Esther M. Friesner - Giants in the Earth

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- Chapter 11

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- Chapter 11

Giants in the Earth

Esther M. Friesner

"Have you ever had one of those days where you just can't get a psalm started?" King David sat back on

the royal throne of all Israel and drummed his fingers on the gently curving cedar armrests. "The

opening line's the hardest part. I've got everything else down pat: rhyme scheme, subject matter, nifty

metaphors that do not involve sheep, for a change. Sheep! Don't get me started. You grow up as a simple

shepherd boy—what the hell else is there to do in this country?—and right away you can't write a psalm

without everyone picking it apart, looking for hidden references to sheep, sheep, sheep, 'til the cows

come home. To say nothing of those so-called 'jokes' the men used to tell about me back in my army

days. Soldiers, feh! As if they never—"

"Your Majesty was saying something about an opening line?" Tirzah asked amiably. As concubine du

jour she had certain assigned tasks, not the least of which was keeping King David's conversation on

track. When a man spends the better part of his youth on the lam from a crazy king like Saul and the rest

of his salad days amassing a comfortably haimish empire, his body may cease wandering but his mind

often does not.

"Oh, right, right, a catchy first line, yes, hmm . . ." The ring-encrusted royal fingers, each adorned with a

precious stone the size of the rock that slew Goliath, went back to drumming on the armrest. "Listen, my

subjects, and you shall hear . . . When that Goliath with his spears and arrows/The men of Israel had

piercéd to the marrow . . . Whose sling this is, I think I know . . . There once was a giant from Gath . . ."

"Perhaps Your Majesty should work on a different psalm?" Tirzah suggested, popping a grape into her

mouth. "I've found that when I reach a point where there doesn't seem to be any solution to the problem

at hand, it helps to switch projects entirely."

The king gave her a smarmy smile. "You're a concubine, my dear," he said. "What problems do you face

that can't be solved by a new necklace or an extra dollop of myrrh?"

Tirzah opened her mouth to answer, then thought better of it and stopped her gob with a handful of

dates. It didn't do for a woman to backtalk the king. She understood that, as a concubine, she had only

two career paths: Cling to the king's good side like moss to a stone or spend your days locked up among

the women.

Not that there was anything wrong with being locked up among the women, but as JHVH was her

witness, it was boring. The ladies of the royal household seemed able to talk about nothing save

clothing, cosmetics, candy, kids, and the king's elusive favor. Those who'd managed to get a colt off the

royal stud formed an exclusive clique whose favorite pastimes were sneering at their less fertile

colleagues and zealous jockeying/backstabbing in order to get their child in line for the throne.

As much as Tirzah despised the snotty Womb Supremacists, she knew that her only hope for

advancement lay thataway, and the more she hung out with David, the better her odds of hitting the

royal jism jackpot. All of which was why she swallowed her pride along with a mouthful of chewed-up

dates, smiled ever-so-sweetly, and replied:

"Yes, O my beloved king. How silly of me. Your life is much more important than mine, of course. Me

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- Chapter 11

daring to suggest anything to you? Tsk. What was I thinking? Can you ever forgive your po' li'l

featherheaded Tirzy-wirzy who wuvs 'oo so vewy, vewy much that she just can't wait to get you alone

and perform the Babylonian Basket Trick for your intense, unbelievable pleasure?"

"Wuzzah?" Despite Tirzah's almost-never-fail employment of that tempting combination, fulsome baby

talk and promised perversity, the king wasn't buying. He'd chided his concubine and gone straight back

to wrestling with the uncooperative psalm.

Tirzah frowned and double-checked her breasts. Yes, still firm, still golden as a pair of melons, still

exuding rare floral essences imported from Egypt at great expense. When it came down to cases, she had

no doubts about her physical attractions; but when the match was Concubine vs. Blank Parchment, best

two falls out of three, she was stymied. What was it about the composition of a psalm that managed to

gobble up the king's full attention?

"Yes, dear," she muttered under her breath. "You just go back to composing that psalm all about how

you slew Goliath, big whoop. I'll be right here when you finally want me. Where else do I have to be?"

"Gath . . . wrath . . . bath . . . Sheba . . . huh?" said the king, blinking as he looked up at her from his

labors.

"Nothing," said Tirzah wearily. "I was just thinking about how much I love you. Wildly. Madly. Passion

without bounds." Her voice was only a little flatter than her taut young belly, but the king wasn't really

paying any attention and she was past caring. "Yea, verily, I would do anything to prove my love for

you, yep, sure, you name it, just—"

"Of course you would; it's in your job description. Why the blazes do you have to gabble about it,

woman?" King David demanded. He might have said more, but at that moment the calm of a summer's

afternoon in the royal court was broken by the abrupt entrance of the king's majordomo. He was an

overly excitable Moabite whom the king had hired as lip service to valuing diversity somewhere in the

palace besides the royal harem.

"Majesty! Majesty!" he cried, scuttling into the throne room, wringing his hands. "Oh, the unspeakable

horror! Oh, the devastation! Oh, that ever this should come to pass!" He threw himself facedown at the

king's feet, gurgling prophecies of generic doom.

"What is it?" the king demanded, toeing the Moabite firmly. "And it had better be good. The last

unspeakable horror you reported was a wild donkey that got loose in the marketplace and ate three

cabbages. When it ate a fourth you escalated the event to a full-fledged devastation. I hope you're not

wasting my time with another four-cabbage disaster, because tomorrow is the anniversary of my battle

with the Philistine champion, Goliath of Gath, and if I don't finish this psalm about how I slew him,

I'll—"

"But you didn't slay him, Majesty!" The trembling Moabite raised his eyes to the king's dire

countenance. "He's back. Goliath of Gath is back, he's waiting outside the gates of Jerusalem, and he

says he's not leaving until he's got your head on the end of his spear!"

* * *

A table had been fetched and King David's council had been summoned into the throne room with such

haste that no one had thought to dismiss the concubine. Thus Tirzah found herself wandering around the

periphery of the strategic huddle, nibbling a fistful of almonds, and peering over the shoulders of David's

most trusted advisors as they discussed the situation in hushed, intense tones.

"But it can't be Goliath!" King David protested. "I killed him! I killed him good. First I whapped him

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