Chapter One 

The grating sound of rusty hinges jolted Rahab to her senses. Yasin comes.

She shook her head to clear her sleep-induced confusion and real­ized the daylight had faded as she dozed at her loom. Hoping to avoid her master’s harsh punishment, she jumped up to light a lamp on the small stand nearby.

Rahab’s fingers shook, causing her to drop the flint. As she bent to retrieve it, her hand unconsciously rubbed her left eye, invoking brutal memories of the first time her master caught her napping. He flew into a rage, bruising both her eyes as she cowered at his feet.

I was a young slave then, scared and inexperienced. But Yasin didn’t care. His guests demanded my favors all night and he still expected me to weave his fine azure cloth all day. No wonder I fell asleep at the loom, the shuttle still clutched in my hand. It was more than I could bear.

The harlot tried to shake off the painful memories, but they rode a wave of fear welling up in her heart. Years ago on her first night in the brothel, she held another young harlot in her arms, watching her die from a beating by their masters as the nameless girl whimpered for her mother.

Her uncle stole her from her family’s tent, selling her to buy bread for his own children. She wouldn’t stop weeping for her mother. They said that’s why they beat her. Rahab clamped her hands over her ears as if to shut out the haunting sobs.

She gulped the air and shook herself free of the memory’s spell, fear giving way to defiance. But I wasn’t like her—I survived! Her hand smoothed the gauzy veil draped around her body as she rose to her feet grasping the flint. Humph! You wouldn’t dare kill me now, Yasin. I’m the reason your pockets are lined with gold. My favors are widely sought in Jericho.

The harlot eyed the wealth of the dim room around her. Plump cushions of purple, scarlet and azure linen ringed a low polished stone table where her guests could recline for their meal and indulge in playful entertainment afterward. Silk panels embroidered with gold adorned the inner chambers of her home, providing for the privacy and comfort of her master’s guests.

The women at the well may look down their noses at me because I’m a harlot, but few of them can boast of an oven built into the wall. Their chambers reek from the smoke of burnt fig cakes. Their husbands drool with desire over my spicy sweet cakes of honey, oil and barley . . . and . . . other things they can’t afford! Hah!

That was the only good thing she could say about Yasin. He recog­nized the need to supply the young harlot with a beautiful home on the Jericho wall, complete with lavish furnishings and ornate clothing. He kept a good supply of fine wines and spices to tantalize the palette of his guests, knowing he could ask the highest price in all of Jericho for one evening of pleasure with her.

Rahab’s hand rested on her loom as she caressed the wooden frame. And I’m the reason Yasin supplies the king’s household with fine linen. She fingered the intricate pattern of the soft fabric still on her loom, remem­bering how the king’s daughters clucked like hungry hens over a piece of her scarlet fabric in the marketplace.

Rahab loathed harlotry, but she endured it for the joy of her weaving, losing herself in the patterns and colors of the supple fabric. Fierce pride swelled in her breast at her accomplishments. Who would have thought a young slave from the brothel could rise to such importance? Oh, yes, I’m the reason you are wealthy and successful, Yasin. She grasped the flint and prepared to coax the wick to light with one small spark.

Wait! She paused, every nerve alert. Things were too quiet in the entryway below. Something’s wrong! Yasin would have blustered into the chamber cursing the gods of Jericho by now. His guests usually scurried up the stairs, clamoring for her wine and favors, whining loudly until their every whim was satisfied. The hair on the nape of her neck prickled in the dimness of the room.

Who’s here? What takes him so long to mount the stairs? Cautiously, she edged closer to the stairway, pressing her back to the wall by the opening, careful to stay out of sight. Down below, she heard furtive whis­pering.

The young woman’s heart pounded as she edged closer to make out the words they spoke. Their accent sounds foreign. And why do they keep the door cracked open, peering down the street?

“They’ve closed the gates.” It was too dim to make out his features, but the speaker appeared tall and muscular, obscuring her view of the second man.

