Main Page: The Sword of Laban
Prologue
Jerusalem, about 600 B.C.
Nephi couldn’t believe how dark it was. Even now that he was old and strong enough to handle himself, he’d known that it was a horrible idea to be on the streets after sundown. Robbers were everywhere. But he’d never been able to imagine how they could hide in plain sight until you’d walked right into their clutches. Now he did. One could have been standing ten feet away from him at this very moment, and he wouldn’t know until he felt a knife at his throat. He could only hope the Holy Ghost would keep him away from them.
The Holy Ghost was the only thing leading him. He didn’t know how to get to Laban’s palace in the dark and he didn’t know what he would do when he got there. But something, surely, would work itself out. He’d seen an angel, hadn’t he? Even his brothers admitted to that much; no small thing.
A few weeks ago his family had left Jerusalem because his father, Lehi, had been told by God that it was going to be destroyed. Nephi had heard there was a prophet named Jeremiah imprisoned for saying the same thing. But what mattered was Nephi’s own personal relationship with God, his ability to feel the Holy Ghost testifying to him that his father’s calling was divine and his words true. Unlike his brothers Laman and Lemuel, he had left without hesitation.
Then a complication had arisen. Lehi didn’t know where exactly they were going, but they were going to be there for a while, and they would need the Word of God to teach their children, and quite possibly several generations after that. They needed their genealogy, too. Both could be found on the brass plates that had been handed down through generations of Israelites and were now in Laban's hands on account of his being the richest and most powerful man in the city.
His brother Laman had already approached Laban and requested the plates. Laban had chased him away and tried to have him killed. Then Nephi, Laman, Lemuel, and their other brother Sam had gotten their family's wealth, left behind in their exodus, and offered to exchange it for the plates. Laban had chased them away and tried to have them killed.
Laman and Lemuel had been ready to turn back – ironic, Nephi thought, considering they had been dead set against the idea of leaving in the first place. But Nephi had recognized that the fact they had survived both failed attempts pointed to God's providence in this endeavor. He would see them through to the end, no matter how long it took. When an angel appeared to stop his disgruntled brothers from beating him with a stick, he had gotten approximately the same message. Except that this time he was to go alone.
So here he was, in the dark, which would have been dangerous enough if he wasn't heading for the man who wanted his head. He never hesitated, never shrank to take the next step. The angel hadn't changed anything; he would have gone anyway. The Holy Ghost had told him of God's power and reality as surely as it now told him where to go. But a plan had not yet been formulated in his mind.
Laban's palace came into view, looming in the torchlight like a specter from hell. Nephi never slowed his pace. An inkling of fear came into his heart, but it was squelched by the confidence, the surety that everything would turn out all right and that he would be coming out with those plates. Those plates sure are important, he realized. Maybe I should make my own sometime.
As he came closer a loud rumbling noise became audible. As he grew closer still he realized it was, in fact, snoring. He came to the steps of the palace and there, laying face down, was a man who looked like Laban. Nephi carefully rolled him over and saw that he was Laban. His breath smelled terribly of wine.
Nephi's eyes were drawn to the sword at the man's side, which shone beautifully in the light of the torches. Unable to resist himself – he was a young male after all – he drew the sword from its sheath to admire it. The hilt was of pure gold, and the blade was of the best steel money could buy. Altogether it was very well crafted. He gave it a few practice swings, feeling the heft and balance of weight; perfect. His father had always been quite well-to-do, but he could only dream of owning a weapon like this.
But he had a mission to accomplish and it was best accomplished while the man of the house was out cold. Nephi bent down to return the sword to its sheath – he wasn't a thief, even to guys like Laban.
Slay him.
Nephi reeled back. There was no mistaking that voice; it was the Holy Ghost. It had guided him this whole way, and he felt it as strongly now as in the angel's presence. And it wanted him to – no, it was unthinkable. Never at any time have I shed the blood of man, he thought, as much to himself as to the Spirit.
Behold, the Spirit said, the Lord hath delivered him into thine hands.
