A.D. 33 by Ted Dekker Read Free Book Online Page A

slave of this harsh taskmaster called earth, not I. For I was in the world but not of it.
    And yet I still felt fear, because in that moment I did not know it as Saba spoke of knowing. Did he know? Was he at peace?
    Saman stared at me, curious. A camel to my right roared, followed by a haunting calm. To a man, the Thamud stared at our small group clad in little more than rags.
    “So…” Saman gave me a short nod. “This is the woman they would call queen of the sands.”
    I sat still.
    “And there is Fahak by her side,” he said, glancing at the elder to my right. “Thamud by blood and yet slave to a woman born in shame to a whore.”
    Fahak spat to one side but held his tongue.
    “My son says we should enter your Garden of Peace and assist the women with their bleeding.” His insult could not be mistaken, for it was believed throughout the world that all women were born lesser because they could not control their blood, which was the source of all life.
    “You have only eight thousand men,” he continued. “All mangy dogs.”
    “You underestimate pure Bedu blood,” I said.
    He hesitated, for it was well known that even a common Bedu warrior could fell a hundred men. And perhaps he remembered that I had once cut him and brought down his horse with nothing more than a dagger.
    “And still vastly outnumbered,” he said.
    “Would a Bedu sheikh of such high standing as you slaughter so many?” I asked in a low voice. “Already your son has taken mothers and fathers from thousands of children. Or does he suggest you drink the blood of children as well?”
    A wicked smile crept over Saman’s face. “She can speak with clever words.”
    “She speaks only on my behalf,” Fahak said, unable to restrain himself.
    Saba cut their exchange short. “We have no desire for blood.”
    “No,” Saman said. “Because in this desire you all would meet the gods by the setting of the sun. Even so, I hear your queen can also wield a sword.” He drilled me with a stare of curiosity. “Perhaps you would pit yourself against my son and settle all of this absurdity without subjecting your slaves to an early death.”
    “I desire no blood,” I said. “Only the freedom of my father and Judah, and honorable repayment for the blood Kahil has spilled in the sands, unprovoked.”
    Kahil spat to one side. “She should be sliced, like her father.”
    A pool of emotion rose from deep within me at this news of Rami’s death. I had longed to honor my father, however much he’d wounded me. I still desired him to see the daughter he’d thrown away seated in high standing among his own people.
    The sound of pounding hooves on the flat behind me cut my thoughts short. All but Saba turned to see the brown camel racing toward us, whipped into a full gallop by its frenzied rider.
    It was Arim, the young warrior who served me with an unabashed heart. Arim, with drawn sword waving in the air, headdress flowing in the wind.
    “Back, you fool!” Fahak shouted, arms waving.
    Jashim joined in. “Get back!”
    Fahak’s camel startled and stomped sideways to make room as Arim rushed in, reining his mount to an abrupt halt alongside me.
    “You will not touch my queen!” he cried, sword extended at Saman. “You will not insult Maviah, for I am her slave and I will slaughter a thousand Thamud if they approach! Her god, Yeshua, will use my arm to cut any jackal who even threatens his chosen one!”
    The intrusion was so sudden and bold that none could quickly respond. The sheikhs were surely outraged—none more than Fahak, because Arim found his courage in Fahak’s own tent as part of the same clan.
    The Thamud were surely amused, because all Bedu men respected such daring.
    Saba only ignored the boy.
    But Arim’s fearlessness in the face of such an overwhelming enemy immediately reminded me that I was loved by a Father who saw no storm in this circumstance.
    “Thank you for joining us, Arim,” I said.
    He stared at me, then at the