“Well, we paid the linen merchant a high price to lodge here for the night, we should be safe enough.”

“I didn’t like the look of his shifty eyes. He recognized us, I tell you. He knows we’re from Israel.”

“Spies.” The word slipped out before Rahab could catch herself. In horror, she watched the tall shadow turn and bound up the stairs the flash of a knife in his hand. Her scream died in her throat as his hand clamped tightly over her lips. She struggled to free herself, but stopped as she felt the blade of his dagger against her neck.

“Look here, Salmon, I’ve caught us a Jericho rat.”

In the shadows below, she made out the other man’s form as he was wedging something sturdy against the door to bar it shut.

“It’s probably just the harlot he sold to us for the night. We should be safe enough here, but I suppose we ought to kill your rat now so she won’t give us away with her foolish screams.”

The scratchy voice by her ear spoke again. “I tell you, that merchant looked as though he recognized us. He’s probably already gone to the authorities.”

“Our God will protect us, Amos. The time is ripe to take Jericho.” She heard the sound of a flint, and then a spark lit the lamp. The second man held it up in her face. “Let’s see what we have here.”

Light dazed her eyes for a second. Then she was able to look into the dark eyes of the young Israelite who stood before her.

“Amos, meet our benefactor for the night—the infamous Rahab, har­lot of Jericho. Your master spoke highly of your . . . um . . . virtues.” His lip curled with distaste as he set the lamp on its pedestal.

Rahab felt her skin prickle with the heat of a shameful blush as the man raked her body with his eyes. In spite of her fear, she suddenly felt inadequate, dirty and ugly. Her scant clothing of scarlet and gold silk, richly ornamented and designed to entice her master’s guests, felt like filthy rags under this Israelite’s scrutiny. When he finally looked away, she sagged in her captor’s grip.

Feeling the burly one’s muscles relax slightly as he guffawed at his companion’s remark, the harlot bit the calloused flesh of her captor’s palm. He cried out in pain and loosened his hold for a moment, his dag­ger clattering to the floor.

“Let me go!” She forced the words through clenched teeth, hammer­ing at the tall man with a barrage of slapping and kicking. Escaping his well-muscled arms, she bolted for the stairway. The second spy blocked her escape as she catapulted into his grasp.

He held her wrists, chuckling at his companion who nursed his bleed­ing palm. Maneuvering her toward the loom, he said, “Feisty one isn’t she, Amos? We’ll tie her here until we can decide what to do.” Gathering a generous hank of linen thread with his free hand, he bound her wrists to the upright post of the loom. Taking another hank, he squeezed her jaw, forcing her to open wide and shoving it in her mouth to prevent her from screaming out again. Turning his back to her, the young man strode to the low table where his companion unrolled a crude goatskin map.

Though she struggled, the linen threads held her fast. Her heart pounded as she coaxed the thread from her mouth with her tongue. Keeping her eyes on the men, the young woman’s brain worked furiously to think of something—anything that would help her escape to alert the guards on duty at the nearby gate.

With one last thrust of her tongue, the disgusting threads lay on the floor. She licked her lips to try to rid her mouth of the lint that threatened to make her cough. She strained to wipe her mouth on the shoulder of her robe.

What man can resist my charms? These men may be Israelite spies, but they’re still men. Mustering up the last shred of calm inside her breast, she called to the men in a low, sultry voice. “I know a way of es­cape. I can help you—for a price.”

“She’s trussed up like a lamb on a spit and she bargains with us?” Amos glared at her. “Let me finish what I started. There will be one less inhabitant to slay in Jericho when we return with our armies.”

He pulled his knife from his robe again and tested it for sharpness. “I’ll be merciful and make this quick.”

In two strides, he crossed the room. He gripped Rahab’s hair and pulled back her head, exposing her neck.

