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Nahshon, to his profound satisfaction, got a bargain.
    A few of Lord Nahshon’s seamen sailed the ship back to Ramac, leaving Nahshon, Sala, and the rest to return by land with Rahab. Before they left Gaza, Lord Nahshon sent a message with a caravan going toward Jericho. The message was to Rahab’s family and told them where they could find her to fetch her home.
    “They had better come for her,” Lord Nahshon said to Sala grimly as he watched the messenger set off. “I don’t want to be burdened with a Canaanite girl for the rest of my life.”
    “Someone will come for her,” Sala replied. “I think she’s her father’s favorite. He spoils her dreadfully, lets her do whatever she wants—or so she tells me.”
    Lord Nahshon frowned in disapproval. “Well, she’ll find things are different when your mother takes her in hand.”
    Sala laughed.

    Rahab had been hoping she would get to travel on the ship, but she refrained from complaining when she discovered Sala would be traveling with her by land. It was not far from Gaza to Ramac, only a two-day journey along the Way of the Sea, the main road from Egypt into Canaan and Mesopotamia. Sala had assured Rahab that the route was so well traveled that it was perfectly safe from bandits, so she could relax and enjoy herself.
    Rahab was beginning to regard everything that had happened to her as an adventure. She hadn’t forgotten how frightened she had been, but she was proud she had escaped the evil bandits, and she did not fully understand how dreadful her fate would have been if Sala had not rescued her. For now, it was exciting to be so far from home, seeing all these new places and meeting new people. And she adored spending time with Sala.
    He was her main companion on the journey. Lord Nahshon had paid Hura to travel with them, but the older woman rode a donkey, leaving Rahab and Sala to walk together. She was curious about his background and religion and he readily answered her unceasing stream of questions as they walked along the busy road.
    The Gaza caravan they had joined was going all the way to Damascus and it was huge. There were over two hundred donkeys, and Sala and Rahab stayed close to the front to avoid the dust the animals kicked up as they walked.
    “What kind of a temple do you have in Ramac?” Rahab asked. “Our village has only a small one, but my father and brothers have told me there is a magnificent temple to Baal in Jericho, and a shrine to Asherah too. Do you have a big temple to your god in Ramac?”
    Sala’s nostrils quivered as if he had smelled something rancid. “Israelites do not have temples. Our God is hidden; we do not make images of Him. He is too great for that. It would be impossible to make an image that could capture His immensity.”
    Rahab’s brows knit together. “But how do you know what He looks like then?”
    He shot her a quick look. “We do not know what He looks like. He may appear to us in the things of this world, in fire or clouds, but He does not have a form like ours. He is Elohim , the Creator. There is no one else like Him.”
    One of the donkeys in front of them jumped and skittered to the side of the road. The man walking beside him shouted and smacked him with his hand. The donkey brayed loudly and pawed the ground.
    “He probably saw a snake,” Sala called ahead.
    “No,” the man shouted back. “He is just stupid.”
    The donkey finally swung in behind its fellow and the line continued its methodical pace forward.
    “But your god must have a mother,” Rahab said, her puzzlement increasing. “And a wife and children.”
    Sala was carrying a walking stick and now he slammed it into the ground and swung around to look at her. He was scowling. “You have no idea how ridiculous you sound. You Canaanites have made up foolish gods who are like people, but Elohim is not like us. He created us, but He is not like us.” He stared down his narrow, curved nose at her. “God created men and women,