the names they had agreed to assume for their stay in Jericho. “I am Debir and this is my son Arut. We are recently arrived and have been looking around the city a little, trying to orient ourselves.”
The man continued to tap his chin. Sala struggled to maintain a courteous expression. Finally the Jericho man said, “Perhaps it is the will of the gods that I have run into you. I only stopped because we in Jericho have been careful about strangers ever since that pack of Israelites started to invade our territory.”
“I can understand that,” Lord Nahshon said. “We have heard about some terrible battles.”
“They will never take Jericho,” the man said, waving a hand toward the walls. “But let me introduce myself. I am Lord Arazu, counselor to the king, and I would be interested in speaking to you more specifically about your business.”
Nahshon bowed. “I would be most happy to discuss our business with you, my lord. I can assure you, we are a highly reputable company in Gaza.”
“Good, good. If you come to my house later, I will have a few other people there who may be interested in working with you. Where are you staying?”
Sala admired his father’s rueful look. “In the only place we could find, my lord, an inn on the north side of the Lower City.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, you have come at a busy time. The festival of the New Year is but a week away and people have been coming in from the outlying areas in large numbers.”
Nahshon said, “Unfortunately I did not take account of that when I made my plans. I just thought, with most of the grain already high in the fields, it would be a good time to find customers.”
“I am not criticizing you, you are right. But we are not a large city and the few good inns get taken fast. I am sorry men of your class have been forced to take rooms in the Lower City.”
Lord Nahshon shrugged. “We will be fine.”
Lord Arazu gestured to the building behind them. “I noticed you were looking at Asherah’s Shrine. Her priestesses are hoping to collect a goodly sum of money for it during the time of the festival. They will be happy to take your donation.”
Sala was silent as Lord Nahshon promised to make a contribution.
“You can get directions to my house from anyone,” Lord Arazu said. “I shall see you there at five.”
Lord Nahshon assured him they would be there and he and Sala watched as the man walked off down the cobbled street.
Sala said, “I hope you don’t really plan to contribute to that shrine, Father!”
“Of course not. Those women—priestesses, as they call them—are nothing but prostitutes. They collect money for the shrine by selling their bodies to men.”
Sala looked at the young and pretty girls with horror. “They sell themselves out in the open like this?”
As he watched, a man approached one of the priestesses, bowed, and handed her what looked to be a sum of money. The girl received the money, turned, and began to walk back toward the shrine building. The man followed.
“That is disgusting!” Sala said.
“And that is why Elohim wishes us to destroy them and take this land for ourselves.” Lord Nahshon’s voice was sober. “Such people do not deserve to live.”
Sala wholeheartedly agreed.
Lord Nahshon said, “We cannot allow our feelings to show on our faces, Sala. We must remember we need these people to believe we are one of them. We have been tremendously lucky to meet this Arazu fellow. If he is truly a counselor to the king, we may be able to discover a great deal about the temper of the city, how united they are, how willing to take a stand against an attack.”
Sala straightened his shoulders. “You are right, Father,” then he smoothed his expression to blandness.
“Very well. I suggest we go back to the Sign of the Olive wine shop. It would be good for us to establish ourselves as regular customers there. That way there’ll be little notice paid when we finally do meet with the men Joshua
The man continued to tap his chin. Sala struggled to maintain a courteous expression. Finally the Jericho man said, “Perhaps it is the will of the gods that I have run into you. I only stopped because we in Jericho have been careful about strangers ever since that pack of Israelites started to invade our territory.”
“I can understand that,” Lord Nahshon said. “We have heard about some terrible battles.”
“They will never take Jericho,” the man said, waving a hand toward the walls. “But let me introduce myself. I am Lord Arazu, counselor to the king, and I would be interested in speaking to you more specifically about your business.”
Nahshon bowed. “I would be most happy to discuss our business with you, my lord. I can assure you, we are a highly reputable company in Gaza.”
“Good, good. If you come to my house later, I will have a few other people there who may be interested in working with you. Where are you staying?”
Sala admired his father’s rueful look. “In the only place we could find, my lord, an inn on the north side of the Lower City.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, you have come at a busy time. The festival of the New Year is but a week away and people have been coming in from the outlying areas in large numbers.”
Nahshon said, “Unfortunately I did not take account of that when I made my plans. I just thought, with most of the grain already high in the fields, it would be a good time to find customers.”
“I am not criticizing you, you are right. But we are not a large city and the few good inns get taken fast. I am sorry men of your class have been forced to take rooms in the Lower City.”
Lord Nahshon shrugged. “We will be fine.”
Lord Arazu gestured to the building behind them. “I noticed you were looking at Asherah’s Shrine. Her priestesses are hoping to collect a goodly sum of money for it during the time of the festival. They will be happy to take your donation.”
Sala was silent as Lord Nahshon promised to make a contribution.
“You can get directions to my house from anyone,” Lord Arazu said. “I shall see you there at five.”
Lord Nahshon assured him they would be there and he and Sala watched as the man walked off down the cobbled street.
Sala said, “I hope you don’t really plan to contribute to that shrine, Father!”
“Of course not. Those women—priestesses, as they call them—are nothing but prostitutes. They collect money for the shrine by selling their bodies to men.”
Sala looked at the young and pretty girls with horror. “They sell themselves out in the open like this?”
As he watched, a man approached one of the priestesses, bowed, and handed her what looked to be a sum of money. The girl received the money, turned, and began to walk back toward the shrine building. The man followed.
“That is disgusting!” Sala said.
“And that is why Elohim wishes us to destroy them and take this land for ourselves.” Lord Nahshon’s voice was sober. “Such people do not deserve to live.”
Sala wholeheartedly agreed.
Lord Nahshon said, “We cannot allow our feelings to show on our faces, Sala. We must remember we need these people to believe we are one of them. We have been tremendously lucky to meet this Arazu fellow. If he is truly a counselor to the king, we may be able to discover a great deal about the temper of the city, how united they are, how willing to take a stand against an attack.”
Sala straightened his shoulders. “You are right, Father,” then he smoothed his expression to blandness.
“Very well. I suggest we go back to the Sign of the Olive wine shop. It would be good for us to establish ourselves as regular customers there. That way there’ll be little notice paid when we finally do meet with the men Joshua
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