How did one pierce such a formation?

  I noticed now that the enemy spearmen wore bronze helmets that gleamed in the sun. These soldiers were rich, to bear such costly helmets in such profusion.

  To the left and right of the great line jogged spry young men bearing javelins and small target shields. They struck me as fleet of foot as our scouts had said several days ago.

  I counted the enemy spearmen, runners and others I could barely see…

  My mouth opened. At least three thousand soldiers marched against us. No. There were more men coming up the Trade Road. What kind of host was this? It was possible the kings of the East had brought five thousand soldiers against us, a vast horde indeed.

  I’d never heard of such an army. The Zuzim giants had lied to Kron, saying two thousand at most would show up.

  I swallowed uneasily. No, no, I told myself. Take courage, Damon. Yes. The approaching host had separately defeated the Rephaim and Zuzim. Certainly, however, neither tribe had marshaled such an impressive number of giants armed and armored so superlatively as ours.

  I inhaled, noting how Kron and the other giants clutched their weapons with determination.

  I nodded. I’d seek out Abram later, dealing with him as the Minotaur had instructed. Today, here, I’d gain great plunder. I’d return to Crete and the Minotaur with riches.

  Enemy horns blew.

  The serried ranks halted, raising their spears high in the air.

  Horns blew again.

  The serried ranks of the phalanx brought the spears down, the front rows aimed forward, those behind a little higher than a spearman’s helmeted head.

  The horns blew a different note.

  As one man might move, the great rows started toward us.

  A revelation struck me. Perhaps this was the method to victoriously facing giants. One giant might be worth ten men. But that would be ten men fighting as individuals. What if the ten men fought as one, staying and working together under the guidance of one man, one mind? Might those ten be a match for a giant?

  I shook my head. That was foolishness. I stood with the giants, with sons of gods. I’d felt a giant’s strength. How can mortals defeat them?

  A hurrah rose from our front. The dirty-ragged Amurru stepped up, their slings twirling. Leaden balls flew from them, hissing at the enemy. The first balls crashed against enemy shields, creating a din and clatter of noise. Some of the stout rectangular shields cracked. One or two shattered. Most held, although the phalanx lost some of its incredible order.

  I laughed.

  A few spearmen of the East flailed and fell, wounded or dead. Overall, however, the great shields held up under the first lead-ball strike.

  Amurru slung again, twirling their slings. They shouted and let fly. A second barrage of lead balls struck the shield wall.

  Did the enemy spearmen know better how to angle their shields? Did the first barrage of lead balls break weakened shields? Were the rest of the shields constructed more stoutly or reinforced with metal bands?

  As before, a few enemy shields cracked. Only one other spearman cried out in agony, falling to the ground. No more shields shattered that I could tell.

  Many Amurru shouted in dismay.

  Kron roared an order from the back.

  A few Amurru began twirling for the third time. A few of the desert-ragged rats shouted oaths, turned and sprinted for the sides of the battlefield. Clearly, they’d had enough of this.

  “No!” Kron roared. “Pelt the enemy, you scum!”

  A few normal stones flew from Amurru slings. The regular smooth stones did nothing to the advancing spearmen of the East, other than making a clatter of noise.

  That was a cause for true fright, I suspect. More Amurru followed the others, sprinting fast to catch up. Soon, all the slingers melted away.

  Kron cursed vilely under his breath. I wouldn’t want to be the next Amurru that came into his hands.

  Clashing cymbals sounded from our side.

  The runners, our javelin men, most of them youths dressed in loincloths, a few with tunics and only half wearing sandals—the rest were barefoot—sprinted at the approaching phalanx. Did they watch the enemy runners on the flanks of the great host to see if they’d charge out? I don’t know.

  From a distance of seventy feet from the phalanx, our runners hurled their javelins.

  That, of course, was too far away. Javelin men needed to be fifty feet or closer to hope to do real harm. Clearly, our runners feared the terrible phalanx.

  A rain of javelins arched up and came down. Around half fell short. The rest clattered against the upraised shout shields.

