"What is thy plain meaning in all this?" demanded the chief.
"Listen, M'almé. If you would be the Sheik of Sheiks, carry away all these weapons, and let these swine awaken without them. They would drag their way back to the oases and the black tents, with a story the like of which hath never been told in the Empty Abodes. The Sahara would do homage, Master, even as if the Prophet had returned!"
"Lah! I am not thinking of the Sahara. The goal lies far beyond—far to eastward."
"Still, the folk are Arabs there, too. They would hear of this, and bow to you, my M'almé!"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I can take no chances, Rrisa. The land, here and to the eastward, might all arise against us. The tribes might come against us like the rakham, the carrion-vultures. No, we must kill and kill, so that no man remaineth here—none save old Abd el Rahman, if Allah deliver him into our hands!"
"That is your firm command, Master?"
"My firm command!"
"To hear the Master is to obey. But first, grant me time for my isha, my evening prayer!"
"It is granted. And, Rrisa, there is the kiblah, the direction of
Mecca!"
The Master pointed exactly east. Rrisa faced that way, knelt, prostrated himself. He made ablution with sand, as Mohammed allows when water cannot be found. Even as he poured it down his face, the strangely gusting wind flicked it away in little whirls.