Loading summary
Narrator
Previously on the Chosen People. David had to be careful. He had to be clever. As he trudged through the hill's outside knob, a wisp of smoke caught his eye. The temple of Ahimelech.
David
Young David. It's peculiar to see you at such an hour. And alone, no less. I'm on an urgent mission for the king.
Narrator
The lie spilled out of David's mouth before he had time to regret it. His lips tasted of ash.
David
Then may the Lord bless you and keep you, young David. You are a protector of Israel and you deserve to be fed. This is the sword of Goliath, the Philistine. The sword you wielded that day in the Valley of Elah. We took great care of it, knowing it was a reminder of the faithfulness of our God. Thank you for your kindness.
Narrator
For everything. With that, he took his leave, stepping out into the cold night, gripping a torch in one hand and the basket of bread in the other. Doeg the Edomite leaned lazily against the wooden fence, his expression unreadable as he watched David disappear into the hills. His gaze flicked back toward the temple, where Ahimelech and his priests remained inside, blissfully unaware of what their kindness would cost them.
Saul
Filthy targs, all of you.
Narrator
Saw's voice ripped through the camp like a blade through silk. His spear swung wildly in his hand, the point flashing each time the torchlight caught it. Beneath the tamarisk tree, his servants knelt, their faces pressed to the dirt. Saul paced like a wolf around a carcass, his fingers flexed and unflexed along the shaft of his spear.
Saul
Peasant, son of Jesse, has had your manhood clutched in his fists all this time, hasn't he? He turned you all against me, you whisper to him behind my back. Feed him. Secrets betray your own king for a shepherd boy.
Narrator
Saul swung at a low hanging branch, striking once, twice, thrice, until the wood splintered and fell. He shouted a guttural sound from deep in his chest and then turned the tip of his spear toward his men.
Saul
Will that boy gift you vineyards and silver? Well, hehe. Is it David who will make you lords of this land? He drape you in purple and gold, make you commanders of thousands, and let you ride beside him when he takes my throne?
Narrator
One of the elders, old and bent, lifted his trembling hands.
Abiathar
My king, we are loyal.
Narrator
Every man here bends his knee to you. Saul lunged, seizing the elder by the cloak. The old man's feet left the ground, and his breath came in shallow gasps. Saw's grip was iron, his arms trembling with the effort not to drive the spear straight through the man's gut. Loyal,
Ahimelech
loyal men would have told me
Saul
that my own son plots treason beneath my roof. Loyal men would not let Jonathan stir up rebellion for the sake of that lying, scheming Harperst. Loyal men would have brought me that bastard son of Jesse.
Narrator
By now the elder's eyes were wide with terror. Saul pressed the spearhead to his throat, just shy of the skin.
Ahimelech
I hear his numbers grow by the day.
Saul
More than 600 men now rally to him. 600?
Ahimelech
Does a boy gather an army alone? No.
Saul
He has help. He has traitors feeding him from my own table.
Narrator
The camp was silent, save for the wind whistling through the tamarisk leaves. Then a voice, calm, smooth and venomous, spoke from the rear of the gathering.
Doeg
You have one servant, my king, who still knows how to be useful.
Narrator
The men parted without being told, and Doeg, the Edomite, stepped forward. He was long limbed and thin, a serpent of a man with a smile that never reached his eyes. He bowed low, too low, and when he stood, his smile widened.
Doeg
My gracious king, I have seen firsthand who can speak with the son of Jesse.
Narrator
Saul's grip eased on the elder's cloak and the old man slid to the ground.
Ahimelech
Speak, Doig.
Saul
What have you seen?
Doeg
I have birds everywhere, good king. Eyes and ears fluttering about, sharing whispers. My birds told me that the son of Jesse ventured to Nob. I telled him. There, in the altars of Ahimelech, I saw David with my own eyes. He sought refuge there, and there he was given bread, provisions, and even a weapon.
Ahimelech
What weapon?
Narrator
Doeg's smile was all teeth. He enjoyed secrets. Each was a morsel to be savored.
Doeg
Sword of Goliath.
Narrator
Saul's hand shook so fiercely that the spear rattled. His breath came in short bursts, and the vein at his temple pulsed like a drum.
Ahimelech
Even the priests turn against me. They raise their hands to bless the traitor.
Saul
This is Samuel's doing. They conspire in the house of God to overthrow God's anointed bring Amalek and every priest in Nob, bind them in chains and drag them here before me.
Narrator
The officers exchanged wary glances, but none dared refuse him. One by one they mounted their horses and rode toward Nob. Ahimelech and his students were dragged into Saul's throne room, blood already crusted along the priest's brow and his lips split wide from the hands that had yanked him from his bed. His robes were torn at the hem, stained with dirt and the sweat of fear. The priests stood together, hands bound, their Bare feet shivering on the cold stone floor. A great fire burned at the center of the room, its flames casting twisting shadows across the walls. Saul loomed above them on his throne, his spear tapping a slow rhythm against the wood. Each sound gnawed at Ahimelech's nerves.
