"Have you come here..."
"Louder! For Dagon's sake, louder!"
I clear my throat and start again. "Have you..." This time my voice actually cracks, and I have to stop and clear my throat again.
"By the gods," the General hisses, clearly disgusted. "You sound more like a schoolboy than a warrior. You're embarrassing the entire Philistine nation."
I begin again. "Have you..."
"Louder! Roar, damn you, don't squeak!"
"HAVE YOU COME HERE TO HIDE IN THE HILLS..."
"Good!"
"...OR HAVE YOU COME HERE TO FIGHT?"
"Good! But you can do better, son, I know you can..."
"AM I NOT A PHILISTINE? ARE YOU NOT SAUL'S MEN?" I usually speak softly so I won't scare anyone, and it's more than a little strange to be shouting. "SEND YOUR BEST WARRIOR DOWN TO FIGHT ME! IF HE DEFEATS ME, WE PHILISTINES WILL BE YOUR SERVANTS! BUT IF I WIN, YOU HEBREWS WILL BE OUR SLAVES FOREVER!"
I can see vague movement on the hill before me. Men dart among the trees, crawl through the underbrush, peer out from behind boulders. We're standing, the General and I, in the middle of the valley of Elah, looking up at the hill where the Hebrews are camped. I see now what the General meant about the valley not providing any cover; it's a broad, flat plain, dotted with small rocks and scraggly bushes. Any army trying to cross the valley would be easy prey for even a small group of men showering spears and rocks down from the hills. But we're out of range, or so the General tells me. And anyway, he assures me that the Hebrews' crude brass weapons would have little effect on my thick armor.
All of the motion on the hill has stopped. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of eyes stare down at me; I feel, rather than see them, watching my every move. It's grown unnaturally quiet. Even the birds have stopped singing. Maybe I scared them too.
"By the sword of Dagon," the General chortles, "you've really given them something to think about! Good work, son. Let's head back to camp."
But then this feeling starts in my toes and creeps up my legs and torso, just a tingle at first, then a tremor, and suddenly a mighty earthquake. What power! What joy! To be able to howl with all my might, to truly shout from the depths of my soul! I could let loose a roar that would shake the very stones from the hills; if I stamped my foot the hills themselves would crumble.
"Goliath," the General urges. "Come. We must return to camp. Now." He sounds worried. Maybe I'm shaking on the outside as well as on the inside.
I turn to follow him – but the surge of power grows more intense, and suddenly I'm inspired. I turn back, raise my spear, wave it in the air. "I DEFY YOU, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL!" I shout. "SEND ME YOUR BEST MAN, THAT WE MAY FIGHT! LET US SETTLE THIS NOW! LET US SETTLE THIS FOREVER!" And I throw back my head and howl, a wild beast, the most ferocious that has ever lived. The very sky shakes, I swear it does.
Then, only then, do I begin to walk back toward the camp. I smile as I pass the General, who stands like he's frozen. He looks smaller than usual disguised as a common soldier, struggling to carry my huge shield. "How did I do?" I ask, straight-faced.
"By the gods," the General whispers, "what a splendid piece of work you are. They will sing your praises forever."
He hurries to fall in step beside me. "Mark my words, son," he says. "Your story will be told to Philistine and Hebrew alike, and to their children, and to their children's children, to the end of time. All men will know the name of Goliath of Gath."
And although part of me suspects that his words are mere flattery, part of me believes that he may, just possibly, be right.
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©1996 Henry Charles Mishkoff