I will not scream. I will not let him see my fear. If he wants to kill me, at least I won’t give him pleasure in it. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, waiting for the first bite of the knife.

Instead, he spoke quietly to her. “Your neck is bruised. Who did this to you?”

She opened her eyes to see a strange mix of emotions on the face of her captor. It unnerved her. She spat out her reply. “Why should it matter to you that my master’s guest accused me of stealing his purse and beat me after he got what he wanted?”

Though still restrained, the harlot clenched her fists and stiffened in Amos’s grasp. “Kill me and be done with it. At least I won’t have to suffer at the hands of brutish men anymore.”

Putting away his knife, Amos released his grip on the harlot’s hair. “Bah, I have no stomach for death tonight, except to skewer the vile man who did this to you. The God of Israel destroys his enemies in battle; He doesn’t beat them in torment.”

She stared at the retreating back of this strange man. Why doesn’t he kill me? Who is this God of Israel? Encouraged by the reprieve, Rahab cleared her throat and said, “If you’ll loosen these cords, I’ll prepare a meal for you.”

Amos growled. “I said I wouldn’t kill you, but it would be foolish to loose you to warn the armies of Jericho.”

Her voice held a bitter edge. “If you don’t kill me, my master will when he finds out spies from Israel lodged here. At least allow me to see to your . . . needs and your wants in return for my life.”

The younger man, the one called Salmon, looked at her closely, as though trying to read some hidden truth in her eyes. His stomach be­trayed him, growling in protest from a day with little food.

He grinned, his youthful face losing its sternness. “There you have it!”

Amos grunted as his friend untied her hands. “But don’t look for mercy a second time.” His dagger flashed in his hand as he waved it men­acingly. “I’m soft, but I’m not a fool.”

Rahab rubbed her chaffed wrists and moved to her grinding stone to prepare flour for her famous sweet cakes. The methodical motions calmed her nerves and settled her roiling stomach.

As she worked, she glanced at the two men. They seemed to ignore her presence in the room, but she knew they were aware of her every move. Mixing spiced olive oil with the flour, she shaped the cakes and set them to bake over the coals in the wall brazier.

She felt the heat of Amos’s eyes as she poured wine to go with the fresh bread. That one watches me like a hawk. I can’t drug their wine, but perhaps I can woo them into complacency—maybe some dancing after their hunger is sated. Perhaps then I can slip away to alert the captain’s guard.

The harlot sat apart from her guests as they ate, weaving at her loom. The rhythmic movements soothed her ragged emotions and allowed her to listen unobtrusively as they spoke. Their words frightened her as she fought to keep her hands busy to prevent them from trembling.

“Joshua will be pleased. The land is as he remembered.” Amos smacked his lips after swallowing a deep draught of wine. “What a pity our people refused to listen to him forty years ago. We could have been living in our promised land even now, enjoying its bounty.”

“Our forefathers were hardheaded people. But all those who were slaves in Egypt are gone now. God’s giving us another chance. We won’t fail this time.” The younger man held out his cup for more of the smooth beverage.

The harlot kept her thoughts to herself as she rose to refill the young man’s cup.

A God who gives his people a second chance, even though he’s angry with them? Then he’s not like the gods of Jericho.

Amos put his hand on the younger man’s cup to prevent him from drinking more. “I know we haven’t eaten anything but manna and quail in the wilderness all of our lives and this drink is pleasant, but keep a clear head, Salmon. Even though our God prospered us, we aren’t out of dan­ger yet. We must bring our report to Joshua.”

“The land still flows with milk and honey. The crops of the farmers outside the walls are healthy and will easily feed our people. Those heads of barley are as large as my fist.” Salmon nodded a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Did you see those grapes in the marketplace?”

At the mention of the farmers outside the city, the young woman’s spine stiffened. The rumors are true. Israel means to invade the land, devouring everything in its path, including Jericho and the fertile lands around it. My parents, brothers and sisters are in danger out there.

