Read the first three chapters of Walls.

The novice warriors of the Tribe of Judah stirred at the first clang of sparring from the center of the pit.

Salmon was a master duelist, and because Israel had not seen war for many days, the men of Judah hungered for diversion and tested one another with blade and shield.

“Adonai, show me the way,” whispered Salmon.

The mid-morning sun peeked just above the horizon, briefly blinding him as he circled his opponent, leaving him vulnerable to an attack, so the contender swung at him.

The youths flinched at the clash of metal as Salmon parried the blow. He quickly shifted his feet aside to protect his eyes from the glare. Then, he kicked sand into his rival’s eyes and lunged through the cloud to counterattack. Salmon burst out of cover as the other man coughed. His thrust was blocked at the last second, preventing it from piercing his opponent’s armor, and the man’s counter jab slipped between Salmon’s left arm and his side.

The boys watching on either end of the pit gasped as the sword appeared to go through their champion, but this actually gave Salmon an opening.

He grabbed his opponent’s sword hand, still clutching the hilt, and pulled. Salmon brought his sword to the man’s neck, poised for a fatal slice. The blade hovered there, the opponent’s arm now pinned at Salmon’s side. Their faces were close enough to smell each other’s breath. Salmon kicked him to his knees, keeping the blade at his throat.

“Yield,” grunted Salmon, ensuring he kept his grip on the challenger.

Everyone on the perimeter held their breath as the dust from Salmon’s earlier kick settled back on the ground. A few of the boys shielded their eyes from what could have been a brutal death. Then Salmon felt the man’s forearm soften, and the sound of a sword falling to the ground behind him signaled his victory.

Salmon released the man and raised his sword into the air to celebrate the triumph, causing cheers to echo around the pit. While Salmon loved the taste of victory, it was more important to show the young warriors how to make the most of their surroundings in a fight. They were about to enter the Promised Land, a land flowing with milk and honey, but it was still unfamiliar territory to them, and the Canaanites were barbaric. Only two men knew what lay beyond the Jordan River: Joshua and Caleb. Forty years ago, they had entered the land, and Salmon imagined they would lead the way again before the rest of Israel followed.

Part of him wanted to enter the land purely to taste something more flavorful. Manna was all he’d known—at least that was the abundance they had in the wilderness. Authentic food could only be brought in from the spoils of the nations they conquered along the way. Usually, their rations ran out within a week of victory, so it was back to manna for the foreseeable future. “Bread from heaven,” Moses had called it. Salmon always laughed at that term because it hardly resembled bread. Its flavor was like a wafer’s, with a hint of honey, and it was somehow nutritious. Manna had served them well for the past four decades, but the people were ready for a proper feast. Maybe that would happen when they crossed into the land.

Chants from the crowd jolted him back to reality.

“Well done, Salmon!”

“You really showed him!”

Salmon chuckled. “That is why I always tell you the greatest weapon God gave you is your head, not your blade,” he said. “Think before you swing. But not for too long, or you might lose your head.”

Laughter erupted from the group that was hanging on his every word. While Salmon enjoyed the attention, he didn’t like the constant spotlight. Once the sun was high, he would either stay busy, hide in Caleb’s tent, or jog around the camp’s perimeter. There was a lot to see on his runs. Each of the Twelve Tribes had its own unique customs. For example, the Tribe of Asher made the best oils and herbal remedies, supplying the Levites for atonement sacrifices and rituals. Meanwhile, the Benjaminites prided themselves on ambidextrous tricks. Using one’s left hand in a duel could catch enemies off guard, so they often carried a hidden dagger in addition to the sword they had. Despite Tribe Benjamin’s talents, the Judahites were the strongest fighters among the Israelites and led every battle. Sometimes fights broke out between Benjamin and Judah, but they became less frequent over time. The closer they got to Canaan, the fewer intertribal conflicts there were. It was wiser to focus on the real enemies across the river.

Moses had reminded them of this before his departure. Elohim would protect them from their enemies as long as they obeyed the Torah. That was what the Levites were for: the priests of the people. They were more studious, usually literate, and spent much of their time around the Tent of Meeting in the middle of the camp. Moses and Aaron taught them how to sacrifice to Adonai and recorded the 613 teachings and laws that constitute the Torah. The only people who truly knew the Torah were the Levites. It was their sole purpose.

Salmon was glad to be a Judahite rather than a Levite. To him, the Levites appeared haughty, convinced they knew best. Sometimes, after a long argument with someone from an esteemed bloodline, like his cousin, Phinehas, he wished he could settle the dispute with a fight instead of words.

“Blood is unnecessary unless God commands it,” Phinehas had told him during one of their encounters. “It is unclean.”

“Enough with the unclean this and unclean that,” Salmon replied. “A little blood is how we learn to protect ourselves. You do want us to protect you, right?”

“I can protect myself.”

Levites could not tolerate the sight of blood, except during their animal sacrifices. For reasons unknown to Salmon, that was deemed acceptable. How the wives within the Levitical Tribe put up with their husbands every month was a miracle in itself.

Salmon knew he wasn’t as smart as Phinehas, but he was better at dealing with people. That’s how he won their dispute that day: by getting others to side with him until Phinehas retreated to the Levite camp. Poor Phinehas couldn’t handle the pressure of being watched, so, like the best fighters, Salmon used a weapon other than his sword.

“Can you teach me how to fight like that, Salmon?” one youngling asked.

“Ooo! Me too!” another person hollered.

“Just keep watching, but most importantly, practice with your sword masters,” he said. “You won’t learn unless you apply what you see.”

Just then, one of the boys stepped back and kicked a handful of sand into his friend’s face. The friend coughed heavily, and his eyes watered.

“Hey! Don’t do that unless it’s an established duel. He’s your brother, and we don’t do that to our brothers.”

