The Targa smiled slightly.
"That is the story of Lieutenant Ghiberti which you wished to hear. But enough of this. Mount your camel."
I obeyed without saying a word. Tanit-Zerga, seated be
hind me, put her little arms around me. Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh was still holding the bridle.
"One word more," he said, pointing to a black spot against the violet sky of the southern horizon. "You see the gour there; that is your way. It is eighteen miles from here. You should reach it by sunrise. Then consult your map. The next point is marked. If you do not stray from the line, you should be at the springs of Telemsi in eight days."
The camel's neck was stretched toward the dark wind coming from the south.
The Targa released the bridle with a sweep of his hand.
"Now go."
"Thank you," I called to him, turning back in the saddle. "Thank you, Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh, and farewell."
I heard his voice replying in the distance: