With a cry of hatatatat and a slash of the whip, the Scorpion urged the camel forward. Basbusa gathered herself together, then seemed to leap into a furious gallop. Basbusa’s stride was very jerky and the Scorpion had to hang on desperately, leaning far forward over her outstretched neck to guide her into a smoother pace. Excited riders around him jostled against her flanks, then pulled away as space began to open up between the camels. Basbusa tried to veer left, but the Scorpion guided her into a gap between two fierce Huwaytat riders, furiously whipping their light-colored theluls on. Now, he was comfortably situated in the middle of the pack. As Basbusa settled into a smooth motion which, with her long stride, enabled her to start gaining on the other camels, the Scorpion was able to look around for Bandar.

A chill passed through him. He couldn’t locate Bandar. He should have been ahead and off to the left and fairly easy to spot in his army uniform, but he was nowhere in sight. The Scorpion twisted left and right, but he saw only other riders and in the far distance, screaming crowds, partially obscured by the fine white dust which filled the air as the camels pounded across the sands. To the right and behind him, he spotted the moustached Ruallai trying to cut obliquely behind another rider and angle towards him. But where was Bandar?

The Scorpion pulled back on the reins and Basbusa obediently began to slow down. With whoops of delight, the two Huwaytat riders surged past him. Others followed. The Scorpion half stood, balancing only on the balls of his feet and Basbusa bobbed beneath him, desperately scanning the course. Bandar had somehow disappeared.

Then he glanced back over his shoulder and spotted the veiled Bandar far behind him. Incredibly, it appeared that he was just mounting up. He must have dismounted for some reason just before the starting gun. But why? What was he up to, the Scorpion wondered.

But there was no time to think about it. Bashum, Bandar’s magnificent brown camel, was already galloping in that high-prancing almost mincing gait characteristic of the best racing camels and gaining rapidly on the early stragglers. Bandar was leaning forward, riding well, his red-checked headcloth fluttering behind him in the breeze. He was moving off towards the left sideline near the crowds. If he stayed close to the sidelines, it would give him easy shooting distance to the king, perhaps twenty yards at most. Even a mediocre Bedu marksman could hardly miss at that range—and Bandar was a world-class shot, the Scorpion mused grimly.

All around him as far as the eye could see, thousands of camels pounded ahead, the drumming of their feet on the hard-packed sand making the earth tremble with an oddly muffled sound, like rain.