That was hard to debate. He had been led here, and Laban was stoned drunk, and he'd picked up the sword, and with one swift motion it would all be over. And this was the guy, after all, who had tried to kill him, who had stolen his family's property, who gave no heed to the commandments of God even though he had them all written out on his brass plates. But there had to be another way, a way that didn't involve killing. Surely Nephi could just sneak in, grab the plates and run away before Laban came to? He could take the sword for good measure –
Slay him, said the Spirit, and its tone was patient but firm and unrelenting; for the Lord hath delivered him into thy hands. Behold the Lord slayeth the wicked to bring forth His righteous purposes. It is better that one man should perish than that a nation should dwindle and perish in unbelief.
Nephi thought back to words that the Lord had previously spoken to him in the desert, when he prayed and sought to strengthen his testimony of his father's divine calling, and to learn the mysteries of God. The Lord had said to him, “Inasmuch as thy seed shall keep my commandments, they shall prosper in the land of promise.”
And there was no way for that to happen, unless they knew what those commandments were.
And there was no way to keep that information intact through the generations, unless they had the original writing of them, which was on the plates of brass.
And this was clearly the Lord's intention for Nephi to obtain them, and he realized he would not leave Jerusalem alive with them unless Laban was dead.
Looking away, he raised the sword and brought it down through Laban's neck. The wet sound made him nauseous, but looking down he saw less blood than he had expected. Most of it ran invisibly into the darkness and what had splattered on Laban's armor was easily, though quite distastefully, wiped off. Nephi tried to pretend this was just a goat, nothing more than a dumb goat that he had slain and was taking care of. He tried to ignore the head that glared at him with eyes glazed over now from more than drunkenness.
He knew also, although the voice had not told him, what he had to do now. He had to put on Laban's clothes and armor, an even more distasteful proposition. Within a few minutes he had done so and, wiping off the sword and returning it to its sheath now at his side, he headed for the treasury. In his mind he somehow saw exactly where to go, and in his new uniform he walked with perfect confidence and ease.
A servant stood outside the treasury, looking very bored. Nephi cleared his throat and tried to imitate Laban's voice the best he could. “You there,” he called out. “Open the treasury and come in with me.” That was pathetic, he thought, expecting the servant to sound the alarm at once. But the servant simply nodded, took out his keys and opened the door. Then he lit a torch set up by the entrance.
Nephi followed him in. The servant kept his eyes low and did not look at Nephi's face, which was exactly as he wanted it. For his own part, Nephi was distracted immediately by the vast wealth in this room. Gold, silver, and all manner of jewels flickered in the eery torchlight. He could take back his family's wealth with interest, but that wasn't what he was here for and he could hardly carry it at any rate. Still, he couldn't help admiring the craftsmanship of the statues and ornaments he passed.
“So,” the servant said, interrupting his thoughts, “how was your night with the elders of the Jews?”
“Oh,” Nephi said, thinking frantically. What would Laban say in this situation? Something cynical and rude, probably. “A bunch of hypocritical blowhards,” he said, “but they do know how to party.”
“I can imagine. And so will you donate to their cause?”
“No, no,” Nephi said, forcing a chuckle. “But let them think so, and let them keep coming to see me. They have the best wine in Jerusalem!” This servant was more at ease than he had at first suspected, and he needed to cut this conversation short before he blew his cover. “Bring me the plates of brass,” he commanded.
“With the writings of Moses and Isaiah?”
“I presume so. I haven't wasted my time reading them. But my elder brethren are waiting outside the walls to have a look at them. Come with me –” Nephi's blood ran cold. His elder brethren? How could he have been so stupid as to let that slip? He braced himself for the worst.
But the servant didn't flinch. “Just a moment, Master,” he said, and headed for a spot in the pile of loot that looked to Nephi the same as all the other spots. “I figured it was only a matter of time before the church took an interest in them. They're not exactly common.”
The church. He'd thought Nephi was talking about the brethren of the church. Nephi silently prayed his gratitude for this escape, but it wasn't over yet.
“Peculiar, though,” the servant said, coming up with the plates, “that their request would come so soon on the heels of that madman's family trying to steal them. The publicity must have helped. Here you are, Master.”
“Well done, servant.” Nephi accepted the plates. They felt good in his hands, as if he'd carried them his whole life, and he knew that he was meant to have them. “Now come along.” As long as this servant stayed with him he couldn't run and raise the alarm if he became suspicious. Then again, as long as this servant stayed with him he would have more opportunity to become suspicious. Well, Nephi had come this far and it would be a piece of manna from here on out. He left the treasury and walked back the way he had come.
