ns. At least two thirds of his force is on the offensive. It
doesn't make much sense. But it must make sense to _him_, or he
wouldn't be doing it."

Ostrander said, and to everyone's surprise there seemed to be an
element of worry in his voice too, "I know Colonel Midan Ibrahim, met
him in Cairo and in Baghdad on various occasions. He's considered one
of the best men in the Arab Legion. He doesn't make military
blunders."

Bey said, "Come on, Kenny. Let's round up Guemama and take a look at
the front." He led the way from the tent.

* * * * *

There was a guard posted before the tent which doubled as press and
communications center, and the private quarters of David Moroka.

The figure that approached timidly was garbed in the traditional
clothing of the young women of the Tegehe Mellet tribe of the Tuareg
and bore an _imzad_ in her left hand, while her right held a corner of
her gandoura over her face.

The guard, of the Kel Rela tribe, eyed the one-stringed violin with
its string of hair and sounding box made of half a gourd covered with
a thin membrane of skin, and grinned. A Tuareg maid was accustomed to
sing and to make the high whining tones of desert music on the _imzad_
before submitting to her lover's embrace. _Wallahi!_ but these women
of the Tegehe Mellet were shameless.

"Where do you go?" he said gruffly. "El Hassan's vizier has ordered
that he is occupied and none should approach."

"He awaits me," she wavered. There was _kohl_ about her eyes, and
indigo at the corners of her mouth. "We met at the _tendi_ last night
and he bid me come to his tent. It is for me he waits."

_Wallahi!_ but his leader had taste, the sentry decided.

"Pass," he said gruffly. Even a vizier of such importance as this one
must need solace at times, he decided philosophically.

She slipped past silently to the tent entrance where the Tuareg guard
noticed she paused for a long moment before entering. He grinned into
his teguelmoust. Aiii, the little bird was timid before the hawk.

She stood for a moment listening, and then slipped inside, dropping
the desert musical instrument to the ground. Dave Moroka's back was to
her and even as she entered he flicked off the switch of the
video-radio into which he had been speaking and scowled at it.

When he stood and began to turn, she covered him with the small pocket
pistol. She had an ease in handling it which denoted competence.

His eyebro