The relentless desert sun beat down on the band of ten tired souls.  The professor and his students on the dig were drenched with perspiration, exhausted yet elated at the priceless find.

Before them in the carefully excavated trench lay a skeleton and, close by, an ancient sword with a broad blade which was short in length.  Here was the first of many such remains in what they realised was an ancient battle site and they looked forward to uncovering a whole cohort of warriors.

The professor was guiding his students in the examination of the skeletal remains which revealed no injury to skull or thorax.  What could have been the cause of death?

One bright mind in the group pointed to a lower thoracic vertebra which appeared to be shattered.  "A sword thrust through the abdomen may have pierced the rear of the abdominal cavity, sir," suggested the student.  "Excellent observation my boy," replied the professor, "He obviously met death in a head on clash with the enemy.  An Israelite with great valour indeed!"

Obviously the warrior had met a glorious end, no doubt to be extolled in song for many years afterwards.

At that point, a slight breeze swirled around at ground level and dislodged a small shred of dried parchment which had been by the remains and carried it to the feet of an old herdsman who had been watching the final uncovering of the find and the discussion on how the warrior had died.  He picked up the piece of parchment and glanced at it.

Over he came to the professor and looked down at the skeleton.

"No Israelite," said he.

"What," retorted the professor, "How the devil do you know?"

"Man no warrior either, Affendi," continued the herdsman, rubbing his fly-infested eyes.

"But he has his bloody sword by his side and he died from an enemy sword thrust through his stomach," continued the irate professor who hated his word being doubted by this evil-smelling desert nomad.  "We shall soon uncover many more from this ancient battlefield."

The nomad listened in patience, his weather-beaten and craggy face graced with a fixed and knowing smile.

"No battlefield, Affendi," replied the herdsman, wiping the dribble from his elderly mouth with the collar of his well-worn and filthy robe.

"How the hell can you be so sure that there was no battle on this spot, you old fool?" shouted the professor, his face even redder than the hue imparted by weeks of burning desert heat.

"Affendi, - man - Philistine.   No warrior.  Lost all he had - took life by - falling on sword," explained the old herdsman.  He spoke slowly as if he were instructing a child in simple desert lore.  "Very very sad end, Affendi."

At this the professor changed his tone to one of mock admiration.  "Kindly tell us all how you came to these wonderful conclusions."  (He swept his hand round before the assembled company in invitation.)

"Parchment tell all," said the old nomad, handing the piece he had rescued from the wind to the professor.

The professor snatched it and stared.  "This isn’t bloody Hebrew!" he exclaimed.  "Do you understand the writing?"

"Oh yes, Oh yes, Affendi,"  said the ancient with rising glee.  "Words in old Canaanite."

"Then what are the blasted words, man!" exploded the professor.

The old man took the shred of parchment back into his gnarled hand, screwed up his eyes and translated:

"It say, Affendi ………….. ‘5,000 shekels - Goliath to win’."
 

Author of the story unknown - expanded by Gareth Pengwerin