Tears pooled in her eyes. She sniffed and swiped at them with the back of her hand. The mental image of her family lying broken, their tent trampled and their crops plundered caused her to shudder.

If only there were some way to save them, she thought, her shoulders slumping. But I don’t even know where they live. It’s been years since I’ve seen them. She bit her lower lip. Even if I could find them, Yasin would never allow them to come here where they’d be safe.

She wept quietly, burying her head in her hands. She didn’t even real­ize when Salmon slipped up behind her. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, she startled like a deer, quickly dashing away her tears. With a watery smile, she turned, prepared to offer her guest any comforts he required.

His eyes pierced her protective emotional armor. “You know our God will defeat your people. Do you weep for your life?”

She lowered her eyes and shook her head, speaking in defeated tones. “No. I’m a worthless harlot, weary of this life of slavery. In some ways I’d welcome my own death, for there’s no other way of escape for me.”

He stood quietly, waiting for her to continue. His stare unnerved her, loosening her tongue as no drug could. “You spoke of plundering the farms surrounding the city. My family is out there somewhere. You’ll kill them when your armies return to take Jericho.”

She rubbed her arms to ward off the sudden chill of realization. This man was the enemy standing before her with the power of life or death in his hands.

He reached out, grasping her arms. She looked into his eyes, reading the compassion there. “I’m sorry. If there were something I could do, I would do it. But our God has commanded otherwise.”

Rahab shook her head, lowering her eyes. Somehow she believed him, but at the same time, hopelessness washed over her soul. If this God of Israel was as mighty as Salmon claimed, there was no hope for Jericho, for her or for her family.

Veiling her heart’s grief, she looked up into his eyes. The haughty smile of a woman who knew her powers of seduction took possession of her trembling lips. “Enough of war and death. Let me show you the glo­ries of Jericho tonight, my lord.” She reached up to encircle his head and draw his lips to hers.

An angry oath exploded from his lips. “By the God of Israel, woman! Jericho has nothing I desire. The Lord has declared all of Jericho shall be sacrificed to him as the first fruits of the riches of the Promised Land. The gold and precious metals are to go into Yaweh’s coffers.”

Across the room, Amos chuckled and lifted his cup in tribute. “Well said, Salmon.”

She gasped as the young spy brushed her aside. “Are you the son of a god that you can resist my charms?” Resentment at his rebuff piqued her tone. “No man has ever walked away from me!” She pummeled his retreating back with her fists.

He turned, grabbing her wrists. “I cannot and will not take for myself what belongs to the Lord, no matter how tempting.”

The ice in his eyes cooled her anger. His voice was quiet but firm. “Our forefathers disobeyed and doubted God the first time they came here. Twelve spies were sent to check out your city and the land sur­rounding it. They all brought back the same report—the land was lush, its crops abundant. But only Joshua and Caleb believed our God could defeat the inhabitants of the land. The rest insisted we should turn tail and run. Because of that, our people were doomed to wander forty years in the wilderness. I will not disobey God and be the cause of another forty-year trek around Mt. Sinai!”

He released her wrists and turned to stand by the window, staring out at the stars. “Many years ago, our forefather, Abraham, received a prom­ise from our God. Though he had no children, God promised his descen­dants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky. God miraculously provided an heir from Abraham’s own body, though both he and his wife were past the age of childbearing. They called him Isaac, which means ‘laughter.’

“Isaac bore a son named Jacob who bore twelve sons. During Jacob’s lifetime, our people moved to Egypt to escape a famine that threatened their land. In Egypt, God’s promise happened—the family grew large and powerful as many sons and daughters were born. Pharaoh worried about the growing number of Israelites and decided to protect himself by mak­ing them his slaves. Now our people have returned from slavery to claim our inheritance. God has kept his word.”

“You were slaves?” Rahab’s eyes widened.

