Warrior Poet Read Free Page B

said nothing.
    The place he had in mind was one of his favorite pastures in the Judean hills. Because of its distance, he went there only at the end of summer, when the grass was beginning to dry out. It was bordered by rocky cliffs and could be entered only by a crack wide enough for the animals to enter three abreast. The narrow passage led to a lush, quiet valley with a stream gentle enough not to scare the skittish sheep. Its entrance was so well disguised that it was hidden from the merchants traveling the caravan route that passed close by.
    After a trek of nearly two hours through rugged terrain, they were crossing the hard-packed trail used by traders moving their wares from the south and the east. David led the flock over a rise and down the other side toward a rock wall. He pulled aside a mound of dried brush and prodded the sheep into the winding passageway. The sides were so high and steep that the sun could filter through only indirectly. As they moved forward, the walls seemed to incline as if threatening to crush them. David tightened his grip on the rod at his belt and the staff in his other hand.
    When they had made their way through, Jahra looked around in amazement.
    “Nice, isn’t it?” David said, bending down to feel the thick grass and pointing with his chin at the little stream that flowed from a rock wall about thirty paces away.
    Jahra nodded.
    “Now you see why I wanted to hurry.”
    The flock dispersed, and David and Jahra sat down, resting their backs against a boulder. It had slid down the side of the cliff so long ago that a bush was growing on top of it. Stretching out their legs, David and Jahra let the warm sun relax their knotted muscles.
    David read his friend’s expression as he pointed to their surroundings. “How did I find this beautiful oasis?”
    Jahra nodded.
    “I never would have, had it not been for Bandit, that little scamp.” Among all the goats, the mischievous two-year-old kid was David’s favorite. He was black as night except for a white circle around one eye and a shock of white hair on top of his head. It gave him a wild, roguish look that contrasted with his soft, innocent eyes.
    “He took off, and I tracked him to this place. That’s why I call it Bandit’s Lair.”
    Jahra smiled, pulled out his water bag, and took a long drink. He handed it to David, who held it aloft and let the jet of water spurt into the back of his mouth. Knowing Jahra was looking at him, David extended his arm so that the bottle grazed the branches of the bush above him. He pulled his head back, his mouth wide, imitating Eliab. The water splashed over his lips and into his nose, and he began coughing. Jahra chortled so loudly that the flock froze, staring at them with wide eyes.
    David tossed the bag at Jahra, who lifted his hand in a gesture of conciliation. Smiling, Jahra slid the strap over his head and picked up the leather pouch that was lying on the ground next to his side. He untied it and pulled out his compact, seven-stringed harp. It was small and light, perfect for long treks into the hills. Before playing the instrument, he had to find a piece of straw to chew. David found it first and handed it to him with a roll of his eyes. Jahra inspected the straw carefully, blew through it, then placed it in the corner of his mouth.
    David leaned back on the rock to listen. He could feel the stone’s heat through the back of his head and shoulders. His brothers enjoyed mocking Jahra for his uncoordinated gait, but he more than made up for his impediment with amazing manual dexterity. His fingers ran and skipped over the instrument like a goat leaping up the sides of a mountain.
    On their last expedition together, Jahra had convinced David to give the harp a try. But David gave up almost immediately. Though Jahra had been anxious to teach him, David was frustrated by his own awkwardness. The compact instrument, with its close-fitted strings, required perfect placement of thumbs and