Ahimelech
Ahimelech, son of a heated Ahimelech, swallowed
Narrator
hard, the taste of iron in his mouth.
David
Yes, my king. I am here.
Narrator
The king leaned forward, fingers curled tight around the spear. His eyes were dark pits, hollowed out by sleepless nights and gnawed raw by his own madness.
Ahimelech
Why did you do it, Ahimelech?
David
I beg your pardon, my king. Why have I done what?
Ahimelech
Don't play dumb, priest.
Saul
I know you have conspired against me.
Narrator
The priest's mouth opened, but the words stuck to his tongue like ash. Saul continued.
Ahimelech
You sheltered the Son of Jesse. You gave him bread, gave him fire, gave him a sword.
Saul
The sword of Goliath.
David
King Saul. He is your servant. He came in your name.
Saul
Do you take me for a fool? Do you?
Narrator
Saul swung his spear sideways, sending a lamppost flying onto the floor. Oil spilled, and ripples of flames danced on the cobbled floor. The flames turned blue from the mixture of oils in the stone. Saw's eyes radiated with intensity.
David
Mikey, I knew nothing of this. Who in all your house has been as royal as David? Is he not your son by marriage? Did you not name him captain of your guard? When he came to me, I thought he was your most trusted man. How could I have known at the time that he was a fugitive?
Saul
Lies. All lies. You priests love to hide behind holy
Ahimelech
words, but I see through the veil.
Saul
You're just like Samuel. You claim to be for the nation, but you've been corrupted by the siren songs of David. You're traitors, every last one of you.
Narrator
Saw's muscles rippled with rage. The veins in his neck nearly tore out from his skin.
Saul
Surround these false priests.
Narrator
His guards obeyed, forming a ring of steel around the trembling men. Saul's hand shot into the air.
Saul
Kill them all. Let the walls of this house remember what it means to betray the anointed king.
Narrator
But no one moved. The guards stood still, swords in hand, yet none raised a blade. They looked at one another, unwilling to be the first to spill the blood of priests.
Saul
Cowards. Useless dogs. I said kill them.
Narrator
Still the men remained still. It was the same as when he had accused Jonathan. He had the men's fear, but they wouldn't cross that line. Then Saul turned to Doeg, who stood at his side like a loyal Hound waiting for a scrap.
Saul
You want to prove your loyalty, Edomite?
Narrator
Do it yourself. Doeg's smile slithered across his face, thin and sharp. He took the offered sword without hesitation, the polished steel catching the firelight. Saul stepped down, close enough for Ahimelech to smell the wine on his breath.
Ahimelech
Pray all you want. Pray until your final breath. It doesn't matter. I have found God to be fickle and deaf in these halls.
Narrator
Ahimelech closed his eyes, lips moving silently in one last prayer. Doeg showed no mercy. The sword cut fast and deep, splitting skin and sinew until the priest collapsed to the floor, his blood rushing out like spilled wine. The other priests screamed, but their bonds held tight. Doeg moved through them like a butcher at work, his blade swinging left and right. Their blood painted the floor, pooling at Saul's feet. 85 priests died that night, each one cut down in their linen robes, their prayers swallowed by steel. All except one. Abiathar, Ahimelech's son, flinched as Doeg's blade came down. It missed his neck and and sliced through his bonds. Instead. He bolted, his feet slipping on the blood soaked stones. Saul's spear whistled past his ear, embedding itself in the wooden frame of the window as Abiathar leaped through it, vanishing into the night.
Ahimelech
Let him go.
Narrator
Saul's voice was cold and empty. He stepped down from the daisy, sandals squelching in blood. He wrinkled his nose and wiped the gore from his foot with the hem of a dead man's robe.
Ahimelech
I'm not done yet.
Narrator
He turned to Doeg, whose face was slick with sweat and splattered red.
Ahimelech
Gather men. Men who fear me more than they fear fear the heavens. Find hired swords. If you must go to Nob. Kill every man, every woman, every child. Leave not a single soul alive. Not even the babes at the breast. Tear them asunder. I want their screams to pierce the threshold of heaven. Maybe then God will hear me and answer.
Narrator
The order fell from his lips like a curse from hell itself. Doeg bowed low, smiling still, and left to carry out the slaughter. Before dawn, the streets of Nob ran red. Homes were set to the torch. Children were dragged screaming from their beds. Mothers lay dead with infants in their arms. The priests had been the first to die, but the Lord's house was not spared. Blood soaked the altar itself. The cries of the innocent echoed in the heavens. But Saul heard nothing but silence. The king of Israel had become the enemy of his God. Abiathar ran through the dark, his breath ragged, his robes torn to filthy ribbons by thorn and branch. His lungs were iron, heavy and unrelenting, and with each step the fire in his chest burned hotter. Blood slicked his heels where sharp rocks had torn the skin. The boy stumbled but did not fall. He couldn't. Not until he found David. The sky above the forest of Hereth was black as pitch clouds, pressing low against the treetops, suffocating the stars. In the distance, scattered fires flickered, small and uncertain against the vast dark. Abiathar's heart leapt at the sight. The caves of Adullam were behind him. But this. This had to be David's new camp. He took one step forward and cold iron kissed his throat. Two spears crossed before him, their tips glinting red with firelight.
