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Where Your Treasure Lies

By Joel Thimell

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Prologue


My door crashed open with a bang that shook the whole house. Squinting into the dark afternoon shade I struggled to detect the cause. After what felt like an eternity, the largest shadow loomed forward and I beheld the legs and midriff of an enormous man, clad in leather armor, filling my doorway. The giant stooped low and staggered into the room, dragging a wooden chest behind him.
Unable to stand erect without remodeling my ceiling, he tottered there dangerously, dripping blood from numerous wounds right onto my best rug, before collapsing at my feet. He died mouthing, "Save the goddess," which I thought a most peculiar greeting. Naturally, I opened the chest, confirmed the contents, and buried it in the courtyard. Disposing of the body was more of a challenge.
When nothing happened after a couple days, I started thinking that my fears might be foolish. It was probably just some robbery-gone-bad, suicide-disguised-as-murder, frame job. Such incidents aren't exactly commonplace, mind you, but even so... Besides, the truth was too horrible to contemplate. So I just brooded and did what I do best—nothing. Until it was too late...




Chapter One


My worst nightmare slithered out of the shadows of the Temple of Ba'al like Rabisu the Crawler in search of a baby to devour. His battered nose, missing earlobe and scarred cheek betrayed his love of brawling. But it was his snake-like eyes that inspired dread.
I glanced quickly left and right but we were quite alone.
"Hello, Lot. Surprised?"
I just stood and stared.
"How long's it been? Twelve...thirteen years?"
"Not long enough, Dagon."
He oozed solicitude. "Is that any way to talk to an old friend?"
"How'd you find me?"
"Pure luck. I just followed the trail left by our mutual friend and it led me right here."
"Sodom is a big city. Whoever it was could've been meeting anyone."
Dagon leaned forward. "But his blood—did I mention he was wounded?—led to just one door. And when I knocked, the lady who answered said I could find you here."
I raised my hands in resignation. "It's not what it looks like."
He crushed a fly between two meaty palms and flicked away the remnant. "Of course not. I knew you'd have a good explanation."
"Well, you see..."
"Save it for the Lugal. He's the interested party."
"But I've got a wife and children—flocks, herdsmen, partners—all depending on me. They've even made me a judge. I can't drop everything to wander all the way back to Awan just to have a little chat about old times."
"Isn't the Lugal depending on you, too?" It was more a statement than a question the way he said it.
"But that journey is too much to ask. I can explain everything to you, and you can explain it to him."
"Oh, no. I'm not very good at explaining things. Besides, he's just a few days journey away. You can tell him yourself."
I licked my lips. "What if I just give you what he wants and you forget you ever saw me? I could make it worth your while."
He cleaned his nails with his dagger. "That's not how it works. I'd hate for anything to happen to your wife before you fixed this."
Before I could respond, a man stumbled through the Gate of Brotherly Love and collapsed nearby, drawing a large crowd. Apparently, he had run all the way from En-Gedi on the other side of the Salt Sea, to warn us of a marauding Elamite army headed our way. I mumbled something to my neighbor about foreign spies, but Dagon was already gone. This was no coincidence.
I hurried home to make sure the chest was safe, but I was too late. My wife was rummaging through its contents when I walked in the door. I sighed. Calming her down this time, was going to be even harder than explaining to the Lugal (and his thugs) how silly our little misunderstanding had been.
That afternoon the trumpeting of rams' horns called the men to the Temple Square. Utu had dropped behind the stout battlements guarding the city and lengthy shadows marched ominously toward the crowd. The dark statue of Ba'al towered over the square, the perpetual fire on his altar snarling and hissing. On the stage facing the assembly sat five men on lavish thrones. Was it just my imagination or were the two thrones in the middle for King Bera of Sodom and King Birsha of Gomorrah just a little bigger than the others? It seemed appropriate given that no one cared what Shinab, Shemeber or that funny little guy from Bela had to say anyway. They were merely fleas on the tail of this dog.
Bera and Birsha were cousins with similar names who were as different as honey and gall. Bera was large, dark and powerful while Birsha was short, pale and slight. Bera exuded the arrogance and impulsiveness of youth but Birsha was dominated by the timidity and hesitation of bitter experience. The only thing that united them was their utter dislike for each other.
As the king of the largest and most powerful city of the Jordan plain, Bera spoke first. "Men of Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah, Zeboiim and..." he paused significantly and was rewarded with a round of titters at the mention of tiny Bela, which was little more than a handful of huts with a tavern nearby. "You all know why we gather here today. The Elamite barbarians and their foreign mercenaries have reappeared like a plague of locusts, just as we predicted when we stopped sending the annual tribute last year."
You have to admire a bald-faced liar. Bera had actually boasted that the Elamites would be afraid to fight him instead of his aged father who had surrendered without a battle fourteen years ago. Bera had also touted "powerful new allies" meaning my uncle Abram and his Horse Warriors although neither of us had ever offered to fight for Sodom. But nobody challenged his revisionist history. It's good to be the king.
Of course, Bera had lots of practice in "creative truth-telling." His father had died two years ago in a tragic hunting accident—somehow he had tripped and impaled himself on his own spear. In an odd twist, the spear (which could easily be mistaken for one of Bera's) had caught him square in the back. And yet, the new king was still in mourning to this day. Just ask him.
