“And strangest of all,” said the merchant, leaning forward, looking at us intently, “is the fact that the Aretai raiders were led by a woman!”

“A woman?” asked Hassan.

“Yes,” said the merchant.

“And the war messengers have already been sent?” asked Hassan.

“To all the oases of the Kavars and their vassal tribes,” said the merchant.

“Has there been talk of truce, of discussion?” asked Hassan.

“With those who have cost water?” asked the merchant. “Of course not!”

“And what word,” asked Hassan, “has been heard from Haroun, high pasha of the Kavars?”

“Who knows where Haroun is?” asked the merchant, spreading his bands.

“And of his vizier, Baram, Sheik of Bezhad?”

“The war messengers have been sent,” said the merchant.

“I see,” said Hassan “

“The tribes gather, said the merchant. “The desert will flame.”

“I am weary,” said Hassan. “And I do not think it wise to be too publicly in Two Scimitars by daylight.”

“Hasaad Pasha knows that raiders come to Two Scimitars,” smiled the merchant.

“It is useful to our economy. We are not on main trade routes.”

“He does not know officially,” said Hassan, “and I do not wish him to have to dispatch a hundred soldiers to ride about in the desert searching for us, to satisfy outraged citizens. I do not feel like a hard ride now, and doubtless, too, neither do the soldiers. Besides, if we actually encountered one another, it would be quite embarrassing to both parties. What would we do?”

“Ride past one another shouting wildly?” suggested the merchant.

“Perhaps,” smiled Hassan.

“You would probably have to kill one another,” said the merchant.

“I suppose so,” said Hassan.

“At night,” said the merchant, “you, and others, are always welcome in Two Scimitars.”

“Welcomed by night, sought by day,” said Hassan. “I think that I shall never understand honest men.”

“We are complicated,” admitted the merchant.

“I wish that the men of other oases were so complicated,” said Hassan. “In many of them they would pay high to have my head on a lance.”

“We of Two Scimitars,” said the merchant, “cannot be held accountable for the lack of sophistication in such simple rogues.”

“But to whom do you sell the goods I bring you?” asked Hassan.

“To such simple rogues,” smiled the merchant.

“They know?” asked Hassan.

“Of course,” said the merchant.

“I see,” said Hassan. “Well, it will soon be light, and I must be going.”

He rose to his feet, somewhat stiffly, for he had been sit cross-legged for some time, and I joined him.

“May your water bags be never empty. May you always have water,” said the merchant.

“May your water bags be never empty,” we rejoined. “May you always have water.”

Outside, shortly before dawn, when drops of moisture beaded on the rocks, Hassan and I, and his men, put our left feet into the stirrup of our saddles and mounted our swift beasts.

“Hassan,” said I.

“Yes,” said he.

“The merchant told us that six days ago Aretai from Nine Wells raided the oasis of the Sand Sleen.”

“Yes,” said Hassan.

“Six days ago.” said I, “the soldiers at Nine Wells were in the vicinity of the oasis, hunting for a fugitive, escaped from their prison, who had been sentenced to the pits of Klima for an alleged attempt on the life of Suleiman Pasha.”

“Did he escape?” asked Hassan, smiling.

“It seems so,” I said.’

“That, too, is my intelligence,” said Hassan.

“If the soldiers of Nine Wells were at their oasis six days ago,” said I, “they were not, too, at the oasis of the Sand Sleen. “ “No,” said Hassan.

“And it does not seem likely, said I. “That, last night, Aretai from Nine Wells would be here.”

“It would be hard riding,” said Hassan. “And this seems an obscure oasis, far from trade routes.”

“Where would they have disposed of loot from the oasis of the Sand Sleen?” I asked.

“It might have been hidden in the desert,” suggested Hassan.

“Why Two Scimitars?” I asked. “It is a small oasis, not even Kavar.”

“I do not know,” said Hassan.

“Suleiman, Pasha at Nine Wells,” said 1, “lies in his palace in critical condition. It seems an unusual time for his Aretai to rush raiding about the countryside.”

“It would, indeed,” smiled Hassan.

“Yet the raiders wore the garments of Aretai, the saddle markings, shouted “For Nine Wells and Suleiman!”

“You and I, too,” smiled Hassan, “might arrange such matters, and shout boldly.”

I said nothing.

“Odd,” said Hassan, “that they should shout ‘For Nine Wells and Suleiman!’ “Why?” I asked.

“The names of leaders,” said Hassan, “do not figure in the war cries of Aretai, nor of most tribes. It is the tribe, which is significant, not the man, the whole, not the part. The war Cry of the Aretai, as I am familiar with it, is ‘Aretai victorious!’ “Interesting,” I said. “Do the Kavars have a similar cry?”

“Yes.” said Hassan. “It is ‘Kavars supreme!’ “

“It seems reasonably clear, then,” said I, “that Aretai did not raid Two Scimitars.”

“No,” said Hassan, “Aretai did not raid Two Scimitars.”

“How can you be sure?” I asked.

“A well was broken,” said Hassan. “The Aretai are sleen, but they must be respected as foes. They are good fighters, good men of the desert. They would not destroy a well. They are of the Tahari.”

“Who, then,” I asked, “raided the oasis of the Sand Sleen, the oasis of Two Scimitars?”

“I do not know,” said Hassan. “I would like to know. I am curious.”

“I, too, am curious,” I said.

“If war erupts, fully, in the desert,” said Hassan, “the desert, for all practical purposes, will he closed. Trade will be disrupted, armed men will roam, strangers will be more suspect than normally. Few chances will be taken, They will, presumably, be put to death.”

His remark did not much cheer me.

“Strange,” said Hassan, “that these matters should occur now.”

“Why strange now?” I asked.

“Doubtless it is only a coincidence,” said Hassan.

“I do not understand you,” I said.

“I was intending an expedition into the unexplored dune country,” said he.

“I, too, am a traveler,” I said.

“I thought so,” said he.

“What do you expect to find there?” I asked.

“What are you?” he asked.

“A lowly gem merchant,” I said.

“I saw you in Tor,” said be, “with the scimitar.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I saw you again, noting your progress, at a watering place on the route to Nine Wells.”

“It was there,” said I, “that you, In nomad’s guise, so abused my blond-haired, blue-eyed slave. “ “She was insolent,” he said. “It was there that I determined I would have her for my own slave.”

“After your touch, and abuse,” said 1, “she begged to be taught the dances of a slave girl.”

He smiled.

“You took her boldly in the palace of Suleiman,” I said.

He shrugged.

“I have never seen a better whip-capture of a girl,” I said.

He inclined his head, accepting my compliment.

“It is thought. I understand,” he said, “that it was you, Hakim of Tor, who struck Suleiman.”

“I did not do so,” I said.

“Why would they think you would have done so?” he said.

“It is thought,” I said, ‘‘I am a Kavar spy.”

“Oh?” he smiled.

“Yes,” I said.

“Is it known to you, Hakim of Tor.” asked he, “who it was who actually struck Suleiman”‘ “Yes,” I said, “it is known to me. It was Hamid, lieutenant to Shakar, captain of the Aretai.”

“I find it of interest, that it should have been Hamid,” he said. Then he said, “I have wanted to meet you.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“I thought,” said be, “that when I stole your pretty little slave you would pursue me into the desert. I did not know, of course, that Hamid would strike Suleiman, and that you would be detained.”