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Deborah--(Biblical judge)--Fiction, Bible.--O.T.--History of Biblical events--Fiction, Women in the Bible--Fiction, Biographical fiction, Religious fiction.
publication date
:
1993
lcc
:
PS3569.H598D4 1993eb
ddc
:
813/.54
subject
:
Deborah--(Biblical judge)--Fiction, Bible.--O.T.--History of Biblical events--Fiction, Women in the Bible--Fiction, Biographical fiction, Religious fiction.
Page 3
Deborah
Jamees R. Shott
Page 4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Shott, James R., 1925 Deborah / James R. Shott. p. cm.(People of the promise; 5) ISBN 0-8361-3643-8 1. Deborah (Biblical judge)Fiction. 2. Bible. O.T.-History of Biblical events-Fiction. I. Title. II. Series: Shott, James R., 1925 People of the promise; 5. PS3569.H598D4 1993 813'.54dc20 93-13109 CIP
The paper used in this publication is recycled and meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.
Most Bible quotations are the author's paraphrase or imaginative reconstruction. In a few instances quotations are taken from The Living Bible 1971 owned by assignment by Illinois Regional Bank N.A. (as trustee). Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, IL 60189. All rights reserved.
DEBORAH
Copyright 1993 by Herald Press, Scottdale, Pa. 15683 Published simultaneously in Canada by Herald Press, Waterloo, Ont. N2L 6H7. All rights reserved Library of Congress Catalog Number: 93-13109 International Standard Book Number: 0-8361-3643-8 Printed in the United States of America Book design by Paula M. Johnson/Cover art by Jeff Legg
00 99 98 97 96 95 94 93 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Page 5
To Dana, Carrie, and Lara Shane, granddaughters, whose enthusiasm, vitality, and obvious enjoyment of life keep me young.
Page 7
1
I grasped my half-brother's arm. "Look, Rakem," I said. "Someone's coming."
"Where, Beriah?" he asked.
"There."
His eyes followed my pointing finger across the valley, where the rugged road north to Shechem topped the hill. Pine trees almost obscured the far side of the valley. A gnarled oak tree, blasted by lightning a few years before, contrasted with the stately pines. The trail wound around moss-covered rocks, with purple thistle blooms adding a spark of color in the early dry season.
Through the trees we could see, in the distance, a lone runner descending the slope toward us. Running fast.
"It's Modan," Rakem said.
I nodded. Rakem's son Modan was the fastest youth in our squad of warriors. That was why he had been sent ahead as a scout.
Rakem ruffled his gray-streaked beard. "Trouble," he muttered.
"Yes." I had guessed from the moment I spotted the youth that someone on the other side of that hill was coming toward us. Someone who was a threat to our small contingent of twelve warriors. Since leaving Bethel early this morning, we had as yet met no one on the road.
We watched in silence as the youth reached the bot-
Page 8
tom of the valley and began the steep climb up the road toward where we waited. We could see him clearly now, his short skirt held high as he ran. Sweat glistened on his forehead in the noonday sun. He carried no spear; his job was to warn us of trouble, not to fight an enemy.
Modan came to a stop ten feet from us, his chest heaving. "Someone's... coming!" he gasped. "On the road... on the other side... of that hill!"
"How many?" barked Rakem.
"Twenty-eight men." Modan sucked air into his lungs. "With spears and swords!"
Armed men. Trouble. I frowned. "Canaanites?"
"I don't know," replied Modan. "But they wear bronze helmets."
"Who wears bronze armor in this part of the country?" I wondered out loud.
"Kenites, most likely." Rakem again ran his fingers through his beard. "If so, I hope they're friendly. But you never know with Kenites. We'd better be ready."
Kenites! The ancient tribe of metalsmiths had become increasingly warlike in recent years, forsaking their forges to roam around the country plundering. Mostly they raided Canaanite villages, leaving the Israelites alone. They had learned to respect us, from hard experience. But Rakem was right; you never knew about Kenites.
The band of armed men topped the hill across the valley and came jogging down the slope. Yes, they were Kenites; I could see their bronze breastplates. Each man carried a spear and sword. Modan had been rightI counted twenty-eight, more than a match for our dozen.
"This is as good a place as any to defend," said Rakem. "You men, hobble the donkey. Form a circle around this knoll, drawn tight, with your spears"
"Wait, Rakem." I placed my hand on his arm. "Let's not fight." I turned to my men. "Lay down your spears,'' I
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