The young man nodded, still gazing out of the window. “For over four hundred years my people built the Pharaohs’ cities, tended his crops and suffered injustice at their hands. But our God purchased our freedom with the blood of all the firstborn in Egypt, causing Pharaoh to send us away.”

He placed his hands on the stone windowsill and breathed in the cool night air before turning back into the room. “Moses led us as far as the Red Sea before Pharaoh changed his mind. In anger the Egyptian ruler sent chariots and men to force us to return to our slave labors.”

“I’ve heard stories of how your God parted the waters of the sea. All of your people crossed the sea on dry land and the waters swallowed Pha­raoh’s armies as they tried to follow you.”

The taut lines around the young man’s mouth eased into a grin. “Ah, so our God’s mighty miracles precede us. What other things have you heard about our God?”

“There were stories of your God living in a giant cloud as you trav­eled about the wilderness. They said a pillar of fire lit your camp at night. Great clouds of quail swarmed over your camp at certain hours of the day.” Rahab sat on the stool by her loom, enraptured by the stories about this powerful God. “But I thought they were ramblings of drunken men.”

“No. All those stories are true. Our God even provided bread—we call it manna—for all our people each day. He is a powerful God.”

“Yes, but though Jericho’s people speak with awe of your God, they trust in the impenetrable walls of their city and their own gods. Our people will wall themselves up here until you grow tired of the siege and go away, or so the soldiers say. Our priests believe Jericho’s gods will over­come your God, cowing him into submission.”

“A lie to cover up their fears, no doubt,” said Amos, standing by his friend.

She noticed the wariness about them. Remaining in Jericho, even for one night strained their nerves.

At the sudden sound of heavy fists pounding on her door, their eyes went wild, like those of trapped beasts. From the stairwell below, she heard the muffled shouts of soldiers and the sound of impatient metal swords and spears.

“Open up, harlot! Bring out the men who are with you. They’re He­brew dogs, come to spy out our land.”

Amos looked toward the window as though he might jump to the ground below.

Rahab caught Salmon’s arm. “No, not that way, we’re up too high. You’d be injured in your fall and the soldiers would catch you before you could reach a safe hiding place.”

“Come!” She tugged on his arm.

Amos caught the young man’s other arm. “Come on, Salmon, it’s the only way.”

Another rattle of the door, jolted her back to the reality of her peril. If she aided these men, the soldiers could accuse her of treason. No one would speak for her. She was only a harlot—a disposable commodity in spite of the wealth she brought her master. Still, emotions warred in her heart. She could help them if she dared.

“Please. You spared my life. I will protect you.” Suddenly, she realized it was true. No matter what happened, she wanted to protect these men—even if Israel returned to Jericho to plunder and defeat the city, even if it meant her own death. She wanted to help them, to learn more of their God. If their words were true, their God was one who kept his promises to mere men. He was a God who went out of his way to deliver a nation from slavery.

“This way.” She tugged Salmon’s arm, dragging him toward the ladder to the rooftop.

“We’ll be easy prey for our enemies up there.” Though Amos protest­ed, he followed his partner up the sturdy rungs.

As they reached the roof, she shoved the two men toward the piles of flax in various stages of drying. The stench from the rotting flax reeds almost gagged them. “Lay down. I’ll cover you with the flax reeds.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Amos.

“Hurry!” Surely the stout wedge against the door couldn’t hold much longer.

Thankfully, the spies obeyed her command and lay down on a pile of rotting reeds in a far corner of the roof. Rahab straightened more damp canes on top of them as the door below shuddered with the force of another impact. “Please, be quiet and don’t move,” she said as Amos coughed again. Glancing toward the sky, she hoped the light from the ris­ing moon would not reveal too much.

She panicked as she heard the door crash open under the force of the soldiers’ weight. The young woman practically slid down the rooftop lad­der as the soldiers raced up the stone stairs into her main chamber.

“Where are they?” The captain glared at her, taking in her disheveled appearance.