“Is this what the elders of the Jews were really meeting with you about?” the servant wanted to know, after dousing the torch and closing the door behind them.
“Huh? Oh, yes. They didn't say so, of course. They played all sorts of word games and wouldn't get to the point until one of them stayed behind to tell me in secret when they left.”
“That sounds like them. Sneaky, cunning devils. But the regular Jews, the ones you see in the streets, they're not so bad. A bit eccentric, to be sure, but...”
Nephi tuned him out as his eyes strained in the darkness for the city wall where he had left his brothers. Not so bad, of course not, that's why God was about to destroy the whole city. But he didn't say that. Ah, there they were, looking anxious and impatient even in the dark.
As they approached, Laman looked up at the voice of the servant, who was still babbling on, and at the sight of Nephi his tanned Near Eastern flesh went pale. “The jig is up! Scram!” he yelled, and then he, Lemuel, and Sam were off and running.
What? Oh, the uniform. Nephi had forgotten all about his borrowed apparel. “Wait, brethren!” he called. “It's only I, Nephi!”
They stopped in their tracks. The servant stared at Nephi, then at them, then turned to flee. Without dropping the brass plates Nephi grabbed him by the shoulders and held him still. The servant struggled, but Nephi was powerfully built and the Lord was on his side. Perhaps bringing the servant with him had been a foolish mistake – now they had no choice but to bring him into the desert, or kill him.
“Listen,” Nephi whispered into his ear, “if you will hearken unto my words, as the Lord lives, and as I live, we will spare your life.”
“I'm hearkening,” the servant said, and he stopped struggling, realizing that he was no match for this man.
“You need not fear. I give you an oath; you will be a free man like us if you go down in the wilderness with us.”
“The wilderness? Are you all mad?”
“Surely the Lord has commanded us to do this thing, and shall we not be diligent in keeping the commandments of the Lord? Therefore, if you go down into the wilderness to my father you will have a place with us.” Nephi's hand rested on the hilt of his new sword, but he didn't think he could use it again so soon, especially not on a conscious captive. Laman and Lemuel, on the other hand, would probably show no such restraint.
Indeed they wouldn't. “Just cut his throat and let's go, Nephi,” Laban said, glancing about anxiously. Nephi ignored him.
The servant gulped, though. “Very well,” he said. “I give you an oath of my own. I will go down into the wilderness to your father, and I will tarry with you from here on out.”
“Good.” Nephi released him, and he turned so they could face each other for the first time. “What is your name?”
“Zoram. I am called Zoram.”
“You are a free man, and one of us now, Zoram,” Nephi said. “I'm sorry I had to threaten you, but no one must know that my brethren and I were here tonight. At least, not until we're very far away.”
“You – you're the prophet's family, aren't you? The ones who kept trying to steal – er, obtain these plates?”
“Yes. They are rightfully ours.”
“Look,” Laman said, “can we discuss this all later? We're in serious camel dung when Laban finds out you stole these and his armor and his sword, so let's put a few miles between us and this city.”
If only you knew, thought Nephi, remembering the headless corpse with a shudder. “You go on ahead,” he said, handing Sam the plates. “I'll just be a moment. You can go too, Zoram. I trust you.” With that he began to strip of Laban's armor. It would only weigh him down and heat him up in the wilderness.
Zoram stuck around. “You really had me fooled,” he said, “but you look nothing like him. The Lord must be with you.”
“I have no doubt that He is,” Nephi said. “Otherwise there's no way I would have tried this crazy scheme, and definitely no way I would have – handled certain other things the way I did.” He tossed aside Laban's loin guard and pulled off the robe. Beneath it, his own simple clothes offered sufficient protection against the cold desert night air. For a moment he paused and stared at the sheathed sword on the ground, the magnificent weapon with which he had taken his first human life and, hopefully, his last. Then, not entirely sure why, he knelt down and picked it back up. It fit his grip as if it had been molded there.
“So, you didn't just come for the plates of brass,” Zoram said.
“I did,” Nephi said, his eyes never ceasing to run back and forth over the sword's perfectly crafted length. “But this – well, it's not nearly as important, but I get the feeling it will come in handy.”
