Free The Philistine Warrior by Karl Larew

at us. I ran up to Warati. “How many of them?” I asked as he mounted his chariot.
    “I don’t know yet,” he answered. “I’ve sent a section of your company to reconnoiter. Now that the camp defense’s almost set up, I’m going out to see for myself.”
    I jumped into the chariot beside him and we started off with a platoon of my charioteers, leaving only one section of mounted men, under Lieutenant Jaita, in the camp area, with our infantry. We followed the dust trail left by the first detachment of chariots.
    Swinging around a line of hillocks, we met with a curious sight. Seven Philistine chariots—meaning fourteen warriors and seven drivers—had drawn themselves up in line, the men now dismounted. Across the field I saw a Canaanite band—Judaeans, apparently—perhaps fifty warriors, also lined up, leaning on their bronze-tipped spears. Round, gaudy shields of wood, bossed with bronze, rested on their backs.
    Between the lines, two men faced each other, one Philistine, one Canaanite, about equally matched in size and armament—the Canaanite carried iron weapons, doubtless captured from us in some past campaign. Both of them held spears and shields. They began circling around, looking for an opportunity to jab of hurl their spears into each other.
    “What the hell’s going on?” I wondered out loud.
    “I’ve seen this before,” Warati growled, his eyes dark with rage. He told his driver to head for the combatants. We pulled up beside the Philistine warrior. “What does this mean?” the Colonel snapped, though he obviously had already guessed.
    Our warrior turned, ignoring his Canaanite foe. “Ah, Colonel Warati and Captain Phicol! Greetings. I challenged these Judaean Canaanites to send forth their best warrior to fight me hand to hand, one on one. If I win, they all go back to their hills. If he wins, we let them pass—but not to Eglon, of course….”
     
    Warati was beside himself with fury: “So, war’s your sport, is it? And I suppose the villagers they’ll plunder will applaud your gallant death!”
    “But, sir, I fully intend to win!” the warrior announced splendidly, as the sun glinted off his greaves and bronze breastplate.
    “So do I,” Warati snorted. “But not by such hare-brained methods. Save your bravado for the games, when ladies are watching. This is war and business, and you’re part of a military formation. I suppose you sacrificed surprise to arrange this little show. Now get back to your chariot!”
    “But, sir, my honor—”
    “Back!” Warati bellowed. The charioteer turned to his
    puzzled enemy, shrugged his shoulders, and went back to his unit. Warati then faced the Canaanite: “And you! I’ll give you to the count of five to get back to your people. After that, you’re like any other Canaanite murderer. Tell your chief that we’ll destroy you all unless you lay down your arms and surrender. Now go! One. Two. Three….” The Canaanite scurried back to his line. By this time, his comrades were yelling and cursing us Philistines for having broken off the duel.
    “I apologize for my men,” I grunted, with disgust. “They’re high-born chaps, and I’m afraid each one sees himself as another Hector, or some such hero!”
    “To hell with that!” Warati sneered, and I realized that I’d blundered by referring to my troopers’ social standing…far above the Colonel’s. “There’ll be more discipline here,” he went on. “What we need are fewer dandies and more commoners in the chariot corps—men who’re more afraid of their officers than they are of the enemy. How can we have discipline with each glory-hunting aristocrat fighting his own private battle? Even in pitched battle they break ranks for heroics and stripping of the slain!”
    “Sir, I protest!” I interrupted. “My men may arrange games like this when I’m not around, but in battle they’ll keep formation and obey orders.”
    Warati didn’t reply because, at that moment, the