“But you did it just a second ago.”

Salmon’s brow furrowed with impatience. The boy didn’t even need to reply; Salmon could tell he understood because he looked down at his feet.

With a scoff, Salmon pushed through the crowd, but before he could leave the pit, someone called his name. He turned back to see the man he had just beaten, his brother, Naam. He was back on his feet, sword at his side, rapidly closing in.

“You did pretty well that time, Naam,” said Salmon. “A bit more awareness, and you might have had me.”

“That was one hell of a stunt you pulled back there, bastard!”

“No need for name-calling, I just⁠—”

Naam’s knuckle slammed into Salmon’s jaw. Salmon’s head jerked from the blow, then he leaned over to spit out the leaking blood.

Great, he thought, now those Levites won’t even let me within a foot of the Tabernacle.

This reminded him of Phinehas, so he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” asked Naam, his back straight as if he had a rod lodged up his⁠—

Salmon retaliated with an uppercut, giving Naam a chance to dodge left, but this was intentional; Naam didn’t notice the rock at his feet, which caused him to trip and stumble back into the dirt.

“What did I say about minding your surroundings?” said Salmon, glancing at the crowd. “I hope that burns the lesson into your thick skull, Naam.”

Salmon turned around to walk away again, but Naam leaped and tackled him by the legs with a grunt. The move surprised Salmon, but it made him laugh even more because he was now truly under Naam’s skin. With raw fists, the two rolled around in the dirt, exchanging blow for blow. Dust curled around them like a small whirlwind, and soon the crowd did the same. Though they were no longer in the pit, the pit had come to them.

“WHAT IS THIS?!”

The voice boomed above the assembly, and as if parting the waters of the Red Sea, the onlookers cleared a path between Caleb and his two sons.

Caleb stood with a staff and a long gray beard, slightly resembling the late Moses. He approached the two boys, both of whom had paused their struggle to stare at their father. Naam was on top of Salmon when the fight was interrupted, so he was the first one Caleb pulled away.

Caleb grabbed his son by the arm, surprisingly strong, and shoved him away from Salmon.

“You, boy!” he spat. “Get up!”

Salmon had long been an adult, but compared to Caleb, he was still a boy.

“Onward!” said Caleb, adjusting his grip on Naam by the collar.

Salmon got to his feet, brushing dirt off as he went. He could feel the youths watching him just as intently as if he were still sparring. Then the three men went back to the Tent of Judah.

“Sit!” said Caleb, throwing back the entry flap to the Tent of Judah.

After traveling through the desert, this tent felt like home to them. The Elders of each Tribe had a large dwelling in the middle of their designated campsite to hold meetings and house the families of each chieftain. The women of Judah sewed elaborate tapestries of lions and swords to decorate the tent. Some of the fabric recounted stories of old, like Jacob wrestling with Adonai and Noah’s Ark, while others depicted portraits of Moses and told stories to remind them of their liberation from Egypt. Scattered beds lined the perimeter, and in the center were tables, candles, papyrus, ink, clay tablets, and other supplies that literate members could use. Three couches near the entrance formed a U-shape to welcome guests, with a small table in the middle for drinks.

Salmon and Naam sat on opposite sides of the U, and Caleb pushed the small table out of the way so he could stand between them. Salmon touched his lip to check for blood. The outside was beginning to scab over, but the inside was still soaked in scarlet. Naam had a few bruises, and Salmon prided himself on likely having given him a black eye.

“Why do you constantly torment me with these vain skirmishes?” asked Caleb. “The mourning period for Moses has just ended, and you go and gather a crowd to put on a show? Do you enjoy the attention? Is that it?”

Salmon quietly shrugged, signaling the possibility.

“The bastard humiliated me!” said Naam. “Do you expect me to let him insult our family?”

A swoosh sliced through the air as Caleb hit the young man in the face with his staff.

“He is your brother!” said Caleb. “Treat him like one!”

Naam pouted and avoided eye contact; a grown man reenacting a child’s immaturity.

“And you,” Caleb said, turning to face Salmon. “Why do you feel the need to turn every duel into a spectacle? He is of your kin; don’t humiliate him!”

Brother, thought Salmon. He mulled over the word Caleb used in the previous reprimand. You can really see the resemblance.

Salmon had dark, wavy hair and kept his face clean-shaven. He was of average stature for an Israelite, with a round face, a sharp jawline, and a toned, evenly proportioned body. Naam, on the other hand, was lanky, and his face seemed to stretch upward, topped off by his hair sprouting in heavy curls. Salmon’s favorite feature was Naam’s snout of a nose, which drooped slightly at the tip. Many of Naam’s traits were a strange mix of Caleb’s and his mother Ephrath’s, and she wasn’t much in the way of beauty. Objectively, Salmon was attractive… but Naam… not so much. And that helped Salmon sleep soundly at night.

The addition of that black eye is an improvement, Salmon thought. It might even improve the symmetry of his face a little once it swells.

“Do you hear me?” Caleb asked, stepping directly into Salmon’s line of sight.

Salmon nodded.

“You'd better. Otherwise, I’ll drag you up to the altar myself and sacrifice you like an Amalekite infant!”

A horn interrupted the scolding. The three of them turned toward the sound’s source at the center of the camp. Each horn produced a distinct sound depending on the situation. War horns sounded different from assembly horns. This one, in particular, was the latter.

Caleb froze. His eyes darted around the tent like he was tracking a fly. A drop of sweat slid down his forehead, and he plunged his staff into the ground, contemplating his next move.

Salmon tilted his head, watching Caleb’s clenched fists and the tight line of his jaw, displaying unfamiliar signs of tension on his usually stoic face.

“Don’t move,” he said before trudging off to the Tent of Meeting, where Joshua was calling the Elders.