Sands of Destiny Read Online Free Page A

bones are sore from the jolting and my tongue is as the leather of the harness.” A third man, old and wizened, dipped his bowl into the urn and slobbered as he gulped the sherbert.
    “He must hate his camels to treat them so. More, two days more, of such speed and bones will litter the sand. Not even the Ferengi would treat men so.”
    “The Ferengi!” The Hadji spat. “Infidel dogs!”
    “They are as Allah made them,” said Corville, and tipped the contents of his bowl into the sand at his side. “Who are we to question the workings of Allah?”
    “Allah is all-wise,” agreed the Hadji impatiently, “But Allah has infinite patience and we have not. How long must we tolerate the infidel? How long must we listen to their jeers? It is said that three Ferengi spat on the Muezzin at the Mosque of El Farid. Is that a good thing?”
    “It is a bad thing,” said Corville, who knew the tale to be a lie. “If it be true then Allah should smite the unbelievers with his sword of fire.”
    “If it be true?” The Hadji glared at the young man. “If? Doubt you my word?”
    “Not so.” Corville bowed his head in submission. “And yet a man may hear a tale from one man, who heard it from another, who heard it from yet a third. Could Shaitan have started stories to arouse unrest?”
    “Allah defend us from Shaitan,” droned the man who had prayed. He seemed to be half-asleep and, as he lifted his bowl to his mouth, spilled the contents over his filthy burnoose.
    “Allah defends those who defend themselves,” said the Hadji seriously. He yawned. “Allah, but I feel tired. May the spirits of air and water watch over us this night. May....” He yawned again then, falling as a tree falls, toppled almost directly into the fire. Corville saved him, pushing the recumbent form away from the flames with the sole of his shoe, his nostrils wrinkling to the smell of the singed hair of the other’s beard. He glanced around the fire.
    All the drivers seemed cither asleep or about to fall asleep. Corville nodded as he saw it, his suspicions confirmed then, to allay any watchers, he deliberately filled his bowl from the urn and, turning his head, pretended to gulp his fill of the sherbert. Carefully he tipped the contents onto the sand, yawned, stretched, yawned again, then fell flat on his back, his head turned away from the fire so as to avoid the betraying reflection of firelight from his eyes. Lying there, every sense alert, he strained his ears and listened.
    Time passed, how long he did nol know, but he forced himself to lie quietly despite the fact that several ants had found their way inside his burnoose and had sunk their mandibles into his flesh. Finally, just as he was about to rid himself of his tormentors, he heard the scuff, scuff of slippers and the sound of voices.
    “Are they asleep?”
    “Yes, my lord,” whined the voice of the fat merchant. “I gave them sherbert well tainted with a certain drug which will make them as dead until tomorrow’s dawn.”
    “It is well,” said the voice of the Toureg leader. “And yet it would be better should they not live to see another dawn. Dead tongues cannot wag, merchant. I would rest more easily should these dogs greet the new sun with sightless eyes.”
    “That cannot be,” said the merchant hastily, then resumed his whine. “Think you, lord. The Ferengi know when I left the city of Sidi bel Abbes. They know the duration of the journey to Onassis whither I am bound. Should 1 arrive so late as to arouse question, or arrive without the drivers I have employed, then eyes will be sharpened and much harm will be done to my trade.”
    “Your trade.” Contempt thickened the Sheik’s voice. “What is your trade to me, dog?”
    “Less than the sand beneath the hoofs of your steeds, Sheik El Morini,” snarled the merchant. “And yet it is a strange thing that it was to me that you came for aid. I....”
    “Mock me not, you dog!” Corville tensed to the hiss of