Victory

Salman charged first, but smashed his shoulder against the giant’s shield.

Caleb was tossed aside like a rag doll, his axe slipping from his grip.

Joshua lunged at his throat, but the giant grabbed the sword, crushing Joshua’s right hand in the process.

“Out of my way Grandpa,” roared the ogre as he knocked Joshua unconscious.

Salman threw a rock and smashed his right eye - but a wild kick in reply threw Salman back onto Zebulan.

“Two at once!” he said, wiping the blood from his face. “Number twenty and twenty one.”

“You can count?” said Salman.

The humor went unappreciated, as the giant kicked the sword from Salman’s hand then plunged his massive boot on Zebulan's chest. He was raised his sword high in the air to decapitate him.
Joshua stammered to he feet, dazed and confused. His sword was missing, but Caleb’s axe would do.

Salman hastily threw a knife into his back.
No reaction. Nothing. Not even a flinch.

The giant's sword rained down with morbid finality. Zebulan struggled to free himself but couldn’t escape the sword plunging deep through his chest.

Joshua swung the axe with one hand and struck the giant clean through the neck, sending his head flying into the backside of a passing camel. It was a stunning kill, but not enough to console Salman, who rushed to cradle Zebulan in his arms.

“Oh God, save him. Please,” he wept.

Joshua stripped off his tunic and pressed it firmly onto Zebulan’s bloodied chest. “Salman, pay attention!” Joshua ordered. “Hold this down hard, You hear me? We can't lose him. You must stop the bleeding.”

Blood was everywhere.

In the middle of the battle, Phinehas and his men were completely drenched in it. But it was royal blood they were after. Only two Midianite Kings remained, and the best of their henchmen were fighting to the very last man.

The rest of the Hebrews (those not helping the wounded) quickly surrounded the enemy, blocking every path of escape. Phinehas led the final push, slashing and jabbing his way through the remaining hundred or so Midianites. He was brutally unstoppable, slaying men with both the sharp and blunt ends of his trusted spear. Indeed, it became such a spectacle, his comrades stood back and watched in awe as Phinehas finished off the lot of them.

In the end, plump King Reba stood cowering behind King Hur, both arrayed in fine costume and jewelry.

But the party was over.

Dripping with blood and sweat, Phinehas took a moment to catch his breath and feel the adrenaline surging through the veins of his muscular limbs. He glared at King Hur like a rabid wolf.

“Sin always comes to this,” shouted Joshua as he pushed his way through the crowd. He felt compelled to witness the final judgment of his enemy.

“Joshua, you’re insane, the whole lot of you,” replied Hur.

“Maybe,” said Phinehas as he wiped his face. “You can’t reason with us, so why bother?”

The ground squelched with blood as Phinehas stepped forward for a closer look. But his face was so filthy he could barely open his eyelids. Just as he paused again to wipe his eyes, Hur charged forward and tackled Phinehas to the ground. Reba saw his chance and rushed in to help, but although Phinehas lay flat on the ground, he managed to raise his spear just in time for Reba to walk straight into it.

Phinehas flipped to his feet. Checkmate.

King Hur realized it was over. He lowered his sword to the ground and raised his arms slowly in the air.

Joshua stepped forward over the dead body of King Reba. “Hur, You brought this on yourself.”

“Take us a slaves,” Hur replied, “We'll serve your gods.”

The other Midianites dropped their swords.

“Gods? There’s only one true God. Serve you own,” cried Phinehas “...in Hell.” And with that he rammed his spear into King Hur. One hundred other Hebrew spears finished the rest in an instant. There they lay, the last of the Midianite men, bleeding, gasping, dying.

The battle was won.