A Destiny Fulfilled - J C Laird (summer reading list .txt) 📗

Malek looked at her, bemused. “We have used it for over a generation, even before my birth. My adoptive father told me his father had told him it came from the distant lands of Asia, somewhere near our ancestral home. Legend has it that two armies of equal strength faced each other on the battlefield. Knowing there would be great bloodshed and many deaths, the wise generals decided that two warriors, each representing their armies, would meet in a single, to-the-death combat. When the battle concluded, the losing army would then retire from the scene and return home with no further bloodshed.” His look became pensive. “We have just refined it by adding enslavement as a losing consequence.”

Malek’s arm was around Nisa, and he drew her closer before continuing. “I have been in three wars and fought five other one-on-one combats to decide battles. We have won the wars, and I have slain all my opponents in the single duels, the unfortunate armies of the losers enslaved as agreed upon before our combat. The generals and politicians do whatever they do, and I do my job of fighting and killing. But I am tired, my Nisa. I wonder at my sad, unknown destiny because there is no way out for me. I always win the duels. And I will continue to win until I lose. Then I will be dead. There will be no living, loving and growing old with you—”

Nisa’s tears fell on his shoulder, burning with regret and sorrow. Malek’s thoughts became jumbled, and his words came to a halt.

The quiet of late morning continued to blanket the tent until, all too soon, the snorting of horses and the clatter of an iron chariot intruded. Nisa jumped to her feet. “Your shield bearer is here Malek. I’ll retire to the other room now.”

Malek grabbed her arm to stop her and rose as well. “Wait.” He kissed her hard before letting her go. “I’ll be back as soon as I have finished my duty. And my destiny, whatever it may be, will continue. Pray to Dagon that it will be with you.”

“I shall wait for you, my sweet Malek.”

He watched as she disappeared without a sound, slipping behind the curtain dividing her room from his.

Seconds later a booming voice came from the tent entrance. “Malek of Gath, it is I, Kabeer of Ashdon, your friend and shield bearer.”

Malek laughed with feigned mirth and raised his voice to match his visitor’s. “You may enter my tent, Kabeer of Ashdon, I have been waiting for you.”

His shield bearer strode in, tall and dark, his face creased by a jagged smile. “I have brought your iron chariot to deliver you to the battlefield. But first I will aid you with your armor.”

“Thank you my friend, I will make short work of my foe this day. Then we can make merry.”

“Yes, King Achish has declared a huge feast for tonight to celebrate your upcoming victory,” confided Kabeer.

“Achish was the seranim of Gath. I do not follow the shifting winds of politics. How did he become a king?” Malek asked.

“Nor do I follow those winds, or know the answer for sure,” answered Kabeer. “But I have heard it was because he was the seranim of Gath, our largest city, furnished the most soldiers and, of course, had the world’s greatest warrior under his rule.” He grinned at Malek knowingly. “All the other city mayors conceded the title to him.”

“Well,” boasted Malek, “I shall continue to make him a popular king by delivering a thousand or more new slaves, compliments of those Semitic dogs, after I slay their fighter. By the way, do we know who their king’s choice is to oppose me?”

Kabeer roared with laughter. “After the way you’ve delivered your loud, lengthy, and scornful challenges these past weeks, I’m surprised their whole army has not turned tail and run for the hills. I would dread having you angry with me. But no, I have not heard who their champion is. I would think it might be their Captain Abner, the leader of the army. He seems a capable soldier. He was the one who finally acknowledged your challenge and agreed to deliver it, and the terms, to their king.”

“I remember him. He looked to be an experienced warrior.”

“It will make no difference when he faces you. It will be his death. Well, let’s get your armor on,” Kabeer said, dismissing the subject. He glanced around the room, spied the pile of armor on a table in one corner of the tent and retrieved it.

Several minutes passed in silence as Malek donned the thick leather and bronze armor: breast and back plates, shoulders, upper and lower arms, thighs and shins, until the leather and metal protected his entire body, the exceptions being his elbows and the backs of his knees, everything attached with leather straps. The final touch was the bronze helmet which also covered the sides of his head down to the shoulders, and had a strip extending from the covered forehead down over the nose.

Malek pulled the helmet off his head. “Too hot, Kabeer. I promise to put it back on when we get to the battleground. All this armor is hot enough.”

Kabeer stepped back and surveyed the dull gleam of the bronze figure before him. “I’m thinking that concubine of yours, Nisa, has spent time buffing your armor. It looks good.”

“It is true my friend, the woman has spent hours rubbing it with a mixture of sand and oils. She said she wanted me to look good in victory,” Malek replied, trying to conceal the pride in his voice.

Kabeer laughed. “You always look good in victory, standing over your vanquished foe. No matter who they send against you, they all end up dead.” He continued chuckling, before adding, “I’m thinking your woman wanted to blind the enemy with reflected sunlight.” He looked around again. “What weapons are we taking today?” he asked.

