Book Title

Author Name


banner banner










LGBTQ Fiction




- Contemporary

- Ennoble

- Historical

- Inspirational


New Age




Science Fiction


Detective & Crime

Time Travel

Young Adult

Children's Books

Native American








Cook Books

Pets & Animals

Self Help &

How To


 - New Age

 - Traditional








Adobe acrobat = PDF
HTML = .htm
Kindle = .mobi
MSReader = .lit
Nook = ePUB
PALM = .pdb

HOME >> Product 0475 >> Son of Salu>>

Touch image to enlarge

Son of Salu

W. Richard St. James

Jethro son of Salu is a boy hero, chosen by Moses to be his scribe. But when Moses reveals his, or God’s intentions for the Promised Land, Jethro flees to find forbidden pleasures, forbidden knowledge, forbidden love. Demons, goddesses, priests and prophets join his quest to stop the genocide. But what will happen when they return to confront the power of the great god?


Paperback Buy Link





62690 Words



Sale Price:




Cover Art:

T. L. Davison




W. Richard St. James

ISBN Number:


Available Formats:

PDF; HTML; Microsoft Reader(LIT); Palm (PDB); Nook, Iphone, Ipad, Android (EPUB); Older Kindle (MOBI); Newer Kindle (AZW3);

Paperback Price:

$9.00 Paperback Buy Link




NO ONE MUST ever know this story. That is what Moses said to me, when he let me live. That is what I promised. But Moses is long gone. There is barely a man or woman alive who remembers those days, although the Levites have written it down, gotten some of it right, much of it wrong. There are things that they never knew, were never supposed to know, things that I have never told them. Just as well, I suppose. What would have happened, if I had returned to my people and confessed my transgressions? Stoned, burned, perhaps simply beheaded. But Moses knew, and he let me live on. He expected me to join him, to become an instrument of the Lord. But I would not, could not, serve his god. And was that not a transgression more grave than any of the others? But now, I live quietly, almost forgotten, alone. My eyes are failing me, my grip is failing me. Soon I will be unable to write down my story, and it truly will be lost forever.

So, I will write it now, as long as I am able. I will put the scroll into a clay jar, bury it in my garden. And who knows, in a thousand years, two thousand years, someone digging in the garden may find it. Or shards. Or a jar full of dust.

I was still a boy when it happened, too young for the army, too young to be married. But I had already tasted battle. When the tribes of Canaan attacked us, everyone with a sword, a knife, a bow, man or boy, rallied to our defense, then to the rescue of the women and girls they had captured to enslave. They had thought to scare us, to shoo us away like an annoying insect, but instead we overwhelmed them, killed them, raped them, enslaved them, took everything they had as our own. It was then that I discovered what my arrows could do to human flesh, and my dagger also, killing men as I had killed wolves that threatened our flocks. But later, boy that I might be, the dagger of my loins was ripping into the wives, the daughters, the sisters of the men I had just killed. Or my comrades had.

What would have become of us, if not for that slaughter? I cannot really call it a battle. The scribes say that in the early days in the desert we were fed by God, with manna and quail. During my youth the lands we passed through were somewhat more fertile and we lived as nomads, with almost no possessions, barely enough to eat. But after that first taste of blood it was plunder that kept us alive. They called it war, even holy war, but we were learning to survive by murder, rape and pillage.

At least we might have been content with our first unexpected conquest. It was a fertile land, a fair land, full of fields and vineyards and cities already built, ready for us to occupy. It was filled with potters, with smiths, with weavers, farmers, shepherds, people who knew the arts we had forgotten in our journey. But Moses ordered us to destroy the houses, to kill the artisans, and to move on, back into the desert. A settled people can properly care for their elders. A nomadic people cannot. Many died on that final, useless journey, of thirst, of serpents, of scorpions, of all the plagues of the desert. And for what? To exchange one perfectly good territory for another? To fulfill an old man’s crazed vision? To do the will of the Lord?

My mother died on that journey, from a snake bite, and my brothers swore they would avenge her. But my father counseled patience. “She looked upon the bronze snake and did not live. God did not spare her.”

