Alma 20

But God told Ammon not to go—Lamoni’s dad would try to kill him. God then said to go to Middoni because Ammon’s brothers Muloki and Ammah were in prison. This wasn’t for a visit. It was for a breakout.

He told Lamoni, who said, “Hey, can I get in on that? My friend Antiomno is the king of Middoni. He’s a pushover. But who told you your brothers were incarcerated?”

“No one, really—just God. He told me to break them out. Are you with me on this?”

Lamoni told his servants to hitch up the chariots and said to Ammon, “I am. I can make this happen.”

They headed out and ran into, of all people, Lamoni’s homicidal father. “Why did you skip out on the big feast I just held?” he said. “And where do you think you’re going with this lying Nephite scum?”

Lamoni explained the trip and his absence— he was too busy getting saved.

“Uh, you have some nerve rescuing these lying sons of a liar—Mosiah. What a crook. Can’t you see they’re just out to rob us blinder than they did the first time? I order you to slice this man’s head off. Right now. And don’t go to Middoni, either.”

“No way. I’m going with him to Middoni to break out his brothers. They’re all holy men, not that you’d know anything about such creatures.”

Lamoni’s dad unsheathed his own sword and swung it at Lamoni.

Ammon stepped up to him and said, “You’re not touching him. But even if he died right now he’d be better off than you: he’s forgiven and saved, you’re neither. And if you kill your son his blood would never stop shouting from the ground for vengeance.”

“He may be innocent, but you’re the one trying to destroy him.” He swung at Ammon, grazed his torso. Ammon drew his own sword and took a piece of the old man’s arm.

The old king dropped to his knees and begged like a puppy. “Don’t kill me! Please!”

Ammon, his sword shining above his head, said, “I’ll drop you right now unless you get my brothers out of prison.”

“You spare me and I’ll give you anything—even half my kingdom,” which was a moot point, since if he were dead the whole kingdom would be Lamoni’s.

“Okay. Three things: you get my brothers out of prison; you don’t take Lamoni’s kingdom away; and you let him do, think, and believe whatever he pleases, no badmouthing. Those three or you’re dead meat right now.”

The old king smiled, not just to be spared, but at the low demands. “I’ll do it. All three things. And I’ll add a fourth: when they’re out, all of you come and see me. I need to hear more of this message that has changed my son so drastically.”

Ammon and Lamoni went to Middoni, impressed the king on their own, but also with the note from Lamoni’s dad. A pardon for Ammon’s brothers. No breakout required.

But they were in terrible shape. Naked, scuffed and bruised from being tied to the wall. Half-starved, dehydrated. But in good spirits, considering.

All this, by the way, because they’d attempted to proselyte to the most recalcitrant people on the planet. Everywhere they went, people kicked them out of the neighborhood, sometimes with actual kicking. After awhile, they were arrested on a pretext of vagrancy, for which the punishment was apparently life in prison