Finally he looked up and away from the city, to where he could dimly make out his brothers' fleeing forms in the first faint vestiges of sunlight. The mighty sun – one among numberless creations of something, Someone, mightier still.
“And I've learned to trust my feelings,” he concluded, and headed once more toward the wilderness.
Next: Chapter One
The Holy Ghost was the only thing leading him. He didn’t know how to get to Laban’s palace in the dark and he didn’t know what he would do when he got there. But something, surely, would work itself out. He’d seen an angel, hadn’t he? Even his brothers admitted to that much; no small thing.
A few weeks ago his family had left Jerusalem because his father, Lehi, had been told by God that it was going to be destroyed. Nephi had heard there was a prophet named Jeremiah imprisoned for saying the same thing. But what mattered was Nephi’s own personal relationship with God, his ability to feel the Holy Ghost testifying to him that his father’s calling was divine and his words true. Unlike his brothers Laman and Lemuel, he had left without hesitation.
Then a complication had arisen. Lehi didn’t know where exactly they were going, but they were going to be there for a while, and they would need the Word of God to teach their children, and quite possibly several generations after that. They needed their genealogy, too. Both could be found on the brass plates that had been handed down through generations of Israelites and were now in Laban's hands on account of his being the richest and most powerful man in the city.
His brother Laman had already approached Laban and requested the plates. Laban had chased him away and tried to have him killed. Then Nephi, Laman, Lemuel, and their other brother Sam had gotten their family's wealth, left behind in their exodus, and offered to exchange it for the plates. Laban had chased them away and tried to have them killed.
Laman and Lemuel had been ready to turn back – ironic, Nephi thought, considering they had been dead set against the idea of leaving in the first place. But Nephi had recognized that the fact they had survived both failed attempts pointed to God's providence in this endeavor. He would see them through to the end, no matter how long it took. When an angel appeared to stop his disgruntled brothers from beating him with a stick, he had gotten approximately the same message. Except that this time he was to go alone.
So here he was, in the dark, which would have been dangerous enough if he wasn't heading for the man who wanted his head. He never hesitated, never shrank to take the next step. The angel hadn't changed anything; he would have gone anyway. The Holy Ghost had told him of God's power and reality as surely as it now told him where to go. But a plan had not yet been formulated in his mind.
Laban's palace came into view, looming in the torchlight like a specter from hell. Nephi never slowed his pace. An inkling of fear came into his heart, but it was squelched by the confidence, the surety that everything would turn out all right and that he would be coming out with those plates. Those plates sure are important, he realized. Maybe I should make my own sometime.
As he came closer a loud rumbling noise became audible. As he grew closer still he realized it was, in fact, snoring. He came to the steps of the palace and there, laying face down, was a man who looked like Laban. Nephi carefully rolled him over and saw that he was Laban. His breath smelled terribly of wine.
Nephi's eyes were drawn to the sword at the man's side, which shone beautifully in the light of the torches. Unable to resist himself – he was a young male after all – he drew the sword from its sheath to admire it. The hilt was of pure gold, and the blade was of the best steel money could buy. Altogether it was very well crafted. He gave it a few practice swings, feeling the heft and balance of weight; perfect. His father had always been quite well-to-do, but he could only dream of owning a weapon like this.
But he had a mission to accomplish and it was best accomplished while the man of the house was out cold. Nephi bent down to return the sword to its sheath – he wasn't a thief, even to guys like Laban.
Slay him.
Nephi reeled back. There was no mistaking that voice; it was the Holy Ghost. It had guided him this whole way, and he felt it as strongly now as in the angel's presence. And it wanted him to – no, it was unthinkable. Never at any time have I shed the blood of man, he thought, as much to himself as to the Spirit.
Behold, the Spirit said, the Lord hath delivered him into thine hands.
That was hard to debate. He had been led here, and Laban was stoned drunk, and he'd picked up the sword, and with one swift motion it would all be over. And this was the guy, after all, who had tried to kill him, who had stolen his family's property, who gave no heed to the commandments of God even though he had them all written out on his brass plates. But there had to be another way, a way that didn't involve killing. Surely Nephi could just sneak in, grab the plates and run away before Laban came to? He could take the sword for good measure –
Slay him, said the Spirit, and its tone was patient but firm and unrelenting; for the Lord hath delivered him into thy hands. Behold the Lord slayeth the wicked to bring forth His righteous purposes. It is better that one man should perish than that a nation should dwindle and perish in unbelief.