"As I said," Bera continued, "this time will be different. When the barbarians came before, we did not work together. Each king huddled behind his own walls, which had never been breached. All but Bela, of course." The men laughed again. "But the walls of the other cities were not as strong as Sodom's, and one by one they each fell to the Elamites. They made several attempts to breach ours but we repulsed them all. We laughed at them from our towers..."
Birsha cut him off. "But the Elamites laughed last, didn't they? They simply surrounded the city and starved you into submission."
"Which is why we won't hide behind our walls this time. We know that doesn't work." Bera replied glibly.
"So what will we do?" asked Birsha. He pointed a scrawny finger at Bera. "You were the one who didn't want to send the annual tribute. The rest of us had no choice."
Bera shrugged. "You could've sent your own tribute anyway."
"Without your share, the Elamites would still have come."
Bera flushed with anger. "How long would you send them the best of our young people, the finest of our textiles, the cream of our crops? Our people grow thin under the yoke of foreign oppression. Would you endure this misery forever?"
I stifled a chuckle. The burden of the tribute had been heavy indeed, but you can be sure that Bera hadn't missed any meals.
Shinab, king of Admah, spoke up. "Recriminations are useless. What's done is done. We need to decide what to do now."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," Bera laughed. "We need to take advantage of our secrets. A wise old general once said, 'He who chooses the field of battle, wins the day.' I say that we fight them in the Valley of Siddim."
"But the valley is full of dense thickets and hidden tar pits, just waiting to trap anyone who strays from the path," Birsha protested.
"That's what makes it so perfect. Our men have roamed that valley since childhood, herding sheep and fetching firewood. They know the safe paths from the deadly ones. The barbarians do not. If we meet them on the far side of the valley, we can pretend to flee, which will draw them in pursuit. Our men need only hide in the thickets and the Elamites will blunder past right into the tar pits where they will be easy pickings."
Birsha wasn't convinced. "What if the Elamites don't chase our soldiers into the valley?"
Bera laughed. "That's the best part of my plan... Where's Lot? Lot, step up on the stage where everybody can see you."
What did that blowhard want with me?
I'm no soldier and had no desire to get involved in one of his schemes. I tried crouching unobtrusively, but everybody was calling my name and clapping, and folks started pushing me forward and somehow I ended up on the stage anyway. My move to Sodom was looking worse by the minute.
Bera grabbed my arm and pulled me to center stage. "I'm sure everybody knows Lot by now. He's been holding court in the gate twice a week judging minor disputes for me for over a year now —and doing a great job, too. What you may not know is that Lot's uncle is Abram...Leader of the Horse Warriors..."
Some loudmouth yelled out: "Who's that?" which got the men laughing.
Bera glared into the crowd, looking for the joker without success. "He defeated Ur-Nammu, King of Sumer and Akkad, that's who. With his cavalry chasing up their backsides, the Elamites will have no choice but to follow us into the valley."
That stopped the men's laughter but started my ulcer. Questioning Bera was not good for one's health, but I had a sinking feeling I would get blamed if his plan failed anyway. So I half-whispered the obvious question: "Has Abram agreed to this?"
I could tell by the twitch on his face that Bera hadn't considered that possibility. "Are you suggesting that he won't?" he growled.
"Not at all. It's just that Abram moves around so much, I'm not even sure where he is."
Bera relaxed visibly. "I've already sent a messenger. He should be here tomorrow."
It was my turn to relax. "I'm just glad he was so easy to find."
I could see Bera thinking for a moment. "The messenger hasn't actually returned yet."
"Then we don't really know if Abram is coming or not?" Birsha jumped in.
Bera patted my head like a dog. "I'm sure he'll come running once he knows his nephew's life depends upon it. Right, Lot?"
This probably wasn't the time to tell them that Abram and I had had a major quarrel before I came here. Words had been said, accusations had been leveled and tears had flowed. What made it worse was that our wives were the guilty parties. Abram and I had fought constantly as kids, but we always got over it. Now with the womenfolk, things were a bit more complicated.
And it definitely wasn't the time to tell them about Dagon's visit. Bera would only jump to conclusions that would inevitably lead to my bodily harm. Still, I had a nagging suspicion that Dagon had been up to more than just a social call during his visit and I worried that Bera's plan might be compromised somehow.
"Perhaps we should hole up inside the walls until we hear from Abram," I squeaked.
"I've already explained why that won't work," said Bera in a brittle tone.
"We don't have to survive a lengthy siege, just hold out long enough for Abram to get here."
Now I'd stepped in it. The other kings broke their silence by angrily reminding me that their walls were still not strong enough to withstand the Elamites. I should have let it go, but I asked why they couldn't move everyone into Sodom until Abram arrived. Well, Bera worried about feeding all those extra mouths (despite a record harvest in his granaries) and the other kings worried about the massive property damage the rampaging barbarians would inflict in their absence. But nobody worried about all the soldiers who would be killed if the battle went badly.
I know I should have explained that the tar pits and thickets would also make Abram's Horse Warriors useless, but I didn't bother. You can't argue with a bunch of closed minds. As I hobbled off the stage, I looked out into a sea of excitement. These poor fools had dreams of glory and delusions of grandeur clouding their vision. For once I was thankful for my limp.

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