God of Israel! If you are truly more powerful than Jericho’s gods, help me protect those men on the roof! She didn’t realize she had prayed to the Israelites’ God, but she felt an unmistakable calm fill her heart.

“Who?” She stood up straight and gazed into the angry black eyes of the captain of the king’s guard.

He raised his hand to slap her, and then lowered it again. “Insolent harlot.” To intimidate her, he began to pace around her, though he held his men at bay. “The king sends you a message, harlot. He wants those spies who are lodging here.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly with the realization of what her master had done. Yasin set them up! But she managed to cover her shock with feigned innocence. “There were two men who came here earlier. Whether they were spies, I really don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“My patience grows thin, woman. Where are they?”

“They left at dusk, just as the gates were ready to close; said some­thing about traveling by moonlight so they could return home quicker.”

“Liar!” The captain raised his voice, his aggravation evident. He sauntered over to the coals in her brazier, toying with them using an iron poker. “These are still too warm for me to believe the men left at dusk.”

Turning with the poker still in his beefy hand, he knelt to examine the remains of the men’s meal, still on the table. The captain nibbled a corner of the sweet bread. “Your famous sweets for the spies who would ruin Jericho? These are still fresh.” He sniffed at the wine. “Nothing but Yasin’s best.”

He rose and stood before Rahab, the smoking poker only inches from her face. “They’re here. You can hand them over to me and I’ll let you alone . . . this time. But if you make me search for them, I’ll take what I want before I hand you over to the king to be killed.” He raked her body with a wicked light gleaming in his eyes to intimidate her.

Without flinching, the young woman glared straight into the eyes of the pompous captain. “I told you. Those two men left.”

“And what about the food?” He grasped her hair and backed her toward the ladder leading to the rooftop. “I know they’re on the roof. You smell of the filthy, rotting flax you keep there.”

“I have many paying guests, including wealthy emissaries who come to make trade agreements with the king. Would you dare disturb their slumber by thundering up to my rooftop and accusing them of being spies? That’s poor politics. The king would have your head if these emis­saries refuse to trade with Jericho because of your foolish accusations.”

The captain blanched, but covered it up with a snarl. “Harlot!”

“You are taking a big risk, Captain. At times I’ve even entertained the king’s sons when they managed to sneak out of the palace. How often have your men taken bribes to turn the other way, enabling those boys to sow their wild oats? Would you want the king to find out you line your pockets with his gold instead of protecting his sons?” she asked, her tone aloof.

He flinched again and let go of her hair, but quickly regained his swagger. “And what if you’re lying? What if the men on your rooftop are really spies?”

She turned her sultry smile on the captain and stepped away from the ladder. “You’re welcome to find out.” She circled the man, her hand glid­ing up his arm to his shoulder and around his neck.

“It would give me great pleasure to see you publicly flogged for an . . . indiscretion.” She deliberately plucked a piece of reed from her sleeve and flicked it away with her painted nails.

“Captain?” She waved her hand toward the ladder again and smiled at him. “I’ve told you, the men you seek left at dusk. Perhaps, if your men can run quickly, you may yet overtake them.”

He turned abruptly, hurling the hot poker into the corner. Wheeling back to face her, his eyes smoldered with bitter anger, he said, “If I find out you’ve lied to me . . . ! This is not over, woman.” He motioned his men to leave.

“You better hurry, Captain, if you hope to catch up with those spies.” She stood, wearing her gloating smile until she heard the door slam be­low.

Overwhelmed by the stress of the encounter, she sank onto the floor and lowered her head into her trembling hands. Hot tears of relief poured down her cheeks. She remained there for several minutes until the shiver­ing stopped. Breathing deeply, she stood, supporting herself with her hand on the cool wall. Mounting the ladder as quickly as she could on rubber legs, she picked her way over to the far corner of the roof in the darkness. She tore at the reeds lying on top of the men, praying the one called Salmon still lived under the mass of rotting canes.

