The Red Rope

“Then she let them down by a rope through the window, for her house was on the city wall; she dwelt on the wall.” Joshua 2:15

The King of Jericho’s guards rode their horses hard along the moonlit road to the crossing. With fire in his eyes and Hell on his back, their Captain Giddel was seething with fury. Hashum had followed the spies into the Jericho, the King had given simple instructions, and yet nothing was working as planned.

To make matters worse, the horses were tiring and his men were complaining. Giddel looked behind his galloping steed towards his brother Hashum, who was pointing to the sky; it was starting to rain.

“Don't even think about stopping,” Giddel yelled as he violently whipped his horse, “we're going to catch them.”

But catching spies who haven’t yet escaped is an impossible task. Salman and Phinehas were still hiding in Rahab’s house, safe in the knowledge she had sent Jericho’s guards on a wild goose chase. For it was not geese being chased, but rather geese doing the chasing.

At the very moment Giddel dug in his heels and cracked his whip, miles away in Jericho Phinehas awoke suddenly in a fright and grabbed his cloak beside the bed. He ran to the window to look at the eastern sky. It was still dark, with no signs of dawn on the horizon.

“Let's go, before it gets light,” he said pacing into the other room where Rahab and Salman were packing the last supplies.

“Please, just a moment,” Rahab begged, “we’re almost finished.” Turning back to Salman, she continued. “If God is good, why did he ask Abraham to do such an evil thing?”

“You don't understand,” replied Salman.

“I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“There's no time,” Phinehas interjected.

“Is it too hard to answer?” asked Rahab.

Salman looked at Phinehas and shook his head in amazement. He had never encountered such a feisty women. After hours of conversation, her audacity still surprised him.

“I already told you,” replied Salman, “God stopped Abraham because he had a bigger plan. Isaac didn't die.”

“What about me? I’m as good as dead, right?”

Salman looked at Phinehas again; both were completely speechless. Neither were quite prepared to face that brutal reality.

The awkwardness of the moment unsettled Rahab, so she nervously moved to the outer bedroom and began tying a long rope around the bed posts.

“Wait, what are you doing?” asked Salman.

“What does it look like? Saving your life.”

Salman rushed to help her loop the rope through the bed’s heavy wooden framework. Somehow, as they were working together his hands ended up holding hers. It was more than accidental; he needed to feel the warmth of her skin. He needed to look into her eyes and know she could be trusted.

Using the bed as an anchor for the rope, they dragged it beside the window. Salman watched her throw the rope out the window like an expert. She’s probably done this a hundred times before, he thought. How many other men have secretly escaped her home in less honorable circumstances? How on earth am I going to explain this to Joshua?

Salman noticed Phinehas smirking. He was thinking the same thing, but added a quick shrug of his shoulders like he had no idea what to do with her.

After all they had shared in those long hours of the night, it was no longer Rahab’s past that disturbed Salman, no nearly as much as her future.

“Please, I've shown you kindness,” Rahab blurted, “spare my life when you attack.”

“God forbid you die,” replied Salman, looking to Phinehas for reassurance.

“Our lives for yours, that's fair,” said Phinehas, “but I don’t know how we’ll explain this to Joshua.

“We’ll worry about that later. Why don't you come with us now?” asked Salman.

“I can't. I won't leave my family behind.”

Salman racked his brain to think of a solution. A fast solution.

"I never asked for this life"

From the crack in the ceiling, Salman watched Rahab slowly rise to her feet in defiance. Who is this woman? He thought, and why does she risk her life for us? He felt humbled and ashamed as she wiped the blood from her mouth and turned to face her attacker. She’s coming back for more? Oh God! She’s pushing it too far. He’ll know.

Salman held his breath for what seemed like ages as Rahab stood there composing herself.

“I never asked for this life,” she forcefully replied, holding back her tears.

Rahab’s heart pounded visibly through her petite frame like a young deer frozen in a hunter’s sight.

Giddel stepped forward and clenched her face in his powerful hand, gazing fiercely into her eyes. The beast could not decipher such beauty.

“You'll get your reward. I’ll see to it myself.”

The soldiers stormed out of the room and down the staircase into the square.

Rahab watched from the window as Giddel marshaled his men and their horses - shouting orders left, right and centre, while cursing Adin for taking so long to open the gates. They charged out of the city down the moonlight road like a pack of ravenous wolves salivating on the scent of their prey. The gates closed behind them, and for that small mercy, Rahab was extremely grateful.

"Filthy whore"

Under the cover of darkness, Giddel silently mobilized his troops across the square to storm Rahab’s house. Two were stationed at the base of the staircase, and six on the door. Hashum provided cover with the archers on the wall, in case the spies managed to escape the ambush.

With sword drawn, Giddel thumped loudly on Rahab’s door.

“Rahab, open up.”

No answer - but patience wasn’t Giddel’s forte. He knocked again, more aggressively this time.

