to Jethro, jabbering something and gesturing wildly.

  Jethro turned sharply and signaled. One of the Amorites blew a ram’s horn. More slavers blew their horns.

  It was a signal. All the slaves tied to their logs stopped. Gratefully, each group set their log onto the ground and sat beside it, panting, closing their eyes and sweating, resting.

  I waited with the seven spearmen who kept watch over me.

  “Look,” one said.

  I did, and my gut clenched.

  Climbing up the trail marched three giants with human attendants following. Some of the men led donkeys laden with various goods. The giants saw us and advanced directly toward us.

  The three were awe-inspiring. The tallest must have stood nine feet. He was broad and had vast hands. On his right shoulder, he carried a huge axe with a great double-bladed head of bronze. I found that incredible. The symbol of Crete and the Sea King was the double-bladed axe. Could the giant truly be one of the brothers the Minotaur had spoken of?

  Jethro and the other slaver captains shouted orders. Amorite spearmen came running to the fore. A smaller detachment of Amorites watched the slaves.

  I went with the seven spearmen, standing with the Amorites of Jethro.

  “Get your dagger,” Jethro told me.

  With two of the spearmen, I ran back to my belongings, collected the dagger and belted it on. I’d rather have a spear against a giant. I shrugged. I had what I had. With the two, I returned to Jethro.

  The three giants with their attendants didn’t seem worried by the host of Amorites. At one point, though, they stopped. The largest giant used a great hand to shade his eyes as he studied us.

  Did the giants whisper among themselves? I couldn’t tell.

  The three beckoned their attendants, giving instructions.

  In moments, the attendants ran and unloaded the donkeys. The attendants carried some of the cargo to the giants.

  Each of the three giants shrugged on a massive coat of bronze links. Each hefted a mighty shield greater than any eight-shaped shield the warriors of Athens, Sparta, Mycenae and Thebes used. Each shield glittered in the sunlight.

  With a shock, I realized the shield was bronze, not just wood. Who could breach such a shield?

  Once the giants were armored, the ten attendants donned their armor. None wore mail coats. They had leather jackets and caps. Several of the caps sprouted boars’ horns like the pirate captain I’d faced.

  The giants donned bronze helmets.

  Then the giants with their ten armed attendants advanced upon the waiting throng of Amorites and captives. A few other attendants led giants’ donkeys.

  The Amorites had far greater numbers. Yet, Jethro and the others trembled as the three giants neared.

  Jethro found his courage. He shouted at his fellow slaver captains. The three came together, conferring in whispers, looking as the giants moved purposely toward us.

  The Amorite leaders must have reached a decision.

  Jethro walked briskly from the other two and whistled, pointing. Three spearmen hurried to him. Jethro looked in trepidation at the rest of us. He swallowed, put on perhaps the boldest front he could and turned toward the giants. Then Jethro and the three spearmen started for the giants.

  I watched, impressed. At least Jethro would die bravely and not with cowardice in his heart. I resolved to be courageous as well. Would the giants cut down Jethro and attack the rest of us? Or would the giants admire the courage it had taken to advance alone like this against them?

  The giants and attendants halted. They appeared to be waiting.

  Jethro and his spearmen halted a distance from them.

  It occurred to me that the two sides acted according to some ritual. This meant something.

  The tallest giant pointed at himself and then Jethro. Jethro shouted his agreement. The tallest giant with his great double-bladed axe perched on his shoulder marched alone from his group toward Jethro. Jethro went alone to meet the giant.

  I finally understood. This was a parley.

  The giant and Jethro halted, facing each other. Even from where I stood, I could hear the bass rumble of the giant’s voice. Jethro must have spoken. I could hear nothing from him.

  The giant and Jethro didn’t speak long. Soon, Jethro turned and hurried away. He gathered his three spearmen and practically ran to the other two waiting Amorite chieftains.

  As before, the three conferred. They spoke heatedly, one chieftain shaking his head. At last, Jethro beckoned me to approach them.

  I was astonished, but I did as bidden. As I hurried, I told myself the three slaver leaders were shrewd, cruel men. Why would they possibly need me?

  Without preamble, Jethro said, “That’s the champion of the tribe of Emim.”

  “He looks to be a fierce warrior,” I said.

  “He is the king of Emim’s younger brother. He demands we take our slaves and ourselves back to the hill fort of the Emim.”