  Our runners proved useless from seventy feet away.

  “Close in!” Kron roared.

  I doubted the runners heard him. Cymbals clashed, perhaps ordering them closer.

  A few runners plucked up their courage and ran nearer, hurling another flock of javelins. From farther away, the rest threw again.

  The results were same, nothing of effect on the enemy but noise.

  That had an effect on our runners, though. They turned and ran away, following the last Amurru, fleeing the battlefield, heading for the sides.

  “That isn’t good,” I said.

  Kron glared at me. “Signal the Amorites,” he shouted.

  A new combination of cymbals clashed in a martial sound.

  I held my breath. What would Jethro and the others do? It might well decide the fate of the battle.

  The spearmen of the Amorites shouted, shaking their spears and shields. Then, they ran at the enemy.

  I laughed with joy.

  For all their cruel ways, the Amorites were courageous. They lowered their spears, aiming them at the phalanx. I could hear individuals shout to the gods. Others screamed a war cry or maybe it was a sound of desperation. They all ran at the approaching wall of great shields.

  Horns blared from there.

  The spearmen of the phalanx began to chant in cadence, and they increased the speed of their step, timing their footfalls together. The cadence quickened, and so did the enemy’s step. In moments, they ran at the Amorites.

  I swallowed hard, awed at what I was seeing. Seven hundred Amorites charged three thousand enemy spearmen.

  At that point, the courage of the Amorites failed them. They stopped, with many skidding and looking around. A few ran on, but they stopped in seconds, alone, it must have seemed to them.

  Kron bellowed, telling the Amorites to charge.

  They milled where they stood.

  “Brothers!” Kron cried out to the giants. “Let’s feast on the human carrion. Let’s destroy the host of the kings of the East. We’ll take their women, gold and silver—all they’ve gathered will be ours. Come! Follow me!”

  Kron charged.

  I ran with him, emboldened by his mighty voice and example.

  The giants must have thought likewise. They gave a great hurrah. With weapons bristling, they ran toward the milling Amorites.

  The Amorites looked back. Some must have taken courage. Jethro and others shook their weapons. In a ragged line, they resumed the attack against the enemy, who was almost upon them.

  Bugles or ram’s horns blew.

  To my astonishment, the host of the East stopped, closed and corrected their ranks. Shield edge pressed against shield edge, with bristling points over the top.

  The Amorites closed.

  I saw this even as I sprinted behind Kron, trying to keep up with him.

  The Amorites didn’t hurl themselves at the bristling phalanx. Instead, they stopped short by perhaps seven feet. Many threw their spears, arching up, perhaps aimed at those behind the front line. It must have been an instinctive action, as it left them spear-less.

  Those warriors drew knives.

  A bugle blasted.

  A hurrah arose from the enemy ranks. The phalanx charged the short distance, crashing against the Amorites, stabbing with their spears.

  It was butchery. Knives were useless in this kind of battle. The stout enemy shields kept the Easterners safe. The spears reached into the Amorite horde, often stabbing flesh, necks and chests. Worse, perhaps, the phalanx kept advancing. The enemy shield bashed Amorites. Spears licked out. The Amorites as a whole stumbled back. The enemy kept pushing, shield smashing and spear stabbing.

  That was too much. The seven hundred Amorites broke before the three thousand enemy spearmen. The Amorites fled, running in terror and screaming.

  The terrible fight had hardly taken any time. It was enough, though, that the giants swept into the fray with their awful axes and heavy bronze swords. Giants mercilessly crushed any Amorite in the way. Primarily, the giants hurled themselves at the enemy phalanx.

  I laughed and roared. The giants with their great height, weight and power would crash through and demolish these vain spearmen of the East.

  Two giants in a berserk frothing rage hurled themselves upon the phalanx and crushed several men in a blow. That created gaps. Enemy spearmen valiantly stabbed at the crazed giants. Some spearmen died doing that. The giants were possessed. Others sank bronze spearheads into exposed flesh.

  The great phalanx of Chedorlaomer shook at the assault of seventy-three giants. It shook, but held those initial seconds, battling the enemy.