“You’re as crazy as Moses,” one of my brothers cursed. He went off to his own tent to take out his frustrations on the wife my father had purchased from the Midians. Or the slave girl he had just acquired.

“You do not understand,” my father sighed. “You do not know how it was in the old days.”

No, I did not know. I thought it was all a lie, a myth.

There was not much to do in the middle of the night, in the middle of the desert. Some of the soldiers had been awarded a Canaanite girl for their part in the slaughter, even though they were already married. But I was deemed to be too young. Although I had raped as many as any other, perhaps more, my loins exploding in a frenzy of rage and lust. Loins that were aching now for the next battle. It did not help that my other brother was lying next to me with his own Midianite wife, not sleeping, definitely not sleeping. We had no extra cloth for sheets, for curtains, and the fabric of the tent was too thin to block out the moonlight.

You shall not lust after the wife of your neighbor, wasn’t that one of the commandments that Moses gave our parents? One of the ones on the tablets inside the golden casket in the sacred tent? That no one dared to open? But what if the neighbor was right next to you, the wife a girl barely older than you, sitting astride the neighbor so that her breasts were gleaming in the moonlight? Gasping in pleasure each time she thrust herself down upon him? I got up in disgust and left the tent.

I do not know what I intended to do next. Perhaps, wander out to the ditch we were using as a latrine and urinate. Perhaps some woman would be there – no that was a dangerous thought, a forbidden thought. It was one thing to rape a foreign girl, a girl who was destined to become the slave, concubine at best, of a man senior enough to be allotted such a prize. But to touch one of our own women would be too dangerous, even with her consent. Not that she would consent to such a thing. Married, I needed to be married, but I would have to wait my turn, wait for my time, wait for my elders to make arrangements.

“Jethro, son of Salu.”




Son of Salu by W. Richard St. James

Reviewed by Elvis Noble, Author

W. Richard St. James in this novel shows subversive brilliance that shines in unexpected new ways with this masterpiece. In this novel, the author describes what life was really like in the time of Moses. The story itself is written with passion and realism. The main character, Jethro, Son of Salu serves as a scribe during the time that Moses freed the slaves from Egypt. The author gives you a firsthand account of what life was really like with the Israelites.

Son of Salu is about a man that’s sold into slavery within the tribes. During his travels as a slave, he’s subjected to brutal acts by his captors. Jethro holds steadfast in his beliefs in God. In hopes that Moses could free him from the bonds of slavery. The main character is faced with the constant task of surviving during trying times. He gives a long hard look into the brutality of the great pharaohs of Egypt and the everyday lives of the tribes. During ancient times, Jethro was taught to be an expert user of the bow and arrow. The main character of this novel is brutally abused. The premise of kill or be killed is abundantly described within the pages of this beautifully written novel.

W. Richard St. James wrote this literary masterpiece with passion, love, and realism for the tribes of Israel. As fair as a rating for this book, I would give it 10 or five stars. The similarities and the vivid description of the tribes allows the reader to place themselves within the story. The author’s depiction of the tribes of Israel is beautifully written. His writing could be compared to that of F. Scott Fitzgerald. The use of symbolism is what kept me going while reading this book. The hard truth about the lives of the former and current slaves gives the reader answers. It shows the reality of the how life tends to give you a long hard look at God. Personally, I found it very hard to put this book down. Is Jethro’s struggle of his life worth it in the end? I guess you’ll have to read it to find out. Hats off to this brilliant writer. I look forward to reading more novels by this masterfully skilled writer.

To submit a review for this book click here




Thumbnail for 453 Thumbnail for 427 Thumbnail for 371 Thumbnail for 336 Thumbnail for 264 Thumbnail for 201

Thumbnail for 109 Thumbnail for 61 Thumbnail for 22 Thumbnail for 15 Thumbnail for 11 Thumbnail for 9

Thumbnail for 7

Click on image for our featured titles


Author of The Month


CLP Staff


Cover Artists

News and Blog Page

Writer's Resources

CLP Books on Google Play




 Dark Fantasy; Biblical fiction; Biblical fantasy; Moses' scribe; Promised Land; Forbidden love; forbidden pleasures; genocide;

HomePrivacy NoticeFAQSite MapContact Us