The territory was theirs. The people, theirs. No way was an upstart from across the sea come and upset the balance.
They did their work where they always had -- behind the scenes. They reminded the king of the strength of the walls. Reinforced over and again. Its solidity was attested to by the vehicles that drove atop it.
The king spoke to his generals. They locked the big, heavy, cast-iron gates and detailed soldiers to patrol the wall.
They were not sure what to expect from the puny people. But march around the city once in silence was not part of it. It unsettled them and caused their spines to tingle with apprehension.
By the time the same thing happened for another two days, they began to calm down. If this was the strategy, it was pathetic.
Three days followed without any deviation to the routine.
On the seventh day, the people began their marching.
After the first circuit, rather than leave they continued. By the sixth one, they knew something was in the offing. They cried out to the one with overarching authority in the domain within which their territory fell.
He flew to their help with a host of his minions.
The people marched round a seventh time, blew their trumpets and shouted.
The last thing the occupants remembered was collapsing alongside the walls of Jericho.
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