Nephi thought back to words that the Lord had previously spoken to him in the desert, when he prayed and sought to strengthen his testimony of his father's divine calling, and to learn the mysteries of God. The Lord had said to him, “Inasmuch as thy seed shall keep my commandments, they shall prosper in the land of promise.”
And there was no way for that to happen, unless they knew what those commandments were.
And there was no way to keep that information intact through the generations, unless they had the original writing of them, which was on the plates of brass.
And this was clearly the Lord's intention for Nephi to obtain them, and he realized he would not leave Jerusalem alive with them unless Laban was dead.
Looking away, he raised the sword and brought it down through Laban's neck. The wet sound made him nauseous, but looking down he saw less blood than he had expected. Most of it ran invisibly into the darkness and what had splattered on Laban's armor was easily, though quite distastefully, wiped off. Nephi tried to pretend this was just a goat, nothing more than a dumb goat that he had slain and was taking care of. He tried to ignore the head that glared at him with eyes glazed over now from more than drunkenness.
He knew also, although the voice had not told him, what he had to do now. He had to put on Laban's clothes and armor, an even more distasteful proposition. Within a few minutes he had done so and, wiping off the sword and returning it to its sheath now at his side, he headed for the treasury. In his mind he somehow saw exactly where to go, and in his new uniform he walked with perfect confidence and ease.
A servant stood outside the treasury, looking very bored. Nephi cleared his throat and tried to imitate Laban's voice the best he could. “You there,” he called out. “Open the treasury and come in with me.” That was pathetic, he thought, expecting the servant to sound the alarm at once. But the servant simply nodded, took out his keys and opened the door. Then he lit a torch set up by the entrance.
Nephi followed him in. The servant kept his eyes low and did not look at Nephi's face, which was exactly as he wanted it. For his own part, Nephi was distracted immediately by the vast wealth in this room. Gold, silver, and all manner of jewels flickered in the eery torchlight. He could take back his family's wealth with interest, but that wasn't what he was here for and he could hardly carry it at any rate. Still, he couldn't help admiring the craftsmanship of the statues and ornaments he passed.
“So,” the servant said, interrupting his thoughts, “how was your night with the elders of the Jews?”
“Oh,” Nephi said, thinking frantically. What would Laban say in this situation? Something cynical and rude, probably. “A bunch of hypocritical blowhards,” he said, “but they do know how to party.”
“I can imagine. And so will you donate to their cause?”
“No, no,” Nephi said, forcing a chuckle. “But let them think so, and let them keep coming to see me. They have the best wine in Jerusalem!” This servant was more at ease than he had at first suspected, and he needed to cut this conversation short before he blew his cover. “Bring me the plates of brass,” he commanded.
“With the writings of Moses and Isaiah?”
“I presume so. I haven't wasted my time reading them. But my elder brethren are waiting outside the walls to have a look at them. Come with me –” Nephi's blood ran cold. His elder brethren? How could he have been so stupid as to let that slip? He braced himself for the worst.
But the servant didn't flinch. “Just a moment, Master,” he said, and headed for a spot in the pile of loot that looked to Nephi the same as all the other spots. “I figured it was only a matter of time before the church took an interest in them. They're not exactly common.”
The church. He'd thought Nephi was talking about the brethren of the church. Nephi silently prayed his gratitude for this escape, but it wasn't over yet.
“Peculiar, though,” the servant said, coming up with the plates, “that their request would come so soon on the heels of that madman's family trying to steal them. The publicity must have helped. Here you are, Master.”
“Well done, servant.” Nephi accepted the plates. They felt good in his hands, as if he'd carried them his whole life, and he knew that he was meant to have them. “Now come along.” As long as this servant stayed with him he couldn't run and raise the alarm if he became suspicious. Then again, as long as this servant stayed with him he would have more opportunity to become suspicious. Well, Nephi had come this far and it would be a piece of manna from here on out. He left the treasury and walked back the way he had come.
“Is this what the elders of the Jews were really meeting with you about?” the servant wanted to know, after dousing the torch and closing the door behind them.
