"It is not for the young to wonder about the ways of their elders, Jubal," reminded the driver.  Just as the caravan master raised his hand to signal continuing travel,a set of crying whoops rose from behind the rocks in the desert.  The sand fairly seemed to sprout bandits, hungry for the caravan's riches, and the well watered land of the oasis.  Jubal watched helplessly as the bandits raced into a circle, surrounding the beasts of burden and a carts of the caravan.

    Just before the circle closed, however, the Nephil guards sprang into action.  Moving with the speed of thought, they pulled forth their bronze swords, each one longer and heavier than any three of the bandit's weapons.  The Nephil waded intot he bandits, their blades flashing in the hot sun.  At first, they seemed hopelessly outnumbered, each soldier visible only because of their great height.  The bandits began to thin though, as more and more bodies built up on the bloody red sands.  As for the Nephil, they seemed to not notice wounds that would have felled any normal man.  After minutes that stretched like hours to Jubal, nearly forty bandits were stretched out on the sands, along with three of the eight Nephil.  The others walked among their fallen comrades.  Jubal shivered, even in the hot sun, for he knew what would come now.  Any Nephil that could not rise within the space of five coughs would be dispatched with as much emotion as the bandits had been.

    The caravan was soon ready to go, with their desire to travel on redoubled by the attack.  Jubal barely noticed the departure, because he was lost in thought.  The Nephil were no doubt heroes, and mighty warriors.  They were the sons of the Sons of God, a lineage any man would be proud to claim in his family.  Yet, Jubal could not help thining that no one would desire such a man for his sister's husband.