“Open up.”

Just as he was about to knock again, Giddel heard footsteps approaching. The door opened slowly - it was Rahab, gathering a shawl around her shoulders to shield her from the cool night air.

“What's the problem?”

“Where are the Hebrew spies?” replied Giddel.

“Spies?”

“Yes, you heard me. Don’t play games.” Giddel and his soldiers burst through the door, dropping all civility as they shoved Rahab aside.

“But there's no one here.”

“Really?”

“Look for yourself. Its just me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Giddel motioned his troops to be quiet, while he carefully inspected the room. He placed his ear up against the walls and listened for suspicious sounds.

There was nothing but silence.

Bending down onto the floor, he scanned his eyes across the room under the furniture.

Nothing.

Walking into the corridor, he cautiously entered the bedrooms and checked behind doors and under beds. He even jumped up and down in the floorboards to see if any were loose. Again, there was nothing.

The frustration finally got to him. He angrily lashed out, stabbing the beds with his sword and tearing the curtains down on top of himself - much to the surprise of the other soldiers in the house.

“Damn it.”

“Are you alright?” asked Rahab.

“The curtain rod hit me,” he replied, nursing the bruise on forehead.

At his wit’s end, and somewhat embarrassed, Giddel leaned out the window to check if they jumped. There were no signs of disturbance, either on the window frame or on the ground below.

While all this was going on, Rahab calmly played her part - not too smug to arouse suspicion, but not too annoyed to provoke Giddel’s anger. Thankfully, Giddel didn’t notice a fine piece of straw fall slowly from the ceiling and land on the floorboards. Neither did he notice Rahab casually step forward to cover the straw with her foot.

“Two Egyptians came for a drink this afternoon,” said Rahab. “Well, I thought they were Egyptians. They left before the gate closed. If you hurry, you could probably catch them before they get to the crossing.”

Rahab stared innocently at Giddel with her beautiful brown eyes.

“How unfortunate,” said Giddel in a soft mocking tone, “the King was going to reward you with his bed.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist tightly and kissed her softly. Rahab had long since felt any feelings towards him, but went through the motions while she carefully considered her answer.

“Then you must catch them,” she said abruptly, “I could do with the money”.

“Filthy whore!”

Giddel swiftly slapped her to the ground with astonishing power.

Rahab reeled with pain on the floor boards as blood trickled from her nose and lip. But it was worth it, every bit of it. He had taken the decoy.

There is no God, just stories.

The King thought deeply for a moment, then arose from his throne to proudly inspect the idols displayed around his walls.

“You know I’m one to ramble on with stories of my youth. I've studied all religions, the tribes of the upper Nile, the Chaldeans, even beyond the mountains of Persia.”

He held up a golden figurine and waved it like a toy.

“There is no God, just stories.”

Elam threw the idol to the floor, smashing it to a thousand pieces.

“See, I knew it was clay underneath. Don’t worry, I have many more.”

Hashum took his Father’s arm and drew him close.

“What if you're wrong?”

Elam despised the look of fear in Hashum’s eyes. “Faith is the deceitful cloak of conquest, and Joshua's is no exception.”

“So what do we do with the spies?” Giddel asked impatiently.

Elam pulled away and slowly paced the floor, circling his sons and stroking his beard. He relished in the theatrics of weighing up the moral implications of this decision. The spies were like a dangerous species approaching extinction.

“The Hebrews are the only people on earth without a king. They have only one god, with no name and no idol to worship.”

“And no land,” said Giddel. “So shall we arrest them or kill them?”

“Wouldn't it be better to keep them alive?” asked Hashum, “to trade them later.”

“Why?” asked Elam, “What do the Hebrews have that I need? Nothing more for my collections. They’ll vanish into the scrolls of history soon enough.”

“As you wish,” said Giddel, grateful to finally get the answer he wanted.

“Good, and be sure to tie their heads to a post at the crossing,” the King coldly remarked.

“Their heads?” asked Hashum.

“Let me put it like this. I could imagine more crude and offensive things we could tie to a post, but vultures steal them easily and they don’t identify the bodies.”

Elam’s matter-of-fact reply got the desired response. His two sons turned to leave the throne room.

“Oh, and I almost forgot, the whore should be rewarded; perhaps after your mother retires for the evening.”

Giddel scowled and barged out the door, with Hashum in his wake.

Elam chuckled to himself. He knew Giddel always had eyes for Rahab. Like most accomplished dictators, his manners were like fine silver cutlery - reserved only for special occasions.

King Elam of Jericho

Elam, the King of Jericho, was an extremely wealthy man, which was hardly surprising considering he charged taxes like a wounded bull on the trade routes between Jerusalem, Damascus and Arabia (although some said he was more like a parasite fastened on the neck of a wounded bull).