  Most of the giants were content to fight at arm’s length, using their greater reach to shatter heavy shields. The spearmen would die next.

  I stayed behind Kron, and I thought to hear horns blowing and men shouting. It was hard to hear, though, amidst the din of giant roars.

  Too soon, javelins rained from the right and left of us. Some of the hurled javelins sank into retainers. Just as many iron darts pin-cushioned giants.

  The enemy had brought his runners into play, peppering the giants and their retainers from the flanks.

  “Go!” Kron shouted at me. “Chase away the javelin men.”

  I beckoned other Kron retainers. We hefted our shields and charged the fleet-footed youths standing thirty to forty feet away and drilling their javelins and darts at us.

  By that time, the phalanx started forward again. Men of the East stabbed and used their great shields to block powerful blows.

  Kron splintered a rectangular shield. He wrenched his axe free and decapitated the head of the dazed spearman.

  I didn’t see more, as I charged the runners with their javelins. They jeered us, those youths, running back, hurling a javelin and then running away again. Others brought them new javelins to throw.

  Enraged, I sheathed my dagger, picked up a grounded javelin and hurled it back. It caught a runner in the belly. He toppled screaming into the dirt.

  The retainers around me cheered, doing likewise.

  “Pick up javelins,” I shouted. “Throw them back at the bastards.”

  I glanced back, seeing that Kron’s axe was lodged in the dead corpse of a spearman. The champion yanked several times, bellowing with frustration.

  The enemy runners had disappeared from this part of the battlefield, not liking our countermove.

  I turned back. “Let’s help the giants.”

  The other retainers didn’t cheer on the idea.

  A giant toppled with spears in his belly shoving him over. Another giant groaned, his neck bristling with iron darts.

  “We must charge,” I shouted. “We can turn the battle.”

  Kron still yanked at his axe. Several spearmen surrounded him. The champion of the Emim roared with rage, releasing the axe-handle. He drew a heavy bronze sword, bellowed and swung at a spearman who’d gotten too bold. The man dodged. Kron lopped off the spearhead.

  Other spearmen thrust at Kron, catching him in the side. He roared, swung and clove a helmeted head in half.

  Was that a signal? Other spearmen lunged at Kron, the spears taking him as if he were a huge evil bear. The men shouted, pushing, toppling the mighty champion of the Emim to the ground.

  They slew Kron. A son of Anak was dead because men knew how to fight as one and because of superior numbers.

  Other giants saw this. Many of them panicked, looking wildly about. Then, giants broke, lumbering from the battlefield.

  The retainers did no better. They broke and fled before the phalanx of Chedorlaomer. We couldn’t win here, only die.

  I’m loath to admit it, but fear such I’ve only felt when approaching the Minotaur filled me. My courage turned to dust. I turned and ran, scrambling, leaping over fallen bodies. I continued nearly blindly until I was free of the melee. Fear still beat in me. The giants no longer protected us. I looked back—

  Terror struck. The dirty youths of the kings of the East ran after us. They hurled javelins, catching retainers in the back, bringing them down.

  I fled faster. As I did, I saw a knot of giants march up the road to the walled fortress. Perhaps there, they could make a stand.

  I didn’t try to join them. I trusted to my fleetness of foot. I had to keep my bearings or I’d die.

  The king of the Emim had tried to bar the way to Chedorlaomer. Like the other tribes of giants, he’d failed. The road was open for the kings of the East to continue their march throughout the land of Canaan.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For the rest of the day, I fled, stumbling, frightened and panting as the swift javelin men of the enemy gave chase. I saw them rounding up others. Fortunately, I was faster than most and stayed ahead of them.

  In time, I grew weary and thirsty. My limbs shook. Yet, still I ran. Still, I fled, with my footfalls thudding upon the ground.

  Behind me was smoke. Often, I heard the cries of the defeated or the dying.

  The runners of the army of the East were relentless, like raving wolves who wouldn’t be satisfied until they’d captured all.