  “That fortress earlier belongs to the king of the Emim?” I asked.

  Jethro nodded curtly.

  “The champion wants us to go there?”

  “Aren’t you listening? That’s what I just said.”

  “I heard you. What does that have to do with me?”

  “The pit fighter is much too arrogant for a slave,” one of the other chieftains told Jethro.

  “Maybe that’s why he’s such a good pit fighter,” Jethro snapped.

  The other chieftain appeared surprised and then thoughtful.

  “We don’t want to go to the hill fort,” Jethro told me. “We don’t think we’ll get as good as prices there. But the champion claims the kings of the East have already fought and defeated the Rephaim of Ashteroth Karnaim.”

  “You doubt the champion?” I asked.

  “You should whip him,” the third slaver chieftain told Jethro.

  “It’s more than doubt,” Jethro said, ignoring the other. “The champion’s name is Kron. He demands we place ourselves under his command. But he’s not willing to pay what those of Ashteroth Karnaim had promised us.”

  “I understand,” I said, not wanting to ask again what it had to do with me. Maybe the other chieftains would convince Jethro to treat me harshly if I asked too many questions.

  “You don’t understand yet,” Jethro said. “Kron is arrogant and unreasoning.”

  “He’s a giant,” I said, as if that explained it.

  The second Amorite chieftain laughed sourly, nodding. “The pit slave states the obvious. Let this go, Jethro. Fate has changed our course.”

  “No,” Jethro said.

  I frowned. “We’re going to fight the giants?”

  Jethro’s cruel eyes narrowed. “I’m a trader, a dealer in merchandise. I didn’t agree with Kron. He told me he’d face our champion over this. If our champion defeats him, we’re free to go where we wish. But if Kron defeats our champion, we’ll join him and return to the hill fort of the Emim.”

  I stared at Jethro in disbelief. Then, I looked across the distance at Kron watching us. With a snort, I said, “You’re not suggesting I face Kron?”

  “You’re so proud,” Jethro said. “You consider yourself a free man, not a slave. I’ve heard you say so. Well, this is your chance. If you do this, you’re free. I’ll absolve you of all slave status.”

  “Kron will kill me.”

  Jethro shook his head. “You’re the greatest pit slave I’ve ever seen.”

  “You just said I’m not a slave.”

  “If you fight and defeat the giant.”

  “This is madness.”

  Jethro sneered, motioning to the three spearmen. They leveled their spears at me. “If you don’t do this, I’ll kill you here and now. Choose, Damon. Choose.”

  Once more, I looked at Kron. Could I defeat a nine-foot giant with his thick mail coat of bronze and huge metal shield, with an axe that could sweep me from the earth?

  I didn’t glance at the three waiting spearmen. I believed Jethro. It was do this or die.

  I nodded curtly. “I’ll do it. I’ll face Kron. Go and tell him so we can get this over with.”

  Chapter Ten

  A few of the Amorites watched the slaves tied to their logs. The rest gathered behind me, following as I marched out to Kron, the nine-foot giant, the champion of the Emim.

  I didn’t think there was any chance I could defeat him. I didn’t want to die a slave, however, cut down by Jethro’s spearmen. I’d rather die free as Damon of Athens.

  The tiny possibility of becoming the giant slayer—there were three giants, though. If I slew the champion, surely the massed Amorites could overpower the other two with their attendants.

  That was a mad idea. I suppose a hint of madness overcame me.

  I was sick of being a slave, sick of obeying the whims of others. Besides, if I could do this, I’d win great honor. I did have a dagger of fallen star-metal. I was empowered by the Minotaur. I’d defeated thirty pirates through the berserk fury of the Minotaur.

  There was my method for victory. I’d pray to the Minotaur—

  I turned as Jethro shouted.

  The Amorites halted, grounding their spears. The three captains stood before their separate throngs.

  “Go,” said Jethro. “Defeat the giant and win everlasting fame.”

  I turned toward Kron, who watched me. He stood apart from his two fellow giants and the ten attendants.

  Slowly, I walked toward him, trying to pray to the Minotaur. Fear kept me from speaking. I pleaded silently for help from Knossos.

  Kron grinned then, and I focused upon him.

  Kron’s face was wider than a normal man’s. He had a bushy beard and his eyes—there was something terrifying about them. They reminded me of my time under the palace in the Maze when I’d faced the Minotaur.