“I should only need the shield, sword and spear, but we’ll also take the bow, arrow and javelin just in case. What weapons do these people have? They don’t know the art of metal working do they? And if not, their armament cannot be as modern as ours, can it?” Malek asked.

“You need to pay more attention to the world around you, Malek, and…” Kabeer glanced at the curtained back room “… less to that woman of yours. You need to expand your interests, although it is hard to fault you; she is a delectable whore. I wouldn’t mind exploring under that skirt myself.” He stared at the dividing curtain as if he could see through to the other room, licking his lower lip, his expression lecherous.

Malek managed to keep his smile from completely dissolving. But it had turned cold. Icy cold. “There are plenty of women to go around, Kabeer, best to keep your eyes and thoughts elsewhere than in my tent.”

Kabeer’s head jerked back toward Malek as he realized he was dangerously close to somehow offending the greatest warrior in all the land, most certainly in all of their country’s history. “I am sorry mighty Malek, forgive me, I forgot my place,” he said looking at the floor. He swallowed convulsively, fear now clutching at his throat. Kabeer continued to avoid Malek’s steely eyes, quickly backtracking. “As I was saying, these Semitic dogs have been here for years, their villages all to the north of us. I believe they were originally nomads, and came from the east somewhere, settling near our borders. They still have no knowledge of metal making, but have traded with some of our more greedy tradesmen for a few swords, spears, and farming implements over the years, but nothing in quantity, and certainly no iron chariots. There is nothing to concern you.”

“So why did we go to war with them?” asked Malek, regaining his composure.

Kabeer shrugged. “These mangy dogs have been creeping south into our lands. Our spies have said they are an aggressive people, believing that all the country south to the ancient lands of the Anakim belonged to them. We, of course, are in their way.” He laughed without humor. “Besides, King Achish is using this war as an excuse to eliminate the problems these people are causing once and for all, while expanding our own borders to the north and east.

Malek was staring at him, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are those people all suffering from a strange malady? Has the desert sun burned the sense from their minds? It is suicide for them to stand against us. Let us go, Kabeer. I will seal their fate with this duel, deliver their people into slavery, their destiny to fade away with the sands of time.”

He strapped on his sword and dagger and scooped up the rest of his weapons. Kabeer hefted the large bronze shield with the iron edging, and they both strode out of the tent. Malek gave one final over-the-shoulder glance at Nisa’s curtained room.

The sun was high in the sky, and the bulk of the soldiers were moving from the camp in the foothills down to the edge of the Valley of Elah to watch the great battle. The chariot horses, tethered nearby, were pawing the ground in anticipation. Malek set his weapons inside the chariot while Kabeer struggled slightly in getting the heavy shield in the back. “This thing must weigh two thousand shekels,” he grunted. “Why can’t you use the smaller shields like the rest of us?”

Malek gave him a sarcastic look. “Two thousand shekels? I think not, maybe a thousand, certainly no more than the iron anvils the metal workers use to make our weapons.”

His friend grumbled something unintelligible.

Malek laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to tire yourself; I’ll drive the chariot down to the valley. Besides, you’re as slow as water coming to a boil. You can relax and occupy yourself by double checking all of my weapons.”

With that they were off, Malek guiding the iron chariot down to the valley below, clouds of dust veiling the path behind them. Kabeer held the sides in a white knuckled grip as they bounced over the rough terrain. They passed many descending soldiers, the armored warriors raising their swords high in a silent salute to Malek and the speeding chariot. Their fate, and the fate of their country, rested in his capable and lethal hands.

The land soon leveled as they entered the broad valley. Arrayed along the edge of the valley to the east was the opposing Semite army. But the center of the treeless plain was still unoccupied. Malek had arrived before his opponent. He jumped to the ground and tethered the horses to one of the chariot wheels. “Kabeer, hand me my spear and shield. I will carry them myself to the field of battle.”

“But what of the javelin and the bow and arrows?” asked Kabeer.

“I think shield, spear, and sword shall be enough,” he sighed, his voice low, almost a whisper. Sadness had crept into his voice. “I’ll probably be fighting a farmer armed only with an ox goad or plowshare.” He placed his helmet over his head, slipped his forearm through the leather straps on the back of the shield and gripped the metal hand hold. With his spear in the opposite hand, Malek began his walk towards the unofficial arena. He looked back once, and yelled to Kabeer, “When I have slain our enemy you may come and retrieve me. Then again, with this armor and the risen sun my foe may delay this fight until I sweat into a faint from the heat.” They both laughed.

In the center of the valley Malek stopped, standing like a rock in the noonday sun, awaiting another chapter in his life’s destiny to unfold. Minutes passed, and Malek was becoming impatient with the delay. It was hot inside the armor, and he was becoming angry. His metal shield was growing heavy, even for him. He was wondering if a mighty