“Huh? Oh, yes. They didn't say so, of course. They played all sorts of word games and wouldn't get to the point until one of them stayed behind to tell me in secret when they left.”
“That sounds like them. Sneaky, cunning devils. But the regular Jews, the ones you see in the streets, they're not so bad. A bit eccentric, to be sure, but...”
Nephi tuned him out as his eyes strained in the darkness for the city wall where he had left his brothers. Not so bad, of course not, that's why God was about to destroy the whole city. But he didn't say that. Ah, there they were, looking anxious and impatient even in the dark.
As they approached, Laman looked up at the voice of the servant, who was still babbling on, and at the sight of Nephi his tanned Near Eastern flesh went pale. “The jig is up! Scram!” he yelled, and then he, Lemuel, and Sam were off and running.
What? Oh, the uniform. Nephi had forgotten all about his borrowed apparel. “Wait, brethren!” he called. “It's only I, Nephi!”
They stopped in their tracks. The servant stared at Nephi, then at them, then turned to flee. Without dropping the brass plates Nephi grabbed him by the shoulders and held him still. The servant struggled, but Nephi was powerfully built and the Lord was on his side. Perhaps bringing the servant with him had been a foolish mistake – now they had no choice but to bring him into the desert, or kill him.
“Listen,” Nephi whispered into his ear, “if you will hearken unto my words, as the Lord lives, and as I live, we will spare your life.”
“I'm hearkening,” the servant said, and he stopped struggling, realizing that he was no match for this man.
“You need not fear. I give you an oath; you will be a free man like us if you go down in the wilderness with us.”
“The wilderness? Are you all mad?”
“Surely the Lord has commanded us to do this thing, and shall we not be diligent in keeping the commandments of the Lord? Therefore, if you go down into the wilderness to my father you will have a place with us.” Nephi's hand rested on the hilt of his new sword, but he didn't think he could use it again so soon, especially not on a conscious captive. Laman and Lemuel, on the other hand, would probably show no such restraint.
Indeed they wouldn't. “Just cut his throat and let's go, Nephi,” Laban said, glancing about anxiously. Nephi ignored him.
The servant gulped, though. “Very well,” he said. “I give you an oath of my own. I will go down into the wilderness to your father, and I will tarry with you from here on out.”
“Good.” Nephi released him, and he turned so they could face each other for the first time. “What is your name?”
“Zoram. I am called Zoram.”
“You are a free man, and one of us now, Zoram,” Nephi said. “I'm sorry I had to threaten you, but no one must know that my brethren and I were here tonight. At least, not until we're very far away.”
“You – you're the prophet's family, aren't you? The ones who kept trying to steal – er, obtain these plates?”
“Yes. They are rightfully ours.”
“Look,” Laman said, “can we discuss this all later? We're in serious camel dung when Laban finds out you stole these and his armor and his sword, so let's put a few miles between us and this city.”
If only you knew, thought Nephi, remembering the headless corpse with a shudder. “You go on ahead,” he said, handing Sam the plates. “I'll just be a moment. You can go too, Zoram. I trust you.” With that he began to strip of Laban's armor. It would only weigh him down and heat him up in the wilderness.
Zoram stuck around. “You really had me fooled,” he said, “but you look nothing like him. The Lord must be with you.”
“I have no doubt that He is,” Nephi said. “Otherwise there's no way I would have tried this crazy scheme, and definitely no way I would have – handled certain other things the way I did.” He tossed aside Laban's loin guard and pulled off the robe. Beneath it, his own simple clothes offered sufficient protection against the cold desert night air. For a moment he paused and stared at the sheathed sword on the ground, the magnificent weapon with which he had taken his first human life and, hopefully, his last. Then, not entirely sure why, he knelt down and picked it back up. It fit his grip as if it had been molded there.
“So, you didn't just come for the plates of brass,” Zoram said.
“I did,” Nephi said, his eyes never ceasing to run back and forth over the sword's perfectly crafted length. “But this – well, it's not nearly as important, but I get the feeling it will come in handy.”
Finally he looked up and away from the city, to where he could dimly make out his brothers' fleeing forms in the first faint vestiges of sunlight. The mighty sun – one among numberless creations of something, Someone, mightier still.
“And I've learned to trust my feelings,” he concluded, and headed once more toward the wilderness.
Next: Chapter One