The Warrior: Caleb by Francine Rivers Read Free Book Online Page B

if you’re willing. Otherwise, be silent.”
    Emboldened by Zimri’s defense, Caleb stepped into the center of the circle. “Send me.”
    “You are not equipped.”
    “Did I not go into battle beside Joshua against the Amalekites?”
    “You are my friend, Caleb, but you are not . . .”
    “Full-blooded.” Another man finished what Zimri was too kind to voice.
    Caleb’s face flushed hot as he looked between the elders. “Did I not hear you just call me brother?”
    “We have an alliance with you, but it must be a Judean by birth that should go on our behalf.”
    That these words should come from Zimri hurt deeply, for he had thought him an ally. “And where is he?” Caleb swept his hand toward those standing silent.
    Zimri frowned. “You are not a young man, Caleb.”
    “I am forty years old, and I come with forty years of life experience.” He turned his back on Zimri and walked the circle, pausing to look into the face of each man he passed. “Do you want to go? Do you? Come on! Step forward if you’re willing to face the Anak.” No one held his gaze for long. “The man who goes into Canaan will not just be looking at the enemy we must fight, at their city walls and weapons, but at the land itself. Should Judah not have the best? All of you here were brick makers and shepherds. I was a farmer. I made my living off the land. To have good crops, you need good land. I offer myself as your servant. Send me. ”
    Everyone started talking at once again.
    “Let God decide,” someone called out, and others joined in.
    Zimri and the elders commanded order again and called for a lottery. “One man from each family must bring a lot. We will let the Lord decide.”
    And there was an end to further discussion. Grim and despairing, Caleb had his name etched upon a bone and tossed it into the growing pile. The census had counted 74,600 men twenty years and older in the tribe of Judah. There would be thousands of lots cast before the choice was known. The lots were shaken and cast and the elimination process began. It would take the rest of the night, if not longer.
    Ephrathah tried to soothe him, but Caleb went off by himself and sat looking up at the pillar of fire swirling in the night sky. He spread his hands, palms up. He had no words to express his longing. I am as afraid as any man to go into Canaan and walk among the giants who live there. But I fear more not being counted among Your people. Do not allow them to set me aside. Please don’t reject me, Lord. Purify my blood. Make me a son of Israel!
    He covered his head. “I know I am not fully Hebrew, Lord. I know Esau’s blood runs in my veins. But even so, Lord . . .” He lifted his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You are my God. You and only You. There is no other.”
    He knew there were many who disliked him, who thought he was proud and ambitious, a thorn in their sides. Some wished he would turn around and go back to Egypt. They saw him as a growling, groveling dog on the edge of the camp. And didn’t he behave like one, barking constantly for what he wanted? A place among God’s people! He groaned. Who was he to think himself worthy to represent the tribe of Judah? Surely the Lord looked down and saw him for the cur he was. He hunched against the rock, too depressed to go back to camp.
    Dawn came and went. It was midday before he returned to his tent.
    Zimri was there in the shady entrance of Caleb’s tent, sipping a drink Ephrathah had just replenished.
    Caleb sat with him. “I’m sorry I put you in an awkward position, Zimri. I had no right to demand that I be chosen to represent Judah. I’m not worthy.”
    The old man opened his hand. Caleb’s lot lay on his palm.
    He took the lot and turned it over and over in his hand. “You removed it from the pile.”
    “I did.”
    Caleb felt as though he had been kicked in the gut. It was a moment before he could speak. “I thought being counted in the census at least gave me the right