His palace was made of the finest marble, and decorated with golden bird baths, polished cedar furniture, ivory door handles, and large statues of himself prominently displayed in every courtyard and fountain.

The walls and hallways were adorned with all sorts of treasures and tapestries from every corner of the globe. Ancient artifacts from Egypt, golden idols from Persia, tribal spears from Ethiopia and a stuffed tiger's head from India – all proudly catalogued the history of man and his notorious achievements.

In many respects, Elam was a collector of relics, particularly religious icons. He kept countless valuables on his middle aged body, like golden necklaces in his greying chest hair, and a belt studded with sacred Babylonian jewels that seemed a little too tight around his waist.

Some were even living, breathing treasures, like his tall African bodyguard who at the tender age of twenty had mastered the black arts of sorcery and knew a hundred ways to kill a man in ten seconds with his bare hands.

So Elam’s fascination with all things religious, however obsessive, made the arrival of his eldest son all the more distinguished given the contents of the scroll that he so proudly delivered.

“Hashum, my first born, you never fail to please me. Giddel take note, it takes a fine hunter to kill two wolves with one arrow.”

“He’s done well, no doubt about that,” Giddel replied, “but your jesting cannot provoke me to jealously. He deserves all the accolades.”

“Father, as always, it’s my pleasure to serve you,” said Hashum as handed over the scroll, “the spies are with Rahab as we speak.”

Elam unravelled it with the anticipation of a biologist discovering a new species. He would enjoy adding this to his collection. “How was the camel on your trip?”

“Not as fast or well mannered as my horse, though I can’t complain. It did the job.”

“Yes I can see,” replied the King as he read through the scroll. “Thou shalt not steal, ... kill, ... false witness, ...and so on.”

Elam looked up and smiled, “The usual diarrhea. Let me guess, they want my land, they'll murder my people, and then tell their little children stories about the evil King of Jericho.”

He handed the scroll to his African bodyguard and awaited Hashum's response. “Well? What do you think?”

“Father, With the Midianite's defeat, there's nothing in their way.”

“Mmm, tell me about this Joshua. You fear he'll replace Moses?”

“He already has,” said Hashum. “Moses is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Did Joshua murder him?” asked Giddel.

“No. Not that I know off,” replied Hashum, “but I'm more afraid of their god.”

Elam laughed, “What, the one who supposedly parted the Red Sea, then let his Prophet die in the wilderness? Now that’s your mother’s sense of humor.”

“No father,” replied Hashum. “If that’s how he judged his Prophet, how will he judge his enemies?”

The Captain of Jericho

The King of Jericho's youngest son was a superb fighter in his mid twenties by the name of Giddel. As Captain of the Guard, he conducted the daily training armed only with a wooden staff. Surprisingly, his opponent was barely sixteen years old, for on closer inspection Salman realized all his students were just boys.

Although the youth was armed with a real sword, Giddel seemed undisturbed by the threat of genuine harm. He carried no shield or armor, except for a large belt around his waist and a row of tough leather ribbing strapped along his powerful right arm. His strength and reflexes were something to admire, though Salman sensed he was merely toying with the teenager for he barely broke a sweat. Nevertheless, this was rookie training - brutal, fast and nasty.

Giddel swerved to sidestep an overhead strike, then tripped the boy and stole his sword while he fell to the ground.

“Get up,” Giddel shouted then tossed the sword back to the ground. “I carry my weapon in one hand, but I have three other limbs to strike you. I could have just as easily broken your jaw with my left arm.”

"It's not fair" replied the boy as he scrambled to his feet.

"Fair? Oh we can play fair. Shall I call for my sword?"

"No Sir."

Giddel looked over to the next boy waiting in line for a cruel initiation. “Lets make it easier. You, join him over here.”

A second boy stood by the first, bracing themselves for another round.

Giddel closed his eyes, threw his wooden staff away and turned his back to them. This was a lesson they'll never forget.

“Attack.”

Dropping to the ground, Giddell rolled to one side and dodged a wild strike from the first boy. A quick kick to the groin, and the lad was paralyzed with pain.

The second boy lunged aggressively with his sword, but Giddel was already on one knee. He grabbed the boy’s fighting arm and threw him over his shoulder like he was tossing a bale of hay.

Giddel sprung up, and stood over his bruised and battered opponents. They had barely enough time to swipe the dust from their faces before realizing that Giddel held both their swords an inch from their throats.

“I had nothing but my bare hands. Its what you do with what you have - thats what counts. Never forget it.”

“Yes Sir,” they replied as they returned to their positions.

Salman and Phinehas could not believe what they were seeing.

“If this is how they train boys...” Phinehas whispered.

“What about their men? I know.” Salman interrupted, “And by the way, the wall is twenty one paces thick.”

Phinehas looked at Salman with a hint of fear. “They expect Joshua to attack. They're getting ready.”

“Getting?” Salman replied “I’d say they’re well and truly ready.”