  I refused to stop except for a moment to drink by a pool, grab a pouch of fallen bread or crouch behind bushes and observe the enemy.

  I fled until I reached hilly territory, slipping into woods. There at last, as the sun set, I threw myself to the ground and slept like one dead. I woke in the middle of the night, shivering, curled up into a ball. I gathered old dead leaves, pushing them over me, falling back into the sleep of the exhausted.

  It was a terrible thing to lose a battle. It was even worse to do so in a strange land where I knew no one. Those I’d known were either dead or captive.

  When I woke the next morning, I was sore and groggy, my mind foggy. Did the runners of the East still hunt for the defeated? Had the main army started a siege of the Emim hill fort? A siege would take time and thereby give me time.

  I forced myself to think clearly.

  What had Chedorlaomer done before? He’d kept marching. Wearily, I realized he’d probably do that again. That meant the main army and runners could be nearer to me this morning.

  No, no. I shook my head. After a battle like yesterday, an army would need time to rest. Perhaps the runners would rest as well. I could use that.

  I rose, searching for something to drink. I found a small brook, drinking my fill and drinking more.

  Afterward, I went to the edge of the wood, peering out. In the north was smoke rising in many places. That was a bad sign. It meant those of the East yet hunted like wolves, perhaps looting and burning the villages around the hill fort. They’d take the tillers of the soil and shepherds who watched the flocks, making them captive.

  Gathering my resolve, I decided to head south.

  If Chedorlaomer remained true to form, the army would continue to march south down the Trade Road. Eventually, he must plan to deal with Sodom and the other Cities of the Plain. First, it seemed, he’d smash the tribes of giants one by one. That now meant Horites around Mount Seir.

  Perhaps I could gain sustenance from the Horites if I told them all that had happened, and if I gave them the counsel of Kron the Champion. Perhaps they’d feed me and give me clothes. If I was wise, I’d slip away before those of the East arrived.

  With food, clothes and maybe coin, I could head back to Knossos.

  Until then, I had no coin, a few clothes, a half loaf of bread and my dagger. I frowned. I’d never use the dagger for payment…because the Minotaur had given it to me.

  No. I couldn’t go back to Knossos until I’d slain Abram. If I reported to the Sea King, the Minotaur would summon me as before. Without Abram’s head, without even having attempting it, the Minotaur would slay me as an abject failure.

  I sighed again. How could I think about killing Abram when I was bereft of everything I needed to live?

  Where in Canaan did Abram live? I suspected the western side of the Salt Sea, the western side of the Jordan River and Vale of Siddim. Perhaps I should go to Sodom or Gomorrah and tell them what had happened in the land of Emim.

  Even as I contemplated these things, I headed south.

  A half hour of trekking decided me. I’d head for the Vale of Siddim instead of Mount Seir. I was sick of marching up and down slopes. Besides, who could trust the reaction of giants? The men of Sodom would surely treat me better than giants would. Besides, Sodom was the ultimate destination for Chedorlaomer. They would want word of what was happening.

  I climbed a hill. Far off in the distance I spied the Salt Sea. If I looked hard enough, I barely saw the southern edge. South of that was the Vale of Siddim. There, I’d seen the lush fields and crops of Zoar.

  The men of Sodom, Gomorrah and Zeboiim would need warriors to help them fight Chedorlaomer. I nodded. I’d pretend to be a mercenary before heading farther west into the land of Canaan.

  I headed west.

  In an hour, I stopped. In the distance, Eastern runners chased others. Behind the runners marched archers.

  Suddenly, desperate men ambushed the runners. The runners fell back to the archers. Together, the runners and archers butchered the desperate warriors making a stand.

  I took off, heading in the opposite direction.

  Later, I spied and smelled smoke. No doubt, Eastern runners set fire to more huts.

  An hour after that, I counted eight separate columns of smoke. The smoke blocked my immediate path west.

  Paying heed to reality, I headed south once more. The rugged lands of Mount Seir and the Horites would be my destination after all. Walking in gloom and dejection, I considered how Chedorlaomer had defeated giants three times. Why would the Horites be any different?