Uriah
Not another step. Speak your name and speak it softly.
Narrator
Abiathar raised his trembling hands.
Abiathar
Please, I need to speak with David.
Uriah
What makes you think David's here?
Abiathar
I'm no spy. David's my friend. I swear. I'm. I'm the son of Ahimelech, the priest of Nob. Oh God. Saul's killed them. He's killed them all.
Narrator
The guards exchanged a look. Guilt hung between them like fog. Slowly they lowered their spears. One of them knelt, a broad shouldered man with dark hair tied back and a smile too warm for a night so cold.
Uriah
You've come a long way, haven't you? Come, I'll bring you into camp. My name is Uriah of Hatti. It would be my honor to carry you to our fire and fill your belly.
Narrator
Abiathar was too exhausted to argue. Uriah hefted him up as if the boy weighed nothing, carrying him down into the camp where men huddled close to their fires, sharpening blades and mending armor. They were outlaws, but they carried themselves with the grim confidence of soldiers. Uriah set Abiathar down by a copper pot that steamed with broth. He ladled out a bowl and pressed it into the boy's hands.
David
Wait here.
Narrator
Abiathar nodded, though his hands shook so badly that broth sloshed over the side of the bowl. He sipped anyway, scalding his tongue. His mind drifted back to the throne room, slick with blood, back to his father's throat, yawning open, back to Sore's eyes, gleaming with madness. The the stew was bitter in his mouth. A shadow fell over him. Abiathar flinched. The voice was gentle, familiar. Abiathar twisted around and saw David standing over him, his hair tangled, his cloak frayed, his eyes dark with worry. The boy dropped the bowl and leapt to his feet.
Abiathar
David. He killed them all. The priests of Nob. All of them. My father. I saw him fall. I saw the sword cut his throat.
Narrator
His voice broke, swallowed by sobs. David caught him, arms wrapping around the boy like a shield.
David
I'm so sorry. God help me.
Abiathar
I'm so sorry.
Narrator
Abiathar's tears soaked into David's cloak. The smell of smoke and damp wool filled the boy's nostrils, mingling with blood and broth and grief. David's hands shook as they held him. The weight of his own guilt pressed down on him like Saul's spear. This is my fault.
David
I lied to him, right?
Narrator
I trapped him into this.
Saul
My sins put him in the path
David
of the king's madness.
Narrator
He knelt, his face level with the boy's, and looked him in the eye.
David
But hear me now, Abiathar, son of Ahimelech. From this moment forward, you are mine. You will live under my protection, eat from my fire, sleep beneath my roof, such as it is. And if any man from Saul to the lowliest wretch lays a hand on you, I swear by the Lord who made me, I will kill him myself.
Narrator
The boy fell into David's arms again, trembling with grief and relief. Overhead, the clouds thickened heavy with rain, and the skies grumbled like distant drums of war. David lifted his face to the heavens. No stars shone through the clouds. The world itself seemed to hold its breath. But deep inside him, in a place only God could see, a storm had begun to stop. David's heart was changing. He had been a shepherd, a son, a servant. But now. Now David would become a sword.
Narrator/Announcer
This prey.com production is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents. Steve Katina, Max Bard, Zach Shellavaga and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of the Chosen People. Narrated by Paul Coltofianu. Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwald, Sylvia zaradoc, Thomas Copeland Jr. Rosanna Pilcher and Mitch Leschinsky Music by Andrew Morgan Smith Written by Aaron Salvato, Bree Rosalie and Chris Baig. You can hear more prey.com productions on the prey.com app, available on the Apple App Store and Google Play Store. If you enjoyed the Chosen People, please rate and leave a review.
Host: Pray.com
Date: June 4, 2026
In this harrowing installment of The Chosen People, the story plunges into one of the Old Testament’s darkest episodes: the slaughter of the priests at Nob (1 Samuel 21-22). The narrative follows David as he flees King Saul’s growing paranoia, the tragic consequences for the innocent priests of Nob who aided him, and the depths of Saul’s descent into madness and bloodshed. Through vivid dramatization, the episode explores themes of fear, guilt, misplaced loyalty, and the heavy cost of leadership lost to rage.
The episode uses somber, evocative language to convey the severity of the events. Characters are richly dramatized, with dialogue capturing the raw emotion of fear, sorrow, and rage. The narrative immerses listeners in the psychological trauma of both the guilty (Saul, David) and the innocent (Abiathar, the priests). The mood is one of darkness and upheaval, with moments of tenderness—especially in the closing exchange between David and Abiathar.
The Slaughter of Nob transports listeners into the heart of one of the Bible’s most tragic moments. Through immersive storytelling, the episode explores the consequences of fear, unchecked power, and guilt, setting the stage for David’s further evolution as a leader marked by sorrow and resolve. This chapter stands as a stark meditation on the cost of sin, the cry for justice, and the possibility of redemption amid devastation.