In a few moments, crowding my kaiila in, moving with courtesy but resolution through the guards, I found myself near the center of the parleying group, in the line behind the pashas and the khan.

“Mighty Haroun,” said Baram, Sheik of Bezhad, “the command is yours! The Kavars await!”

“The Bakahs, too!” cried the pasha of the Bakahs. “The Ta’Kara!” “The Char!”

“The Kashani!” Each of the pashas lifted their lances.

The veiled figure, robed in white, with the lance and pennon, nodded his head, accepting the command of these thousands of fierce warriors.

Haroun then turned in his robes. “Greetings, Suleiman,” said he.

“Greetings, Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars,” said Suleiman.

“I heard your wound was grievous,” said Haroun to Suleiman. “Why have you taken to the saddle?”

“Why of course to do war with you,” said Suleiman.

“On grounds, or for sport?” asked Haroun.

“On grounds,” said Suleiman, angrily. “Kavar raids on Aretai communities, the breaking of wells!”

“Remember Red Rock!” cried a Tashid guard.

“Remember Two Scimitars!” cried a man in the retinue of the pasha of the Bakahs.

“No mercy is shown to he who destroys water!” cried a man, one of the Luraz.

Scimitars were loosened. I shifted my wind veil about my face. There were Aretai present. They paid the little attention. I saw Shakar look once at me, and then look troubled, then look away.

“Look!” said Haroun. He pointed to the nude, tethered wretches, bound to his pommel. “Lift your arms, Sleen,” he said to them.

The men lifted their arms, their wrists crossed, bound, over their heads.

“See?” asked Haroun.

“Kavars!” cried one of the Raviri.

“No!” cried Suleiman. “The scimitar on the forearm! The point does not face out from the body!” He looked at Haroun. “These men are not Kavars,” he said.

“No,” said Haroun.

“Aretai raided Kavar oases,” cried a man, a guard among the Ta`Kara. “They broke wells!”

Suleiman’s hand clenched on the hilt of his scimitar. “No!” he cried. “That is not true!”

There was angry shouting among the Kavars and their cohorts.

Haroun held up his hand. “Suleiman speaks the truth,” said he. “No Aretai raided in this season, and had they done so, they would not destroy wells. They are of the Tahari.”

It was the highest compliment one tribesman could pay to another.

“The Kavars, too,” said Suleiman, slowly, clearly, “are of the Tahari.”

The men subsided.

“We have a common enemy, who would put us at one another’s throats,” said Haroun.

“Who?” asked Suleiman.

Haroun turned to the tethered wretches. They lowered their arms and fell to their knees in the gravel and sand of the field. They put down their heads.

“For whom do you ride?” demanded Haroun.

One of the men, miserable, lifted his head. “For Tarna,” he said.

“And whose minion is she?” asked Haroun.

“The minion of Abdul, the Salt Ubar,” said the man. Then he put down his head.

“I understand little of this,” said the young khan of the Tajuks. He carried a leather, black, lacquered buckler on his left arm, a slim, black, tem-wood lance in his right hand. At his side hung a scimitar, He wore a turban, and a burnoose, with the hood thrown back over his shoulders. His eyes, sharp and black, bore the epicanthic fold. At his saddle hung a conical steel helmet, oddly fashioned with a rim of fur encircling it, bespeaking a tradition in armory whose origin did not seem likely to be the Tahari. The young khan looked about, from face to face. He was angry. “I have come for a war,” he said. “Is there to be no war?”

Haroun regarded him. “You shall have your war,” he said. Haroun looked at Suleiman. “I speak in good faith,” he said. “The Kavars, and all their vassal tribes, are yours to command.”

“I am weak,” said Suleiman. “I am not yet recovered from my wound. Command the Aretai, and those who ride with them.”

Haroun looked at the young Tajuk khan. “And you?” he asked.

“Do you lead me to war?” asked the Tajuk.

“Yes,” said Haroun.

“Then I will follow you,” he said. The young khan spun his kaiila about. Then he turned again, and looked over his shoulder. “Who holds your left flank?” he asked.

“The Tajuks.” said Haroun.

“Aiiii!” cried the young khan, rising in his stirrups, lifting big lance. Then he sped upon his kaiila to his men.

“Should you not return to Nine Wells?” asked Haroun of Suleiman.

“No,” said Suleiman. Then be said, “I go to marshal my men.”

The pashas and their guards who bad surrounded us returned to their forces.

Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars, handed the lance and pennon of his office to one of the men with Baram, his vizier.

“Shall we kill these sleen?” asked Baram, indicating the kneeling, groveling wretches tethered to the pommel of Haroun’s saddle. They put their heads to the gravel and sand, trembling.

“No,” said Haroun. “Take them to the tents and chain them there as slaves. There will be more later. They will bring a high price in Tor.”

The tethers of the wretches were given to a rider. They were taken from the field.

Orders were given. In a short time, great lines, strung out, began to move across the desert. In the center were the Kavars and the Aretai. On the right flank, riding together, were the Ta`Kara and the Luraz, the Bakahs and the Tashid, the Char, the Kashani and the Raviri. On the left were the Ti’ the Arani and the Zevar, and, holding the extremity of the flank, forty deep, the Tajuks.

Behind us, behind Haroun and myself, who rode alone, we leading, strung out, were the long lines of riders, the gathered tribesmen of the Tahari.

“How did things go in the dune country?” asked Haroun.

“Well,” I told him.

He dropped the wind veil about his shoulders. “I see you still wear about your left wrist a bit of silk,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You must, in the march, inform me of what occurred in the dune country,” he said.

“I shall be pleased to do so,” I said. “By what name should I address you?”

“By the name, by which you know me best,” he said.

“Excellent,” said I, “Hassan.”

24 I Bind a Girl, Reserving Her for Myself, I Then Address Myself to the Duties of Steel

The outcome of the battle, some twenty pasangs from the kasbah of the Salt Ubar, had never been in doubt. That Ibn Saran met us at all, with the twenty-five hundred mercenaries be could muster does him much credit.

He was swiftly enveloped. Many of his men, I believe, did not understand the nature of the forces they faced until we swept over the hills upon them. We outnumbered them four or five to one. Many of the mercenaries, unable to escape, discarded their bucklers and dismounted, thrusting their lances and scimitars into the ground. There was hard fighting, however, in the vicinity of Ibn Saran’s own men, those of the Salt Ubar and his allies, those who had fought with Tarna. I came once within one hundred and fifty yards of Ibn Saran; Hassan, or Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars, came within twenty yards of him, fighting like a wild animal, but was turned back at last by a wall of bucklers, a hedge of lances. I did not see Tarna in the battle. I did see her men, but they fought under Ibn Saran. I gathered she had been relieved of her command.

Late in the afternoon, Ibn Saran, with four hundred riders, broke through our lines and fled northwest.

We did not pursue him but consolidated our victory.

“He will take refuge in his kasbah,” said Hassan. “It will be difficult to take the kasbah.”

That was true. If it could not be taken swiftly, it might not be possible to take it at all. We did not have enough water to maintain our men in the field.

At best we might be able, failing to take the kasbah, to invest it with a smaller force that it would be practical to supply with water from Red Rock.