A soft chuckle behind her caused her to whirl around, her hand flying to her breast. “Over here, harlot.”

“Thank the God of Israel, you’re alive!” She panted in relief.

“No thanks to you,” complained a scratchy voice.

“Now, Amos, is that any way to thank the lady for saving your sorry hide?”

He retched before replying, “I’m not sure which is worse—being skewered on the end of a soldier’s spear or suffocating to death under rot­ting flax.”

Salmon moved to Rahab’s side, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her down to the main chamber. “We can’t remain here. If the soldiers return, your life will be in as much danger as our own.”

“I know.” In the lamplight she looked up into the young man’s eyes, reading compassion there. “Take me with you. Please.”

He turned away from her. “I can’t.”

A sob caught in her throat as she thought of Yasin, the anger of the king . . . the soldiers. “Is it because of your God’s edict?”

“No. You’ve proven tonight you’re a friend of our God.”

“Is it because I’m a . . . a harlot?”

“No.” He turned around again and took her hands.

“Then why?” She resigned herself to her fate in Jericho, but was reluc­tant to see Salmon leave.

“We can’t take the chance of the soldiers returning to find you gone. You have to remain here and cover our plans. Besides, we must hurry back to our people. They’re anxious to put the years of slavery and the wilderness journey behind them—to finally settle down and build our new homeland.”

“I know about slavery. I was stolen from my family when I was a scrawny young girl and forced to work in the brothels until Yasin brought me here.” She clamped her teeth together and breathed deeply to keep the tears from spilling out.

Salmon gently touched her arm and nodded in understanding. “Yes, you do understand slavery.”

She moved about the room to gather food for their journey home. “The soldiers will scour the hills along the road to the Jordan River. They think you’ve gone that way. You’ll have a few hours of darkness to flee to the hills in the opposite direction. You can hide in the caves there. After three days, it should be safe for you to take the long way around the city back to your people.”

“As long as we don’t have to sleep under any more rotten flax reeds.” Amos flashed a grin.

They stood by the window discussing escape routes as she hurried to a pile of dyed flax strands in the corner by her loom and produced a strong scarlet rope. “As a young slave, I dreamed of escaping this life somehow. When Yasin left me alone, I wove this rope, hoping I could escape into the night. It was my hope, my future, but I never had enough courage to use it.”

She choked back a sob. “My master threatened me saying if I ever left here, he would go and find my three younger sisters.”

She swiped at a tear and tied the rope to the stout leg of her loom, tossing the other end out the window. “At least it will provide you with a way of escape.”

Amos tested the rope for strength. “It’ll do.”

She handed Salmon the leather pouch of food she prepared.

“How can we repay your kindness to us?” asked Salmon.

“Promise me you’ll spare my life when you return. I’d rather be a slave to your God, than a worthless prostitute worshipping all the gods of Jericho.” She placed her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. When he hesitated, her lips trembled as she attempted a feeble smile. “I went to a lot of trouble for two Israelite spies.” Moved by her vulnerability, he nodded. “We’ll spare you and treat you kindly when our people return to take the land.”

Daring to press the issue, she added with tears shimmering in the corners of her eyes, “And my family? Will you spare them too?”

Gripping the rope, with one leg already out the window, Amos cleared his throat. “Salmon, come on.”

“I’m coming,” the young man answered. Turning to the harlot, he placed a warm hand on her cheek. “When we return we’ll spare your lives if you do exactly what I say. This scarlet rope will be your salvation. Bring your family here and hang this rope in your window.”

Amos disappeared through the window into the night. Salmon slung his leg over the window ledge. As an afterthought, he dropped a small pouch of Jericho’s currency onto the floor. “I can’t bring these coins back to our camp. Besides, you may need them.”

He looked deeply into her dark eyes one last time and said, “We won’t be held responsible if you fail to obey.”

Then he was gone into the night.

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