  I quailed within my heart, almost stopping. My steps definitely slowed. Kron was the son of a god. I believed it, as there was something otherworldly about him. My arms trembled as terror took hold.

  I knew what Jethro was doing, getting rid of me while fulfilling the honor of the Amorites.

  Kron laughed. “You send this weakling, this boy against me?”

  Despite everything, his booming mockery stung. I don’t know what happened next exactly. Perhaps the Minotaur heard my silent plea. I must have gotten courage from somewhere.

  “I’m not a boy. I’m Damon the Athenian.” Hearing my voice shocked me. That it was steady shocked me even more.

  Kron raised his eyebrows, perhaps truly looking at me for the first time. His stare became quizzical. “There’s something odd about you.”

  “Yes. I’m an emissary from the Minotaur.”

  “The Minotaur?” asked Kron, sounding puzzled.

  “He rules Crete and is empowered by his father, a god.”

  Kron barked laughter, glancing at his fellow giants behind.

  I looked at them, too. Each was at least a foot shorter than Kron, but they were broad and heavily armored. Could the assembled Amorites defeat these three with their ten attendants if we all attacked together, with courage in our hearts? It struck me as incredible. Yet, Kron had told Jethro that the kings of the East had defeated the Rephaim of Ashteroth Karnaim.

  Kron looked at me again. “Let’s get this over with.” He marched toward me, with a vast shield in one hand and his great axe in the other.

  My knees knocked as my courage fled. I was a fool. I was going to die. Kron would sweep me from the field.

  Kron bellowed and charged.

  I stood rooted in place, shaking, ready to void my bladder.

  He raised his weapon so the double-bladed axe went behind his head. Then it whistled as the axe head swept for me like lightning.

  With a cry that awoke me, I dropped onto the ground. From there, I felt the rush of the axe speeding over me. Filled with terror, and a sudden resolve to do my best, I leaped up. I roared and rushed Kron, jerking my dagger from its sheath. If anything could cut the giant, it would the blade of fallen star-metal. I raced at him, snarling.

  The bronze shield swept toward me, bashing against me. The strike was terrible, painful, full body. I flew back through the air, thudded and slid along the ground, the air knocked out of me. Realizing I’d halted, I raised my head barely in time. The axe came whistling down, a glittering edge for my face. I rolled frantically. The blade cut into the earth, missing me by a hair. I rolled the other way as Kron roared and wrenched the axe from the ground. I scrambled up, trembling, shaking my head as if to clear it.

  How could I kill Kron? How could I wound him if his shield would knock me down each time?

  I gritted my teeth, and that recalled a memory in me. The Spartan master-at-arms had said it thusly: “One must rise and attack despite the agony, even when pain courses through your body.” I was a warrior. I’d die like a warrior, a man of blood. I’d make my father proud.

  I charged Kron.

  Once more, the giant swung his shield. This time, I stopped short. The shield hissed past me. With a snarl, I leaped inside the range of the shield, inside the range of the axe. I stabbed with my star-metal blade and punctured flesh.

  Kron roared. A knee crashed against my chest. That hurled me back onto the ground. This time, my head snapped back against dirt, dazing me.

  The giant knelt beside me, set down the great axe and shield, and clutched me by the throat with one hand. The other pinned my knife hand to the ground so I couldn’t stab him. He looked into my eyes. I could see murder there. I could see my death.

  “Do you yield, Damon the Athenian?”

  “Yes,” I said, “You’re the victor.”

  Kron rose with a shout, picking up his axe. He pointed the double-bladed weapon at the Amorites. “You’re now my men. Who dares to challenge me?”

  Silence greeted his words.

  “Is there any among you who has the balls of this emissary of the Minotaur?” Kron shouted.

  The Amorites looked down, refusing to meet Kron’s harsh gaze. Many spears dropped from paralyzed grips.

  Jethro looked at me. There was pain and something else in his eyes. I’d cut the giant, but I’d yielded to a greater power.

  Jethro stepped forward. “We’re Amorites. We keep our word. We’ll follow you back to the fortress of the Emim, and we’ll stand with you come what may.”

  “Yes,” Kron said, “You will.”

  That was the end of my days as a pit slave. I became an attendant of Kron.

  The giant raised me to my feet and handed me my dagger. “Well fought, Damon. You’ll stay with me. There’s something about you—” He shook his head. “We’ll talk about this later.”